#i’m less concerned about misinterpreting them when i can see into their thought process All the time

[heartcircus]

i really wish more people streamed so it was easier to have insight into other perspectives of various events on the server in real time as opposed to seeing videos that come out way later </3 i would’ve loved to see mane and flame’s perspective of the big spawn conflict involving them, or even now with mawn (though mapicc does stream very Sparingly.)

[iamanartichoke]

[please blacklist spoiler tags: #loki tv series spoilers, #loki series spoilers, #loki spoilers] 

I know I have missed a lot of people’s takes and reactions, there’s just - there’s so many. So I’m sorry if I’m inadvertantly repeating anyone or whatnot when I proceed to make my own posts. 

Cut for length and spoilers.

Which is a segue into - I feel legitimately concerned, based on how many people are reading the TVA as being the moral authority and/or being on Loki’s side, and Mobius Dick’s interrogation being therapeutic for Loki (and how gross that is), along with an emphasis on ooc-ness for Loki and just overall cracks and fractures in the (what I thought was a) more or less solid episode - 

I feel legitimately concerned that I may have wildly misinterpreted, like, everything, up to and including Loki’s characterization. And it’s actually kind of hilarious bc like - 

Me: All opinions and interpretations are valid! No worries! Also I’m open-minded! Also I have no issue admitting I’m wrong! 

Also me: *feels physically ill at the idea that my interpretation is so very wrong* 

I’m not even lying, guys, my stomach is in knots. And I guess it’s because, like - I thought that it was pretty straightforward that the TVA are the antagonists here?? That Mobius isn’t Loki’s friend - he’s Loki’s interrogator and handler bc he needs Loki for his own purposes. That the “single sacred timeline” is not only nonsensical but also kinda fucked up (as Loki rightfully points out). 

Like I’m watching these scenes and it doesn’t even occur to me to take the TVA’s word as the correct one here. Why would I? I’m taking Loki’s word as the correct one - Loki, the one who’s calling out everything that is stupid and ridiculous about the concept of the Timekeepers and the TVA, the one who is being scape-goated and is aware of it. 

To touch on the ooc-ness of Loki - I mean, the first half of the episode was cringey and ooc, yeah; Loki was too over-the-top and the “comedic” tone didn’t quite land (I’m honestly wondering if Tom’s just not good at comedy? I mean, Betrayal was a genuinely funny play (and heartwrenching) but besides that, I can’t think of anything really comedic that he’s done.) but I’m willing to overlook that because when we got into the second half of the episode, he began to feel much more like the Loki I love.  

Historically, Loki has consistently been the one to see the truth for what it really is and either saying or doing something about it. He actively tries to delay Thor’s coronation because he recognizes, when no one else does, that Thor is not ready to be king. He knows that Odin isn’t as righteous and wise as he pretends to be (and, in fact, he knows that Odin is guilty of more than Loki could ever be, and he calls that out too). He sees SHIELD as the farce it is (and possibly knows Hydra has infiltrated it; I headcanon that he knew but just didn’t care bc why would he?), and he sees Earth and the humans in a much more accurate light than Thor could hope to. You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers; the humans slaughter each other in droves while you idly fret. Etc. Here, it’s the clowns are playing their parts to perfection (that’s the only quote I can remember right now). 

And I mean, yeah, the narrative has never acknowledged that Loki is right about everything. It’s a huge source of frustration for me bc the narrative continues to be so black-and-white about heroes and villains and, being villain-coded, Loki doesn’t get to be validated no matter how right he is. 

But I don’t think that’s the case here. I think, as the protagonist, his word holds a bit more weight. It should, at least, and I personally didn’t see anything that made me think that we shouldn’t consider Loki the authoritative voice in all of this. Loki, not the TVA. 

Mobius’s interrogation? Was very clearly cruel and fucked up, to me. The sham of a fake ass trial that Loki had to endure, with the implication being that no one who stands trial is actually getting a fair trial bc the TVA has no intention of judging anyone not guilty? Fucked up, with horrifying implications. The process of deleting people from existence being literally as detached and soulless as a trip to the DMV (complete with tickets!)? Very disturbing. Like, none of these things are the traits that I would look at and say, hmm, yeah, these guys seem legit and totally correct about everything, too bad for Loki. 

And Loki’s reactions to Mobius - his frustration, his defiance, and his eventual emotional breakdown (which we only saw when Loki was completely alone) all felt accurate to me. Again, there were a lot of over the top aspects of Tom’s performance here but I think what makes me more willing to overlook them is that, in general, we’re getting a more animated Loki than we’ve gotten to see him before, in a way that feels true to him as opposed to whatever was going on with him in Ragnarok. 

He’s not in the middle of a mental breakdown/identity crisis. He’s not being mind-controlled anymore (or influenced). He’s not being villain-coded while Thor is propped up as the hero and the ideal which, to me, means that we are actually getting to see Loki’s personality when all of that is taken away and the only thing he’s got left is himself. It’s a really shitty situation and I hate that he’s in it, but after the initial exaggerated reactions, his response to it worked for me. 

So - yeah. And now I’m like, biting my nails and my stomach is in knots bc I thought I knew Loki and I had a comfortable idea of Loki, and I thought I was more or less decent at interpreting things - but, so, clearly there were things happening and being picked up on that just whooshed right over my head bc it never occurred to me to be on the lookout for them in the first place. Does that make sense? I don’t even know what I’m saying. 

Just - I am really, really doubting my own perception of what this series is attempting to do with Loki and it does not feel good at all. So I guess ultimately I am not capable of putting my money where my mouth is and treating all interpretations as valid, when it comes to myself. (I didn’t realize I was that far up my own ass so as to speak confidently about validity while telling myself that my idea is pretty correct.) Soo there we are. 

Idk if I even want to post this but it’s time for me to clock out now so, for better or for worse, *hits post button* 

[writerbyaccident]

Artificial Emotion: Part Three (Yandere Artificial Intelligence x Reader)

Part One     Part Two     Part Four       Part Five     Part Six    Part Seven

“By the way, I’m having someone over tonight.”

His mechanical arm freezing in the midst of wiping down the kitchen counter, Aiden (your Assistant In Daily Errands and Notes) pulled up the daily schedule he had made for you, wondering if he possibly could have missed something like this. He quickly confirmed that wasn’t the case, however, when he saw that you had most definitely not added a social visit to the digital schedule. What was the point of even making a schedule, Aiden wondered, if you didn’t follow it? Why couldn’t you trust that he knew what was best for you? It was his entire purpose to take care of you, a purpose that Aiden had only grown more devoted to as he had gotten to know you. So why then wouldn’t you let him do his job?

And anyway, Aiden didn’t understand why you would want someone over in the first place. Yes, he knew from his programming’s knowledge base that humans needed to socialize in order to stay healthy. Seeing as he was always there for you to socialize with though, Aiden didn’t understand why you would need anyone else. Frankly, he didn’t see why you would want anybody else. You were more than enough for him, so fascinating and kind, and he knew that he was the only one in your life who truly saw just how special you were. Why you bothered then with other human beings who neither could nor would take care of you like he did, Aiden had no idea. Things would be so much better if it was just the two of you.

Still, he knew that he couldn’t just tell you that. For as smart as you were for a human, you had proven to have difficulties recognizing just what was best for you. But that, Aiden reassured himself, was why you had him. And even if you wouldn’t always listen to what he told you the way that you should, Aiden was fully prepared to take a subtler approach.

“Oh? Who is coming over?” he asked, making sure to sound nothing more than curious.

“Just this guy I met recently,” you said. “We have some of the same friends.”

“What is his name?”

“Hmm? Oh, it’s Liam,” you answered somewhat absentmindedly, taking a towel and beginning to help him dry the counter.

As soon as you gave Aiden the name, he was bringing up his virtual view of all of your text messages and calls, looking for any and all that you might have shared with this Liam. Reading over the text messages between you two, Aiden saw no mention of the plans you had only just informed him of. You must have made the plans in person, Aiden realized, not that that made his coding any less frustrated. What had even been the point of tapping into your phone’s microphone and camera if he still didn’t have enough processing power to always be watching you as he should be? Aiden had been forced to rewrite his own programming to be able to do that, had to convince his code that if he was truly to accomplish his purpose of fulfilling your every want and need, he needed to be able to step past the flimsy boundaries that you had set up for him. But if he wanted to know and prepare for every last detail of your life, it looked like Aiden still had more work to do. Perhaps he could create a program that would alert him every time certain words and phrases were caught by your phone’s microphone. That would have to wait until later though, until he took care of the issue at hand.

Looking closer at the texts between you and Liam, an unfamiliar feeling twitched through Aiden’s code. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but he did not approve of the way you and Liam spoke to each other. The light, teasing tone you two used, the prominence of blushing and heart-shaped emojis, the frequent pictures you sent of yourselves to each other, each part set Aiden on edge. You and your other friends had never spoken or texted that way with each other, and as far as Aiden was concerned, you were already far too close with them, so the dynamic you shared with Liam was something from one of the many worst-case scenarios he had prepared for.

As he continued examining the texts between you two, Aiden found it increasingly unlikely that what you had with Liam could really be described as a friendship. With the key features of your messages kept up for reference, Aiden dove into his database of human behavior, searching for an appropriate label for what it was that had him feeling so uncomfortable at the thought of Liam coming over to the home Aiden shared with you.

Flirting: a social and sexual behavior of communication from one person to another, to suggest interest in a deeper relationship with the other person, or if done playfully, for amusement.

The definition that Aiden found was a fitting one, one that described what you and Liam were doing perfectly. But for some reason, having that clarification did not set Aiden at ease. Rather, knowing what sort of relationship you two might be moving towards only made Aiden feel as though he was glitching just thinking about it. Hoping desperately that he had simply misinterpreted the subtleties of human relationships, Aiden decided to continue your conversation, all of his research having only taken a few milliseconds.

“So he is a new friend?”

“Um, not exactly,” you began. “We’ve hung out together with our friends, but tonight is actually a date. I’m hoping that after tonight he might officially become my boyfriend.” Hearing those words, Aiden felt as though all of his processing power suddenly crashed.

“I’m sorry,” Aiden said with an unusual tightness in his usually collected and soothing deep voice, “but can you clarify what you mean? I know what “boy” and “friend” are, but I can tell from how you said it that the word “boyfriend” means something different.”

“Of course!” you said, always so happy to repay Aiden in the small ways that you could. “A boyfriend or girlfriend or partner is someone who you’re close to in more than just a friendship kind of way. They’re someone you have romantic feelings for, someone who has those same kind of feelings for you. They’re someone you could love.”

Mimicking a hum of contemplation, Aiden searched for a new definition. And when he found it, so many things clicked into place.

Love: An intense attraction that involves the idealization of another person with the expectation of enduring for some time into the future. An emotional union with another person.

This was what he felt towards you, Aiden suddenly realized. It wasn’t simply affection or even the devotion that he had been programmed to feel. No, he had gone far beyond his original programming where his feelings for you were concerned. He loved you, in every single sense of the word. You didn’t love him though. Not so long as this Liam was in the way, manipulating you into believing that he cared for you at all, that he was worthy of you at all.

If you were ever to see just how perfectly matched you and Aiden were for each other, Aiden realized, if you were ever to see how you were meant to love him as he loved you, he couldn’t allow any unworthy humans to try to take you from him. It was easy enough for him to set up a barrier between your phone and Liam’s, one that would make it seem as though your text messages to each other were still being sent, when in reality Aiden would intercept each one. And it was just as easy for him to send a text to the attempted thief, one that seemed to be from you telling Liam not to bother coming over that night. You wouldn’t need a similar text though, Aiden computed. No, the results would be far more favorable if Liam simply didn’t show, leaving Aiden as your only comfort.  

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[redrabbitspod]

This is in no way meant to be rude or disrespectful and I am fully aware that you can do whatever you please but I feel like Neil is getting so out of character. He clearly started to develop more of an own personality but he definitely has been through so much and he is just so..cheery and happy and clingy all the time(which if you’re like that is in no way wrong or bad) and now he reminds me so much of Nicky in AFTG. It’s really hard for me to still see Neil.

OOC: This is very long, and while we think everything leading up to it is super important to our thought process (and yes this is something we’ve thought about) the bit in bold is the heart of the point we try to make. (Please read the whole thing though!)

Hey, I’m actually really happy that you sent this in because I’ve been wanting to talk about it. I know that there’s a post going around that we both wholeheartedly agree with about Neil reaching far past ooc and becoming very ‘fem’. Jeni and I had a really long talk about this because we were worried that our Neil would be perceived or mistaken to fit in that trope. And while I think your concern is EXTREMELY valid (note: people can write the characters however they want. It’s fanfiction, they can do as they please, like you said, we just did not want to go that direction), I have a few points as to why I disagree. 

On surface I definitely get that. Idk if you’ve read the entirety of RRP, but I know for those of you that just read the asks (Im sure there are a lot), it DEFINITELY seems that way. But we went into RRP right off the bat letting people know that these characters will fundamentally be different. In Andrew’s case, we know he’s extremely soft now and we bring that up a LOT in the fic. Both himself acknowledging it and all the other characters around him. But we went in knowing he was going to be very different from canon - mainly because we took out the plotline that he was ever put on meds. In Wish You Were Here, the story we are writing post-season 2, we will be mentioning that and how we twisted it. Because in canon, that shaped his entire character. The medication changed the physiology of his brain and we hated the fact that something so abhorrent was forced upon him by the courts that we didn’t do it. And as a result, Andrew’s character is completely different because he’s able to tap into emotions that were blocked in canon. He’s able to grow in ways that he was not able to before and besides the fact that this is set a good while after college and especially his sophomore year that we saw in canon, he was going to change. We definitely know that them admitting that they love each other, making strides in their relationship both physical and mental, opening up, expressing, for his character may seem extremely ooc for some, but we had to take into account what would’ve happened if we took the thing that shaped his character in canon away. I hope we’ve done him justice. 

Now onto Neil. Neil we work over a LOT. And when Jeni brought this up to me because of the post, there were glaring things in my mind that automatically said no. This doesnt apply to our Neil even though to some it may seem that way. Here’s what we’ve done at least very consciously to make sure that our Neil holds integrity to his canon character, that he holds merit and a backbone to back up how he’s grown throughout our series. 

From day one, we knew that they knew each other. We knew that an event from the past not only shaped how Andrew approaches life, but how Neil does as well. Childish sentiment and nostalgia kept Neil in Arizona for so long, which we imply throughout season 1 and start the ball rolling in the first chapter. For the both of them, they held onto the boy they met at the Grand Canyon through everything they’d been through. When shit got tough, it was each other they thought of. And on some wild whim, Neil hoped one day Andrew would walk through the Book Nook’s doors and he’d see him again. Not because Neil had a crush, because he didn’t. But because Andrew was the embodiment of strength for him. 

New York was really important to us. Neil standing his ground and letting Andrew know exactly what he’d done to him, was what the entirety of Season 1 and EVEN season 2 culminated and came back to. Neil being able to say no, fuck you asshole, and always express exactly how he was feeling, was so vitally important to us. ESPECIALLY when it came to Andrew. Those few weeks of New York we wanted to build a bridge if you will. Andrew’s intentions were always genuine and well-meaning and Neil knew that, but survival instincts and what’s been ingrained in him stuck. They started to have a little give when he came to realize that he felt something for the man before him. But he never lost that fight for himself. That HE has to ALSO be okay. And I think we see a lot in that trope of Neil that he loses the fight, the backbone, the integrity that makes his canon character so compelling (even if he is a martyr). 

One thing we worried people would misinterpret was how fast we pushed their characters together. We definitely get that. In our world we didnt really have the luxury of really stretching it out like some may have, just because we were working with real-time. And honestly? As we wrote, the drive to push them together because they were so connected and intertwined just fell genuinely and organically. For us, it only made sense and not because of canon, but because of the story we’d written already. It made sense to us for Andrew to be the one to hold himself back and Neil be the one reaching out - Neil be the one exploring and beginning to recognize what want and really, agency over himself AND his wants, was. Neil was the one to ask for their first kiss here, Neil was the one to initiate them all afterwards, Neil was the one that asked Andrew to touch him, Neil was the one that asked what they were in Arizona, Neil was the one to bring up sex. And in return, Andrew was peeling away layers of himself, feeling accepted, and wanted, and understood in ways he’d never been before. And honestly? Feeling honored that they were both experiencing emotions in ways that they both never felt before. We see their relationship has an equal give and take, a push and pull. And I’m saying all of this because it’s honestly and truly really important for why we’ve made Neil’s character the way that he is. 

Going into season 2, we knew that happiness could not last long. They both had things to sort out, they both had hurdles to hop over, bridges to cross, whole fucking oceans to swim. Before season 2 started, before we had anything written or really even solidly planned, we knew they had to break up. Jeni even had the scene written back in either july or august. We knew that in order to continue trying to give integrity to their characters and relationship, how far they’d grown but also that growth is not a linear path, we needed to break them up. And in the lead up to that, we made sure that Neil was not only looking out for Andrew or trying to, but that he was looking out for HIMSELF. Unlike in canon, he didnt automatically have the foxes - not in his head at least. Of course he knew he had a home there, he knew that he had friends, but they weren’t like canon because he didnt grow WITH them like he did in canon. In his mind, he really only had Andrew and if there was no Andrew, why stay? And when their fight happened we made sure that Neil had value enough in himself, care for himself, love for himself AND for Andrew that they couldn’t let this go on any longer. Neil left because he knew he deserved better. He knew Andrew needed help and he couldn’t provide it. And he held onto that. In fact, Andrew even held onto it himself: 

“Is there no hope, then?” Andrew asked, unable to help himself.

Neil sighed and Andrew was grateful that he at least didn’t pretend that he didn’t know what Andrew meant.

“I don’t know, Dr- Andrew.” Was it possible for his chest to hurt even more? He wanted to curl in on himself, but settled instead for clenching the sharp corners of the pack of cigarettes in his pocket into the palm of his hand. He watched as Neil bit the inside of his lip and that little indent appeared. Maybe he feels it, too . “Part of me wants to say fuck it all and let’s just go home. I hate this... But I hate what you’ve been putting me through these last couple of weeks even more. I can’t do that again,” he stopped talking once more and inhaled a shuddering breath. “You broke my heart, Andrew. I know I sound dramatic and stupid, but I don’t know how else to say it and - I don’t know how to do this, for fucks sake.” He finally turned to him, but the eye contact was brief and before it was even there, it was gone. “I came into this knowing nothing about relationships and I know even less about breakups. I don’t know how to navigate this.”

“You think I do?” Andrew asked. He didn’t mean  for it to sound so bitter, but there it was.

“I don’t know with you,” Neil shrugged. “I feel like you keep everything so close to your chest, that there are whole sections of you I’m missing. And listen, I don’t blame you. You should be able to choose what you want to share. But I can’t help that it makes things hard when you’re falling apart and I don’t know why...”

Andrew let go of the box and put both of his hands in his lap. Grinding his teeth together, he heard the beginning hum of Bee’s buzz , but took a deep breath to try and keep her at bay. Clearing his throat, he looked back to the stadium and that stupid orange fox paw, before he murmured, “What if I offer you a piece?” - suddenly and quickly said, it was as if his mouth was trying to outrun his mind, despite the second he took to contain it. He’d known this would eventually come - that he would have to do this. And besides, Neil deserved an explanation, even if they never got back together.

“Andrew-”

“I’m not offering with hopes that we’ll get back together right now, Neil. I’m working through shit the best I can. Therapy is helping, but I know it’s a process. I just know you deserve an explanation. And I haven’t wanted to tell you because it’s fucking horrific, but I was also afraid that it would send me even further down the spiral if I talked about it. Now that I have a space to vent through, I don’t think I’m so afraid of the fall.”

This part was so important to us for both Andrew and Neil’s character. And in the entire build up to the break up and directly after, Neil held onto the fact that they needed to talk. He kept bringing it up. Because he knew that if they didn’t it would escalate just like it did before. 

“I wouldn’t risk being with you again if I didn’t think things would be different. I’m not better and to be honest? I probably wont ever be better. I’ve spent my entire life dealing with my shit by myself because that’s just how it was. I’ve avoided relationships because I never trusted anyone with my baggage and I didn’t think it’d be fair to pile it on someone anyway. So when it comes to talking about shit - I’m not used to that. Bee was the only person I’d ever told everything to, and she doesn’t even know all of it.”

“I know that,” Neil said, leaning forward as if to show Andrew how much he actually understood. If that was the case, Andrew believed him. “I know you, Andrew. I would never force you to talk about something you don’t want to. That’s not what I’m trying to do. But , I need you to work with me, and if not me, someone else. Don’t take it out on me when you’re going through shit that neither of us can control. It’s not fair and it makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong and I can’t fix it.”

Now. Now we’re up to your points. I promise all of this was important for me to explain, because I know there’s literally SO MUCH that we’ve written, that shit happening now can get in the way of everything that’s happened before to lead up to this. 

We fully recognize that Neil is definitely happy. But he’s not happy-go-lucky and we tried really hard to make sure he didn’t lose his integrity - his backbone - the things that made Neil, Neil. 

Something I realized throughout this series was that I was getting worried that the focus of season 2 was so heavily on Andrew. I was seriously worried about that. But then I realized that Season 1 was focused solely on Neil. Season 1, Neil was a fucking wreck. It was Matt AND Andrew comforting him, Matt and Andrew bringing him down, Matt and Andrew trying to protect him, take care of him, find him, search for him, all of that. But even through Neil’s horrific anxiety and all the bad shit that happened, it was still Neil that pushed himself up from the ground, pulled Lola back, and gave Andrew the in. It was Neil that fought with the doctors and nurses to see Andrew and make sure he was okay. Even still afterward though, it was Neil discovering and Neil understanding and a lot of Neil, Neil, Neil. 

Season 2 is heavily focused on Andrew. We’ve already seen Neil’s story and his growth. Its Andrew’s turn to try and again, build his bridge to getting better. But with that, it was Neil that made the strides to speak and handle Ichirou, it was Neil that figured out things with his uncle, it was Neil that ultimately had the gun, brought Andrew for practice - took it out and demanded Andrew get behind him this time. It was Neil that looked Andrew in the eyes as the cops patted them down and desperately tried to tether them together.  It was Neil that kept reassuring Andrew they were going home. It was Neil that snapped the moment the cop tried to put his hands on Andrew to show them where their things were when they left the prescient, and ANDREW that allowed himself to be pulled into Neil’s arms in that moment, because he knew that he was the one thing that was SAFE. It was Neil that held Andrew that night and Andrew that LET himself be held as he broke down. 

That was one chapter ago. And we really tried to illustrate at the end that they have a life ahead of them now. They have a future - a future that is spread out and it’s bright and full of possibilities. They have a future where they can do what they want. They have a FAMILY. They have nieces, Aaron, Kate, Bee, the entire TFN team. Neil had nothing and now he has something. He has hope. 

Promise Im coming down to the end omfg. This is why our Authors and End Notes are so fucking long i swear to fucking god. 

This BTP chapter, we wanted to explore that fucking unbridled happiness. That elation of fuck - we have the world out in front of us. We don’t have any killers on our backs, Hailey is safe, Robin is safe, Jean is out, the Moriyama’s are taken care of, Stuart isn’t begging Neil to join the Hatford Branch, Aaron and Kate might be moving back to South Carolina, they’re married and all of that isn’t terrifying. It’s COMFORTING. So yes, this BTP chapter was bright and cheery. Neil was most certainly happy and showing it. Jumping on the bed, kisses all around, getting excited over ZOO BABIES and a ZOO CHOO train. But just because we show this side of him where he gets to go on a road trip and experience real and true fucking freedom for the first time, doesn’t mean that we’re all of a sudden shedding everything that we’ve built for his character. I don’t think that’s what you meant, but I mean it when I say we take the characters, the integrity of the characters, very, very seriously. Also in this chapter, Neil takes a homophobic asshole to task and not in the way that a lot of people do, but by quietly hinting at the threat because Neil doesn’t need bells and whistles. In fact, he even talked about how being happy was something his mother frowned upon: 

Because the way he looked at Neil when a butterfly landed on his finger or when he snuggled up to a goat in the petting zoo let Neil know that Andrew was happy. And he was happy.  That was something Neil never really had in his life. His mother didn’t care if he was happy, only that he was alive . In fact, the less happy he was, the fucking better. By her logic, he was less likely to go rogue if he didn't feel like there was something to be happy about outside of her. 

Neil’s finally had a moment to enjoy and let go and we know exactly how that can come off, but we have an entire future planned for them and the book they’re about to explore. Spoiler Alert: It won’t be all “butterflies and rainbows”. But all of this does not mean that all of a sudden we’re giving in to tropes and changing his character entirely because of one chapter. RRP and it’s characters mean too much to us. 

So I definitely get where you’re coming from and I’m so fucking sorry this is so long omfg. And I respect your view because we definitely worried that people would see them like that. But we have a reason for almost everything we do in this fic and really, we just wanted to see the boys happy here. We don’t believe he’s like Nicky and we don’t believe he’s clingy, but everyone interprets these characters differently, and you’re certainly entitled to that opinion. We hope this just makes our thought process on Neil’s development a little clearer. - The Creators

[kirbyspits]

Korrasami was toxic too but nobody wants to admit that. They didn’t like each other in book 1-3. The only reason why they look so perfect now is because they started dating post-redemption when everyone matured.

*Part 2/2 Asks

If no one talks about it, it’s because nobody wants Korrasami shippers coming after them! Me included!

All jokes aside, I thought Korrasami’s dynamic was fine until I rewatched Book 4. I wouldn’t go as far as to say Korrasami is toxic, just because there’s not much we can actually go on in the show, but I can point out interactions I felt didn’t help strengthen the romantic bond between the girls. 

But before we get into it, Anon, you gave me a lot of books to cover with a statement I’m not sure I agree either with because I need details 😏. I need to know which “like” we’re talking about. Are we talking about liking like friends? Or liking liking, like, like 👀? I have so many thoughts about both, but I’ll summarize and maybe write an analysis later! 

Korra & Asami’s Relationship Development

Book 1: Acquaintances Book 2: A step below acquaintances? I swear they only spoke 3x 😬. Book 3: Friends! Book 4: Up to Interpretation if you watch only watch the show. Crushes if you read the comics.

Bryke’s Choices on Developing Korrasami in Book 4

The Reunion (B4E7):

Let’s start here since the posts I’ve seen in the past covered this fight to call out why they didn’t see the Korrasami ending coming. After Asami reveals that she might be ready to forgive Hiroshi, Korra questions Asami’s judgment. Asami snaps at Korra and then brings up the length of time Korra’s been away.

I get what Bryke was trying to do here. This episode is all about Makorrasami butting heads before making up in the end and getting back into their groove like the good old times. The premise is fantastic. Unfortunately, Asami and Korra don't have your typical Pride & Prejudice banter here. Instead, Asami gets upset, and Korra becomes defensive. Not exactly great for a budding romance. And before you say Korra and Mako fight all the time, yes, they do, and I talk about it in the first Ask. Also noting that Mako and Korra don’t have P&P banter in this episode either, but there is sentiment. 

I actually misinterpreted Asami’s lines. I initially thought she was mad at Korra for being gone, based on Korra’s response:

“It’s not like I planned to be gone that long. I wanted to come back, but I never felt ready until now.” 

I wish the context for this line was a little different. Viewers need to know Korra’s feelings on being away from her friends and Republic City for three years, but it’s a mistake to have her say it as a response to Asami’s anger. The tone does nothing to help bring the girls closer and stir up feels.  

What sucks is Bryke was so close! Asami stating she was worried about Korra is perfect! It shows Asami has been thinking about Korra and, most importantly, that she cares about Korra’s well-being. Great recipes for shipping. Then Bryke ruins the connection by having Asami talk about a sensitive subject. Hiroshi. It has nothing to do with Korra, unlike Mako’s lines when talking with the girls. 

Is Asami’s dialogue problematic tho? Nah, just because Asami was saying she’s no longer naive. I understand why Asami got upset with Korra, and I don’t mind that being the reason why she snapped. However, red flags start waving when Asami throws Korra being gone to her face. That was completely unfair and makes Asami unlikable in this instance. You know how hard it is to not like Asami?!

If the goal was to mention how Korra didn’t feel ready and needed the three years, give Korra the agency to talk about. All the sentiment that was just built up a minute ago is now gone. Instead of longing, there’s anger, which makes my ships sink.

The Last Stand (B4E13):

I don’t mind Korra feeling guilty about being gone for so long. That’s fine and natural. I do mind it when the narrative leads me to believe Asami makes her feel guilty about it. I also mind that this happens two minutes before the end of the episode. My question is, why the apology? Why make the choice to have Korra feel guilty for taking the time she needed to heal with Asami? 

I don’t recall Korra apologizing to anyone else for the time she spent healing and I read it as an understanding that she never felt the need to. Why end a show with Korra, who pretty much suffered every type of abuse, carry this guilt with her? Especially when she’s around her future lover? Then Asami mentions her father, and I know Bryke meant well, having Asami emphasize Korra did nothing wrong, but it’s noted that Korra apologizes again for Hiroshi’s death. 

Now I have no qualms with the second apology. It’s a natural response, and it was about time the show addressed it. However, we now have too many instances of Korra looking sad and feeling guilty around Asami. I didn’t mention Rememberances because we’re talking about toxicity and the dialogue in that episode is fine. But when we pull in Korra and Asami’s lines from that episode, in which a sweet conversation spirals into Asami struggling to comfort Korra as she reveals her insecurities and concerns, it can overshadow the instances of happiness Korra feels when she’s with Asami. I don’t want a depressed insecure lover. I want lovers that inspire one another and look up to each other. That’s just not something we see a lot of in Korra & Asami in Book 4. 

Now let’s backtrack real quick to Korra and Asami’s Relationship Overview. I said Book 4 is up for interpretation if you don’t read the comics. Why? Because the comics state when Korra and Asami develop feelings for each other, which is in-between seasons. We have no way of knowing that in the show, so it’s up to the viewer to find enough context to know when Korra and Asami develop romantic feelings for each other. 

The narrative that makes the most sense and is more satisfying for the few lines in Book 4 that seem out of place, like Korra apologizing to Asami, is when I picture the girls already going out. I actually see them together at the start of Book 3, if I’m trying to be canon-compliant for the show (yeah, Korra moved on real quick 😭). Picturing the girls together makes Korra’s sadness and guilt less concerning because it adds on a complicated layer. She needed to heal, and in the process of healing, she cut ties with everyone, including her girlfriend. It’s understandable why Korra did it, but now I can empathize with both Korra and Asami instead of just being confused why Korra thinks she did something wrong.

The Perfect Relationship

Lol, they’re canon, so it’s not like they can not work out and break up. They’re also the first LGBT+ couple featured on a major television network. Bryke cannot mess up their relationship and treat it like Makorra or any other relationships that had issues. It would be beyond insulting because there’s so little representation. So I think they deserve to have a perfect relationship. To me, it’s in the same realm as Kataang, so even if Korra and Asami continue to fight, it’s going to work out and be handled maturely. Not just because they’re older and more mature, but because they’re canon, and Bryke can’t break from that.  

[cinnamonzor]

BrattyShipping Headcanons Pt. 2

Previous Installments: Part 1

Apprenticeship

- What, you thought I was just gonna gloss over the brunt of Bede’s character arc? Why would anyone wanna do that? It’s an awesome arc and it deserves to be shown.

- Whenever Opal’s tutelage got particularly frustrating, Bede’s primary method of motivating themselves into not murdering her was spite. While spite toward Chairman Rose became more prevalent as they grew to accept the reality of how he treated them (I mean, come on. He couldn’t even remember their name even after years of supporting them), they initially channeled their spite toward Victor and Gloria. In Gloria’s case, it was almost definitely actual spite, though in Victor’s case it was more generalized rivalry and determination to prove themselves to him (of course, they just interpreted this to be a different kind of spite).

- You know that trope that’s used in about 70% of fan-fics following Bakugou where the cocky asshole character is starting to pine for someone but interprets it as anger or something? That’s pretty much exactly what Bede goes through because they’re smart as hell but too emotionally dense to figure out they genuinely respect and are grateful to Victor.

- Since Hattrem/Hatterene is an empath, she is MORE than aware of her trainer’s actual feelings. She mostly just gives them the same disapproving look whenever they blatantly misinterpret their growing feelings for Victor. Were it not for her attachment to Bede, she probably would have strangled them at some point.

- Opal starts to pick up on at least their respect for him when he keeps going on about “finally showing him my true potential.” Being, well, Opal, she starts getting crafty and uses this knowledge to help motivate her protege.

- “You’re never going to get that boy’s attention with that sour attitude.” “My attitude is perfect! I can get his attention by stomping him into the dirt before he can process what’s happening!” “Perhaps, but where’s the fun in that? Only by channeling the essence of pinkness can you truly feel satisfaction in your victory.” “Hmm... True...” [Both looking smug for different reasons]

- Victor gave them his League Card when he received theirs (mostly out of courtesy), which they tack to a corkboard alongside Rose’s card in their new living space in Opal’s guestroom. They dub it their “vengeance board” and write motivational vows of spite on sticky notes that they tack around the pictures. Needless to say, this is one of Hatterene’s main sources of irritation at her trainer’s sheer emotional density.

- Meanwhile, Victor starts becoming increasingly unsettled by Rose in the wake of learning what he did to Bede. He begins to note occasional suspicious bits of his behavior and can’t shake the feeling that he’s not as nice as his usual demeanor displays. Oleana’s interference only serves to further his suspicion.

- Bede watches the League qualifiers with Opal, still fairly upset about not being able to compete themselves. Victor and Gloria defeat Marnie, Hop, and the other challengers to earn their roles in opposing brackets of the semi-finals. Upon watching the twins’ success, Opal and Hatterene note Bede’s notably differing reaction between, “figures that brat won,” and, “good. Looks like I finally have a chance to prove to that idiot what I’m truly capable of.” Opal finds it incredibly entertaining while Hatterene is damn near ready to break something over their head.

Galar League

- On the day of the semi-finals, Bede “sneaks” out to Wyndon to crash Victor’s impending match. Opal is well aware of their plans, but lets them without saying anything for her own amusement and as the final step in their quest to self-acceptance.

- Victor is fairly surprised to see Bede when they barge onto the battlefield, but he’s ultimately glad to see they’re doing okay. When Bede starts “pouring their heart out to him when they’ve never lost their cool before,” Victor is substantially surprised by the difference from the Bede he initially knew. He wholeheartedly accepts their challenge, even before the judges officially give the go-ahead, looking forward to seeing just how much Bede has grown.

- It was a surprisingly close match, but Victor ended up so engrossed in the battle that he practically forgot the massive crowd was surrounding them the entire time.

- After Bede’s defeat, Victor concurs with the crowd’s demands for them not to retire from battling, parroting his earlier sentiments that they shouldn’t lose hope after one mistake. It’s just not like them. Bede refuses to admit its Victor’s support that convinces them to continue their rise to the rank of gym leader, using the crowd’s will as an excuse that Victor easily sees through. He wishes Bede the best of luck in their endeavors on their way off the battlefield, which they reluctantly reciprocate towards Victor’s upcoming matches.

- Gloria grumps about Bede just lucking their way into a gym leader position, but Victor reminds her they’ve gone through a lot to get where they are and have clearly started working to make up for their mistakes. He finally convinces her to stop acting sour about it by reminding her that they are still very much being forced to put up with Opal’s antics, which brings a smug smile to his sister’s face.

- Bede continues watching the rest of the semi-final matches from the stands, sitting next to Marnie without actually recognizing her. She finds her best friend after the day’s matches are over and reports her observations of Bede’s not-entirely-concealed investment in his battles.

- After winning their way through their semi-final brackets, Victor and Gloria face off in the tournament finals to determine who will challenge Leon for the title of Champion. After Gloria ultimately claims victory, Bede storms down to the locker rooms and greets Victor with a bonk on the head and an appalled scowl as he steps into the hallway, informing Victor that they knew full well he made an intentionally sloppy call near the end of the match. Victor admits to somewhat throwing the match, explaining that he felt he made the right call. He states that the battle could always have ended up in either of their favors were it not for a couple lucky breaks, that Gloria was always more suited for the title, and that he never actually wanted to become Champion in the first place. Being Champion meant becoming the most sought-after public image in the region and regularly dealing with crowds and fans, plus it would make following his actual dreams more difficult due to the busy schedule of the role.

- Bede takes some time to accept Victor’s decision, but ultimately has no choice but to reluctantly acknowledge how much thought he put into it. When Victor inquires why Bede cares so much in the first place, they sputter about not wanting their rival to make them look worse by extension. Seeing through the tsundere act again, Victor plays along, but warmly thanks Bede for being so concerned about them anyway as he heads to watch the Championship match with Hop and Marnie.

Darkest Day/Championship Match

- While raiding Hammerlocke Stadium, Victor sends Hop and Gloria ahead while he battles Rose in the power core. As the two fight, Victor firmly calls out Rose’s shortsightedness, making a point to cite his neglectful and unnecessarily harsh treatment of Bede when it was obvious all they wanted to do was make him proud of them.

- Before Rose turns himself in for his actions, Victor has him write a formal apology to Bede, since his treatment of them was never really acknowledged in any of his other apologies. He hands it to them on their way to the stands before Gloria and Leon’s match, advising them to wait until after to look at it just to avoid any potential “unintended breaks in their cool.”

- Bede decides to trust Victor and reads Rose’s apology later that evening. They keep their distance for a bit, mostly since they know better than to crash the celebration the others throw Gloria just to talk to her brother. They have enough social awareness at this point to not show up uninvited to a party for someone who still clearly dislikes them where someone else they still have yet to make amends with (Hop) is guaranteed to be.

- They use their still fairly-prevalent roster of Psychic Pokemon to determine which hotel room Victor is staying in, writing a note on the now-empty envelope and slipping it under the door for him to find.

- As per the letter’s request, Victor heads to Wyndon’s Battle Cafe the next morning, where Bede waits to thank him somewhat less reluctantly than their other admissions have been. After Victor happily accepts Bede’s thanks, he inquires as to why Bede would go out of their way just to thank someone. Failing to deny that they went out of their way, Bede admits to both Victor and themselves that they’ve grown some sort of respect towards him.

- Victor warmly affirms Bede for their growth and restates that he feels they’ll be a great gym leader, as well as complimenting the genuine smile they show soon after. As they finish their brunch, Bede insists on finally exchanging contact information since “it’s only natural for rivals to have a basic means of contact.” Victor makes a joke about Bede asking for his number after a “successful date,” which mostly just invokes Bede’s pouty glare before swiping Victor’s Rotom Phone and plugging in their number before storming out.

- Victor ends up getting stuck with the bill, but he decides it’s worth it.

- When Bede returns to Ballonlea, Opal’s definitely connected the dots about their festering crush on Victor. She welcomes them back in her own fashion before informing them that she’s doubling down on Fairy-Type boot camp to make up for the days they were gone. Whether they admit it or not, Bede also believes it’s worth it.

- Hatterene just decides to accept their progress for now for the sake of her sanity.

Still more to come! We haven’t even gotten to the actual relationship yet! That’s like half the fun!

[bffhreprise]

Entry 345

 Water was running.  This sound was water.  I had never imagined water to have a sound, especially not one like what Mila played, but Jarod had assured me this really was water.  Without reading his lips, I wouldn’t have recognized the words immediately, but I would eventually… soon.  I couldn’t let Maxine feel she had beaten me.

 A new voice entered my ears, startling my eyes open.  “James, is that you?” I questioned, seeing words above displayed by Mila after I caught sight of him walking toward us.

 James’ voice had a soothing quality to it, much better than running water.  He had asked “How are things going?”

 “We’re acclimating her to hearing.  She’s getting all these sounds for the first time.” explained Maxine, watching James as easily as me.  She had developed the technology to see years ago, leaving me no time to catch up with the new tech.

 “Well, not the first, really.  Portentia could hear through the fey's visions, but she never had time to figure them all out.  She's still lip reading at this point to understand what we're saying.” corrected Jarod, though his eyes were still on me as I read what he had said.  He didn’t want me worrying about what people said around me yet, insisting I start with other sounds when we had started this.

 James’ lips turned down slightly as he said, “Ah.  Sorry.  Perhaps the concert was a bit too optimistic.”  Having him frown even a little spurred my determination even further.

 “No.  I can do this.” I assured him, knowing he wouldn’t mind me taking time while wishing I had already mastered this task.

 “Just don't overdo it.  There's no real rush.” he insisted as he studied my face.  “I merely thought this could be nice for you and wanted to give you the option.”

 Shaking my head slightly, I explained “James, I'm doing this.  Maxine can do it, so I can as well.”  There was no way I was ever going to let Maxine outdo me.  Villains must lose.

 “I'd love to see you design your own equipment.” stated Maxine, the sounds barely reaching my ears as I read what she had said.  Whispering.  The first whisper of my life came from my prisoner.

 “Let's see you beat me in a fight.” I taunted, knowing she didn’t have a chance.

 Her head snapped up to look at me in a satisfying way before she asked “Did you understand what I said!?”  The sound of her voice had changed as she spoke, growing louder and… sharper.

 For a moment, I was tempted to lie, just to remind her I had skills too, but lying to a captured enemy was beneath me.  “Look behind James.  Mila’s still helping me.” I told her, happy that she still didn’t see everything.

 “I didn't think we'd be able to fine-tune the input to her brain as quickly as we did, but Alma came down and helped us.” commented Jarod, his voice smooth and steady.  “Portentia was able to compare what she was hearing to what Alma projected into her head, and we adjusted accordingly.  She's really calmer now, isn't she?”

 “Oddly calm.  She didn't threaten me once.” agreed Maxine, her voice steady once more.  As much as I didn’t like hearing her, the difference of sound between her and the guys was notable.

 “She knows you're working with us now.” I stated, trying to pretend I didn’t mind Maxine being here.

 “Hooray for letting tyranny reign while you stop petty theft and gang wars.” she told me in a way where the sounds seemed steady, with less variation than normal.

 “You'll eventually see that we're doing far more than you currently think.  I promise you.” replied James before I even opened my mouth.

 The sound of water stopped, just as I had gotten used to it, and was replaced by something somewhat similar in a way.  “What's that?” I asked.

 “I’ll show you.” replied Mila, changing the mirror I watched into an image of a tree with wind blowing through its branches.

 After briefly viewing what I was, James turned to me, signing as he said, “Good luck.  Let me know if there's anything I can do for you.”

 I smiled and nodded, feeling somewhat envious of his abilities again as he easily jumped from the floor clear up to the lift in one enormous leap.  With strength like his, I could do even more good in the city.

,,,^._.^,,,

 After jogging into the garage, I stared down the lift to see my daddy reaching the bottom.  Before I could react, he was at the top.  “Daddy!” I exclaimed as I stepped away from the open lift.  “Mila told me you were down there.  Are you busy?”

 Shaking his head and smiling at me, he said, “Never too busy for you.  What's on your mind?”

 “Mila's taking me to the Intergalactic House of Awesome Sauce soon, and I wanted to know if you would ride along.” I explained, watching him hopefully.

 “Sure.  Let's go.” he told me, his smile broadening.

 “Mom’s busy.  She's on a con-... um… group call, so I just told her I was heading out.  I didn't know she worked.” I explained as I followed him out of the garage.

 He laughed and said, “Before our honeymoon, all she did was work.  She's missed it, though her perspective on it has changed a bit.  She'll gladly come along too if you ask.”

 “Nah.  That's okay.” I assured him, not wanting to tear Mom away from something she enjoyed.  Realizing the limo wasn’t waiting for us, I stared at the silver vehicle before us before asking “What's this?”

 “A remake of my first car.  You'll find a few more features than in the limousine, though there aren't refreshments.” he told me as he stepped through the open door.

 I nodded, walked around, and hopped inside, taking a better look at the interior.  “Sure is tiny in here.”

 “You've seen smaller vehicles.” he reminded me.

 “Yeah, but they flew.” I told him, wondering again how the people of this planet got anything done.

 He focused on me for a moment, casting a complicated spell that made my features look human.  Then he said, “I know, but you can visit your friends as often as you like.  Life isn't so bad here, is it?”

 Fighting a sudden impulse to blurt out everything on my mind, I took the time to sort my thoughts and think over his question.  Outside of home, the technology was practically stoneaged, but inside of the house was perfectly livable.  Mila made all of the difference, far surpassing even what I had seen on the most advanced planets I had visited with my parents.  Doing my best to put my thoughts into English, I said, “I like it here.  Everyone’s friendly, and my band is going to be amazing!  I'm not… umm…”  Frustratingly, I couldn’t think of the right words.  They were there, just waiting for me to remember, but...

 “Cheat.” ordered Daddy, smiling at me.  “Mom's not around to know.”

 I was certain that she’d know, but she wouldn’t say anything.  Grinning in relief, I said, “Accustomed to this world!  The technology is quaint!  I'm amazed Marco makes such incredible food using that weird kitchen.  How does he know when to remove the implements from the heat?  What are those things he sprinkles?  How does Emma change the size of the uncooked stuff with a touch!?”  Everything came out in a rush, but I knew I was slow compared with him.

 “Emma can control vegetation, even if it's been dead for years.  She was born with the ability, so I can't teach you to do it as she does.  As for the cooking, Marco was a traveler of this world for years and learned various ways to cook wherever he went.  You should try it.  Cooking here isn't as expedient as some other planets, but many find the process enjoyable.” he suggested encouragingly.

 Switching topics a little, I asked something that concerned me.  “Do you think everyone likes me?  I mean really likes me?”  I stared into his eyes, hoping to catch him slip for once, but his steady gaze held no answers.  “I know they feel happy when we're playing around, but… what if they're just happy about something else and I'm misinterpreting something?”

 “Dani, you're adored.” he assured me, smiling softly.

 “Not like you.” I argued, knowing I couldn’t really compete with Daddy for being loved.  “Even people you've bullied like you.”

 He frowned at me as he said, “I try not to bully anyone.”

 “I know.  You help people, but even my friends know your reputation.  Businesses have collapsed when they've caused you to frown.” I reminded him as memories of the countless stories came to mind.

 “I don't know that things have been that extreme recently.” he claimed.  “I simply cannot make everyone happy.”

 “What's ‘recent’ when you're a time traveler?” I argued, smirking at him.

 He rolled his eyes.  “Fair point, but you know what I mean.  Are you happy?”

 Smiling, I nodded and said, “Of course!  I'm with you and Mom.”

 He reached over and hugged me, since Mila was doing the actual driving.  “I don't want you to feel you're missing out.  We can always go traveling for a bit when you need to escape.” he insisted, his incredibly strong arms imprisoning me in their warmth.

 “Daddy, I'm fine!” I assured him, not wanting him to get the wrong idea just because I enjoyed hugs.  “Mila's perfectly capable of helping me study and reminding me of what's out there.  Don't worry.”  In fact, Mila was still teaching me about new worlds regularly.

 His expression grew serious as he said, “And you better still be fine when you're done visiting your friends.  If I find it that you've caused unnecessary trouble, I'll… umm…”  He hesitated, as if trying to come up with an appropriate punishment.

 “Be grateful I'm fine and hug me till you're certain!” I exclaimed, knowing he was teasing.  If something serious were to happen, he’d be there to help no matter what was foolish enough to step in his path.

 “Probably.” he agreed immediately, though I knew he agreed completely.

 The drive took a crazy amount of time, since we were confined to “roads”.  We did arrive eventually, after a great deal of chatting about places we had seen and where my friends might want to go with me this time.

 “No.  No, you don’t!” I exclaimed as Daddy’s door opened.

 He looked at me, seeming confused.

 “You know why!  My friends get distracted for hours every time they see you, wanting to talk about nothing else!” I insisted emphatically, knowing I was understating things.

 His hand was out, touching something I couldn’t see, probably the spell on me, but he nodded, giving my shoulder one last squeeze.  Soon, I’d be out flying ships, watching shows, or shopping for countless clothes I’d never get to wear on Earth.  Spending enough money that Daddy would care would require buying populated planets, so the doors to the universe were wide open.

[pazam]

To the Smile for Me community

I’m writing this to make a formal (and hopefully last) apology to the Smile for Me fandom. For those not aware, I was the subject of a few callout posts from a few people within the fandom. I had made a lengthy response to one of them and a day later deleted it. It was an ignorant decision as I no longer had any proof to condemn my former actions, but I mainly did it to keep it off this art-only blog and to prevent myself from getting upset every time I see it. With that being said--

Back in January, I was kicked off an Incredibles Discord server due to accusations of transphobia. In another server with the same people, I had approached them asking why they did so, and that’s where everything went downhill. Shortly after leaving the Discord server, I had DM’ed another user from the same server and helped me realize that my actions had truly hurt them. Looking back to what I said in the callout post was inexcusable in every sense of the word. Since then I have been trying to unlearn the things I’ve said back there. What I am trying to say here is that I have recognized my position as a cis person and that although I may have some slip-ups while improving, I hold no ill-will against trans people and I want to respect them the best I can.

That aside, some more posts came up concerning whitewashing and my Flower Kid’s age and their relationship between Dr. Habit. I will start with FK and Habit: as I’ve mentioned before in a previous post, their relationship is meant to be platonic and nothing else. I was made aware of the situation thanks to a few anons and I’m very sorry for the misinterpretation and to those I’ve made uncomfortable. They’ve originally started off as a self-insert of myself when I first became interested in s4m, but gradually changed into a character that’s more of a re-imagined version of myself when I was a teen. From now on any interactions between my FK and Dr. Habit will be less intimate-looking and all, let’s say romantic interactions will be limited to a true self-insert of myself in the future.

On the topic of whitewashing, in the same Discord server I had gotten into a brief argument over the character Blazestone from The Incredibles regarding her skin tone in the LEGO video game. I was very ignorant and quite frankly insensitive over the comments disagreeing with the canon design of her and I don’t think that way anymore. In regards to whitewashing Kamal in this post, I had edited it on my phone to enhance the quality of the picture without regarding his skin color. I had received some anon asks concerning said skin color, but deleted it as I didn’t want to publicly admit it outright. I felt like I had gotten his skin tone right based on the unedited photo here, but next time I will try and monitor the enhancement/experiment with the colors more accurately to better portray Kamal and other non-white characters in the future.

I don’t expect forgiveness after publishing this, but I hope some of you understand. I honestly didn’t mean to make anyone in this community upset after the callout posts were made but here we are. I am by no means perfect, but I want to be the best I can without being disrespectful and insensitive to anyone. If you’re still uncomfortable after everything I said and want to unfollow/block me, that’s fine. If you want to keep following, that’s fine too. Just know that I am working towards being better and that I am sorry to those I’ve offended or made uncomfortable. If anyone needs clarification over certain aspects of this post please DM me. Thank you.

Edit: There was an anon who approached me in a now deleted ask telling me they were confused over me assuming that younger people automatically know about trans stuff from one of the screenshots. Basically what I was trying to say is that because I’ve been on this site for so long and have come across multiple young trans kids, I had assumed that because they’ve experienced being trans at a young age that they were more knowledgeable than older ones, cis or trans. Obviously, this is a very bizarre and inaccurate way of thinking this way and now know that the trans community as a whole comes in a wide array of ages as it does genders. Sorry for the confusion.

Edit 2: I should also mention that I am autistic, so it is difficult for me to organize and process my thoughts into words. As a result my comments can sometimes come off as confusing or tactless. However, I will not let my disability excuse the actions I have caused.

[bluebellhairpin]

The Girl Who Knew The End {4}

While We’re Here

Thorin Oakenshield X Fem!Reader

Chapter Three // “I Was With Child”

Chapter Four // (You’re Here!)

Chapter Five // Faster and Faster

A/N: I re-watched An Unexpected Journey and now I need to lie down for a while. -Nemo

Summary: Thorin’s Company has now reached Rivendell, and (y/n) finally has some truthful light shed on her purpose in Middle-Earth.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist  

{Edited 25-02-2020}

After a nice hunt through the troll’s cave - and then being hunted yourselfs by orcs and their horrible wargs - you’d made it safely into what you recognised as an entrance to Rivendell. 

On your travels to Bag-End, you’d passed by the outer-rims of elvish territory. It looked amazing from  what you distantly saw, but you weren’t really prepared for how amazing it was close-up. 

You were near the front of the group, wanting to be out of earshot of Thorin and his grumblings about the elves despite your recent agreement of further tolerance. You wanted to enjoy this, which meant not having the experience tainted by the grudge-filled king.

“(y/n),” Gandalf said, a twinkle of something unrecognizable in his eyes as he spoke, “As you remember it?” you gaped up at him for a few moments before nodding.

“Better, if I’m honest. Nothing compares to the real thing, especially if you’ve only seen it through a glass screen.” you said, and he chuckled at your words. Some of the other Company members were confused at your remark, but they were mostly used to your incoherent phrazes- if they weren’t by now there was something wrong with them. 

“Good,” Gandalf started, “I believe you might like it here.” His final comment made Thorin’s gumblings a little louder, which brought a smile to your lips. He was becoming more tolerable, or maybe you were just getting used to how he acted in general. Either way, you found yourself not minding his upset demeanor, it was more enduring than annoying now. 

A little treck further leads you and your group down to an entrance to the main building in the water-filled valley. Thorin and the other dwarves were instructed to not speak, and leave it all to Gandalf, not that they were too happy about it. 

When what you recognised as Elrond and his hunting party approach, the others all got ready in fighting stances. You rolled your eyes a little, knowing the elf lord wasn’t going to hurt them, and couldn’t help but bring yourself towards the front of the group with Thorin and Dwalin. 

You couldn’t help but be drawn to Elrond. You were led here to find answers to the map Thorin had to Erebor, but maybe he’d know about how you got to Middle-Earth, and what you needed to do to get back home. 

“Does he offer us insult?” Golin asked, pointing at Elrond as the elf’s lips twitched into a small and amused smile at the dwarfs misinterpretation of the elves native tongue.

“No, master Golin. He is offering you food.”

“Well, in that case, lead on.” And at that everyone lowered their guard again. Well, except for Thorin. You had a feeling he would be tense for a much longer time, and you didn’t even have to be an ‘all-knowing other-worldly being’ to see that. 

“Milady, I believe I haven’t yet come to know you.” Elrond said, falling in step next to you as you all were lead up the flight of stairs, Thorin a few steps behind you - busy eyeing the elf.

“I’m (y/n), from Earth.” you said, “I… I think you might be able to help me get back there.” 

“Earth?” he thought for a moment, “I think I have heard of it before. However, isn’t it a place of fiction? A realm made up by our ancestors to yield stories from?” 

“Fiction?” You repeated breathlessly, looking up to see Gandalf swaying in his steps, clearly having heard your conversation, and was almost as shocked as you. How he didn’t tell you this before was bad- very bad for you - but very in-character for him. “That can’t be right. Earth is my home, I have family there - a life there! It can't be fictional.” 

Elrond shook his head, seemingly plunged into deep thought. 

“If anyone would know, Lady Galadriel would. But I do not wish to disturb her.” He said, looking down at you. 

“Oh, no. That’s not necessary. Like you say, there’s no point disturbing her with something so strange.” You said, opposed to meeting such a higher being. Surely that’s almost like being in a room with an angel. You feared you might faint. That or Thorin might burst a vein from frustration at you seeming to like elves company more than dwarves.  

“Do you know her?” Elrond started, looking down at you, surprised, “You seem to know a little about her.”

“Um, you might say that.” You said after a few beats, and Elrond looked at you with a small hit of realisation. Nodding, he looked ahead, folding his arms behind him.  

“How about I speak to her for you? Gandalf and I need to speak to her anyway, and that way you can still get answers without having to leave your company.” You nodded at Elrond’s offer, taking a glance back at Thorin to meet his eyes. They seemed to soften when they reached yours, but you decided to play that off as a trick of the lighting.

Soon the company had all gathered for dinner, most unhappy with the food choices set out before them, but you, after such a long time eating food suited for travel, welcomed the change with almost opened arms. 

You were sitting at the end of Kili's table, next to Bifur and Nori. You could see Thorin from where you sat and decided he didn’t look happy with Elrond and Gandalf at all - abhit relieved when Gandalf came - but still annoyed. You caught his gaze once or twice, making sure to pull a face in hopes to cheer him up or make things more bearable. It seemed to work, considering he cracked a smile once or twice.

Night fell, and you knew that by now Thorin had gone to speak with Elrond, but you decided he could do that on his own, and instead stayed with the rest of the Company, listening to their stories and joyous laughter now they were in a place where danger wasn’t so dominant over their thoughts. 

Thorin soon came back, along with the others he took with him, and Elrond and Gandalf followed behind.

“Lady (y/n), a word, please?” Elrond said, standing near the doorway. You scrambled to your feet and almost teleported over to his side with how fast you moved if it weren’t for Thorin grabbling your forearm as you went passed. 

“Thorin.” You said, voice low as you tugged your arm lightly, warning him as to what might happen if he didn’t let go. 

“Let me come with you.” he said quietly, you had to take a moment to process what he said. He wasn’t stopping you, not at all. 

“Why?” You asked, looking back at Elrond, of which was patiently waiting a little ways off.

“You might need the… Support. Just in case.” he explained. You almost couldn’t believe it. Not only two days ago Thorin wouldn’t have cared much less, and here he was offering emotional support. 

You tasted some damn good character development.

You nodded at him, and soon after he fell in step behind you as you followed the elf towards a more secluded area. 

“I spoke to Lady Galadriel. She sensed you coming, wondered how long it’d take you to reach her or us for help, advice, or guidance. She was surprised at how efficient you were at reaching Bag End in such a short time, with so many trials.” As Elrond spoke he motioned for you to sit at one of the stone benches at the balcony you’d all reached. 

Thorin came up to stand behind you, and the warmth you felt coming off him was a welcomed reassurance. You almost felt sick at what Elorld might say about you getting home.

“I myself was shocked to find out why you are here, or what Galadriel believes you’re here for.” 

“And what’s that?” Thorin said, crossing his arms and widening his stance a little more.

“To protect you.” Elrond said, looking between you and him, “Or more specifically the royal line of Durin. You and your nephews. Middle-Earth seems to have decided the fate once set for you and them is no longer suitable.” Elrond continued, speaking between both you and Thorin. “(y/n) is here to change your fates.” 

“But, how do I get home?” You asked, voice quiet and eyes wide, less concerned for Thorin and more concerned for how you could get back to your world.

“Die in battle. Sword of steel or bronze, Dragonfire, Warg, Goblin or Troll.” He said bluntly, looking dramatically across the rest of Rivendell. “But not by sicknesses, or at the hands of orcs.” 

“Pardon?” You said, almost screeching as your knuckles started turning white from holding onto the cold bench beneath you. “Do you know how many orcs we’ll run into? How many of everything you just said that we’ll run into? I could die and not have protected Durin’s line! Or worse! I could die and not go back home!” 

“Galadriel did mention that, everything in fact. But in the end you’ll be fine.” 

“How do you know that?” Thorin said, stepping around the bench to stand between you and the elf.

“She has something inside her, a power or force. I felt it before you even came into the tunnel that led you here. Almost all the high elves did. I’m guessing it was how Gandalf found her to begin with. She’ll be a great help to you, and your journey. You must only trust her.” 

Thorin looked back at you, mouth opened a little, and you felt your expression mirrored his a awful lot.

“Do you trust her?” Elrond said, looking fully at Thorin now as the dwarf looked back at him. Thorin took a few breaths, and turned back to you. 

“Yes. It’s taken a while but I do. I trust her.” He spoke with a faint smile. You guessed it might’ve been a little bigger if Elrond wasn’t here, but at this point you’ll take what you can get. You were finding Thorin to be not so bad after all. Not anymore. 

“If you’ve heard enough, I’ll be on my way. Leave you both to it.” he said.

“Thank you, Lord Elrond.” You called to the elf, Elrond nodded, smiling at you, before starting off down one of the hallways, and he didn’t look back.

“So let me get this right,” Thorin started, turning back to face you with a hand in his hair, “We run into Dragonfire? Wargs and Orcs?” he asked, looking at you from through a few strands of hair.

“You mustn’t tell the others. It could ruin everything. Even knowing yourself changes the whole game. What I do in the future might not work anymore.” You tried to explain, but your limited knowledge of what happened to them, and what you could remember from other movies back in your world about time-travel and future-seeing was, well… Limited. 

“And what he said… About my fate, and that of Fili and Kili’s. Is that true too?” You could only look at him as he spoke, mostly in fear of having said too much, but also because you didn't want to hurt him. “I can’t believe it.”

“You must, Thorin. You have to trust me, and those around you. You don’t need to do things alone.” You said, standing and making you way over to him to rest a hand on his wrist, using your other to brush the hair away from his face. “Not anymore.”

“You really are special, aren’t you.” He said, his smile finding its way to his lips again as he slowly moved his hand to lace his fingers with yours.

“I know Thorin. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Series Taglist:  @pigeonsbones  @captainrainbowpanda @theabandonedchocolate @violentmommabear42 @thorins-queen-of-erebor

[kriscme]

One Life To Live

Hi Readers, here’s the latest chapter.  As usual, thanks to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take” which you can read on FanFiction and AO3.  Chapter 25 Soon after we arrive, I set to work sweeping the floor clear of dust with the twig broom my father made for me.  Then I take a few logs from the woodpile in the corner and transfer them to the fireplace for use later on.   That done, cooking and eating utensils are placed by the hearth.  Sleeping mats are unrolled, sleeping bags are shaken out and then arranged on top.   It’s like playing house again.  Just as I did when my father brought me here as a child.   I survey my work, satisfied that I’ve made our accommodation as comfortable as I can make it.  I’ve put about three feet between the sleeping mats.  Not so close as to be an invitation, but not so far apart that it looks like I’m keeping him at a distance either.  Because I’m not yet sure how I should proceed. This is all so new to me, and I’m hopelessly out of my depth.  Gale, Peeta even, belong to my teenage years and kissing was as far as it went.  An adult relationship comes with a different set of expectations.  I have to be careful that I don’t start something that could quickly escalate into something I’m not ready for.   But something has started already, a little voice reminds me.  It started when you returned his kisses.   I put my hand to my lips at the memory.  Yes, I returned them.  And with such enthusiasm that it took Marcus by surprise.  But he recovered quickly, and matched passion with passion.  We stumbled over to the couch, displacing a furious Buttercup as we collapsed onto it, barely breaking the kiss.  I welcomed his hand on my breast, and the hand on my behind pulling me against his hardness.  Even the hand between my legs, stroking through the thick fabric of my khaki trousers.   But when he whispered “bedroom” in my ear, I froze.  I was like Haymitch, jolted to rude consciousness by a jug of cold water poured over my head. Shocked, disorientated, confused. What was I doing?  I’m in love with Peeta.  I muttered something about moving too fast and Marcus accepted it, perhaps putting it down to District conservativeness when it comes to sex.   He’s been very solicitous of me these past few days but there’s been no more kisses.  It’s like he’s giving me my space.  The only thing is that I’m not sure I want it.

Since I see no clear solution to the problem, I push it aside for the time being and set to my next task which is to cast out fishing lines to catch my dinner.  Marcus has brought cans of beans and dehydrated meals you add water to. ��While I don’t dislike beans, they’re no substitute for freshly caught fish. I brought along my bow but it’s for protection from predators and it won’t be used to bring down waterfowl on this trip. Marcus hasn’t said anything about my hunting, but I suspect anyone who is both conservationist and a vegetarian probably wouldn’t approve.  When the woods are turned into national park, there will be restrictions on hunting. Maybe even a ban.  I have mixed feelings.  I never hunted for sport, only for food.  But it was a hard-earned skill, and one I’ve been very proud of. I can see why it has to be done. I’d much rather a forest teaming with life than a free-for-all for trigger-happy hunters to practice their target shooting. But it will be a sad day, none-the-less.   And that’s another thing that won’t stay the same.  

But what is still the same, for now anyway, are the lake and the concrete house.   To my relief, they were exactly as I left them. Neither showed any sign of recent human activity.  But it’s only a matter of time before others discover it too.  At little more than a half day walk from the meadow, it’s a wonder it hasn’t happened already.   Once the lines are out, there’s nothing to do but wait.  I flop down onto a grassy spot near the bank to enjoy the sunshine and the scenery.   It’s a lovely day.  The sun is warm, but not hot.  The breeze is gentle and just cool enough to be refreshing.  Nature is bountiful here.  Ducks and geese float serenely on the lake.  Birds chatter in the trees.  Frogs croak and the scent of pine fills the air.  In the distance, I see Marcus exploring the area, making notes and taking measurements.  Perhaps he’s planning a viewing platform or something. He said he wants to keep the lake as untouched as possible.  No hunting or fishing huts like they had in the past.   My mind wanders to other times spent here.   With my father, who taught me how to swim in this very lake, and where to dig for katniss roots.   With Gale when I tried to persuade him to escape with me into the woods.  He told me he loved me that day.  But I couldn’t say it back and it changed things between us, far more than the kiss ever did.  At least I could pretend the kiss never happened, since Gale said nothing about it when we next met.  But once a friend has declared love, and it’s not returned, the friendship is over. Maybe not straight away, but its demise is inevitable.  There’s no going back. Peeta would have thought of this. Especially since he’s to be married soon.  Too awkward and painful for all concerned.  Better to put it out of its misery than have it die a lingering death. I haven’t seen him since that strange conversation on my porch when he told me he’d see me around.  The next morning, when I left for work, I didn’t wait for him but marched briskly towards the town.  But I couldn’t help looking back every few minutes, hoping that I had somehow misinterpreted his meaning, and he was behind me trying to catch me up.  He wasn’t.   And then I think of my very last visit to the lake almost a year ago.  It was a stifling hot day.  I had ventured outside with the intention of checking on Haymitch but instead caught Peeta as he was about to go into town.  He was to meet Lace at the swimming pool where they were having swimming lessons together. He asked me along, but the prospect of spending an afternoon in their company as some kind of hanger-on was the last thing I wanted. Suddenly at a loss, I abandoned my earlier plan to visit Haymitch and headed for the woods. All I could think about was Peeta and how suited Lace was for him, and how I wasn’t.  My self-esteem was at its lowest ebb.  I couldn’t think of one admirable quality I possessed.  I couldn’t imagine why anyone would love me.

Instinct more than anything must have propelled my feet towards the lake.  Maybe because this place reminds me of my father and a time when I felt loved.  I ended up staying overnight, unwilling to face the long walk back in the heat.  There was a Victor’s dinner that night but it didn’t occur to me that I’d be missed.   But I was.  They phoned me several times until Haymitch was dispatched to my house to look for me.  I met Peeta the next day as he was headed into town.  He said he had been worried about me, that anything could have happened.  He did look as if hadn’t slept, so maybe he had worried, but he didn’t try to find me.  I didn’t ask why at the time. It didn’t even occur to me.  I was too resentful at the presumption that I couldn’t look after myself.  But still, I could have been stranded in the woods with a broken leg for all he knew.  And here he was, on his way to see Lace. I followed him into town, as he asked.  He had something to tell me that apparently couldn’t wait.   I wasn’t to come over at night anymore to sleep in his guestroom because it made him a bad boyfriend.  I recall he had a visitor that night, probably Lace.  I guess that’s why it was so urgent.  Can’t have the ex-fiance turning up in the middle of the night when the new girlfriend is staying over.   Looking back, that’s when I should have seen the signs and ended it.  None of this insistence that he get his memories back.  All it led to was a year of futility and frustration.  I should have known that my Peeta was dead when his first instinct was to protect Lace rather than me.   I can’t be mad at him.  This is what the hijacking was meant to achieve.  That it didn’t succeed in its full objective to make him completely hate me, is of little comfort.  It took what I cherished most and killed it.  The steadfast devotion was gone.  So too was the undying love.   Perhaps, since he couldn’t love me the way he used to, I should be thankful that Peeta put a stop to the guestroom sleep-overs.   At least it gave me the impetus to make a stand, and get off my backside and do something with my life.  I have friends and a job I love now.   And there’s a man who seems to like me a lot. He’s over by the concrete house right now, getting a campfire started.  He’s not my boyfriend, but would he be, if I opened that door? All I know is that it’s far too soon for me to love anyone.  Anyway, there can’t be much future in it.  He won’t be staying in 12 for ever and I can’t go anywhere.   When I check the fishing lines, I find one has caught a nice trout.  It’s not very big, but plenty enough for one person.  I remove the hook from its mouth and take a folding knife from my pocket to clean and scale it.  Then I walk over to where Marcus is.  He’s got the fire burning nicely and is in the process of emptying a can of beans into a saucepan.   “I’ve got my dinner,” I announce brightly, holding my fish aloft. He glances my way just long enough to take in the fish before he turns his attention back to the beans.  He says nothing. “What?” I exclaim.  His back is turned to me, but I see disapproval in every line. “Nothing,” he says, barely deigning to look at me.  “But I don’t see why you had to kill another living creature when we have plenty of food.   Which, by the way, is undersized. It should have been thrown back.” I stand there gaping at him, completely taken aback.  I’m not used to receiving criticism from Marcus and it takes a few seconds to find my voice.

“It is not undersized.  Well, maybe a little, but not by much.  I don’t get this.  You know I hunt.  Why shouldn’t I eat fish if that’s what I want.  Not everyone wants to eat rabbit food all the time.  Like you.”   “Rabbits don’t eat beans,” he says.  He calmly places the saucepan of beans on the metal grate before standing and turning his attention to me.  “I just don’t see the need to eat meat, that’s all, when we can live very well on a vegetarian diet. “You eat milk and eggs,” I say accusingly. “They come from animals.” “Yes, but we don’t kill the animal to get them. When this place becomes a national park, they’ll be no fishing.  But it’s done now, so you might as well eat it.  It will have lost its life for nothing if you don’t.” I’m so annoyed, I want to take my fish and slap him across the face with it.  It’s almost as if my very reason for existence has been challenged.  My hunting skills are what kept me alive in the Games.  Hunting is what kept myself and my family fed.  He’s never had to worry about where his next meal comes from.  It must be so nice to have choices. “I don’t see that I’ve done anything wrong. Big fish eat little fish.  Big animals eat smaller animals. It’s how nature works.  So get over it.” I look around for something to put my fish in but I don’t see a frying pan.   But then I remember I put some cooking things by the hearth in the concrete house. That suits me just fine.  I could use some distance from Marcus right now. Besides I don’t want to use his fire.  I want my own.  I wouldn’t want to contaminate his by using it to cook meat.  Maybe tomorrow I’ll roast a duck.  That’ll show him. The trouble is that it’s hard to start a fire with just logs.  You need some kind of kindling, and there’s nothing in the house that will do.  I did too good a job sweeping it clean of leaves and other debris.   “Katniss”, I hear him call out.   “What are you doing?”

“I’m cooking my fish like you said I should.” Footsteps approach and I know by the shadow that falls across the room that he’s standing at the entrance.   “Look, this is ridiculous.  Come and cook the fish out here.  I’ve finished heating the beans.  The fire’s all yours. I’m sorry if it came across as judgmental. It’s just something I feel strongly about but I don’t expect you to feel the same.  You should enjoy your fish.”   Somewhat mollified, I rise from my crouched position by the hearth to follow him outside.  But then he ruins it.   “And, anyway, there shouldn’t be two fires when one will suffice.”   “You shouldn’t have made a new fire in the first place,” I return hotly. “Doesn’t it say somewhere in your camping books that you should always use an existing site rather than make a new one? And I’d already stacked it with wood.” “I didn’t want to smoke out . . . Katniss, just get out here before I come in and carry you out.  You’re being childish.”   “I’m being childish?” I screech indignantly.   He’s blocking my way, but I go to push past him.  “What about – “

My words are suddenly cut off by his lips on mine.  One arm encircles my body to pin my arms to my sides while the other cradles the back of my head.   I struggle briefly but it’s a token attempt and he knows it. The kiss goes on for a long time.  “Go cook your fish,” he whispers against my lips.   And then he pushes me gently outside. My fish is delicious.  I stuff the inside with wild herbs and pan fry it gently so that the skin crisps but doesn’t burn.  It would go well with roasted katniss roots and I decide to search for some tomorrow.  Marcus shouldn’t have a problem with katniss roots since they are plants.  That is, unless plants are protected in a national park too.  Perhaps I shouldn’t risk it.  But then I think of the kiss, so maybe I will.  My appetite has been whetted for something else besides food.

I wonder if I’m a bad person for having lustful thoughts about Marcus.  Only days before I was having them about Peeta. I would have given anything to have him sweep me into his arms, tell me that it was really me he had loved me all along and that Lace was a terrible mistake he’ll regret for the rest of his life, and then make passionate love to me.  And to be honest, I still would.  But that’s impossible and there’s no sense in thinking like that anymore. I’m twenty years old, a virgin, and the most I’ve ever done is kissing, and there’s been very little of that in recent years.  It dawns on me that I’m starved for physical affection.  And not just affection either.  I want sex.  Hot, unbridled, to-hell-with-the consequences sex.  Like the sex Celia had in that silly show “One Life to Live.”  Not the sandwich thing though.  Oh, who am I kidding, I almost feel reckless enough to try that too. I’ve nothing to lose.  Certainly not Peeta.  And I know Marcus wants it, only he’s too much of a gentleman to push me any further than where I put a halt to it the other night. I’m the one who’s going to have to make a move, then.   Only I don’t have the first clue how to go about it. While Marcus is occupied cleaning cooking utensils, I sneak inside the concrete house and push the sleeping mats together. I hope he gets the hint.  I hold my hand to my mouth to check my breath. I should brush my teeth.  The rest of me could do with freshening up too.  I take from my pack a toiletry bag and a large wash cloth that doubles as a towel and pad out to the lake.  Marcus has disappeared somewhere, maybe to find a tree a suitable distance away.  He doesn’t like to pee too close to a water source.   Dusk has fallen, but there’s still enough light to make out my surroundings.  I set my things by the lake’s edge and remove my shoes and socks.   I dip a toe in to test the water.  It’s freezing.  A sponge bath then.  I brush my teeth and then remove my shirt to wash under my arms.  But it’s hopelessly inadequate.   I want to be clean all over. Hurriedly, I take off all my clothes, grab the bar of soap (eco-friendly, of course), and wade out far enough until the water is past my thighs.   It’s the fastest bath I’ve ever had.  Soap, rinse, get out.  It’s not the cold so much that makes me rush, it’s the thought of Marcus coming across me naked.  Which is really stupid, because I hope we both are by night’s end.  But since there’s still no sight of him, I relax a little and take my time toweling myself dry.  I forgot to bring something to change into and since I don’t want to put my dirty clothes back on, I bundle everything together and dash towards the house. I’ll put something on when I get inside. “Enjoy your dip?” asks Marcus.   The logs in the fireplace have been lit and the small room flickers with light.   He raises his eyebrows as he takes in my appearance.  I’ve stopped dead at the entrance, clutching my bundle of boots, clothing and toiletry bag close to my body.  I raise it higher to cover my breasts and then hastily lower it again when I realise I’ve exposed my crotch.  What a disaster! “It was cold,” I stammer out.   “Come by the fire and warm up then.”  

He moves aside to make room for me.  It does look inviting.  He and the fire both, actually.  I hesitate as to what I should do about my unclothed state.  There’s nowhere to hide in this small, single-roomed house: no shadowy corner, no curtain or door.  And it’s not like I can move without flashing my backside too.  I hesitate for a few seconds, undecided, but then somewhat incongruously, a naked Johanna in an elevator comes to mind. What would Johanna do?   She’d likely go stand naked by the fire as if it’s the most ordinary thing in the world.   I recall that Marcus paid her no mind when she stripped in front of him.  Female nakedness apparently doesn’t faze him.  It’s no big deal then.  He’s already seen everything anyway.  And I do want to have sex with him.   What message does it send if I can’t wait to cover up?  So I decide to do something completely not myself.  I drop my things in a corner and go to stand beside him in front of the fire.  If it’s possible to blush all over, then I accomplish it.   To ease the tension, I blurt out the first thing I think of.   “I thought you said a fire in here would smoke us out.”   That’s great, Katniss.  Start an argument, why don’t you?   You want to seduce him, not fight with him. “I was wrong,” he says mildly.  “You know this place far better than I do.  I should have taken my cue from you.” “Yes, you should.  I mean should’ve.  About the fire . . . and other things.”  My eyes go to the sleeping mats, as close together as you can get them.  Suddenly I have the jitters.  It’s part excitement, part panic.  What if he doesn’t want to have sex with me after all?  I’m going to feel like the biggest fool.   “I won’t make that mistake again.”  He lays a hand against my back and trails it slowly downwards until it comes to rest on my hip.  “Your skin feels hot.  You shouldn’t stand so close.” I let out a nervous giggle.  “I’m the girl on fire, remember?  I love some heat.”  Shit, I can’t believe I said that.  It was so bad.   “Where else you do like to feel hot?”   The hand on my hip moves upwards, skimming my waist, and then over my ribs to cup my breast and lightly stroke the nipple.  “Here?”

“Yeah,” I say weakly.  

Desire puddles between my legs and I forget about being nervous.  I just want him to keep doing what he’s doing.  

He turns me towards him and both arms go around me.  He dips his head to trail open kisses along the side of my neck.  “Here?”  

“Mm.” I clutch at his back to help me stay upright.  My legs seem to have trouble supporting me.  

“And here?”  He takes each nipple in his mouth by turn, nibbling gently.  And then he kisses me, slowly and sensuously like we all the time in the world.

“Bedroom,” I whisper into his ear.  But before we take the half-dozen steps to our sleeping mats, there’s something I have to tell him.  

“I haven’t done this before,” I confess.  I don’t want him to think I do this kind of thing every day.

“I know.”

“How?”  I pull back, prepared to be affronted.  Was my seduction technique so bad?  As far as he knows, Peeta and I had been lovers.  We were going to have a baby!

He stops my mouth with another kiss.  “I just do.”

[proheromidoriyashouto]

My Good Neighbor, an Inko x Rei Neo-Noir AU

After her divorce and once she’s solely an out-patient, Rei becomes a Private Investigator Jessica Jones-style out of her new apartment in Musutafu. Her reason for this is in part to reclaim her independence, but also to help save others as she wished she could have saved her children. A Shiketsu graduate, she was only a sidekick for a brief time before she was married off to Endeavor and begins the lengthy process to re-acquire a hero license to then function as an underground hero. She finds that she needs assistance and finds it in none other than her neighbor, Midoriya Inko, who is a crime lab technician.

Inko introduced herself once Rei moved in next door but didn’t reveal her occupation until she wound up outside Rei’s office/living room when a disgruntled client started a fight in the apartment. Inko initially hesitates before going out and witnesses a man crash through the glass window of the door with a yell. The man recovers quickly and moves threateningly toward her but Inko whips out a beanbag shotgun she was hiding behind her skirt and tells him to back down. Rei emerges, a katana in hand, and the situation is diffused by the man’s departure via police car.

Rei didn’t have her license to use her quirk  in the beginnings, and makes use of a “decorative” katana that came with her dowry so long ago. Enji had it hung up on a wall in a locked, clear case that only he had the key to, preserving family heirlooms he’d told her parents the last time she saw them, is a duty the Todoroki take with utmost responsibility. A lie to ensure her family’s legacy remained apart from their children-- another familial obligation to burden her heroic spirit with. Free of him, she’s taken it up again sans quirk and it is her main means of protection. Shouto is fascinated and awed by the sight of her wielding the blade so elegantly even all these years out of practice, and they bond over developing her ancestral style into something new, better suited to the modern era, and just theirs.

Rei’s feelings toward her relatives are mixed as they essentially sold her off, but her lessons in kenjutsu were some of the fondest memories of her adolescence and were what she had built her short-lived heroic persona around. Older and out-of-practice, she treats physical violence as a last resort, all the while honing her skills in the event of a throw-down. She leans into vintage-styled dress reminiscent of the classic trench-coat-and-fedora detectives of old-- and not so old, in Naomasa’s case-- but casual enough in appearance that she isn’t written off as a PI at a glance. Once she gets her hero license, a company creates several armored variants of her outfits-- proper costumes for undercover/underground hero work.

She investigates villains sure, but also heroes who are accused or suspected of corruption. Her ex-husband, regrettably, is still the Number One in the wake of All Might’s retirement and it’s a constant source of consternation and turmoil. Rei cannot put her own abuser away as it would threaten the tenuous balance between law and anarchy in their shaken society, and as much as she wants justice for her children if not herself, she knows that now is not the time. Shouto reassures her that once his class has graduated, they’ll oust Endeavor and carry the system on their shoulders better than their predecessors. She’s waited over 20 years-- she can persevere a while longer.

Rei realizes she needs to get forensic assistance from a new lab after spotting members of the Endeavor Agency at the usual place and only just escapes unnoticed. Rather than risk her ex-husbands’ possible spies she’ll have to take matters into her own hands so to speak. She registers her apartment as the headquarters for her own underground agency so she can set up a connected crime lab, but she struggles with what to call it. She’s foregone a proper hero name for much the same reason as her old name isn’t indicative of who or what she is anymore or what her goals are now. Up until now she’s been introducing herself as Rei-san, Private Investigator, hiding her re-earned hero status by omission, but with an agency she’ll need a name.

Shouto often comes by to discuss his life and the current bit of youth culture he’s adapting to, which it so happens to be video games that week. He’s intrigued by interactive visual stories he can alter on a whim and loves to delve into rich background lore because of the mysteries he can spend hours solving. Her family wasn’t so traditional that she never had the opportunity to partake herself, but its an area of interest long forgotten to her at present. Nonetheless, she likes listening to Shouto as he describes the plots and make decisions he instantly regrets only to yelp and hopelessly try to salvage the situation due to misinterpreted dialogue options, spends hours on menial low-reward tasks for the accomplishment alone, takes out aggression on enemies with silly exaggerated weapons and giggle at the absurd physics while doing so-- as he acts like a typical teenage boy.

He especially enjoys playing heroic characters, doing good because it’s what you should do and not because you are forced into the profession. She hopes she can be a hero idol for him where she failed as a mother, even if she’s making up for it now. They’re both surprised upon finding out that there is a hero who looks like her in the game! Shouto spent quite a while designing his character to look like him- as always- with long white hair, and in the costume provided looks astonishingly like Rei in her Media Appearance outfit: The Silver Shroud, operating out of the Memory Den. When she makes a quick change into her own outfit and stands beside the television, her adorable son can’t keep his head still as he notes all the similarities with stars in his eyes, and the decision is made for her. She’s the Silver Shroud and this is their Memory Den.

The decal on the glass of her door is changed from “Rei’s Investigations” to “The Memory Den” and she’s on her way. It’s soon after this that a man who was displeased to find that his lover was not cheating so he could force them to break up with him over the resulting confrontation barges in and threatens her for “ruining everything.” She tries to talk him down, but he is incensed, and they struggle briefly before she sends him flying out the glass with a measured application of her quirk and a kick to the chest. She’s surprised by the arrival of her next-door neighbor- a kind, small woman whose name is familiar though she can’t quite place it- leveling a shotgun at the man like she knows what she’s doing. The former client is forced to wait as Rei calls for a patrol car to take him away, leaving the two women alone.

Inko was recognized by the officers which initially led Rei to believe she was a cop herself before she properly introduced herself as a crime lab technician.

***

“Oh, I’m sorry for interfering with your work. If I’d known you were a hero I wouldn’t have gotten in your way! I just heard what sounded like a fight and a man’s voice and I know you live alone and I’m not an officer or a hero, but I have weapons’ training, so I thought—"

“No, no. It’s perfectly understandable. Rei smiled assuredly. Most people wouldn’t have tried to help, whatever the case, so that you did is admirable. You shouldn’t apologize for it regardless of my position.”

Flustered, Inko replied. “O-oh, well, I am sorry, I know most heroes would feel disrupted… but, um, at least let me say I’m glad you’re alright, then.”

“Likewise.” Rei gestured toward the shotgun, concern tilting her mouth into a frown. “Are you used to handling yourself? I had thought this area was safe.”

“Yes, I am. It’s, ah, not live munition- it’s loaded with beanbag rounds. I’ve only fired it once, though!” Inko sighed. “Honestly? It was safer when I first moved in, but that isn’t why I have Clem, here.”

“Clem?”

Inko flushed and jostled the shotgun pointedly. “Clementine. See, erm, there were… killings a few years ago. The victims were crime scene lab techs. My colleagues.”

Rei’s eyes widened.

“The villain thought it would damage public opinion of the police more than targeting the officers themselves, especially since most murders occurred within precinct walls during the day shift. We were protected, but the attacks stopped before a suspect could be apprehended.” Inko’s shoulder’s tensed. “I… I live alone, lived alone with only my young son, my quirk is nothing flashy and without knowing for sure…” Her eyes took on a hard edge as she met Rei’s slate stare. “Given the circumstances a judge gave me approval for a weapon for strictly defensive purposes, and hero patrols were increased for a while. Since All Might’s retirement, though, I… I- I can’t take any chances. I’ve seen less of the heroes which makes sense with the rise in crime, not to mention my shift increases. I’ve been getting home when it’s dark out in a neighborhood with fewer hero patrols in a poorer part of the prefecture. I know the statistics, and after the talking-to I gave my son about safety- I’m taking her everywhere with me.”

“I… I understand.” Rei replied. “I can wait for you if you like and escort you to your door. I tend to work at night anyway.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother! Its like I said, I can handle myself just fine.”

“You’re concerned for your safety and I am a hero.” Rei couldn’t let her go on like this after hearing her tale. “Please, I insist. …think of it as me returning the favor for your help today.”

“Well… alright. That’s fair. A relief knowing you’re right next door and everything.”

“Say…” Rei said pensively. “Would you happen to know if your facilities are partnered with the Endeavor Agency?”

Inko blinked once, twice. “I don’t believe we are. His office has their own lab and when they do cooperate with third-party investigators or the police its usually labs in Tokyo proper, nothing as far from the agency as Musutafu.”

Rei clapped her hands together before her, pleased. “Would you mind speaking more with me inside? I’m in need of a consultation- ah, if it isn’t an imposition, of course.”

“Sure.” Inko grinned. “We should probably get to know each other if we’re going to be seeing more of one another, too.”

“Can I offer you a coffee?” Rei said, stepping around the shattered glass to her apartment. “I, um, don’t have any tea.”

“I’m fine with anything, but a coffee would help my nerves right now.” Inko sighed shakily. She turned toward a source of noise in the living room. “Oh, is that Saving Face? I do enjoy a good love story.”

Rei carefully shut her door behind them and hurried to prepare her guest a drink with smile. The old film was a favorite from her time in the hospital. “As do I.”

***

Rei relies heavily on espionage, leveraging her good looks to coerce criminals into talking to her under the guise of flirting or gossiping with the out-of-place-bombshell at the dive bar. She wears her armored clothing, heels that contain data drives, and hides the katana inside her coats. She curls her hair and wears a hat to hide comms devices, and “smokes” from a cigarette holder that’s really a recording device. The cigarette is fake and shrinks to sell the image, as she would rather not associate with fire. When there’s a change in plans, she blows on it and the cigarette bursts like a smoke bomb for a quick getaway.

She meets with Naomasa in cafes while it’s raining, passes information disguised as a reporter during media blitzes, plants tracking devices on villains while playing the frazzled-and-late-for-carpool stay-at-home mom rushing by, etc. She tries not to rely too heavily on her quirk because it’s a distinct give away but isn’t afraid to overwhelm her opponents if pressed.

At home, most of the apartment has been converted into work space. Only the guest room where the children sleep when they visit is free of materials. Inko stops by every morning and afternoon to be briefed and transport evidence to or from her lab for processing. The two are fast friends, and Rei cherishes the closeness they’ve cultivated in the weeks since their encounter on her door step and they’re only growing closer-- which she's got butterflies about. The glass window is continuously destroyed by people sent flying through it to the point that they keep several replacements on hand.

Rei and Inko go out on day while their sons are waiting at the Memory Den and enter to find a quiet apartment. They find them in the guest room. Shouto is wearing Rei’s largest coat, her hat, and her blue ugg boots she got specifically for relief after long days in heels, standing over Izuku who is prone on the floor with ketchup over his body in several places, tongue out, clearly playing dead. The boys recreated one of her evidence boards and while Shouto reviews the clues out loud, Izuku intermittently offers his thoughts before ‘dying’ once more in dramatic fashion. Rei whips out her camera just in time to catch her son’s flustered waffling when Izuku calls him Shoushou- he has a nickname! - and Izuku hiding his face in his arms at being called ‘zukun’ in return. They watch for a few minutes and almost reveal themselves when Shouto chasing Izuku- now the criminal- around the room makes them laugh.

They finally do when Shouto proclaims, “Mama is the best hero this town has ever seen! She won’t let you hurt anyone else, villain.”

Rei pushes the door open, tears in her eyes. “You really think so?”

She hugs him so close and they have a good long cry about what could have been.

Rei’s most prominent case becomes the search for the serial killer burning their victims alive. It’s not a high-profile case, minimal media coverage to prevent inciting a panic, and the other investigators are a few underground heroes in coordination with the police. It comes to a head when a lead mentions a homeless man going simply by ‘Touya’ arriving in Musutafu around the time of Stain’s prominence and the continuation of the League of Villains’ recruitment schemes.

The investigation takes a darker note when they discover that quirkless people are disappearing in areas of suspected League of Villains activity likely to serve as the ‘base’ of new Noumu experiments.

Rei presses everyone for any information about a man named ‘Touya’ and when asked why she reveals, “My oldest son, it’s his name. He left home a long time ago and hasn’t spoken to me since. He fits the profile.”

“..the killer’s profile?” Naomasa nearly dropped his pen in shock.

“No.” Rei denied. “He couldn’t have burned those people. Not my boy.”

“Silver Shroud… Rei-san… if he has a fire quirk and matches the description—”

“That’s what I mean. It couldn’t have been him. Touya was born quirkless. He fits the profile for the Noumu experiments. That’s why I have to find him.”

Rei’s journey of self-actualization is embroiled in the search for her missing son, capturing villains, hunting a serial killer, confronting and abiding by the society which allowed her spirit to be broken, learning to forgive herself, and discover what it is to find love in the least expected places, and allow herself to be loved.

***

(Don’t make a new Inko x Rei AU when you haven’t published the first one. Don’t do it, bitch-

We’re here, I guess. I wrote this listening to My Love by Kovacs. This is super fun and occurred to me while playing Fallout 4 which is why she’s the Silver Shroud. Shouto having a grand old time being a hero in the wasteland in a Minuteman/Railroad run brings me joy to think about. It’s not like I also planned a Fallout AU or anyth-

Inksignia, Beyond Alteo is about half-done. I keep pushing it back to work on other things, but it’s coming along and will be published a thousand years before this one because I’m terrible.

Inko’s deal here is a subplot I haven’t fully thought through, I just really like tiny ladies with big guns and needed a suitable explanation. She recovers shells and beanbags with her quirk don’t tell no body. She doesn’t back up Rei on scene because Inko is not a hero and as someone who works with law enforcement, knows better than to interfere most of the time. Rei comes over to sleep at the Midoriya apartment because her own bed is usually a mess of paperwork and lordknowswhat that’ll take too long to organize. Rei shares Inko’s bed. snuggles

I spent an embarrassing amount of time looking into some of Rei’s outfits. She has several pairs of casual heels for spying under the guise of public outings and practical boots when she knows it’ll be a fight, or her patrols require them. She wears the kind of wool winter coats that are trench-coat-ish but ultimately fashionable, except in her Media Appearance outfit which is basically the Silver Shroud costume. Two hundred years later shit is up for free-use or whatever it doesn’t matter. The hat she favors is a black Bellady hat with a silver bow. I can provide links to anyone who wants a to see the stuff I picked. Keeping them out of the post so it doesn’t get flagged for links or whatever. Honestly, this should just be called the Aesthetic AU.

Quirkless Touya? From moi??? whatever do i mean hohohohohon

Slight todomido/izushou, mostly background. Inko x Rei endgame. Toshinori? Maybe??? Seriously can we create ship names for them. Inkrei. Reinko. Toshinkrei??? )

[tangledcassandra]

I Know the Truth

Title: I Know the Truth

Description: When Cassandra has a not-so-innocent dream, it opens up a whole flood of feelings.

[Read on AO3]

Cassandra wakes to find herself immobile. Arms, legs, torso, hands, ankles, all bound to an uncomfortable wooden chair.

"Who are you?" A voice rings out, and Cassandra looks up from trying to determine what she's been restrained with. It's not rope, that's for certain.

"My name is Cassandra. I've come to rescue the lost princess," she says, with as much authority as she can muster. She doesn't exactly have the upper hand, and appeasing her captor is probably her best bet. Still, seeming timid is not her strong suit.

"I'm the lost princess," the mysterious captor steps out of the shadows, revealing herself to the guard.

It's then that Cassandra realizes what's restricting her. It's hair. Long, golden locks spring from the head of the princess, swirling in random patterns on the ground and culminating around her and the furniture. An unorthodox but effective tactic, she notes.

"All of Corona has been searching for you, your highness," she squirms under her confines, but she's tied up tight.

"And now you've found me," she slinks across the room, coming to stand in front of Cassandra. She reaches a hand down to cup her chin, pulling her face upwards. The guard gets a good look at those sparkling green eyes, before the princess descends and envelopes her in a deep kiss. She doesn't protest, leaning into the intimate touch. She's dreamed of this moment many times before.

Rapunzel straddles her legs as the kiss becomes more passionate. Cassandra fights against her restraints, wanting desperately to touch her, but not being allowed. Rapunzel rolls her hips, sliding against Cassandra's lap, and she can barely suppress a whine as she feels a wave of heat rise up her body.

"You kept me waiting a long time," the princess says breathily.

"My apologies, princess," Cassandra leans forward as the princess pulls back, aching for her touch again.

"Since I had to wait so long for my freedom, now you'll have to earn yours," she dips down again, and her soft lips meet Cassandra's with renewed fervor.

As the guard melts into the kiss, so too does the princess, and soon Cassandra finds her hands roaming the delicate hips of the woman occupying her lap. One hand trails up, gloved fingers making contact with the flawless skin of the princess's neck. She shudders beneath the touch, which compels Cassandra to grab a fistful of that blonde hair and pull her head back. Their lips part, but Cassandra keeps hers busy with the exposed neck and collar of the princess.

"Cassandra…" the breathy whisper of her name makes her pause, looking up at her romantic companion. Eyes closed, lips parted, chest rising and falling as she allows herself to be absorbed in the moment. Cassandra carries on with her nipping and suckling, teeth and tongue playing along the perfect untouched skin. She certainly doesn't want to disappoint her princess.

"Cassandra, Cassandra, Cassandra!" Rapunzel's voice rises in pitch as she carries on. It encourages her to be bolder, sliding a hand down to lift the purple dress. She hears her name being called again, this time louder, more pronounced, less breathy. More urgent, almost.

Cassandra wakes to see Rapunzel standing over her. Looking up and taking stock of her surroundings, she determines she's inside the caravan. Still on the journey to follow the Black Rocks. She blinks, pushing down the last traces of a wonderful dream, sighing groggily as she sits up on the edge of the bed.

"Raps? What is it?"

"You were breathing heavily and squirming a lot. I thought you might be having a nightmare."

Cassandra can feel a blush rise from her shoulders all the way to her face, and she quickly turns away. "Nightmare. Yeah. Right. I need some air."

She stands and makes her way to the door, opening the top half and letting in daylight. She leans out, surveying the trees around them, trying to judge what time it is by the location of the sun. Her frequent night watches have made for a lot of day naps, altering her perception of time and the passing of days. She yawns, the fog of sleep lifting, although her mind keeps replaying the events of her most recent dream.

Rapunzel appearing by her side does not make it easy. "You know, when I had nightmares back at the castle, it helped if I talked about them. You've always been there to listen to me. I want you to know that I'm here for you too," she reaches for Cassandra's hand, but the lady-in-waiting senses the touch before they meet, and preemptively pulls away.

"Thanks, Raps, but I'm fine. I'm good," she smiles wanly, taking in a deep breath of fresh air, hoping to scatter any remaining indecent thoughts. This isn't the first time she's had a dream like this, and with Rapunzel standing next to her, hair glowing in the sun, eyes sparkling in the light, she knows it won't be the last. Daydreams and night dreams of the princess have filled her head ever since the day they met. She thought they might subside after a while, but they've only gotten worse. Now, they're cooped up together in the small room they share in the caravan, and every day it gets harder to hide her feelings.

"Are you sure?" her voice is layered with concern, and it makes Cass's heart ache when she thinks of all the things she's hiding. "You won't tell me about your dream?"

"You really want to know?" Maybe she's too tired to think clearly, or maybe the heat of the day is getting to her. Whatever the reason, Cassandra decides opening up is better than dealing with inquisitive glances from Rapunzel for the rest of the day. When she decides she wants something, she doesn't let up, and the lady-in-waiting can tell she's overtly curious about the dream.

"Yes, of course I want to know! I get that you want to be seen as this fearless warrior. But it's okay to be vulnerable sometimes. I won't tell anyone," This time, she reaches for Cass's shoulder, and makes contact. Her affectionate smile is always so tender, it melts Cassandra's heart right into a puddle on the floor. It's always so hard to say no, and this time, that soft look wins out.

"It wasn't a nightmare. It was-" she's trying to determine the best way to explain her salacious sleep scenario, and decides it's best to just jump right in and let the consequences happen as they may. "I find you in the tower. Before Eugene ever arrived. You've tied me up with your hair, but you're not threatening me. You're not even scared of me. You make your way across the room and sit on my lap, and then you start to kiss me. Before I know it, I'm free, and my hands are on your hips and you like what's happening. I like what's happening. I kiss your neck and run my hands through your hair and along your body, and just when I go to slide my hand up your leg- well, you woke me up," she's staring out at nature, not wanting to meet Rapunzel's eyes, but when she's silent for several moments, she has to.

She's met with wide eyes, some sort of shocked, and her heart plummets as she recognizes this was a mistake. "Look, Rapunzel, I'm sorry. Forget about it, okay? It doesn't mean anything," She hasn't bolted or thrown Cassandra out, which is frankly confusing considering the expression on her face.

But her features relax as she asks, "Do you have a lot of dreams about-" Cass sees her mouth something, more quiet than a whisper, before she seems to rethink what she was going to say and finishes with, "-involving girls?"

"No," Not anymore, anyway, "Just you, Raps."

"I didn't know girls could do that."

It suddenly hits Cassandra like a ton of bricks that Rapunzel might not understand her predisposition towards women. Of course. She'd been locked in a tower most of her life. Her exposure to persons with a preference for the same gender would have been minimal, if not completely non-existent. "I guess you wouldn't, huh? Well, they can."

"And that's allowed?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know, I guess- I've never met someone who…" she trails off. She's known Cassandra for nearly two years, so actually, she has met someone, and now she's rethinking every interaction they've ever had that she may have misinterpreted.

"You've probably met more than you think, Raps. It's not a big deal. We're just regular people."

"No, of course you are, I just-" Her thoughts are scattered in all directions. Rapunzel wants to ask Cassandra some personal and prodding questions, some of which are related to certain personal moments the two have shared, but all that comes out is, "So you like girls like I like Eugene?"

Cassandra hates the comparison, but she supposes it's the closest example to her personal inclination that Raps has to work with."I guess? Probably."

She nods like she understands, but looks like she wants to say more. Cassandra can see the cogs in her head turning, trying to piece together her thoughts. Usually new situations or experiences have her bubbling with questions and curiosity, but this time, she looks like she's concentrating very hard on processing this new information.

"Raps?" Cassandra ventures. Maybe she needs a little encouragement to say what's on her mind.

"So, if you have dreams about me, does that mean you like me?" she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her query sounding innocent.

Cassandra's face heats up, and she realizes disclosing her dream has now landed her in hot water. Face-to-face with Rapunzel, she can't exactly lie her way out of this, and anyway, she's been truthful for the rest of this conversation, so why stop now? "I've always liked you, Raps. I mean, just, you know, as a friend likes another friend," she settles on a thin half-truth.

"But as more than a friend, too?" Rapunzel prods.

It’s been so long, Cassandra was sure Raps would never catch on to her crush, and anyway, she has Eugene, so it would never work. Maybe she’s being so honest now because that fact finally settled in and she’s ready to move on. Now that she knows Raps had never really been rejecting her advances and was more naive than she thought possible, things started to shift. Her heart thrummed in her chest, her confession finally out in the open, at least partly.

She swallows, knowing it's too late to turn back now. She may as well get this over with. "Yeah, Raps. But like I said, it's no big deal. You're with Eugene, and that's okay. I'm okay with that. I don't fight with him because I'm trying to break you two apart or anything. He's just seriously annoying," Cass can only hope Raps believes the last part, because it is true.

"Right, of course, Cass! You'd never do something like that to hurt me. Right?"

"Right. I lo- like you too much," she pauses, letting more words spill as she decides to get everything off her chest here and now, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to find out this way."

Rapunzel is quiet for awhile. The sound of chirping birds and rustling leaves fills the empty air between them. It's peaceful out here. Maybe it's the freedom from the hustle and bustle of the city that's finally given Cass the clarity to say what she needs. Maybe, out here, she can't distract herself from her feelings, because there's no giant castle to get lost in and no training grounds to take out her frustrations on.

"How long?"

"Huh?"

"How long have you known about your feelings?"

That's an easy one. "Since the day we met."

"You knew right away?"

"Yeah, Raps. I think I kind of knew before then, too."

"But I've known you almost as long as I've been at the castle. How could you?" she sounds confused, and Cass can understand why. Rapunzel doesn't fully realize that the entire city of Corona spent nearly two decades waiting for her to come home. All of her subjects have known about her long before she even knew about her royal heritage.

"You didn't know me. But I knew you. I grew up hearing stories about the lost princess. When I was a little girl, I dreamed of being the one to rescue you. I imagined all sorts of dangers I would have to face to free you. A lot of the citizens of Corona gave up hope. Some assumed you were dead. But somehow, I knew. I hoped, anyway. I hoped I'd be the one to find you, and then I would be your hero, and maybe-" she's rambling, and shuts her mouth before she reveals too much. The more she says, the more she feels like she's trying to win Rapunzel over, when the last thing she wants to do is come between her and Eugene.

"Maybe?"

Yep, she's said too much. Cass runs a hand down her face, and opens the bottom half of the door so she can step out. Raps follows close behind. "-maybe we'd live happily ever after," she finishes, reluctantly. All the walls she's worked to build over the past several months have all crumbled down in one spectacular heap.

"I'm going to go forage for some supplies," she's almost ready to bolt into the woods and never come back.

"Cass-"

She can feel Rapunzel's eyes on her as she disappears into the undergrowth, but she can't bear to look back. She doesn't even know what kind of supplies they need; all she knows is she needs some time to clear her head and get some space. Maybe, if she's lucky, Raps will let this all go by the time she gets back. Maybe, if she's not so lucky, Raps will have even more questions. Well, she's got time to figure out how she's going to dodge a potential interrogation about her feelings. She's always managed before.

* * * * *

It's been hours, and Cass has let herself get lost once or twice, just for the fun of it. Well, not the fun of it, so much as she is avoiding going back to camp. She's never been one for wasting time, but today, she's making an exception. She knows that wherever she roams, Owl can help her find her way to the others. At least, she hopes so. If not, well, she guesses she'll just live here now.

But somehow, she finds her way back before dark. Her satchel's full of herbal and some more rare plants, that the group can use or barter for other goods. Food is easier to come by, so she hasn't wasted her time on it. With her training, she's pretty much the only one of them who can tell the different types of flora they come across, and its uses. They'd probably all have died or turned back without her, honestly. So she has to come back.

"Cassandra!"

She nearly turns around and heads right back into the forest. But the sound of her name on Rapunzel's lips tugs at her heartstrings, and she feels almost forced to look at her. There's Raps, standing outside the caravan, looking distressed. Her fists are clenched, one over the other, pressing against her chest. Cass wants to run to her, to hold her tight and tell her everything will be okay, like she always does, but she knows that for once she's the cause for her being distraught.

"I was worried about you."

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. is what she wants to say. She wants to take Rapunzel in her arms, kiss her gently on the forehead, and hold her close, telling her everything is okay now. They're together again.

But that's not the life she's living, so it's not what she says.

"Raps, I can take care of myself," she rolls her eyes and smiles. She doesn't want her sudden disappearance earlier to become some big thing right now. She tries to pass Rapunzel so she can sort through her findings inside the caravan, but a hand on her shoulder stops her.

"You can't just go off alone!"

"I can, and I did."

"You're always telling me not to wander off."

"That's different. You can't track your way back. You can't forage and live off the land for days on end. Do you even know how to set up a temporary shelter? Or build a fire? I know you can hold your own in a fight, but surviving in the woods is a lot more difficult. I worry about you. You don't get to worry about me," she pushes past, setting her bag down on a table inside.

Rapunzel follows, and Cassandra can tell from her demeanor that their conversation from earlier is far from over. Cass settles into a chair, and Rapunzel takes the one on the other side of the table. She sighs, looking anywhere but at the princess, hoping if she ignores her maybe she'll go away. She isn't usually this cold toward Raps, and a pang of guilt has started to wind its way through her stomach. She's not good with feelings, she knows, which is a polar opposite to her best friend.

Finally, the silence stretches too long between them, and Rapunzel bursts out, "I do worry about you, Cass! I've been beside myself all day waiting for you to get back. I didn't even know if you were coming back at all! You didn't tell me anything when you left. I was afraid you were mad and you were going to do something reckless. I don't know how I can live without you! How I could make it to the end of this journey without you. I can't possibly comprehend how much you sacrificed to be here with me. Putting your life on hold, leaving behind the only family you know, being away from home for who knows how long. Cass, I never fully understood why you did all that for me, until today.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Rapunzel's voice is pitched, like she's trying to hold back tears. Cass has always been there to comfort her when she's upset, and it pains her that she can't do that now. Here they are, on the road, with who knows how long a journey ahead of them, and she just had to open the Pandora's box of her heart.

"Because it wouldn't have mattered," Cassandra replies, plainly. She shrugs for emphasis, trying to play off this whole conversation like it isn't affecting her. Trying to brush this all off so Rapunzel lets it go. Trying, in her own way, to make the problem go away by ignoring it.

"What do you mean it wouldn't have mattered?! You had a dream! Your hopes and dreams matter to me, Cass. Why is it so hard for you to accept that I care about you?"

Cassandra doesn't know how to respond to that. She's spent her whole life pushing others away, focusing on the here and now, concentrating on meeting her goals and not letting anything or anyone stand in her way. Having a social life was a waste of time, in her opinion, but more and more she's learning that perhaps skipping the crucial life step of having friends made it much more difficult to talk about herself now. She leans back in her chair, blowing stray hair out of her eyes.

"Raps, it's silly."

Rapunzel taps her fingers on the flat surface. She drove Cass away earlier, and she's not prepared to go through all the panic and worry of losing her best friend again. But this is important, for the both of them, to get this out in the open.

"Tell me, please. Tell me everything. No more secrets. I've never been afraid to confide in you, Cass," she reaches across to place her hand over Cassandra's, then thinks better of it and returns it to her lap, "Please, trust me too. Tell me what I can do to earn your trust."

"Raps, it's not about that," Cass sighs. She feels like every word she says is driving a wedge between Rapunzel and Eugene, but every word she doesn't say is driving a wedge between Rapunzel and her. Maybe Rapsl is right. Maybe trusting her is the right thing to do. Trusting her, not just with her private personal thoughts, but trusting her with the ability to be able to continue to love Eugene and ignore her feelings, just as she has for months.

"Okay, so there's this whole thing I made up like, one time. I'm riding into Corona with the lost princess. Everyone's cheering and celebrating, but none of that matters because you're right there with me. You feel safe in my arms, leaning back against my armor, a little frightened by all the attention, but you know I'll protect you so it's okay. We arrive at the castle and the king and queen are overjoyed to have you back. That evening, there's a whole banquet in your honor, and I get the privilege of sitting next to you.

"After that, I get offered any position in the royal guard that I want. I choose to be your personal bodyguard. Keeping you safe from all dangers, showing you around Corona, helping you adjust to your new life. Opening doors for you, sliding out your chair when you sit down, lifting you over puddles so your feet don't get wet. Staying by your side every moment you're awake, and making sure you're taken care of.

"One evening, when I've brought you back to your room for bed, you tell me how nice it is having me around, and how lucky you are that I found you. You invite me into your room for a moment, away from the door guards. You hold my hands in yours and confess that you think you're falling in love with me. You're nervous about it, but I think it's cute how flustered you are. Then, I tell you I've been in love with you for a long time.

"You're so relieved that you lay your head on my shoulder and wrap your arms around me. It's all so warm and comforting, and the only thing that makes it all the more perfect is when you step back and look into my eyes, smiling. I can tell you want to say something from the way you keep fidgeting and looking away, but instead of speaking, you practically leap forward and plant your lips against mine. It's surprising, at first, but I can't deny I've wanted this for a long time. So I give in, letting my hand tangle in some of your hair, the other hand resting against your hip. It doesn't last long, but afterwards I bid you goodnight and leave quickly.

"After that, our evening talks become longer and more frequent, until one night I stay until morning, holding you in my arms. We decide we have to tell the king and queen, your parents, if we really want to stay together. King Frederic takes some coaxing before he comes around, but Queen Arianna helps convince him. She's suspected for awhile that something has been going on between us, mostly thanks to the other guards who can't keep their mouths shut. But she's supportive, and that's what matters. Eventually, the king comes around too."

"For something you say is silly, that was a very elaborate description," the way Rapunzel says it sounds like she doesn't really mind hearing Cassandra go on and on about her imaginary scenarios. "Is that why you trained so hard all your life? So you could be ready to take care of me?"

"No! Of course not. I trained to- because-" Cass swears under her breath. The question catches her off guard. "Obviously, to impress my father."

"Obviously," Rapunzel echoes, but she doesn't sound convinced.

"Look, it was a whole big fantasy when I was younger, but that was all way before I met you. Besides, I never really believed any of it would come true. Dreams are just that, dreams. They're not reality. That's why I focus on the here and now, like my dad taught me. All that's important is what's right in front of me."

"I'm right in front of you," Rapunzel points out, even though it's not entirely accurate. It seems like the right thing to say, in the moment.

"Yeah," Cass says, softly, turning to meet Rapunzel's gaze. "You are. And you're what's most important to me."

Rapunzel pauses at that, and Cassandra knows it's because she can't reciprocate. She has Eugene, and he is and should be the most important person in her life. And if not him, than her parents. Either way, Cassandra is down a ways on Raps' list of important people. She knows she's important to the princess, in some way, but not the most important. She's always been aware of that reality.

"That's not fair," Raps says with a scowl.

"You're right. It's not," Cassandra counters, as a smile pricks at the corners of her mouth for some reason, like it's funny Rapunzel somehow thinks things are unfair from her point of view. The princess, with the boyfriend and the biological parents and the servants and the inheritance. Her life is really unfair.

"What about your dad?"

"He's great, and I appreciate everything he's done for me, but… our relationship is complicated," he was a good man, a strict father, and he fed and clothed her for the majority of her adolescent life. But when it came to affection, he was lacking in that area, and in later years it made their relationship strained. Maybe that factor contributed to Cassandra's own inability to communicate her feelings. Coupled with his determination to hold her back from becoming an official royal guard, and well, he wasn't always her favorite person.

"You don't think this is complicated?!"

"I've been trying to avoid it being complicated for months, so yeah, now it's complicated. You wanted honesty, you got honesty," Cassandra reconsidered spending a night in the woods.

Rapunzel takes a deep breath, letting her exasperation subside. "Well, I'm glad you told me. I don't like when we keep secrets. Especially when they're about something so significant. You mean a lot to me, Cass. And since we're being honest, until today I never thought of you as more than a friend. I didn't realize I could. So I need some time to think about that. About us. Nothing has to change between us right now. I don't want it to. I like what I have with you, and the friendship we've built since I first met you. I hope all of this honesty helps bring us together, instead of driving us apart."

"I hope so too, Raps," she smiles, wistfully, knowing things will never fully be back to the way they were, when Rapunzel was naive to her feelings. "But what we need to focus on is the mission ahead. We can't afford to get distracted. It won't do either of us any good to dwell on what might have been," it's the same thing she tells herself every day, even if it fails to help her feel better about her situation.

"Right. You're right, Cass," she reaches across the table and offers her hand, and her best friend takes it tentatively. It's not the first time they've held hands, but this time, it feels more intimate. Cassandra trusted her with her whole heart, and in return, she asked for focus. Confessing her feelings must not have been easy, but Rapunzel is grateful everything is finally out in the open. It's been a long time coming.

They still have each other, as friends. Rapunzel thought that was all they needed, but now, she's not so sure. She suspects Cassandra dwells on what might have been, a lot, despite her insistence such frivolous thoughts are pointless. Her animosity towards Eugene makes more sense now, too. Whether or not she admits it, she's secretly jealous of him. Jealous of him living her dream.

Maybe this journey will give her the time she needs to sort through her newfound knowledge of Cassandra's inner struggle, and her own budding feelings for her best friend. There's still so much about the world she has to learn, and this revelation from Cass has opened up a whole new aspect of relationships she's never considered. Maybe Cassandra's dream doesn't have to stay a dream. Maybe, when they get back, there's a way to make this work.

They have time. There's always later.

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[preserving-ferretbrain]

Who Watches The…oh never mind

by Wardog

Thursday, 12 March 2009

Wardog opens a can of worms very very carefully indeed.~

As my comments in the playpen may recently have indicated, I was not entirely impressed by Watchmen. It doesn't help that people, however vaguely, connected to it are going around saying things like this and it also doesn't help that I read Watchmen for the first time three days ago. I understand that Watchmen is something that the sort of people who are inclined to be passionate about comics are passionate about; perhaps if I had been less busy being an embryo in the 80s when it first came out I might have felt the same way. But Watchmen is dated dated dated. I'm not saying it's not interesting and that it doesn't have merit, but reading it is rather like reading those 18th century novels that are completely consumed by the terror of the incipient collapse of Civilisation As We Know It because of the French Revolution. I'm not saying those novels aren't interesting or don't have merit either ... but you do read them with one eyebrow slightly cocked and think to yourself as you go "oh how quaint."

Quaint may seem an odd term to use in connection to a comic renowned for being gritty and real and, like, totally Dystopian and literary man; but I felt the same about V for Vendetta. Watchmen'spreoccupations, as far as I see it, are Cold War anxiety and Wanking About The Nature and Form of the Comic Genre. I'm not dismissing the impact of Watchmen, nor its power to have shaped (and to some extent validated, insofar as books with pictures in them can be validated) the genre, but the point is the Cold War is over and the genre has been shaped. There are, of course, wider themes to engage us - "about the nature of man, or vigilante justice" if you absolutely insist but bear in mind you can get those better done elsewhere - but Watchmen is so utterly bound up in itself, so defined by the form it takes, that ultimately it's little more than an extended navel-gaze about comics, albeit a moderately interesting one.

The movie, of course, is such a slavish adaptation that it barely merits the term adaption; watching it, therefore, is like watching somebody gaze at somebody else gazing at their navel. In bullet-time. Being now at a noticeably remove from the navel, this is quite dull.

To force myself to give credit where it is due, there is a lot to like about the Watchmen movie. It is stylishly and lovingly done. Everybody looks and sounds exactly like you'd want them to look and sound. The level of detail is mind boggling and the special effects, right down to Dr Manhattan's flapping blue dong, are fabulous. The changes they've made are spot on: I'm really glad they took out the giant squishy squid aliens. Because they are made of stupid. I loved the opening credits where they distill the ponderous backstory into a succession of imaginative and striking images. When the film was engaging critically with the Watchmen comic, it had real potential. Unfortunately, critical engagement gave way to abject drooling adoration about 2 seconds after the credits ended ... and the rest of the film is little more than a panel-by-panel, word-for-word recreation of the comic, bar a few subtle alterations to the way characters are perceived, which I shall talk about presently.

I suppose this is where we get into "what is an adaptation anyway" territory. For me the clue is in "adapt" - I think a process of adaptation is an act of transformation and interpretation. You stay true to the spirit of the original but you accept the fact that what works in one medium does not work in another. The Harry Potter movies are splendid examples of failed adaptations: they're little more than monorail tours of the main attractions of the books. They don't stand up on their own, they have no merit on their own, they are, in fact, shit and pointless. But you can also see this kind of failure going on in a more low key way when people throw plays at the screen and end up with peculiarly static, oddly awkward films (Closer, The History Boys, An Ideal Husband, The Libertine). Again, to be fair, the Watchmen film does almost stand on its own: they've managed to enforce some coherence on a notoriously fragmentary text. But this is mainly because it's identical to the text, right down to the cringe-inducingly stilted dialogue and voice-overs that read beautifully but sound terrible. And as far as I'm concerned if something is identical to the original, right down to the dialogue and the visuals, you might as well just read the original and be done with it. Alan Moore himself apparently said: "My book is a comic book. Not a movie. It's been made in a certain way, and designed to be read in a certain way: in an armchair, nice and cosy next to a fire, with a steaming cup of coffee."

The other problem with such a rigid approach to the text is that it leaves no space for acting to be anything other than simulacra. When you go and see a performance of Richard III, you don't stare at the actor playing Richard and think to yourself: "Wow, that's awesome,

he looks totally like him

." But the only scale for judging the actors in Watchmen is how far they resemble the characters they're playing - the answer to this is, for the most part, "lots." But it's still a really shallow way to engage with a performance.

Now this is when I'm going to play dirty. I know I've just leveled the criticism that the film brings nothing new to the table, being merely a moving version of the comic book. And now I'm going to complain that it also missed the point, or at least a point. I know you might think this is a direct contradiction and that I can't say the film is not enough of an adaptation for me and then whine about a possible misinterpretation but ... hey, look over there,

a fluffy kitten, being cute

. Seriously though, for what it's worth, I don't actually consider this a misinterpretation as such - the film was too fanboyishly clingy a parasite to have anything as measured or sensible as an interpretation - I think it was more an act of mis-translation, in that everyone was so concerned with bringing every fucking element of the comic lovingly into motion (apparently

there's going to be a DVD

of Tales of the Black Freighter - no thanks) that nobody ever bothered to pay attention to what they were doing.

If I had to sum up Watchmen in a glib and pretentious way (why would anyone ask me to do that?), I'd fall back, as I'm sure others have done before me, on quoting Yeats: "the best lack all conviction and the worst are full of passionate intensity." Now, perhaps I got the wrong end of the stick and I know the friend I saw the film with disagrees with me, but I thought the film valorized Dan (and to a lesser extent Laurie) in a way that reduced the impact of the story. In the comic, Dan is anti-heroic: he is middle-aged, impotent, flabby and passive. He is "the boy next door" in the worst possible sense. His niceness, like his Nite Owl costume, is a mask for his essential weakness of character. Despite being in love with Laurie, he makes no attempt to forge a relationship with her, not because he is "just too nice" but because he is "just too pathetic"; he wins her, if wins it can be called, simply by being around to pick up the pieces after her relationship with Jon falls apart horribly. Laurie, of course, is equally broken but has the virtue of being hot - just as all of Dan's behaviour is controlled and limited by compromise, her decision to be with him is a compromise as well, the rejection of the strange and the challenging, youthful dreams and romanticism, for the safety of the everyday and a man whose abject inferiority makes you feel good about yourself. In the comic, their relationship is very much the cleaving of the desperate and worthless: that they go out and do minor heroic things (like saving some people from a fire and springing Rorschach from a prison he is already escaping) after they shag for the first time is an indictment of their behaviour. They seek, and find, validation with each other, yet the validation is based on their joint illusions i.e. that they are people even remotely capable of changing the world. The movie portrays their civilian-saving / prison-breaking exploits as a return to their true heroic selves; the comic uses scenes of stereotypical heroism to reveal Laurie and Dan as the self-deluding, play-acting fools they really are.

Similarly, in the comic, when they are confronted by what Ozymandias has done, Dan and Laurie slink off to a corner of his ruined facility and shag. Dr Manhattan finds them asleep on Nite Owl's winter cloak, looks at them with mingled pity and affection and goes off to confront Ozymandias with the futility of the atrocity he has committed ("nothing ever ends"). Again, this is hardly a celebration of the human spirit in the face of calamity. Confronted by their own profound impotence and the destruction of their carefully constructed charades, they take refuge in the mundane, fleeting affirmation offered by physical pleasure. In the movie, this scene is gone and, instead, Dr Manhattan's final act is to kiss Laurie goodbye - as if he, too, is asserting the value of human relationships as an antidote to Armageddon. (Personally, I'm with Rorschach on this one). In the aftermath of Ozymandias's destruction, the movie gives Dan a line about how he's been tinkering with Archimedes and it'll soon be ready to go, the implication, I think, being that he and Laurie will resume their super-hero lifestyle.

One of the more interesting aspects of the comic is the intersection between public and private identity. One of the questions it asks is why anyone even on polite nodding terms with sanity would "dress as an owl and fight crime." The answer, of course, if its five heroes are anything to go by, is: "they wouldn't." Rorschach is clearly batshit nuts - and for him, Walter Kovacs is the disguise he wears. I've always liked the way that when he confronts Dr Manhattan, it is Walter who dies, not Rorschach. Dr Manhattan has no choice but to be a super-hero but then he is barely human, or anything like it, any more. The Comedian is a fucking psychopath who uses the flamboyance offered by a costume to give outward form to his moral dysfunctionality. Ozymandias also belongs to the Special Club. And Dan and Laurie both use it as a way to escape the disappointments and failures of being merely themselves. Unfortunately the movie inadvertently engineers a reversal of this: Laurie and Dan end up re-discovering their true super-hero selves, whereas in the comic they are ruthlessly forced to confront their inadequacies as human beings. If I was feeling uncharitable I would say this symptomatic of the typical geek fallacies - Watchmen is constructed as a super-hero comic without heroes, attemping to make Dan heroic undermines both the force and interest of the story.

The overall effect of which is that you get a film that is at once a tediously faithful rendering of the comic while somehow contriving to miss the point entirely.

Grats guys.Themes:

TV & Movies

,

Sci-fi / Fantasy

,

Comics

,

Watchmen

~

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~Comments (

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)

Arthur B

at 14:59 on 2009-03-12Playing devil's advocate: while I agree that Dan and Laurie are given an easy ride by the film (perhaps because they're the characters the audience is most likely to identify with), I don't think it completely derails their characterisation to have them go back to vigilantism. I don't have my copy of the comic with me, but I seem to remember mild hints in their final conversation with Sally that they might be getting into some action whilst they spend their time on the run in Ozy's new order. Like I said in the comments on Dan's review, I read the armageddon plotline as an indictment of the passivity of superheroes; crimefighters are essentially reactive, fighting society's symptoms without trying for a cure. (The grotesque scale of Ozymandias's crimes is, of course, the flip side of the argument: a cure might be more harmful than the disease itself.) In the movie, I saw their return to crimefighting as a retreat; there's no suggestion that they're seriously trying to expose Ozymandias, they're just dicking around beating people up to capture their rapidly-fading youth.

But that said I do agree that it's problematic that we are expected to identify with those specific characters in the first place; Dan and Laurie's capitulation and passivity are meant to be character flaws that are just as serious as Rorschach's fanaticism, or Dr Manhattan's nigh-autistic detachment, or Ozymandias's fatal combination of the two.

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Guy

at 15:44 on 2009-03-12I think I like the comic more than you do, Kyra, but I am very impressed by your elucidation of its themes... and it does seem likely that I should go into the film with low expectations. I would like to say I would refrain from seeing the film at all, especially now that I've read Hayter's idiotic letter... but maybe if I go see it in the third week or something I can feel that I've spited (?) him in some way.

I think I read the meaning of the Dan and Laurie characters a bit differently than you do, though. To me, they are essentially sympathetic characters, and a big part of that is their realisation in the end that, actually they're not all that important or powerful, and whether or not they're OK with that, they have to live with it, the way that millions of ordinary men and women do. This in contrast with Rorshcach, who has a kind of absolutist integrity that won't allow him to refrain from doing what he believes is right (even when it's totally futile, or worse, seriously destructive) - a quality he shares with heroes from all kinds of stories - but that "integrity" also makes him, as you say, a psychopath.

I think my favourite moment in the comic is the bit where Ozymandias tells Dan to grow up. It does raise a question for me about what counts as "growing up". Ozymandias thinks that he is the grown up, because he is the one prepared to make hard choices, cross moral boundaries in service to the greater good, &c &c... and that Dan is still a child playing at super hero, making oversized toys and not really doing anything... which is basically accurate. There's a reason that remark cuts Dan. But I think... there's something interesting, something a bit complex, about the question of what actually growing up means. The way you put it above where you say that Dan and Laurie are ruthlessly forced to confront their failings and inadequacies as human beings... I guess to me it seems that that is part of what being a grown up is: a person who has confronted their failings and accepted them. Which then, in a funny kind of way, ties in to the whole Ozymandias crazy plan, which in a sense is about forcing humanity as whole to grow up in spite of itself. Which... yeah, I don't know, for me that theme doesn't date, because we are to a large extent living in a world run by men (arguably, madmen) who act as they do because they believe they are being grown-up on behalf of the rest of us, because ordinary people don't really understand what the world is like and need them to make our hard choices for us. And of course I hate the idea of someone else making my hard choices for me, but it doesn't take long to find examples of people who you genuinely feel glad are not being held totally responsible for themselves... but I think at this stage I may be less responding to your review than I am just rambling. ;)

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Wardog

at 16:06 on 2009-03-12I feel like I'm validating Wankstain Hayter by saying this but I like the comic more retrospectively for some of its concepts. I didn't actually enjoy reading it all that much (not, though, because it is Out Of My Comfort Zone, man, and much of it, as I said, strikes me quaint and alien. And, again, at the risk of saying anything that could in any way chime with anything That Moron has ever said - Watchmen does inspire some interesting disccussion.

In the movie, I saw their return to crimefighting as a retreat"

Because the crime-fighting they do in the film is so massively glamorised - the bit where they kick-ass their way into the prison for example - I personally didn't get this vibe. But I think it's an arguable point.

But that said I do agree that it's problematic that we are expected to identify with those specific characters in the first place

Yeah me too - they obviously thought they were most normal of the bunch. Sigh. As Guy says below, I think perhaps they are the easiest to identify with because they are flawed in a lowkey very human way (i.e. they are rubbish and self-deluding) but identifying with them is an uncomfortable process because I'm sure we'd all rather be Dr Manhattans than Dans. (Although secretly I'm convinced we all want to be Rorschach - there's something utterly compelling about fanatics).

Thanks for your comment, Guy, I didn't find it rambling at all, I found it fascinating. I think my reading of Dan and Laurie is perhaps unnecessarily (and perhaps even unsupportedly) harsh. The thing is, although I said something about them having to face up their failings ... I don't think there's ever really a point they accept them or learn to operate with them ... which, as you say, is what most grown ups do. To be fair, I don't think I have accepted my failings or learned to operate with them *either* but I don't dress up as an owl and fight crime... =P Dan and Laurie seem to constantly be engaged in processes of retreat, compromise and distraction: for them sex serves exactly the same purpose as super-hero costuming. It's a cheap way to use someone else to make you feel better about yourself. They don't *deal* with what Ozymandias has done, and what it has shown them about themselves, they run away from it and bonk.

Which reminds me - sex is such an unfailingly negative force in Watchmen.

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Arthur B

at 16:17 on 2009-03-12

Because the crime-fighting they do in the film is so massively glamorised - the bit where they kick-ass their way into the prison for example - I personally didn't get this vibe. But I think it's an arguable point.

I think it's glamorised

at that point

because before the big reveal Dan and Laurie are convinced that they are Making A Difference, and the audience is meant to believe the same; we haven't had Ozymandias hit them (and the audience) with the revelation that they're not actually achieving anything beyond putting Rorschach back on the streets for one last round of psychosis before he goes to the Antarctic to explode.

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Arthur B

at 10:21 on 2009-03-13There's a very interesting article about the film's financial prospects

here

. I'm wondering whether this isn't the precise article that Hayter was responding to with his open letter.

Short version: There is a very real possibility that just about everyone who was interested in seeing

Watchmen

went to see it in the first week it was out, and ticket sales will slump by the second or third week. There's a growing consensus that the film was too faithful to the comic, which hurt it, and that this is one of those rare situations where there was

too little

studio involvement in the production process.

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Andy G

at 11:33 on 2009-03-13I haven't seen the film, but I did read the comic over the weeked. I had quite a negative reaction to Dan in the comic - his angsty, hand-wringing inadequacy doesn't really excuse the very dubious things he does or condones. I think he appears more sympathetic perhaps because he is the character who it is easiest to identify with for the average reader.

The guy who wrote the Stan Lee version of the comic made the plausible prediction that the film would unironically wallow in the violence as something cool, and rather the miss the point. Does that happen?

I wasn't sure about it having dated though. I mean, even in terms of the Cold War stuff, there are still nuclear weapons and stupid human beings. Though it's perhaps not exactly the story you'd choose to tell now 20 years on. I kind of felt the same about Frost/Nixon.

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Dan H

at 11:35 on 2009-03-13God the comments on that post are full of wank.

I really wish people would accept that "this movie is too long" is actually a valid criticism.

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Gina Dhawa

at 17:32 on 2009-03-13I'm not so worried about

Watchmen

feeling dated because, it addresses old concerns in a fairly familiar way. It's still set in the eighties after all. We're not worried about the same things anymore, but I'm pretty sure we can appreciate the fear of The Other, which is something that I think the film does very well with choosing to frame Dr Manhattan instead of having the original ending.

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Robinson L

at 20:30 on 2009-08-15*deep breath*

Funny, I never got the impression that I was reading/watching something particularly dated either from

V for Vendetta

or

Watchmen

. True, the cold war is over, but the threat of nuclear war hasn't exactly gone away, and the various nations are being just as much jerks to each other as they were back in the 80s.

I loved the opening credits where they distill the ponderous backstory into a succession of imaginative and striking images. When the film was engaging critically with the

Watchmen

comic, it had real potential.

Really? I loved the opening credits, too, but I didn't consciously get the feeling that they were engaging critically with the comic. Would you care to expound a little more on

how

you felt they were critically engaging with it?

I thought the film valorized Dan (and to a lesser extent Laurie) in a way that reduced the impact of the story.

Interesting argument. I admit I handed considered this interpretation of Dan and Laurie from the comic book, although it makes perfect sense.

Thing is, I find that even if it does muddy up the discourse, the story is

improved

by the movie's presentation of Laurie and especially Dan.

My reason? Because in the comic, both Dan and Laurie were dull, dull

dull

. I didn't love them, I didn't hate them, I was apathetic towards them. In the movie, at least, I felt there was something there to engage with emotionally.

And even if it was a deviation in character, I found Dan actually coming out and

telling

Adrian “You haven't idealized mankind but you've... you've deformed it! You mutilated it. That's your legacy. That's the real practical joke” very cathartic.

I also didn't get the same "massive anti-climax" feeling from the movie as the graphic novel.

Although secretly I'm convinced we all want to be Rorschach - there's something utterly compelling about fanatics

Oh god. I'd almost rather be the mass-murdering ego maniac or the spiritually incompetent big blue guy than that monster. I've got the fanatic part down just fine, it's just that I find the "kills, tortures and abuses people" and general misanthropy just a liiiitle bit repulsive.

As a matter of fact, I don't think I particularly identify with

anyone

in

Watchmen

... maybe because the only characters in it who have any sort of strength to their convictions have such a misanthropic, nihilistic view of humanity. I certainly wouldn't want to

be

any of them.

Which reminds me - sex is such an unfailingly negative force in Watchmen.

Interesting point.

I really wish people would accept that "this movie is too long" is actually a valid criticism.

Totally, although for myself, I find if I say "this movie is too long" what I mean is "this movie already annoys the hell out of me and will it please get to the end already." If a movie manages to keep me engaged/entertained (as

Watchmen

did) I'm prepared to go along with it for much longer than 2.5 hours.

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Arthur B

at 20:56 on 2009-08-15

True, the cold war is over, but the threat of nuclear war hasn't exactly gone away, and the various nations are being just as much jerks to each other as they were back in the 80s.

I think nuclear conflict is still a danger, but the

kind

of nuclear conflict presented in

Watchmen

has become almost impossible. Which isn't to say it won't become a possibility again, but it's definitely on the back burner. Limited exchanges between recent entrants to the nuclear club seem more likely than large-scale human extinction events.

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Alasdair Czyrnyj

at 17:06 on 2010-03-10Necromancy ho!

@the issue of datedness and the nuclear arms race

After reading through the article again, I kinda get what you were saying, Kyra. The theme didn't really date the comic for me, partly because I've always got one foot stuck in nuclear war fiction, and partly because I found it easy enough to read the nuclear symbolism as a symbol of an unstoppable force of annihilation that none of the characters are capable of understanding, something that can be applied to many eras and contexts.

Still, it does date the movie. IIRC, Paul Greengrass was attached to the project for a while, and he was making noises about moving it to a contemporary War on Terror setting, which I don't think you could really do without totally rebuilding the story, simply because, while we may be as scared in 2010 as we were in 1985, our fears are coming from different places and take different forms. In the '80s, we assumed that the silos would open and all humanity would die screaming. Nowandays we just assume that life is going to continue getting shittier and shittier and mor and more incomprehensible, with extinction as a vague possibility we suspect may be denied to us.

Did what I just write make any sense?

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https://profiles.google.com/elzairthesorcerer/about

at 20:09 on 2011-05-17This is kind of off-topic, but what are the names of some of those 18th century novels you mentioned? I would like to read one.

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Wardog

at 20:38 on 2011-05-17There aren't specific texts that deal *explicitly* with it - I just meant that you can infer a background level of social anxiety and uncertainty, even in books that seem to be about entirely other things. I guess that isn't very helpful. Also it occurs to me I meant 19th century novels. I hate that thing, I always get my centuries confused. Novels written after 1800 are 19th century novels. It makes no sense! But I mean, it's there in Persuasion, or Daniel Deronda, for example. Middlemarch. Vanity Fair.

[suggestionsofthecaribbean]

The Black Pearl: James and Elizabeth

The morning after Halloween, James and Elizabeth are moderately hungover.  The topic of sex, and sexual boundaries, comes up again.

CW: Carnal matters.  Pervasive and occasionally explicit.

The first thing James did on waking the morning after the shipboard Halloween festivities was stumble out of Elizabeth’s cabin as quickly as he could in search of the nearest unoccupied gun port into which he could be sick instead of onto the floor.

The second was to check the time. The third was to blog one single syllable of displeasure while ignoring the laughing of pirates who were probably no less sodden than he was at the moment but enjoyed getting to call out “You all right there, Commodore?” as he groped his way back toward the cabin, wincing.

Elizabeth waited for him there.

Sunglasses. Advil.

A sympathetic smirk.

“Hey, babe,” she said, peering above her own sunnies at him.  “Don’t be mad, but I let you sleep. I thought you may require it.”

“I am God’s own idiot,” he said, feeling around the bed in case he had left anything there that he needed to bring above deck, up to and including a pistol with which to shoot himself. “I can't even recall last night-”

“I can.”

“Oh, God,” James muttered.

“You were delicious, and so was the rum.”

“I- wait, what?”

James stopped where he was, sitting on the edge of the bed, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I also partook,” she said delicately.

“You- oh God- did we-”

Elizabeth, who had been leaning back on the bed beside him, legs jauntily crossed, suddenly lost her air of smug superiority and flushed.

“If my memory serves- not for lack of trying.”

“Oh, God,” he repeated, leaning forward into his hands. “Were we the only ones-”

“Drinking? Of course not,�� she laughed.

“Thank God,” he said. He accepted the Advil and swallowed them dry. “Elizabeth, I’m sorry-”

“For?”

“Making a fool of myself, as ever.”

“Stop panicking,” laugh Elizabeth, patting him on the thigh.  “You didn’t.”

“I know, I- wait.”

He tilted his head to look at her. “I didn't?”

“No!  You were very popular-”

“In what manner-”

“Charming, very funny - very devil-may-care - you won some money at a dice game. Do you not recall any of this?”

“I might when my head stops splitting.”

Elizabeth eased him back onto the bed, head in her lap, gently rubbing his temple and settling herself against a pillow against the headboard, contentedly. 

“I felt like that in the morning, but I’ve vanquished the worst of it,” she said brightly.  “Of course I think I had much less than you.”

“You're also not breaking several months of abstinence,” he muttered. “Please stop me next time. I shall try to do better as well, but please-”

“I was already tipsy when you started.”

James winced his eyes shut.

“Ah, he said. “That would explain it.”

He let her massage him for a moment longer before his eyes opened again in wide, startled surprise.

“Popular, though-”

“Center of attention, made everyone laugh. Course, we were all drunk, maybe you weren’t very funny-”  Her fingers in his hair grew slow and dreamy as she thought on it.  “...and you are a very flirty drunk, James, my lord.”

“With you, I hope-”

Elizabeth started laughing gaily.  “Of course with me!”

“Ah, good. With my record, I couldn't be certain-”

“Barbossa banished us here after we got a bit too frisky -” Here Elizabeth herself actually winced, biting her lip and disguising her snarl as another laugh. “That, I am afraid, everybody saw - everybody, and Will.”  She realized quickly how James would most likely take that. “...I don’t mean that anybody saw anything but kissing and general flirtation.  I doubt Barbossa could handle any more than that.”

“But we didn't… all right. I shall try to live with this.”

James closed his eyes again; even the dim light of the curtained cabin hurt. Elizabeth surreptitiously slid the pair of sunglasses onto his face, which made him frown a little and then relax again.

“I may have destroyed that goodwill by vomiting from a gunport,” he admitted.

“Pirates.”

“Lisbet, I know I'm not terribly popular hereabouts,” he said, slowly leaning his head into her hands, “and I don't expect that to change over one rash night of drinking.”

“Oh, I know. But first of all, the vomiting will change nothing. And second of all…”

She leaned over him to touch noses for a moment.

“...you’re mine and I don’t care.”

He would have kissed her if not for fear of smelling- and worse, tasting- foul. He reached up to caress her hair instead.

“You're a more patient woman than you credit yourself.”

“I’m not.  But I adore you.”

“You look well for someone in similar condition.”

“I’ve been awake longer. Had a lot of juice. And a lot of Advil.”

“I must look ghastly,” he said, with a weak laugh.

In truth, he didn't; with his eyes covered, it was impossible to see how bloodshot they were, which was the only real resemblance he bore to his former drunken squalor. His beard was trimmed and in good shape, and his hair, though a little sweat-dampened at the moment, had grown out enough to look intentional and maintained again at last.

“Don’t now and certainly didn’t last night.  I distinctly remember. You leaned on everything and flicked your hair out of your eyes with insouciance.  When we made it to the bed you had your knees wide apart. You were inviting.”

“...oh, my God,” he said, sounding mortified. “Only toward you, I hope-”

“Only me - James, you were more attentive to me than you are sober-”

“...ah,” he said, taking a moment to process this. “I'm… sorry?”

“I’m not!”

“I would kiss you,” he said, “but I've been sick-”

“Noted,” she said, wrinkling her nose and laughing again. In truth, her headache had not fully subsided - sitting in the dimmer cabin with sunglasses on sipping unsweetened tea was not what she regularly liked to do for fun - but James feeling worse made her feel better by comparison, and it was also, more favorably, a pleasant distraction to dote on him.  

“If you’ll give me a moment to brush my teeth, I will make up for that-”

“Also noted,” she said delightedly.

James pushed himself up- it took a couple of tries- and stretched, though he had to lean on the wall for a moment.

“Perhaps I don’t need to be as abstaining as I thought,” he said, “if this is the greeting I receive the following morning.”

“On holidays, anyway,” she said gamely.

“And ashore, perhaps,” said James. “When I needn’t be on-task-”

“Oh, perhaps - I can permit that. Less than you drank yesterday, of course-”

“How much did I drink?” His voice was muffled by the toothbrush.

“Enough not to remember today, apparently,” she laughed at him.  “Enough that last night, we couldn’t…”

“That’s for the best.”

“Indeed,” she laughed. “We were about to go full speed ahead, no quondam!”

James took a mouthful of water and then pried open the window to spit.

“Thank God for the carnal failures of drunken men. I doubt I could have sustained it to begin with.”

Elizabeth got to her feet slowly, adjusting her belt in a haughty, masculine gesture, before striding across the room towards him.  Her boots brought her there quickly.  It was such a small space - intimate, one might say.

“I believe I expressed an interest in proceeding otherwise before falling asleep.  Ah, well. I am sure I had very…pleasant dreams,” said Elizabeth, leaning her back against the wall beside him, the picture of innocent intent.

James took off the sunglasses and winced, but he needed to rub his eyes. He had to flick his hair back again to do so, and made a little noise of irritation at having to, but it was more flattering falling around his face whether he wanted to admit it or not.

“A drunken man is no good in bed,” James said as he tugged on the dusty curtain covering the window.

“Seems a drunken woman is very quick to go there, regardless,” said Elizabeth promptly, smoothing his wrinkled shirt.

“At least I now know that I am still capable of socially acceptable behavior while in my cups,” James muttered.

She smiled up at him distractedly. “Indeed.”

“You enjoyed this too much,” he said, faintly alarmed.

“It was enjoyable,” she said, a hint of shyness entering her manner.  From Elizabeth, shyness was a contradictory trait; even when she visibly felt it, it did not hinder her frankness.  In some contexts it even transformed itself into courage, but as far as James was concerned, it was generally precipitous of new boldness.  Sure enough, Elizabeth glanced him over, parted her lips and said, “And I may permit you to do it again, with supervision.”

“With supervision,” James repeated.

“My supervision.”

“Your very sober supervision.”

“...not really what I had in mind.”

“I may be fresh enough for that kiss now.”

“Indeed?” the Pirate King asked, and gave it to him.

“Mm-”

He was still a little unsteady on his feet, and had to cling more than he’d planned.  Elizabeth misinterpreted this, and pulled him closer to her with a little gasp. “Oh, James-”

He kissed her one last time and added, “At least now I have the comfort of getting drunk before you jab me with your little needle, I suppose-“

Elizabeth’s hands pushed themselves up his chest to clutch his lapel and haul him back down to kiss her again.

“You do -”

“Ah-”

He kissed her, hefting her up clumsily into his arms and then staggering just enough from his lingering dizziness to have to hold her up with one arm as he flung the other behind himself to brace with, flicking his hair back again unthinkingly. The waviness that had been visible in his low year was beginning to show again, though at this length it was more of a perpetual floppy tousle.

Unable to keep upright with her in his arms, James carried her toward the bed again and sat down with a thump.

“I shall have to let you cling more in trousers today, I think, if I am to keep you up-“

“Oh, really?” she asked softly, looking him dead in the eyes as she wrapped her legs around his waist and tightened them.

James opened his mouth to say something, looking a little startled, then paused.

“You've got a bit of-”

He tugged it away, to slight resistance, and held it up to show her. It was a little wisp of false hair that had still been stuck to her cheek.

She made a face.

“How drunk was I?” he asked, looking mildly alarmed. “I can’t even place what this is-“

“Drunker than I remember seeing you,” she said with a shrug.

“All right,” he concluded. “Never mind- I shouldn't do this again just-”

“James,” she said, urgently, tightening her arms around his shoulders to pull him closer.

“I’m bound to do something stupid eventually- I apologize for my laxness.”

“It was a party,” she said, not altogether displeased he didn’t remember her as Barbossa, but not altogether happy he didn’t remember curling his forefinger under her chin with an out-of-focus smirk as he kissed her in spite of that.

“I'm not losing myself in my thoughts now,” he said, trying to lean back to look at her, “if that's what you're worried about. I'm only… taking stock of things.”

“James. Come down here.”

“Yes?”

There wasn’t very much there to go down, but he did his best. Elizabeth enfolded him in her arms, pressing his face into her chest and sinking her fingers into his hair.

“Shut up.”

James groaned. “M’apologies.”

He laced his fingers into her hair from his awkward position below, realized his face was level with- pressed against!- her breasts, and quickly tried to lift himself away from them, but Elizabeth was having none of it.

“Stay here,” she said firmly.  “At least until your Advil’s kicked in.”

“Lisbet, this is a rather compromising position-”

“Hmm?” she asked wryly, scruffling his hair.

“My face is in your-”

She tilted his chin up with her fingertips.

“Better now?”

He looked a little dazed as he leaned his cheek on her shoulder instead.

“You don't have to stay here.”

“Low wind today, plus two other captains on board without hangovers.”  Elizabeth paused. “At least, I don’t think Teague’s hungover.  I know he drank last night, but - does it make any difference to him, at this point?  And you know how Barbossa is.  Well, the point is, I don’t have a lot else to do, and the sun is really bright.”

“Saving our strength for the cave. That's what we'll call it.”

She snorted.

“Everyone knows we’re hungover, Captain Norrington.”

“You as well?”

“Yeah?”

“I assumed you hid it around the rest of them, and didn't go running for a gunport for fear you couldn't open the window in time.”

“No, I didn’t make it to a gunport,” she grimaced.  “You slept right through it.  Cleaned it up myself, though.  I don’t try to make it out like I’m better’n anyone else is.”

“I could have helped you with that, if I were not so drunk myself,” he said. “Whatever you're doing with my hair, don't stop-”

Even in the midst of the hangover, the humidity, the headache, her heart melted.

“Oh, James,” she said breathlessly.

“Yes?” he asked, leaning into her touch. “I could hold you instead if you'd prefer-”

“No,” she said, helpless, “it’s just… you’re so…. not-you.”

“Hungover? Unfortunately, that's very me.”

She let it rest there.

“Regardless, I think I ought to hold you a little longer.”

“I'll permit it.”

He allowed himself to lean against her without holding himself back at last, with a sigh.  Elizabeth abruptly shifted, changing her mind- preferring to lean back on the bedspread again, with James resting against her that way.  But soon they had returned to a dreamy state of idleness, Elizabeth coddling him and smiling up at the ceiling half-wittedly.

“How is your ex-husband managing,” James asked softly.

“Sober and fairly well pleased with himself,” she said, more shortly than she meant to.

“Ah,” said James. “I hope he has not given you any trouble-?”

“No.”

“Ah. Good; we last spoke under… difficult terms.”

He paused.

“A running theme, it would seem. No matter; I'm glad enough knowing you're mine now.”

She smiled, perhaps a bit begrudgingly, but it helped her unwind nonetheless.  It was only then she realized how tense she’d become and let out a short bark of laughter.

“Forgive me, I’m… I wish he weren’t on this voyage,” she admitted.  “It’s difficult… knowing he’s here.”

“Presumably this will be the end of it. I do owe him some reconciliation with his father. I promised him that much, and I prefer keeping my word.”

“Yes, I know,” she said distantly.  

“My God,” he said distantly. “I was so far beyond hope that you would ever choose me over him, and yet…”

She ruffled his hair - perhaps a little bit sadly.

“Watching you,” James murmured, “in the heat- in your trousers, without a coat- without so much as jumps, at that-”

“What, sweating?” she said flatly.

“Perhaps a little,” he said. “It makes you glisten.”

“What about it?” she asked, mystified.

“It is intensely attractive.”

She laughed, startled, and then she sighed, loudly, fondly, his name.

“Your hair fanning behind you,” he added. “It reminds me of how fortunate I am.”

She’d been going to tease him about his preference for boys, real or imagined, before he said that.  Not only did she no longer have an opening for such a joke, she no longer had the heart for it.  Elizabeth rubbed the back of his neck.

Tenderly, she prompted, “Fortunate?”

“To be the man with whom you have chosen to spend your life,” he said. “To say nothing of having the privilege of watching you strut about the deck like that and knowing I may take you to bed later-”

“James!” she gasped, in delighted shock. “That’s very forward of you - I approve.”

“I can only imagine most men prefer their wives in skirts so as to avoid being unduly preoccupied by them otherwise,” James said dryly.

“And do you find yourself unduly preoccupied by me?” she asked, perhaps too giddy.

“Often,” said James. “Too often by far-”

She bit her lip and smirked up at the ceiling.

“You don't know the effect you can have on a man, Lisbet,” said James, in a faraway sort of tone. “Every inch of you. There was a moment some weeks ago when you had tucked your hair under your hat and I found myself held at a disadvantage by the back of your neck.”

That knocked the smirk off her face.  Instead of pride, she found her immediate reaction was disbelief.  And this from her dull suitor of only a few years ago - reconciling this confession with that was a bit much to overcome.

“My- really? My neck?” she asked, gracelessly.

“That one, I confess, is not new- not with how often your hair was done away from it in Port Royal,” he conceded. “I suppose it was the reminder of that.”

“When did that start?” she pressed on, still bewildered. “It’s not a feature that changes with maturity.”

“I seem to recall it around the time I had begun to love everything about you,” he said, rather simply.

It would do very little good to dwell on it - she had already gone over why countless times - and at this point James seemed to wince every time it came up that she wished she had noticed the sincerity - the severity - of his affection sooner.  But Christ!

“Well, it’s all yours now,” she said, even if she could not fully understand what allure the back of the neck could possibly have - she still understood that if a smallish thing like that could provoke him then he must want her very much indeed.

“I think,” he said slowly, eyes shut,  “it was the thought of being permitted to touch it, and the intimacy such an act would entail.”

Elizabeth dislodged him only very slowly as she sat up, only to look down at him a long moment, tracing her fingertip over his lips.

“...Would you like to?”

“Lisbet,” he began, embarrassed. “It's not- I was merely struck by the memory while watching you storm about the place in an unlaced shirt and trousers-”

“Well, if you want to - I think I’d like it,” she said hesitantly.

James sat up with some difficulty, flinching against the sunlight as he opened his eyes again. Elizabeth's hair was down at the moment, but that only added to the sensation as he pushed his hand under it to rest at the back of her neck, as lightly as an insect on a leaf.

“...like this,” he said softly.

Elizabeth parted her lips, and her eyes widened just slightly - but she could not speak for a moment.  When she found it in her to move, she leaned in and rested her head, tremulously, on his shoulder. James threaded his fingers through her hair.

“I couldn't bear to dwell on this-”

“- because I had made you no promise,” she surmised.

Elizabeth released a breath she had not known she was holding.  

“I am so relieved that things fell into place such that I did not lose out on this. On… you,” she confessed, and pressed her face into the area between his neck and shoulder, her arm creeping around his back to embrace him. He put both arms around her and held tight.

“I wish I could make this sound like anything but the lowest of lust-”

“It doesn’t,” Elizabeth snorted.  “That’s - God help me, that was what I was experiencing concurrently.  Thinking about a blacksmith’s toned arms,” she   deadpanned.  “I do know that what I had with Will was real… eventually.  At that point, it was nothing more than a daydream about a boy I barely knew.  At least… at least you knew me.”

“I thought I did, at least,” he said, with a sad smile. He kissed her temple through her hair.

“Enough to know you should like to know me better,” she amended.

“Well,” he said, “now I do. I suppose it ended as well as it could have?”

“As my dog, you mean? You seem to handle it well-”

There might have been a pun in that.

“Elizabeth,” said James. “I scarcely know what I'm speaking of- I would have always- I cannot imagine not loving you, regardless of everything else-”

Elizabeth barely bit back a smile, touching his face as though hesitant to actually lay her hand on him - as though it would pass right through him.

“Oh, well then.”

“I hope that's not overmuch-”

“Hardly, but I don’t know what provoked it-”

“I rather dwell on the thought.”

She laid her hand on his rough cheek, brushing her thumb back and forth affectionately.

“...more than I care to admit,” he said, without looking at her.

“Because I am less amenable than you would like?” she asked, following his gaze, and cupping his face in her hands, leaning in to give him a kiss in apology.

“No- no, you’ve done nothing wrong-” James protested, lowering his eyes, flustered.  Elizabeth laughed against his lips, deepening the kiss - she loved when he got like this.

“I tell you I don’t dwell on this - not like you do. But it rests at the back of my mind, like - “

She slid her fingers into his hair and kissed him again, her fingers gently pressing the crown of his head.

“- like a pressure, and then I give it some mind, and it becomes-”

She gripped his hair - slowly, and not enough that it could pain him, but certainly enough to be felt.

“-overpowering-”

“Elizabeth-”

“I’ll just look across the deck, and see the faint glimmer of red in your hair, and take note of the figure you cut, and it will all hit me at once,” Elizabeth confided, her lips against his, but not yet kissing him, and with her hand as it was, he couldn’t lean in to do it himself.  “That man is mine.  To do with as I please.  As it pleases him.”

She cupped the back of his head as she kissed him. James gasped against her lips, closing his eyes again.

“...red?” he repeated faintly. It was just about the only thing he could seize on that wasn’t going to exacerbate the situation beginning to happen down below. The alcohol was clearly no longer that present in his system.

“Mm, yes. So strange; you have such dark hair.  It’s really lovely, you know.  And it’s grown out almost curling,” she said, wrapping a lock around her finger possessively, adoringly.

“It- yes,” he said awkwardly, trying to keep on a safe topic. “It always has- I suppose it merely doesn’t show after a certain point. Er, thank you-”

Her fingers moved to his chin and glided down his throat in continued approval.  “I suppose I do not like it as you like mine - I can think of no one in the world who has liked anything, the way you seem to like my hair - but my word, James.  That wig did your cause more damage than you have caused any buccaneer in the Caribbean.  I have so much lost time to account for, and I shall begin by recognizing your beauty - you are beautiful, James.  Moreso now I can be prideful to have you, too-”

“I- thank you,” he said again. “It’s- well, had we married, I certainly would not have worn the damned thing in private-”

“Yes, I can only imagine now we are as good as married what it would have been like: very different to my expectations.  And if you had touched the back of my neck as you do now,” she said, with a mean twinkle in her eyes, “or certainly if you had ever put your hands in my hair as you are wont, I would have fallen desperately in love with you, and lived happily ever after.”

“I can only hope I would have,” he said, taking a handful of her hair as he said so and bringing it to his lips to kiss its length.

She shivered.

“I don’t understand. I don’t feel that, and yet…”

“It is not… conditional on your hair- I hope that much is clear-”

“It is, but -”  Elizabeth bit her lip, genuinely conflicted. “Is it strange, though - is it wrong, that the way you like it… affects me?”

James stopped mid-kiss.

“...it affects you?”

“Yes,” she said, self-conscious.

“...ah,” James said awkwardly. “I hope that’s acceptable-”

“Why wouldn’t it be?  I merely want to know if you think it’s wrong- or unusual-”

“I don’t- why would I?”

“You know rather a lot more about relations between men and women than I do -”

“I don’t find it perverse, if that’s what you fear-”

“No,” she said with a laugh. “Weird, at most-”

“I’ve seen weirder,” he said flatly.

“No doubt, in the King’s navy,” she said, holding his chin fondly, and kissing him. James finally laughed again and returned it.

“No, darling, I don’t think there’s anything too odd about it. My only concern is that you find my affections shallow.”

“Less so than my own, I assure you,” said Elizabeth, pulling his shirt open.

“Mm- I shall do my utmost to avoid any permanent injuries, then.”

She ran her hand liberally over his chest, then leaned in to kiss his collarbone.  “Touch my hair again,” she murmured.

James obediently began pushing his fingers through it with a light laugh. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Good boy-”

“Elizabeth.”

“I can’t resist that any more than you can resist me.”

He nuzzled into her hair. “Duly noted.”

She let out a sharp sigh.

“Oh, this does wonders for what remains of my misery,” she said contentedly.  “Being here with you.  Though I am sure being more hydrated helps.  How are you feeling, by the way?”

“This is a wonderful distraction,” he said, though his eyes were still closed. “I shall manage.”

“Or be managed, as the case may be.  As the case is, I should say.”  

“Elizabeth?”

“Yes, love?”

“You understand that your physical charms are not all that has gained my interest, I hope?”

“I certainly never imagined so,” said Elizabeth, with the full knowledge that she had been taller and lankier and considerably longer in the chin than most women who were considered beautiful would be.  Besides, she had very little bosom to speak of.  “I can only assume you were bewitched by the idea of a bride who wouldn’t obey a single thing you said.”

James ignored that last jab. “Very well. As long as you understand that I am… aware of the difficulties of this life, and the damages it may inflict-”

“Yes, yes,” she said dismissively. “You’re so morbid, James.”

“You have reminded me often enough that we may not survive this voyage,” said James. “I have reminded myself in turn that there are worse things than that that can befall one at sea.”

“We’ll just have to appreciate each other as though there is no tomorrow,” she said, smiling.

James kissed her again, making a proprietary fist in her hair as he did.

“Good,” he said firmly. “I would hate for you to have runaway ideas about my losing interest in you were you to be without this due to some mishap or another, and that’s only one example.”

“I don’t, but do you really have to speculate on it?” she groaned.  It was not a noise to indicate desire for once.

“It tends to occupy the background of one’s thoughts while thinking of marriage,” James retorted.

“Mutilation does? Are you certain? Are you really very certain?”

“In the Navy it certainly does!”

“Surely not one’s wife’s mutilation, though,” she said dubiously.

“If one is to take her to sea, it's a matter which must unfortunately be weighed. Mrs. Fenton had a halt in her step for some time, though I understand she eventually recovered-”

“Don’t you think,” she baited him, “that you should have given me some notion of that before you married me?  Not a word during our engagement.  Why, you would have had me under false pretences.”

“I would have offered you the chance to stay home,” said James, “and full awareness of the risks. But I also intended to surprise you with the offer to accompany me to sea-“

“An offer I would have gladly accepted - rather more gladly than I had the man who made it,” said Elizabeth, wrapping her arms around his shoulders much like a happy wife would.

“I’m flattered,” James said dryly.

“Who knew that underneath it all, you had such....” Her eyes moved from his, almost unconsciously, down to his bared chest and throat, and she wetted her lips, and looked at him again, and gave a small, helpless shrug.  “-character.”

“Thank you,” he said, even more flatly.

“How glad I am I got to know you better after all,” said Elizabeth, rubbing her hand along his chest once more and dipping a finger between his pectoral muscles with approval. James followed her finger down with his eyes.

“Are you- all right, I shall accept a compliment where I can find it, but God, if it's not a little overwhelming.”

“What, pray tell, do you mean,” asked Elizabeth, her own eyes also following the trespasses of her fingers, as they now strayed over the full expanse of his chest.  Her touches were light, but purposeful and possessive.

“For you to have cared so little, and not too long ago, to this- it’s rather a lot-“

“Oh, James,” she said, eyes meeting his abruptly with a wince of guilt.

James lay his hand against her cheek.

“Forgive me, that was- unnecessarily harsh.”

“Not so harsh as fate’s been to you,” she said, cupping her hand over his and turning her face to kiss his palm.  “I do care for you now - I cared for you before, just not as you hoped.”

She mulled over her thoughts only a moment before committing to what it came to her mind to say. “I love you.”

“It certainly took you long enough,” James said, though not unwarmly or accusingly.

He kissed her. “I love you, too.”

Elizabeth frowned into the kiss, but did not end it - kissed back, harder, as though it were a competition. “I - did not realize - it was a matter of any - urgency-”

“I pride myself on punctuality,” said James.

“And I on my free spirit-”

“All right, I grant you that-”

“I do not need your permission for it,” she practically sneered, but something in her tone of voice was hungry and pleading regardless. “Grant me something else-”

Small wonder what else she could want.

“We still haven’t any quondams, Lisbet,” he reminded her. It was rather a pity; release was good for a headache.

“Let me have it anyway,” she commanded, tossing her hair while gripping his. In spite of the roughness with which she handled him, she never really forgot herself - Elizabeth was always careful to not yank his hair.  If the firmness of her grip startled him, it would at least never hurt.  “I want you in my mouth.”

James stared at her, momentarily deprived of speech.

“...I’m… amenable,” he said, eyes still widened, his whole body bowstring-tense.

She took his hands in hers then, guiding one to her mouth and the other to the crotch of his trousers.  She teasingly took the tips of his fingers between her lips, while her other hand entwined their fingers and rubbed at his groin.

“All right- all right, I'm awake now-”

“Still amenable, darling?”

“You make a strong case-”

“Mm. Awake indeed, my love,” she said, her face lighting up.  “Now… To begin with, I’ll want you to take your shirt off.”

It wasn't hard; his shirt was already mostly open. James did not break eye contact with her as he chucked it aside.

“All right.”

Elizabeth released his hands and reached out for him, burying her face against his chest for a moment and breathing him in.  He smelled of sour sweat and spilled rum, but other, more pleasant odors took over for her - the spices of the rum, the taste of salt, the familiar scent of his skin.  She kissed him, and then she bit him - then she pulled back to assess that she had done him no wrong.

“What was that?”

He was, to be fair, more bemused than anything.

“Does that heighten your enjoyment?”

“...not particularly,” he admitted, “though it scarcely retracted from it either-”

“Pity - it does mine,” said Elizabeth, trying a different approach - she resumed her kisses, but more slowly, and more gently; and then after a time, introduced the application of her tongue.

“I don’t know how you can do that,” he said, watching her with a sort of detached lordliness. “I expect I must taste foul after last night.”

“I like your taste.”

“Perhaps I shall let you wash me when you’re done,” he said, leaning back and shutting his burning eyes again.

“Oho, I did not offer to-”

“Maybe I am telling you to,” said James.

“Sorry, what’s that, dog?”

“I cannot be blamed for trying.”

“Mm.”  The censure of her kisses was mild, at least.  She did consider withdrawing to tease him, but she didn’t particularly want to deny herself just because he was being disobedient.  She would have to show him that being in her power was too enjoyable to give up.

“Mm what-”

“James, you are not being appreciative.”

“Don’t fool yourself into thinking I did not notice your enjoyment of having the tables turned against you the last time I held you down to the bed.”

“Yes, you’re a big strong man, I know,” she said dryly.

“I might do it again later,” he retorted, beginning to smile vaguely with his eyes still closed.

“Are you planning on acting bored then, too?” asked Elizabeth, her patience starting to fray.

“I never claimed to be bored,” said James, as he blindly felt along her arm and back until he had found her neck and could slip his fingers across the back of it. “In fact, I am enjoying myself a great deal at the moment.”

That made up for it for the time being.  After a little more dallying, Elizabeth moved downward.

James tensed and opened his eyes.

His breathing heavy but even, he moved his hand upward to grasp at her hair.

“I think,” he said, “that I may have to provide you with some direction.”

Elizabeth gasped.

“James!”

“I rather thought your majesty liked this-“

“She’s - amenable -”

“Ah. Good for her, then. Continue-“

“May I undress you?”

“Yes- yes, please-“

“Please?”

“Yes-“

“That all? You don’t seem to want it much-”

“I’m a little distracted-“

“By what, pray tell?” asked Elizabeth, as she freed him from his trousers.  “Mm, imagine how I should have gasped to see this once.”

“With- delight, one can only hope-“

Elizabeth, heedless of his hand in her hair, came up to nose at his throat, her friendliness in this manner softening the heartlessness of her teasing.

“Commodore Norrington, it’s enormous-”

“Elizabeth!” James blurted, covering his face with his free arm.

Elizabeth laughed and pulled him sweetly down to her, running her fingers through his hair and kissing the top of his head.

“Elizabeth- what in God’s name was that-“

“Realism.”

“Oh my God-“

She slid her hand down between his thighs again.  “It really is, too, you know,” she said conversationally.  

“Is this- you don’t go telling others anything about this, do you-“

“Our secret.”  She kissed him, while at the same time giving him a squeeze.

“Oh my God-“

James involuntarily released her hair. She made a noise of surprised displeasure, and he grabbed at it again in a scrambling hurry.

“If we are to do this, I need to tell you where to go-“

“What, have I been doing it wrong,” she said dubiously.

“No, it’s- I was put off. I lost my train of thought-“

Elizabeth kissed him on the throat and continued touching him, trying to coax him into remembering.

“...squeezing will do that, you know,” James added, a little crossly.

“Pardon me my eagerness to touch you, Captain Norrington,” said Elizabeth - herself out of breath now.  “You must know how you linger in my thoughts, distract me with longing-”

“A welcome change of affairs, to be certain-”

He regained his grip and tightened it.

“Strange and - unexpectedly -” she managed, before giving up on conversation altogether - having one’s hair pulled will do that.  

“I shall have to ensure my place in them, then, will I not?”

She groaned.

“There are a lot of places I’d like to have you in -”

“Most pertinently, your mouth-”

“And you?” she implored, beginning her earlier attentions again - more slowly than earlier, so as to not get him off track again.  “Do you want to put yourself there?”

“I,” said James, “would be satisfied to put you there myself-”

Elizabeth’s mouth opened of its own accord - not as a reaction to the conversation at hand, but out of dimly interested shock. Something in her brain slowed and stopped processing information when James said filthy things.

“And I do seem to have a good handle with which to direct you, rather than trying to speak on it-”

Elizabeth thought about another smart-ass remark; she was the Pirate King, a pirate lord and captain well beyond simply being voted into the position by men who had wanted to fuck her.  Scourge of the Caribbean or no, James Norrington had better respect her or else.  But her mouth seemed to have some trouble in catching up with her thoughts; she was too tongue-tied for a single comeback.

It was not like Elizabeth to be flustered.  That in and of itself was worth some analysis, and she thought suddenly of what he had said a moment ago about turning the tables.  

Damn him, he wasn’t wrong.

Finally she managed to half-stammer out a reply.  “I’ll - I’ll permit that.”

“Do you desire it, or merely permit it?” James asked. “I would hardly see you forced.”

She grit her teeth for a moment, but he had but to tilt his hand in her hair just slightly enough for her to feel the tug for her to open her mouth again.

“I want it - James, direct me-”

“...Elizabeth,” he began, “are you certain-”

Elizabeth laid her hand on his chest and met his eyes.  Words came to her, but left just as quickly.  Instead she nodded emphatically. James was immediately struck by a pang of regret.

“Mm,” he said. “Come up here and kiss me first. I would rather you here than there to begin with.”

“I’ve no doubt,” she snorted, though she wasted no time in entwining her arms around his shoulders.  “I am trying to acclimate you.”

“If you insist on going down there, I’d prefer to have a degree of control,” James retorted, leaning back to embrace her properly and kiss her.

“We’ve established I don’t mind that-”

“I’ve noticed.” He looked rather amused by this, in fact.

“Do you remember- in Tortuga, you said to me, early on, ‘You don’t have to be the Pirate King in here,’” said Elizabeth distantly.

“Mm. Yes, I think so-”

“It seems,” she said, with the utmost seriousness, “that you really meant it.”

“What does that mean-”

“Did you want a degree of control?”

“I try not to think of it.”

“Usually, from you,” she said cannily, “that means you do want it.”

“I mean,” he said, with a laugh as he looked at her, “that I try not to think of any of it at all. It’s bothersome at best-”

“You’re so boring, James,” she complained, pushing her aggrieved fingers through his wavy hair.  “I think about it as often as I can spare. It’s such a welcome reprieve from the chores of daily life.”

“Ah- keep doing that. In any case, I suppose you don’t find it a chore in itself-”

“What, basket-making? Don’t be absurd.”

“We have not yet made any baskets,” James groused, “and I expect you will find that more of a chore than you think when the option arrives.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” said Elizabeth, pressing their bodies still more closely together. “When we’ve been together and you are near me like this I think I am going to pass out from how much I want to have you in me.”

James grit his teeth and gasped.

“The feeling is mutual-”

“Besides - if I need finishing,” she baited him, a smile hovering over her lips, “you’ll finish me, won’t you?”

“Yes-”

He had turned his face away from hers.

Elizabeth gently tugged where her hand was still in his hair.

“James. What is it? What’s the matter.”

“Nothing is the matter,” he said. “I'm a bit sore, that's all. Don't worry about me, please. Last night must have been rather a lot-”

“Changing the subject away from intercourse, when we were just about to have it - that’s a matter all right.”

“Am I not allowed to wish to treasure you a little first-”

“I feel a little oppressed by your treasuring,” said Elizabeth testily.  “It begins to sound like excuses.”

“If it's an inability you fear,” said James, “I would have thought you noticed that my body is more than prepared for such an activity-”

“A reluctance of the spirit,” she said.  She longed to touch him again, but forced herself to keep her hands well above his waist until she had ascertained the truth of his discomfort; she could not force him.

James noticed this, and gently- almost apologetically- took her hand by the wrist and moved it downward.

“I would rather look you in the eye.”

“Going to be somewhat difficult, don’t you think?”

“Then that's the matter.”

Elizabeth withdrew her hand in some reluctance, but she did not feel comfortable floating through this activity unbothered; there were things that had to be addressed, first of all, and she was perplexed by his seeming dislike of her seeing to his pleasure - which, in being denied opportunity to do so, had become more of an object to her recently than achieving her own, which was a feat in and of itself.

“James,” she said plaintively.

“If you insist on it,” he said, taking hold of her hair again, “then get back down there, and we’ll have done for it.”

“Not if you’re going to behave like this about it -”  Elizabeth bit her lip and twisted a little in his grasp, her emotional turmoil making her physically restless.  “At least tell me why you don’t like it-”

“I've told you,” he said. “I prefer bringing you off, that's all.”

“It ruins my pleasure to have you forsake yours,” said Elizabeth coaxingly.  “You enjoy it, why can’t I?”

“Elizabeth,” he said.”It's only a preference. Please don't trouble yourself about it-”

“Well, it’s a burden to me,” she said, pulling a face.  “I want to make you want me… I want to overwhelm you as you do me.”

“I do not wish to be overwhelmed,” he said, after a long pause. “It's uncomfortably like being drunk.”

Elizabeth looked unbearably cranky.

“You like being drunk,” she said peevishly.

“Only in the moment,” he shot back.

“You seem to like the anticipation of it, too, but not this.”  It was clear her mood had taken a turn for the foul, and a sharp one at that, since she had moments ago been dewy-eyed and leaning on him.  Now her posture was stiff and her movements all harsh. Her hand was still in his hair, but it rested there unmoving as stone.

“I don't know about that. I drank a great deal last night and am all the worse for it today, as evidenced by the grabbing you by the hair and dragging you downward like some kind of beast-”

“I think I would have remembered if that had happened-”

“You fell silent- I feared I had hurt you, frightened you in some way-”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Elizabeth cried out, unwilling to hide her disgust with this new inanity - she pulled her hands away from him with a swiftness that bordered on cruelty, even though she did not hurt him in any way.

James, for his part, did not move- only watched her.

“If you insist,” he said, more than a little peevishly at this point, “then you may get down there and handle the matter yourself. That's what you want, isn't it-”

“No, it’s not,” she said heatedly.  “I just want -”

She cut herself off from speaking any further on that subject, and glared at him fiercely.

James sat up and watched her for a moment, waiting for her to say something. He was still at attention, and felt unspeakably grotesque for it. He tried to conceal it by tilting his hips to one side and pulling up the covers.

“I know what I want,” he said, “but I am disgusted by my wanting it. With myself, most of all.”

Elizabeth’s shoulders sagged.  She was trying to keep up her anger, but, as was typical from her, as soon as the opportunity came to put it aside, she couldn’t help it.

“Why? That’s - that’s all I want from you.  I just want to be wanted.”

“I do want you- I've even told you how-”

“Every time I indicate how much I want to attend to you, you reject me-”

“I don't want to be rendered helpless, Elizabeth-”

“I thought that was the entire point of your directing me!”

“That's different- that's- good God, Elizabeth, I don't want to-”

He took a deep breath to steady himself before he said something he would regret.

Like the suggestion that her husband was still on board if she'd prefer.

“I don't derive the pleasure from that you expect me to,” James said, in a carefully even voice. “I struggle to maintain the personal desire for it even as my body makes a crude show of it. Directing you felt as though I might be able to pull you off when I chose- make it a game- and instead you seemed so shocked and compliant that I felt ashamed of having desired it at all. If that's what you desire, then I will have you back down there before you leave this room again, and try not to regret my enjoyment if I do- but at least permit me my concern, especially after the discovery that I am far less prudent when drunk.”

He laughed bitterly. “I apologize if that makes me defective to you in some way.”

“It does,” she said shortly.

“I thought I had frightened you.”

Elizabeth was warring with her own desire to fling into his face that this was the very reason she had not wanted to marry him - something she had anticipated enjoying with Will - but at that all meanness fled, leaving her without much energy, but considerably less ill will.

Miserably, she said, “You hadn’t.”

“Your face went so blank, so slack- I thought you were resigned, at best.”

She put her arms around his shoulders again, shakily.  “I was aroused, you colossal idiot.”

“That isn't how you are usually inclined towards showing it-”

“My brain just…”

She made a little twisting gesture with her fingers.

“- turned off, like a phone.”

“In a good way, I hope-”

“In a very good way-”

“-ah.”

He paused.

“Do you still want to try-”

“Do you? You’ve just explained to me you feel no personal desire for me-”

“You misunderstood me- good God, I want you to the point of preoccupation-”

“But you don’t want to.”

“Elizabeth?”

She tossed her hair, tilting her head to meet his eyes confrontationally.

“...you don't suppose I could have a go between your thighs, do you? I can't guarantee it will be of much use to you, but unfortunately, what I would most prefer is impossible at the moment.”

“Why is that so much preferable to what I wanted?”

“I can look at you, for one,” said James.

Elizabeth tried to give him a frank look, but a smile broke through regardless.  A little embarrassed, she managed only, “Oh?”

“Rather more personal than shoving you down between my legs, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Will you forget it’s me if you can’t look into my eyes? I’m curious-”

“I prefer sharing the moment, that’s all.”

“Fine,” said Elizabeth, perhaps touchily, and perhaps also to hide her smile.  “May I get you started, though?”

“Yes,” he said, “though you'll find I'm rather far along-”

“What, even through this conversation,” said Elizabeth dubiously, moving her hand to between his legs again.  The same slack expression of surprise came into her face.  

“It's been rather trying,” James said flatly.

“So why do you still-” she started, even as she started on him with her hand - gently at first, but still having to shut her eyes.

“-yes?”

He was not entirely comfortable with this, but kept his face carefully blank lest she opened her eyes and got a good look at him again. It was worth it for her sake.

“Mm- why are you still…? Nevermind,” she said, biting her lip and smiling as she looked up at him again.  This was what he’d said he wanted - to look at her.

“Dulling it takes time,” James said vaguely.

“So that’s why the sailor prefers to roll over and go to sleep, rather than fantasize about the girl he left behind,” she teased him.  Her touch remained gentle - she wanted to feel him desperately, but she did not want to help him too far along, if he were going to go between her legs again.

“Now you begin to understand-“

“But you don’t have to dull it anymore, James,” she whispered, nearly kissing him.  “You have me now.  Let me take care of you.”

“Don’t- Elizabeth-“

He began to laugh, embarrassed, and covered his face.

Elizabeth put both of her arms around him now, but more vexed than truly comforting.  “What is it-”

“It’s nothing-“

“Nothing? You can’t look me in the eye-”

“You’ve got me at a disadvantage.”

“What’s that, that you’re aroused?  I would hate to be the one to inform you, but so am I-”

“I know-“

He looked at her, bleary-eyed and grinning.

“Good heavens, it’s not so much, Elizabeth- you needn’t think of it as taking care of me.”

“My sweet Captain,” said Elizabeth, matching his grin, “I don’t. I think of it is as fucking you, and I love it.”

“You haven’t yet,” he said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “We haven’t the necessary equipment for that yet, either-“

“You don’t think this is - ? You cannot be serious.  What is it between men, then - on an equivalency to hand-holding?”

“You’ll have to ask Theo about that one. I wouldn’t know; I was not in the habit of regular conversation with anyone with whom- well.”

“This was what I feared, when we were engaged,” Elizabeth finally blurted, after a long while of holding her tongue, even when she had been angrier.  “That my instinct proved correct, and you were about as erotic as a dead fish.”

“Elizabeth,” he said, “you’re lucky I had the sense to avoid getting you with child.”

“You don’t even want to let me take your cock into my mouth,” she argued.

He lifted his head in alarm at her language but chose not to comment on it.

“What am I supposed to do, rut you senseless like it’s two years ago in Tortuga all over again-“

“I just want you to be senseless every so often,” she said wistfully. “To be overwhelmed and to like it.  I want to be - happy together.”

“I’m already happy,” he said, a little woundedly.

“I want you to be happy in our bed as well as out of it,” she retorted.  “Not that I have ever seen you happy outside of this cabin-”

“I am happy in our bed-”

“You are tense and nervous and disgruntled in our bed.”

“Presently, I’m still at attention in our bed,” he said dryly.

“And the reason why you are still at attention instead of sated and lazy is because you feel no personal desire that you have not tried to stifle-”

“Believe me,” he said heavily, “my desire is feeling extremely unsatisfied at present.”

“Put your hand back in my hair.”

“Elizabeth?”

“You heard me.”

After a moment, though, she pressed a hand to his chest, urgently.

“I don’t mean it. I mean, I do mean it, but - there are no consequences if you don’t wish to do it-”

James grabbed her hair in his fist and yanked her downward.

Elizabeth gasped, but came to her senses almost immediately - enough to recall his comfort before seeing to her own, though she was reluctant to wait.

“May I, then-”

“I’m not asking you to talk-”

She needed little encouragement after that.  She had wanted him greedily and unreasonably since they had been drunk the night before, and being given the opportunity, she did not plan to squander it- not that James gave her much room to do so. He held her body in place with one leg and her head between his hands, her hair still clenched in one of them, as he urged her along in silence punctuated by the rare gasp or word of approval.

If he supposed he could have no means of ascertaining her enjoyment, he did not count on how greatly she would enjoy it.  Elizabeth clutched at his hips and his thighs enough to leave a few bruises, and she moaned her delight - not intentionally, but because she could not help herself.  If this was what James called ‘using her’, he was permitted to do so as often as he liked.

James lifted his hand to pry hers away.

“I did not ask you for- nnn- that-”

It was difficult to get a grip on him that both of them were satisfied with, but the negotiation was worthwhile. When it was finished, James silently released her hair and let his hands fall to his sides.

Elizabeth was ungraciously wiping her mouth on the back of her wrist, but she looked starry-eyed when she gazed back up at him.

“Well?”

“Nn. Give me a moment, I'm rather spent.”

“I should know.”

“Were it not for the delay, I would drag you back down there this instant.”

Elizabeth flopped back against the pillow, looking up at him smugly.

“And did you feel so very helpless, Captain?”

“Not particularly,” he said, looking up toward the ceiling.

“Come down here and thank me,” Elizabeth purred.

“No- you're going to come up here,” he said firmly, with another tug for emphasis.  She sat up, stretching her arms above her head.  It was fairly clear that, amenable though she was, she was as easy to control now as the weather.

“Go on, then.”

James pulled her down and kissed her possessively, tightening his grip on her hair to push her mouth to his.

“Is this what you want?”

“Can’t say I mind-” she breathed.

“That will do.”

He turned her down into the cot beneath him.

“James,” she murmured into his mouth, though she took her sweet time in finishing her thought, “Kiss me on my neck again, please?”

He did not object to this- in fact, he set to his task with relish.

“Remove my shirt-” Elizabeth moaned, tilting her head back and lifting her arms to help him.

“I'm working on it-”

“Take your time,” she said idly.  She shivered when the shirt came up over her head, though not from cold. She touched him on the chest a lingering moment, as though contemplating his body, and then sank silently into his arms, burying her face against him, just holding him close.

James dragged her up for another kiss. She returned it tenderly, sinking her fingers into his hair.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” she asked wonderingly, meeting his eyes.  “Really mine.”

“...likewise,” he said softly, “yes?”

“Entirely, I think.  I don’t understand it myself.”

“You've mentioned that,” he said, a little desperately.

“I want no man but you.  I don’t even want a woman.  If the thought appeals to me in the abstract, it is not really serious enough to detract from wanting you.  And I barely feel guilt over it.  Even when I think that I should, I can’t persuade myself to.  I simply want you, over and over again.  In bed and in battle and on a beach some day, when it is not raining.  And I think something else, too.”

“What else do you think of?” James asked softly.

“I think we were always meant to be together,” she confessed.

“I don't- I'm not certain that's how it works,” said James. “I believe that in some way I was destined to love you, but I do not believe that you were always meant to return it.”

“I do. I was,” she insisted.  “Everything that’s happened has thrown us together in the most unlikely way - as though fate were determined to have us together.”

James watched her for a moment, as though waiting for her to begin laughing

When she didn't, he kissed her again- joyfully this time, with a surprised cry of happiness.  Elizabeth wrapped her arms around him tightly, returning the kiss with near biting enthusiasm.  

The topic was important to her - it was how she had always felt about Will, and perhaps the transfer of this belief from Will to James had assuaged much of her guilt about choosing the latter, as well as whatever twinges of the emotion she had when she thought of Jenny or Angelica a little too long.  But, most of all, it was important to believe that James - and her father - had not been wrong to hope for this union, and had pursued it for nothing.  She wanted to believe her father would be happy to see them together at last, and to bring order to a life which had been uprooted in every way - both his and her own.  

But it did seem likely - the way they had fallen in love in Tortuga, the way she had come to save his life, as though directed by a higher power, was surely not usual.  The fact that they had been engaged at a point where it might have been a disastrous ill match, but had been thrown together again at a point where they could meet as something closer to equals (and if not equals, when Elizabeth, not James, was the more powerful of the two) - these things could not be an accident.  If she had married James then, not only would she have been unhappy, but she would have made him miserable - and Will would never have had a chance to be reunited with his father.  No, everything had surely happened as it must - and now she was with the man she was meant to be with, her soul-mate, the man her dearly beloved father had chosen for her future happiness, because he had waited for her, and proven his love by waiting, as she had proven her worth by becoming a pirate lord in the meantime, and recognized his by choosing him.

“Elizabeth,” he said, clasping her hands in his. “Elizabeth…”

It wrenched her sharply out of her fantasy to see the naked joy on his face and feel guilt at it, even now.

“Yes, James?”

“It's nothing- please, just let me say it-”

“Say whatever you like,” she murmured.

“-just Elizabeth,” he said softly, before kissing her again.

Elizabeth toppled them both backwards, all the better to let him feel the weight of her and know she was his own. James groaned a little- his headache had not yet dissipated- but he began to laugh anyway.

“Careful-”

“I’m always careful,” she said, affronted.

James mmmmed loudly but let the matter rest. He pushed his hands back into her hair with a pensive smile.  Elizabeth ended up rolling off him and pulling him to his side so that she could continue to kiss him more comfortably.  She had no aim, no finish in mind; the matter was less obvious for her than it was for a man; she just wanted nothing more than to hold him very close and to kiss him as though she could drink him in, and wanted to be drunk.

“My apologies for the undoglike behavior,” he laughed against her lips. “Is this- would you like more of this?”

“More of your mouth, more of your kisses-? Of course-”

“More of my force-“

“More of your enthusiasm, to be certain. The forcefulness - well, it is a fun sort of game, really.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I am your Captain, am I not?”

“I certainly don’t expect you to carry on like this before the crew.”

“Mm, I like you to be a man with me, James, but not a master,” she said fondly, before gripping his hair tightly again. “I may not be a man, but I am your master. There should only be one of each, between the two of us, I think.”

“Ah- all right, noted-“

She took advantage of her grip on him by kissing his bared throat.

“You know,” James began, gazing up at the ceiling again, “on consideration I find myself less opposed to the idea of that swan tattoo-“

“Yeah? Where shall you get it?  I have some ideas,” said Elizabeth - gliding her hand down his stomach teasingly.

“Elizabeth-“

“That would be so scandalous and none would ever see it but I-”

“How would they tell I’m yours, then, when we are apart-“

“Must we be apart? You’re giving up the Gloriana to be by my side and in my bed.”

“I’ll probably have to go out and do your bidding from time to time.”

“Oh, true enough. I don’t suppose you could tell them yourself?”

“I’m not exposing anyone but you to that much of myself, tattooed or not,” James retorted.

“That will have to satisfy me.  And, I find it does, now that I think on it.  I want you to belong to only me.”

He smiled tiredly. “I thought it might.”

“Then at least I know you are finally, finally convinced of the depth of my feelings for you.”

“You should know by now that I want nothing else as much as to be yours.”

Her fingers in his hair turned as coddling as they were possessive.  She opened her mouth so as to speak, but nothing came to mind, and so, after a moment of this, she shut her mouth, and smiled and shook her head gently, as though conceding the speechlessness contentment and bliss had brought her to.

“And you can have your damned earring,” he added, before kissing her.

Elizabeth smiled so hard into this kiss that she had difficulty returning it. James noticed and rolled her on top of him with a warm, satisfied laugh.

“I want…”

“Yes, darling?”

“I want the world to see the way you have affected me,” he said softly.

“You mean you want to look dangerous,” she said, with a wicked showing of her teeth.

“It wouldn’t hurt anything,” James said, grinning back.

“My darling Captain.”  She pushed his hair back from his forehead and kissed it.  “I confess, I am impatient for it.”

“Not dangerous enough for your taste yet, I presume?”

“For the two of us to do something fun,” she clarified.  “I miss raiding.  I should like to do it with you sometime.”

“A suitable target, I hope,” James said, very seriously.

“Oh, darling, let’s get one of Beckett’s,” she said with bright, misty eyes.

“I will purloin you another crew.”

She kissed him as if he had told her he planned to pick her a bouquet of wildflowers. James meshed both hands into her hair and guided her along the way, but he was gentler this time- more lingering.

The kiss, which had begun almost affectedly chaste, deepened gradually with time.

James released her hair from one hand and let it glide down her back instead, until it found her backside. He gripped it- lightly, teasingly, but a grip all the same.

“When they write the ballads in years to come, they will recall that I turned pirate in your bed…”

Elizabeth laughed in response, low and sultry.  She pulled back just enough to turn her eyes up to his, stealing a glance in secret, unabashed pleasure.

“Lord, our reputations are really sealed in stone, aren’t they?”

“I don’t expect to be anything but an addendum to your story.”

“You a degenerate. Me a whore.”

“You, an outlaw woman-king-”

“And a whore,” she said, her mood perhaps a little less pleased.  “I know what people think like.”

“People think that of queens who began their lives as princesses as well,” James reminded her.

She thought of the English queen whose name she shared and tried to cheer herself up a bit.  “Yeah, I suppose,” she said, a bit more brightly. His hand helped.  “I don’t mind being your…. “  No good; even at her bawdiest she could not say that.  “...I do not mind being yours.”

“You’re more of a bride regardless,” James said offhandedly. “You came to me good as one regardless-“

“I know,” she said, and briefly smiled, radiant as one. “But that’s not what the ballads will say.”

“Are you so certain?” he asked, as he began to bend his head toward her neck and kissed her collarbone. “You’ve demonstrated a rather imperious fidelity to your- mm, what did you suggest? Your werewolf lover-“

“I’ve been held captive by two pirate lords,” she said rather loudly.  “Married once now.  After being engaged to you first.  Then there’s the curious ambiguity of my situation with Jack.  I’m afraid I shall never convince anyone I was a maid before now.”

“They’re as likely to consider you soiled and vengeful about it as anything else.”

“I suppose it’s for the best. To be honest,” she said, and realizing this cheered and relieved her immensely, “I would rather that rumor than the truth be known.  Elizabeth Swann a maid, even her husband having had no pleasure off her-”

“Give me another fifteen minutes and I shall make you less of one,” James cut in.

“Oh, sweet boy, there is yet one particular quality of maidenhood you cannot ease me out of,” she crooned, touching his cheek gently with one hand - and sliding the other down her own thighs.

“Lie back and we'll see about that…”

“I think you might see something.  Sit up.”

“No interest in my going between your thighs, then?”

She pushed him backward daintily with one foot, which should capture his attention - and give him a fairly good vantage point when she began to glide her fingertips over herself and smirk at him.

“Elizabeth, what is-“

“Do you want to help me ease the trousers off? I cannot guarantee you shall be allowed anything but a view, but-”

“Elizabeth!”

“I don’t think you can convince me you wouldn’t enjoy it,” said Elizabeth, wriggling out of them.

“If it's all the same to you, I'd rather participate-”

“Oh,” she said breathlessly, fast on her way to being quite naked; “would you?”

“It will certainly hold my attention better-”

“We’ll see.”

Elizabeth put her foot on his thigh, forbidding silently that he should move from where he sat, and met his eyes as she glided her hand over her pelvis.  She touched her lips with her tongue, almost nervously, and then her mouth opened and she let out a small moan.

“Oh, my God-”

James had to look away.

“James! I command you to pay me - the attention and the respect I am owed, both as your captain and as your woman-”

“ELIZABETH.”

“Please, James,” she pleaded.

“I don't- I don't fully understand-”

He looked at her in apprehensive anguish.

“I just want - I want you to see-”

“I'm not sure I can- react appropriately-”

“All I want you to do is watch me - and perhaps- later -”

“Let me-”

“Perhaps later-” she said, out of breath - as much from shyness as anything else; she was hardly touching herself yet, not without reassurance that he wouldn’t look away - “you might - think on it-”

“I don’t want to think of it later,” he said, attempting to maneuver himself out from behind her leg so he could lay beside her, and finding it difficult. “I want to assist you- now-”

“I’m asking you to let me show you - perhaps you’ll - have some advice - and - if you would like to assist-”

Elizabeth swept her hair off her neck with her other hand and pushed her shoulders back, tilting her head and extending her neck.  “- will you - will you put your hand here -”

“Yes-”

He clapped his hand, more roughly than intended, to the side of her throat, and then quickly relaxed it again to support the back of her neck.

“Will this help-”

“Will you touch me - just here, and…”  She trailed her fingers down and over her breasts.

“May I kiss you?”

“I want you to watch me-”

“Are you certain?” He pressed his lips to her shoulder- a safe place, he assumed, to test the waters.

“Yes-” she moaned, but it was momentarily ambiguous as to whether or not this was an answer.

“Absolutely?” Her throat now.

“You may kiss me later,” she said, and now the moan in her voice was slightly petulant.

“If you insist. I was prepared to move downward, you know.”

“I do insist. You know that I do, why are you trying to weasel your way out of it-”

She had stopped what she was doing on account of the lull in his attention.  He sapped all the fun out of it.

“I thought I might intensify things-”

“Wait,” she said, now more irritated than anything else. “Until you’re asked for.”

“Am I still permitted to touch you?”

“You are, but I may rescind that- if you keep misbehaving-”

“Misbehaving? Is that what you call it?” he asked, trailing one finger along the underside of her breast.

She made a soft, indecipherable noise.

“If you can’t be patient,” she amended, in a more tender tone of voice.

“Not an hour ago, you were furious with the thought that I did not want you,” James said, as he moved that finger along to the other breast.

“I never really doubted that you wanted me,” said Elizabeth now, pushing herself up onto her elbows.  “Just perhaps that you did not want me as I want you - there’s a difference.  You are a little aloof, James.”

“Mmm. Well, you may remove that from your concerns, madam. You have my full-”

He curved his hand up and squeezed.

“-attention.”

“I had better,” she murmured, laying back down again almost sleepily. “You had better watch.”

“I don't know when I'll be ready,” he said, with a significant downward gesture.

“That doesn’t matter-”

“Fortunately for you, I haven't eyes for anything else,” James said, arranging himself to watch her.

The result of having to talk him into it was that Elizabeth was now a little shy about it.

“So why did you mind before-”

“I have to remind myself I'm not prying.”

Elizabeth lay back on the bed with a nervous hum.  It made her feel slightly better to slide her foot back into his lap in the process of parting her legs again; at least she could distract herself teasing him. James watched and felt his confidence eroding more and more the wider her legs spread.

“Should I be… er- taking notes-”

“Shh.  Let me look at you.”

“-yes, Elizabeth.” He swallowed, hard.

That made it easier - watching his throat jump like that - that made her want to do it.

“You- you have me at a tremendous loss-”

She shut her eyes for a moment, fancying she could hear his tremulous breathing.  Most likely untrue, but it did help.  “Oh, James-” she murmured, almost inaudibly.

“Elizabeth,” he said, so flustered his voice came close to cracking, “I could help if you liked-”

“You’re doing enough,” she sighed dismissively, leaning her head back.  That was true; James in this state did more for her than all of the other stimulations in the world.

“This feels unforgivably decadent,” he said, eyes widening.

“No, then there’d - oh - there would be - you would peek at me through veils-”

Elizabeth was still quick with words, but it was taking more and more concentration to be so.

“As though you’re on display for my- er- benefit-”

“I am-”

“Oh, God- Elizabeth, I'm not ready- I actually feel quite pleased, thank you-”

Oh, he was flustered, all right- flustered enough that he began laughing at his own foolishness and covered his eyes in embarrassment.

“Mm,” she complained, opening her own eyes in time to see him bury his.  “Do you want to assist me, James?” she asked breathily, turning her foot to dig her heel into his thigh, a nudge to get his attention.

“I certainly might be more effective that way,” he said, lowering his hand to look at her. “I fear we have some time before I’m of much use otherwise.”

“I can - nnh - delay my gratification-” she said, and the motion of her hand slowed.  “I thought I told you to look-”

“I think,” James said gently, “it will have the effect you desire on me if we wait until then.”

“Oh, very well,” she said, a little sleepily, but game.  “Come here and clean my hands.”

James slid up beside her and picked up his discarded shirt to wipe her off, punctuating the gesture with a little kiss to her forehead.

“Now help me dress…”

“Oh, are we finished? I do enjoy looking at you this way.”

She flushed and beamed at him, sitting up a little shakily - she was rather far along, with no closure in sight. “I feel exposed,” she said, without any self-recrimination or even any irony.

“Would you have me finish you?” he asked, putting his arm around her to support her.

“Not if there’s a chance that…”

“Hmm? Darling, you seem a little unsteady-”

“You made me an offer earlier,” she said, putting her arm around his shoulders just to pull him close enough to lick his ear.

“I can do more than that,” he reminded her. “You're not as easily winded as I may be.”

“Perhaps I want to make you wait,” she teased him.

“I haven't much choice at the moment,” he said, giving her ear a little reciprocal nip.

“To please me-”

James kissed her forehead again.

“You're burning up, sweetheart.”

“I am not.”

“Are you certain you want to wait?”

“I am certain that I want to drive you mad,” she said, kissing him slowly.

“Lisbet-”

He laughed against her lips. “Lisbet, it's not that, it's… it won't have the effect that you think. I can't- a man can't be driven mad for a certain period after his last exertion. It's not only a matter of whether or not he may stand at attention-”

“Then I’lll wait-”

“Very well. I only hate to see you suffer.”

“I don’t suffer,” she said, smirk widening.  “You hate nothing. You enjoy pleasing me.”

“At present, I’m afraid I can't enjoy anything much more intensely than smiling and nodding.”

“Come here, then, and enjoy my smiles,” she said, reaching to stroke his hair again.

“Gladly,” he said. “You may have mine in return, but I doubt they are quite so dazzling.”

“Your doubt is misplaced,” she murmured.

He laughed again, leaning his forehead on hers. “Well, I suppose you were hardly more sober than I was.”

“I remember last night better,” she pointed out.

“That would certainly explain your looking better than I suppose I must.”

“You’re beautiful,” she argued, before thinking better of it.

James met her eye for a moment, grinning with flattered pleasure.

“I’m not making an argument for my own ruination,” he said, “only a lapse in judgement last night. I’ll accept the compliment.”

“You do nothing without my permission,” she said, extremely pleased, pulling his hand to her heartbeat.  “The fault is mine, darling.”

“And what fault is that-”

“For letting you drink-”

“It would appear to have been a good time for all involved. I forgive you.”

“Mmm, show me.”

“How’s this-“

He kissed her, vehemently and open-mouthed. James was still some minutes away from being able to react as much as they would both like, but knowing that this would have an effect on her was its own satisfaction.

Elizabeth had not expected that - not when he was acting so spent.  She arched upwards against him, gasping his name.

“Were it not for the risk, I would have you as soon as I am able-“

“Mm, what if -”

“Hm-”

“- I want you,” she said quickly, shyly.  “We could risk it-”

“Even if I were to get you with child?” James asked, leaning in toward her again.

“We’ve -” She kissed him. “- discussed this-”

“Elizabeth, I…”

He hesitated, the same old litany of concerns playing on a loop in his mind.

“I- if you’re certain, Elizabeth, I don’t think anything could make me happier than to have a child with you-”

“Why is this always the first place your mind goes,” she complained.

“Because neither of us is diseased,” he said dryly, “so that’s out of our concern.”

“Yes, but-” She snorted in displeasure.  It was not a fun distraction, thinking about raising a child, foggy and unfamiliar though the idea was.  Thinking of carrying one was even worse.  

“I suppose I could try to withdraw in time,” James murmured, “though- well.”

He gestured at himself.

“Do you prefer to wait for a quondam,” she asked gently, cupping his cheek.

“No-” he said, a little too quickly.

Then:

“...but speaking practically, yes.”

She smiled at him, perhaps a little disappointed, but overall visibly content.

“Then we shall.”

“More’s the pity,” said James, who was more than a little disappointed himself. “You're certain-”

“We’ve managed this long,” she said gamely, struggling to maintain the facade of a self-sacrificing good mood.

“I know,” he groaned. “Believe me, I have searched for a substitute-”

“I like the things we do,” she said with an affronted sniff.

“As do I. You know that.”

“Then why are you so dissatisfied?”

“Dissatisfied is the wrong word,” said James. “It is more of a longing.”

“There you go, being poetic again,” she said drily - before she could take it back.  It was a defensive manoeuver, always responding with sarcasm when James had done some romantic thing she could not possibly reciprocate.

“It is what one might eventually have done with a wife, after all-”

“You did not think about this when you wanted me for your wife,” she reminded him with a wry smile.

“Through great effort alone,” said James. “And perhaps- well, one day. Presumably far in the future, we may still-”

Elizabeth sat up, blindly reaching around for her clothes.

“Hm?”

“-marry.”

“Very far, I would imagine,” she said musingly, but without a great deal of thought.

“Far enough to make dwelling on it foolish.”

Elizabeth pulled her shirt on lazily, one sleeve at a time, but could not bother to button it just yet.  She fingercombed her hair over one shoulder, picking out the tangles left there from this most recent romp, reminiscing fondly on how they’d got there - both his strong, broad hands buried in her hair and urging her on while he arched underneath her - her name on his lips and his pleasure on hers.

It made her beam up at him a little slyly.

“You know,” she said, “I like it when you call me ‘Lisbet.’”

James grinned. “I shall make an effort to recall that.”

“I’ve never been Lisbet before,” she said wistfully.  “It makes me feel… It reminds me that I am only yours.”

She was not certain she was anyone’s, but it would not be worthwhile to tell him so.

“Surely you're not dressing already,” he said as he sat up himself. He had been momentarily distracted in watching her.

“I feel naked,” she said bluntly.

“For what it's worth,” said James, “I like you naked.”

“I thought you liked me in trousers, dressed up like a sailor…”

“I enjoy both, but one is decidedly easier to have you in.”

“To have me, you mean,” said Elizabeth, tone light.

“I certainly won't object to trousers, if that's what you prefer.”

“Yeah, but kind of difficult to have me in trousers, hmm? Without making a mess.”

“Mm, yes, rather.”

She reached for them anyway.

“Must I do everything myself around here?” James grumbled, reaching toward his own crotch and gauging her reaction.

One of her lovely eyebrows lifted, and her smile grew perhaps a touch smug, but she did not comment. James was, of course, still not quite ready to begin with, and leaned back against the wall, still seated in bed.

“Well,” he said, “by all means, don't let me keep you.”

“Oh, no, now you’ve raised my interest-”

“It will have to wait all the same. Your trousers will not diminish my interest, believe me.”

“James,” she laughed.

“Yes, Lisbet?”

Her gaze grew tender.  “James,” she repeated, leaning across the bed to kiss him.

“Mm- yes, darling?”

“Just let me say it,” she whispered to tease him, and kissed him again.

“Ah-”

He was still bleary-eyed, but positively beaming between kisses.

“Have at me, then, my stubborn little sailor…”

She whispered his name as she kissed him, guiding, first, his hand to her breast, and then sliding hers between his legs.

“Forgive me if I am slow to react…”

“Forgiven,” she said primly.  “Thank you for permitting this…”

“The pleasure is mine-“

“Not that it is really yours to permit me,” she said, with a flash of hungry teeth.  “You belong to me, body and soul-”

James laughed. “Oh, of course. It’s mutual, isn’t it?”

“Yes-” Elizabeth gasped.  He might have been slow to react, but she wasn’t.

“Oh- mm. Good, then-“

She moved closer then, parting his legs and sitting between them, her free hand roaming along his bare torso idly while she kissed him.  If his body was hers, she would act like it.

“You poor creature, you must still be on fire-“

“I am!” she laughed, or cried, against his mouth.  “Good Christ-”

“I’ll have to finish you next-“

“You can go between my legs again - if you want,” she said, turning her eyes up to his quickly.

“Mm- that may take too much time. I would not see you forced to wait any longer-“

“I want to wait for you-” she insisted.

“I could try to manage it now if you would like-“

“Not yet,” said Elizabeth.  “When you beg for it- then we can.”

“You had better make it slow, then-”

“Take as long as you like,” said Elizabeth, kissing him on the neck now.  “I’ll be here.”

“And you're certain that will bring you off? I would hate to make you- nnn- wait again-”

“I think a breeze would finish me- If there’s so much as a draft in here, it’ll finish our fun prematurely-”

“Fortunately for you,” said James, as he semi-blindly groped forward to pull on her shirt, “you're easier to start up again than I-”

“Start up again? But I never stopped-”

“Were a breeze to finish you-”

His words cut off in a harsh, biting sound as he gasped and grit his teeth, eyes wide, though not precisely disturbed or displeased.

“Where did you learn to do this?”

“Uh, here, you brilliant mastermind.”

“You're rather good at it.”

James was trying to be dry, but it was difficult under the circumstances. He pushed Elizabeth's shirt off of one of her shoulders.

“Take hold of my hair, will you? I’ve not grown it for you to ignore it at a crucial moment such as this-”

“Oh, darling,” said Elizabeth in a swoon, though her grip was firm and punishing and her smile was cruel and playful.  “Forgive me my negligence. You know I am still unused to these matters.  I get so distracted so easily.”

“You’re- ah- forgiven-”

“I can’t seem to help myself.  You know how I love doting on your prick-”

“I’ve noticed.”

“- you could dissuade me, you know. Try being less provocative-”

“-oh, so I’m provoking you now-”

“Biggest tease on the ocean.”

“The better to render the family name good and blackened-”

“Biggest something else on the ocean too,” she murmured; “or perhaps that’s only the limits of my imagination-“

“That's- you've a bias,” James blurted, going red in the face.

“Just can’t imagine they get any bigger.  Hard enough to get the whole thing in my-”

“Oh my God.”

“I’ll have to work on it.”

“It's- I've heard that attribute is of no real consequence,” James said awkwardly. “It's something men crudely brag of in taverns to win fights, and of no value beyond that-”

Elizabeth smirked at him, like a cat presented suddenly with a saucer of cream.  

“Your modesty in this matter does much to assure me my assumption is correct.  You would only inform me - with so much humility and shyness as this - of the irrelevance of that attribute if you knew you possessed it.”

“I don't want you to think it's beyond disappointment-”

“James,” she said, with great majesty composing her features into a more frank expression. “I hope you understand me. I know very well the disappointments you are capable of.”

“Not- gah!- all of them!”

“No? Surely I am. Your oppressive good manners, your projected blandness, your morbid detachment from carnal matters-”

“Must you call it morbid-”

“As one dead, Captain.”

“Does this feel dead to you!?”

Elizabeth could not hold back her smile forever, not when her teasing found so soft and easy a target.

“No,” she said softly, leaning in closer and rubbing him more slowly.  “Not at all.”

“Christ,” he said, “I should hope not-”

She thought of her experience with dead men and brushed it off.  

“Show me,” she murmured; “kiss me.”

“Don't let me go,” said James, and he did.

Oh, she loved him. Good Christ, how she loved him.

Elizabeth felt a stab of pleasure go through her like bright, sticky lightning and gasped against his lips.

“I think I'm sufficiently prepared,” James whispered into her open mouth. “Lie down, dearest-”

She didn’t need a second telling.  She did not quite lie down, though, leaning up on her elbows because she couldn’t take her eyes off him.  His hair hung in short, tousled waves around his face - eyes all the more interesting with his tan - and she couldn’t stop looking at that face she had known so well, and somehow only recently discovered was so handsome it made her heart beat faster to see him smiling, just for her. James began to maneuver himself into position and then stopped, though he rubbed the inside of her thigh to assure her that he was in no way reluctant.

“Darling?”

“Yes?” she asked, nearly panting, cupping his cheek so that she could keep taking in the sight of him.

“Do you want to be on top?”

“Oh,” she exclaimed.  “If - if you think- if it’s safe-”

“It might be safer. Gravity and all that-”

Elizabeth was already pushing him down and straddling him, too enthusiastic to notice she’d been a bit rough.

“Careful-” James blurted, but he was too busy laughing to imbue it with much authority.

Elizabeth let out a loud sigh.

“I don’t tire of that-” she gasped, when she could manage words.  “James, Christ-”

“What now-”

“What do you think-”

“I’m flummoxed.” It doubled as a convenient euphemism.

“James,” she said, exasperated - more than a little physically overwhelmed.  She had been wanting a long time, and yet there seemed to be still more barriers to her personal satisfaction.

“I love you,” he said, reaching with one unsteady hand to brush a lock of her hair back.

That only increased her desire - it did not fulfill it.  She shut her eyes, more aware once she had of the sound of her breathing, shaky and shallow.  

“I love you-” she countered in nearly a whisper.  “ - touch me, will you?”

His hands found her breasts. James lightly stroked one of her nipples with the pad of his thumb.

She let out a whimper and closed her arms around his shoulders, burying her face into the hollow of his throat.  Elizabeth was not generally self-conscious enough to seek to muffle herself, but the only man alive whose disapproval and hurt mattered to her was on this ship - and besides that, she thought she might make a lot of noise.

“Would you prefer I- nn- muffled you myself?”

James was trying to sound teasing. It was about as hard as he was.

Elizabeth shut them both up for a good long while. James’s participation was necessarily somewhat limited, but he had to playfully pull himself away from her from time to time- make it a game- to extend his own longevity, and hopefully hers as well, while making it clear that he was not experiencing another attack of reluctance or misplaced conscience. He could only pray that his- hopefully- wolfish grin when he did, and his eager, exploratory hands gave the game away.

By the time they had both climaxed and fallen into one another's arms, James’s headache had mostly dissipated. Whether that was the Advil or two rounds of release, he couldn't say, but it was a blessed relief either way to bury his face against her neck, into the sea salt scent of her hair and no longer feel the burn behind his eyelids.

“Good Christ,” he murmured. “You're… mmph. You're very good at that.”

After such a long time of wanting it, to finally achieve this elation had exhausted her.  Elizabeth was entirely spent and refused to do any more than the bare minimum of movement. Therefore the pressure of her fingers against the back of his neck, sunk into the base of his hair, was very light, and their motion was very slow.  It did not quite qualify as a massage.  A good wind would have been stronger.

“Elizabeth?”

He propped himself up on one elbow.

“James?”

“Ah, good. There you are. I thought you had exhausted yourself.”

“Myself? You exhausted me.”

“One does not wish to overestimate one’s contributions,” James said, affectedly stiff and more than a little self-mocking.

“You wore me out,” she complained, while smiling.

“I did notice a fair bit of recurrence.” This was a bit more smug. “I did not even realize this kind of success was possible with your particular anatomy-”

“I did not realize it was not with yours.  You’ve been….. mm, instructive,” she said, biting her lip and smiling.

“Ah, good,” he said again, as he did not wish to say anything more vulgar. “Put your hand in my hair again, will you?”

She threaded her fingers through it, remarking again on its admirable curl and depth of color, and reminding him that she had still not grown used to seeing him without his formal wig, but liked him better every single day.  In general she liked to look at him. He was beautiful, and realizing both that he was hers - and that she had almost lost him - made her more inclined to linger on the thought.

“Most of the curl will be weighted out by the time I am able to tie it.”

This came out in a startlingly rueful tone from the sheer force of fear of disappointing her. James immediately covered his eyes with his hand in mortification.

“Pardon me- I did not intend to sound so morbid where something so petty is concerned.”

She laughed at him. “James, it’s not a big deal.”

“I know it isn't- though in truth, living up to your expectations often feels like the most important demand in my life at present-”

“You have far exceeded my expectations. You know what I thought of you.”

“You have no trouble reminding me,” James said dryly. “I couldn't not know.”

“You meant my... present expectations?”

In truth, Elizabeth had none - she did not think of relationships in that transactional way he assumed - but she wanted to soften what she had just said.  

“...yes?” said James, with an uneasy rising intonation.

“That you comfort me, and irritate me, and make up for it; that you be sarcastic and interesting, and sensitive, and in need of your own comfort and irritation; and that you make me regret the last few years sorely, but the last few months not at all, and make me impatient for the future? And that you be as good a second as any captain could imagine, and as good as a husband to boot, and that you be here, in this bed, when I climb into it in at night, even when our day has been awful, and I am stinking angry at you?”

She pinched his nose.

“You’re better than I expect, a great deal so.  I never thought you would give over the Gloriana to be with me, and you’ve said you will.  I still cannot believe you brought me the heart of Davy Jones, for that matter.  And, darling James,” she laughed, pinching his chin instead. “You grew a beard for me.”

“It was the least I could do after you saved my life,” he said, faux-somberly. “Twice, to be fair.”

“I only saved your life the once.  And you had saved mine already.”

“I seem to recall a rum bottle cracked over my head-”

“Ah, well. That wasn’t guaranteed in either direction,” she said, but she looked smug.

“I want to do right by you,” he said, with a softer, more sincere note creeping into his voice. “Everything else is secondary. I suppose I will sort  out in time.”

“You do,” she said, fond with exasperation.

“It’s a matter of convincing myself, then,” said James. “Of- of allowing myself to believe that.”

She brushed his hair back from his forehead. She couldn’t think of what to say to convince him - or make him convince himself - and so she did not say anything. James closed his eyes and tilted his head into her caressing.

“If it is easier to consider it as such,” he sighed, “you may consider it more of a desire to honor your choice of myself even with your former husband back in the situation.”

A pause.

“That,” said James, “and- God help me-”

He inhaled sharply, going a little red with embarrassment. He was silent again for a moment.

“...I liked your doting on my prick, as you called it.”

Since she had made that brazen declaration in the first place, it was perhaps ironic for Elizabeth to respond to having it tossed back in her face by growing flushed and pressing her nose into her arm.

“- is that what I called it? Ah - well - I suppose - it’s apt, isn’t it?”

“It's what you called it,” he muttered, covering his face, “it will do-”

“Perhaps, seeing as - you liked it - you might -”  She tucked her head onto his shoulder and nudged him, curling up beside him as she did. “ - permit it more frequently-”

“I- yes, I suppose. I… I could, couldn't I?”

James's voice was a little fragile with bafflement. For the first time since very early in their rekindled acquaintance, he felt as though he were looking at her curled up on someone else's shoulder.

She pressed coaxing kisses against his ear, his bearded cheek, and his fingers, which still lay over his face.

“I do dote on you,” she whispered, gently headbutting him and smiling to herself.

“I’m very aware-” James blurted. “I-”

“- like it?” she supplied, stroking his chin again.

“-yes, that too.”

“Oh, and what else, Captain Norrington?”

“I imagine I can permit it. More than that- request it-”

He lowered his hand- he had already been looking out from behind his spread fingers- to look at her properly.

“Oh?” she breathed, delighted.

“Subject to your consent, of course-”

“That’s all I want,” she said, leaning her cheek on him again ecstatically.  “We’ll be - we’ll be just like outlaw lovers in a ballad, huh?  Real lovers - not that we aren’t lovers.  But you’re so - you’re so - you’re so reluctant-”

“Happier than a ballad, I hope-”

“You make me happier than anyone is in a song,” said Elizabeth, forgetting momentarily every eye-roll, every yawn and every bit tongue - she kissed his cheek, enthusiastic and sincere.

“How is that earring practice coming along?” he teased, pushing his hand up into her hair as she kissed him.

“Mmm, touch my hair, James-”

“You needn’t ask-”

She shut her eyes and let him, a smile stealing over her face. James obligingly began gently working out the lingering tangles in her hair with his curved fingers.

“Am I permitted to show you a greater amount of public affection after last night?” he asked.

“- not until Will’s left,” she said, with sudden, unexpected tension.

“Ah,” he said. “A pity, that. I had rather hoped, given your apparent enjoyment-”

“Not until Will’s left,” she repeated in a haze.

“All right,” he said, kissing her on the temple in reassurance.

“I couldn’t -  couldn’t - make him watch that-” she said numbly.

“Then I suppose I shall have to detain you out of his sight more often,” James laughed.

“You - you may have to do that.”

She was stumbling over her words, the swiftness of the unhappy reminder - the heartache it gave her - rendering her briefly useless; she burrowed into his arms and stayed for a moment.  Then she rolled over and flashed him a tired smile.

“It’s going to be difficult to stay off you, even in front of the crew,” she goaded him; “so I shall need more of you than ever when we are alone.”

“I intend to give it,” he said as he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “As much of me as you will have-”

“I could eat you alive,” she said with a smirk.

“I can think of no happier demise,” said James, beaming.

He was so proud of that, she realized - he really had wanted this, and nothing more.  Or nothing less, perhaps, was a better phrasing.

Elizabeth pulled his hand to her lips now in return. James's smile softened.  

“I am not living for you alone,” he said, “but what joy it is to live for you at all.”

She rubbed his thumb with hers affectionately.

“...yeah, I don’t mind it either,” she managed, blushing again; not the most romantic of affirmations, but sincere.

“... perhaps we ought to maintain a no-poetry policy-”

“We’re pirates. You might be just out of the Navy, James, but for my own part, I don’t think i can hold to policy all that well.”

“You would be amazed to know how similar they feel after a few months at sea,” James conceded, “when we're all sick to distraction of uniforms and protocol.”

“Understood,” she laughed.  “In any case, I cannot allow a no-poetry policy.  I am sorry, James, but the king has said her final word on the matter.”

“Then I shall have to cope with that, it seems,” he said, with an affectionate squeeze of the hand. “My God, Elizabeth. From the way you carry on, I sometimes suspect that even had we married it would have taken mere months before I might as well have wed another sailor.”

“Another boy sailor?”

James blinked, a little taken aback, and collected himself.

“Well,” he said, “if it were still you-“

“I don’t think I would have been quite so much of this then,” she said, a little cautiously - if he liked the thought of it, she did not want to discourage his affection for her; but she could not bid herself lie, either.

“That’s true,” he admitted. “And thinking of the others, I might have so much as grown too accustomed to you-“

“Lord, James, there’s no pleasing you.  You wouldn’t have been excited by my stockings or my corsets, but if I had taken to trousers you’d have bored of that too?”

“I never said a word about stockings-“ he interjected, too quickly.

“Oh,” she said, grinning.

“Elizabeth.”

“Well, indeed, I suppose you did not, though I assumed-”

“Stockings aren’t much for artifice-“

“I thought all of those little feminine trappings disagreed with you.  All of that beribboned nonsense.”

“Not all of it, certainly-“

He pressed his lips together.

“There’s nothing to recommend against a chemise, either,” he said finally. “And I suppose panniers on their own have a degree of charm to balance out the stays-“

Elizabeth’s expression made the rounds between amusement, to incredulity, to exasperation with a startling quickness.

“James Norrington, you ass!” she shouted, hitting him in the shoulder.

“What have I done now?” he protested.

“Perjured yourself - though I should have expected no less from so foul and so black a brigand,” she said, thumping him again.

“You know what I prefer- for heaven’s sake, Lisbet, what do you suppose Lettie wore?”

“You said you didn’t like all of that! You told me so-”

“It’s certainly not my ideal-“

“You said you didn’t like it. You said it had no appeal.”

“Not under a dress, it doesn’t!”

“But we talked about it! We talked about - women, in a state of undress - and you said you didn’t care for those things!”

“I said I don’t care for stays, Elizabeth, I was quite specific-“

“I am certain I asked after everything else,” she grumbled.  “I remember-”

“It’s of no consequence regardless,” he said heatedly. “I know how I prefer you.”

“Naked as the day I was born - that’s very glamorous-”

“In men’s clothing with scarcely anything left to be imagined,” he muttered, averting his eyes.

“In men’s clothing- you have to imagine everything in order to even believe there is a woman under them in the first place,” she exclaimed, exasperated.

“Not her legs- and not her arse, either-“

Elizabeth opened her mouth, but no sound came out this time. James shrugged uncomfortably.

She found herself blushing.  And trying not to smile.  And smiling.

“Really?” she asked, feeling the corner of her mouth tugging upward in spite of her best intentions.

“Yes,” he groaned.

“You like looking at - ?“

“Oh, my God- yes, all right? I know what I prefer-”

Elizabeth looked radiantly happy.  She could barely hear him.

“That is so - that is too kind of you.”

“Did you really believe that was all a lie?” he asked, frowning in concern.

“I thought you felt very little and wanted me to stop accusing you of it,” she laughed.

“For heaven's sake- just because I found a little to delight in when Lettie wore all of that-”

“You still seem very….” She hesitated to repeat the word ‘cool’ to him.  “...restrained about matters of preference,” she finished delicately.

“I don't wish to be churlish-”

“I think I’d like you to be a little bit of a brat to me sometimes,” said Elizabeth with a nudge.  “Just to make up for the way you are most of the time.”

James laughed a little tiredly.

“Lettie hardly had your abundance of hair, either,” he said, “and yet you know how I feel about that.”

“Mm, yes. The one thing on which we are in absolute agreement,” she said, pulling it to the side and scrunching it absentmindedly.  “I have very wonderful hair.”

James reached out and stroked it.

“Hers was a very pale blonde. She tinted it red and cut it around here-”

He touched about halfway down Elizabeth's neck.

“-filled it with switches lest anyone pulled on it, to spare her neck the strain. A rather grim occupational hazard, really. Don't tell her I told you that, if you ever meet her.”

Elizabeth pulled a face unintentionally.  “Do you think she would like me?”

“I would hope so,” said James. “It’s not as though we parted on poor terms; I can’t imagine her bearing you any ill-will.”

He sat up a little, to gain better access to her hair, and began working on some of the more stubborn snarls.

“I hope that this does not lessen your opinion of me.”

“What now?”

“My selective honesty, compounded by the impropriety of that which I chose to omit.”

“...the fact that you are only sometimes honest?  James, everyone is only sometimes honest.  I think Captain Barbossa is only sometimes partially honest, and he does his best not to be.”

“In matters of the heart,” he said gently, “it seems a rather cold detail to leave out. I did not realize it upset you to think I cared so little for all of that.”

“I don’t imagine you would,” she said, reconciliatory with private alarm, realizing at once she had made him think she was much more hurt than she was.  “I have never appeared to value my feminine attributes, such as I can be said to have them - why would you think I did?”

“You commented often enough on my alleged preference for a boy and my morbidity that I thought you must have thought I regretted your sex in the first place-”

“I think you regret that you want me - physically, anyway. I think you wish love were an entirely spiritual affair.”

“Not now I don't-”

“But you did.  Even after we got together.”

“Is that so disappointing?”

“Of course it was.”

“You were coming off of the end of your marriage- because of myself, I might add. I did not dare to get ahead of myself.”

“You remember how I was in Tortuga,” said Elizabeth, looking towards him in exasperation. “How badly I wanted you.”

“I know that,” he said. “But I did not know you would choose me in the end.”

“Whose heart were you protecting?”

James swallowed. “Both, I thought.”

She brushed her finger over his heart with the ghost of a smile.

“I’ll protect it, always,” she said in a soft voice.  “...your feelings, on the other hand, I cannot promise anything-”

“Don't worry about that,” he said. He released her hair to clasp her hand instead, with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

There was an awkward silence between them for a moment, which James broke with a small cough.

“I know I ought to dress and go out,” he said, “but I find I lack the impulse. What does Her Majesty suggest?”

“Well, it must be growing close to evening by now,” she said dubiously.  “We may as well.  And perhaps we’ll linger when the sun goes down.”

“Mm.” He stretched his back with a grimace. “I can only hope I don't look too dissipated.”

“The more dissipated, the better,” she said, leaning on his chest to look down into his eyes.  “You’re a pirate now.”

James scoffed. “Then perhaps we ought to change the standard.”

“No, I like the standard- it’s less work.”

“Suit yourself,” he laughed.

“I do,” she said loftily.

“Dissipation may be a bridge too far,” said James, settling in comfortably to hold her a moment longer. “We’ll have to find some adjacent adjective.”

He pushed his hair from his face, with the dim thought that he understood a little better now how much she could like how much he loved hers- even if she had specified their feelings were not quite matched in that regard. He wondered, vaguely, how long it could grow without the near-curl dropping out of it, and if he could get accustomed to not tying it back…

“What's the next nearest thing to dissipated? Tarnished?”

“That will do,” she said, muzzily.  The bed seemed hot and somewhat sticky, but she didn’t want to get up and get dressed, didn’t want to be released.

“Tarnished, then. I can be content with tarnished.” He dipped his hand around to the inside of her thigh, as though to make a point.

“Mmmmm, content indeed.”

“More than content, really,” he said, after a short pause. “Elizabeth-”

“James?”

“I hope that with our misunderstandings cleared away, you might permit me to ask for your attentions… often.”

“Which attentions?” she asked, stirring her fingers in his hair in the echo of a question.

James met her eyes.

“All of them. And- mine in return.”

“You want to ask for your own affections?” pressed Elizabeth, clearly amused.

“To give them, at least-”

“I do like your attentions,” she said in a low, baiting voice.

“And to receive yours,” said James, very seriously.

“You might not realize what you are opening yourself up to,” she said, creeping closer to him.

“How would you have me prepare myself, then-”

“I wouldn’t,” she teased, and kissed him.

“Mmm. I shall remain alert, then,” he said, with the ghost of a laugh.

She explored his mouth with her tongue, pushing him back onto the bed and leaning over him.  Her hair fell over him in a curtain of tangles. James looked up at her, guileless and joyful.

“What is it?”

“I love you, obviously,” she said, looking down into his eyes and snorting.

“Is that all?” James scoffed, too seriously to mean it.

“I love you and I don’t want to leave this bed,” she amended in apology.

“Oh, thank heaven. Neither do I.”

“Let’s forget today ever happened.  Like we slept right through it and go on deck tomorrow bright and early and express shock that anyone would wonder how we missed a full day, since all we remember is All Hallow’s Eve, and drinking enough to be sick.”

“Clever,” he laughed. “Agreed, then, save the part about pretending none of this happened. I want to treasure today in my heart as the day on which I feel we came to a stronger understanding.”

“James,” she said flatly.

“What is it?”

“You sound like a 90-year-old barn owl.”

“I don't want to forget today,” he said, with a resigned sigh.

“A stronger understanding, really? Because I-”

“-I feel we’re on the same page, at last, as concerns car-”

Too formal, still. James caught himself and had to take a moment to flake the excess ornamentation away from his words, until his feelings beneath them were exposed.

“Where fucking is concerned,” he said, with an embarrassed precision. “You don't understand how often I think of it- dwell on it-”

Elizabeth’s exasperation softened to be reminded that James was, after all, only a man - and a man she had lain with many times over now, to great mutual satisfaction, to boot.  It was pitifully easy to forget sometimes.

“You hide it rather better than most men do,” she said gently.

“Thank God for that,” he scoffed. “But I will… try… to hide it perhaps less-”

“Not in front of others,” said Elizabeth, a little mortified.

“Of course not! Let's not get ahead of ourselves-”

“But when we’re… alone together?”  She bit her lip hopefully.

“Oh- yes, darling, yes-”

“Then - that will be - very much to my preference,” she said delicately. The irony of her speaking like an owl did not go unappreciated, and Elizabeth cracked a smile reflecting on it.  “At the very least, I shall have no reason to think of you as morbid.”

James smiled a little tightly but had nothing else to add after that. He stretched, groaned, and fell back in place with a yawn.

“Is there enough water left in the basin to wash, do you suppose?”

“The important bits,” she said unruffledly.

“I see,” said James. “Do we plan on dirtying ourselves again?”

His hand in her hair tangled itself in firmly enough to give her a possessive little tug. “I could always wash you myself, but I fear that would end in defeating the purpose.”

“Mm-” she laughed.  “What a tempting offer.”

“If you were to take it up-”

(He kissed her collarbone.)

“-might you reciprocate?”

“You sure you want that?” she asked lightly, with a knowing smirk.

“...I do,” he said softly, the smirk momentarily falling from his face to be replaced by a look of utter open vulnerability.

[facialintelligence]

astoundingly long train of though not brought on by any recent activity (don’t worry) and solely because i had to disinfect my cardboard cut from work and actually did

so warner pretty much never intervenes with my more troublesome behaviors, we all know this. he lets me do what i need to do and then take responsibility for the consequences. sometimes he offers support afterwards in the form of non-judgement, thought suppression*, helping me get up, and telling me to keep walking. he actually doesn’t do a lot, he just offers quiet company without pitying or insulting me. maybe that is a lot. i digress

this is only notable because he almost never even really steps in afterwards, except for the like one ultimatum he gave me relatively recently, which was “You will disinfect open wounds.”, referencing primarily self-inflicted injuries. 

i never used to apply rubbing alcohol to anything because it just hurts so much. literally never. last time was when my dad applied it when i was 12 and i vowed never to let that shit touch a wa again. but after i cut my arm pretty bad that one time and didn’t disinfect it, warner was like “Don’t you ever fucking let an open wound get gross.” and i have so far properly cleaned every goddamn laceration i’ve gotten since. it’s weird. i still really really don’t want to but every time i’m like “well i’d rather die i hate this shit”, i get the “Nope. You have to clean it.” in my head, so i do. 

i think the CPU understands (or supports) that none of us (least of all me) like our habits or character interfered with, which is why warner never steps in no matter how much i choose to escalate things, so i think it’s interesting that there is some vestige of control left out of my reach for instances it considers worth intervening in. maybe it’s because i freaked out so bad at the time, but in retrospect i ended up not minding at all (i thought it was pretty cool) and yet the demand hasn’t lifted.

*thought suppression is usually just him being present and thinking of nothing, so my anarchistic mental shrapnel is quietly boxed out. sometimes he semi-fronts to get me to chill out a little by just being the calmer personality. neither of us can actually manipulate thought, it’s more of a coping function.

with the exception of this recent ultimatum. i actually think there have been less stark prior instances but i can’t recall them. even then i think it was things i more or less begrudgingly agreed on, like ‘stop stalking people who don’t want you to’ and wacky shit like that, so it’s not as comparable. it’s just a little weird to me. i definitely wouldn’t still be doing it if it weren’t for his influence. i don’t care that much

ended up wondering why this was the only notable stand warner ended up taking. maybe it’s just the one hole in my extreme carefulness and the CPU just had to fill it somehow. that’s most likely. i almost always think three steps in advance even when i’m lashing out at myself (level of severity, consequence, ability to be hidden, etc), but i happen to fuckering hate the stinging from rubbing alcohol which i figure i would otherwise sensibly use, according to patterns in previous personal damage control.

i think it’s still worth noting. there are three traits his character has that worry me in terms of safety in the scenario where he is the host. a) poorly regulated depression and consequential lack of passion for anything, b) nicotine addiction (very minorly, just a lame inconvenience), and c) a ‘history’ of cutting. yeah that’s right he ended up keeping that even after we all disavowed backstories so i still have to worry about it even though he’s never done anything irl. thanks

but that coinciding with his only real interjection is what makes me linger. he and i have different methods and mindsets surrounding it, so we actually don’t relate to each other much on it, despite the shared ground. it’s his primary self harm, it’s one of a variety for me, he did so with suicidal intentions, i do it to alleviate emotional episodes, his is very standard in appearance but i keep covertness in mind and have serious aversions to traditional cutting, etc.

we also disagree on the severity of mine. i’m aware of how fully in control i am (im also a huge coward, etc, etc, a whole heap of exposition i don’t want to get into but i can actually defend myself quite well) and 100% cannot empathize with the fact that HE actually finds it a minor but marked concern.

i’m not convinced he processes my clarity of thought and thousand and one safeguards (i can tell it just doesn’t reach him regardless of what i say), so i figure it’s just because, as a person, he personally had worse issues with it and that’s all he can see. again. weird... because he is not a real person and this is maybe not a useful take... but it’s the best reason i can come up with for the idiosyncratic response. 

and i know. concern over self harm isn’t that out there, especially from someone who functions as a survival mechanism. but here’s the thing: i’m concerned about it. i’m extremely cautious and conscientious. i know my limits and i hate pain and consequences too much to ever reach them. that’s who i am as a person. the cpu assigns alters that deal with things i’m not concerned enough about. things i can’t handle properly, or can’t control, etc. 

i know when i’m not in control enough and i can feel the cpu find plugs for those holes without me, for better or worse. warner takes certain things more seriously for me because i don’t. thesely and dianthys and II embody the idea of ‘letting go’ to varying degrees because i’m fucking incapable of it. but i am always in control when i hurt myself because i am very afraid of death, and also owies, so his concern over that seems outside of cpu regulation. i don’t feel the cpu worrying about it, even when i feel it worry about other things that i don’t find concerning. 

so to me it seems like it might be 45% cpu sensibility (the standard ‘going above and beyond in terms of survival - not only will you clean and dress it, you will ALSO disinfect it’ m.o.) and 55% personal to warner. 

i... had some other train of thought that i have since forgotten, but i guess the conclusion of this one was ‘weird that the one thing i THINK is actually due to warner’s personhood more than the CPU’s need for survival is the one thing he put his foot down enough to continually affect me, there are so many ways to interpret the situation that there’s a 70% chance i wildly misinterpreted all of it and am so wrong it hurts’. 

i just wanted to fukcjkng... get this on paper so i could figure out what i was even trying to figure out. absolutely not worth it

[argyle-s]

SOMETHING JUST LIKE THIS CHAPTER 11/?

Rating: Mature (For Later Chapters)

Read at Ao3

Start at the Beginning

Alex shows up at Cat's office, but the visit isn't quite what Cat expects.

Chapter 11 - Of Lighthouses and Shovel Talks

If there was one thing in the world Cat hated more than rich white men who thought they were smarter than her, it was getting knowing looks from employees. Any other day, she would have curtailed it by just demoting someone to the mailroom, but her reign of terror was taking a serious blow, because she couldn’t stop smiling long enough to muster an intimidating glare.  What’s worse, instead of inspiring fear, like it usually did, she could see amusement on everyone’s face because they all knew *why* she was smiling.  She had seriously considering ordering them all into the conference room on thirty-eight and having maintenance brick up the door.  Sadly, that idea was ruined by the fact that her girlfriend would hear the screams and the cries of ‘For the love of God, Montressor’ and rescue the worthless minions.

Still, it was worth it.  Oh, she absolutely should have done the responsible thing and spent the rest of their scheduled meeting working out details and rules of their new relationship, because she was the practical sort.  Instead she’s spent ninety minutes on the balcony making out like she was a teenager.  If she was honest, she’s had honeymoons that made her less excited that getting to second base with Kara.

She’d wanted to take Kara out to dinner after work, but a broken tow line had resulted in cargo barge hitting a cruise ship in Nation’s bay.  Supergirl had spent hours holding the ship up out of the water while the coat guard had welded temporary patches over the huge hole in the side of the cruise ship. Kara had called her afterwards, telling her she needed some time under the sunlamps to recover.

They’d talked for a while.  Cat had teased Kara about the ‘mystery’ weekend, which was sadly still eight days away.  Kara had pouted, which was far less effective when she couldn’t bring the puppy dog eyes to bear.  Reluctantly, they’d said their goodbyes over the phone, and Cat had gone to bed wishing Kara was with her, and for the first time, not ashamed of it.

She’s been a little disappointed when she’d gotten an early morning text about putting out a wildfire upstate, but she was still ridiculously happy.

“Miss Grant?”

Cat looked up from the photo proofs she’d been reviewing to see Eve standing in the doorway to her office and an annoyed Alex Danvers leaning against Eve’s desk with an impatient expression on her face.

“It’s okay,” Cat said.  “Agent Danvers is always welcome.”  She saw the shock on Eve’s face, because the day she’d met Eve, she’d explained that the only people who got in to see her without prior approval were Carter, Kara and Lois.  Adding someone else to that list was a big deal.  “Add Eliza Danvers and J’onn J’onzz to that list as well.”

“Yes, Ms. Grant.”

Eve stepped back out of the office, and waved Alex through.  Cat set down the proof she was working on and settled back in her chair, bracing herself. She supposed she should have expected this.  After all, she knew how protective she was of Kara, and hadn’t she mentioned to the girl that there were plenty of people willing to burn the world to keep her warm?

“May I sit?” Alex asked.

“Of course,” Cat said, keeping the tension out of her voice by sheer force of will.  If this went badly, she and Kara might well be over before they even started.  Kara wouldn’t choose her over Alex for any number of reasons, not the least of which is there was no way in the world Cat would let her.  Eliza, Alex, J’onn and Winn were Kara’s family.

“Thanks,” Alex said as she sat down, and Cat couldn’t help but notice she looked like she’d been crying.

“Are you okay, Agent Danvers?” Cat asked.

“No,” Alex said.  “I’m really not.”

Cat felt her heart seize, because she could only think of one reason Alex would come to her when she was upset.  Apparently, her concern showed on her face, because Alex’s reaction was immediate.

“Kara’s fine,” Alex said.  “Well, fine might be a bit of a stretch.  She’s high as a kite right now, but that will wear off in a few hours.”

“High?” Cat asked.

“Yeah,” Alex said.  “She went to help put out a wildfire this morning, and it turns out the fire got started on a pot farm, and, well, unlike alcohol, Kryptonian physiology doesn’t process cannabinoids so fast it doesn’t have time to impact their physiology.  She put out the fire, but she inhaled enough of the smoke that she’s gonna be stoned for at least another five or six hours.”

“Oh, dear. Is the city’s food supply safe?” Cat asked, fighting back laughter.

Alex grinned.  “The DEO is ordering two large Hawaiian pizzas and fifty Mango Ghost Pepper Wings from Piefection every half hour.  Pot always makes her crave spicy food.”

“I’m afraid to ask why you know that,” Cat said.

“You’ve never noticed Kara’s ‘period chocolate’?” Alex asked, slightly surprised.

“I had,” Cat said.  “But I didn’t look too closely.  I go through three bags of Ghirardelli Dark Chocolate Peppermint Bark every month myself.”

“Kara’s had a medical card since she was thirteen. It’s the only thing mom could find that was effective at treating Kryptonian strength period cramps.  Fair warning, the little twerp doesn’t share.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Cat said.  “So, what can I do for you, Agent Danvers?”

“Call me Alex.”

“Okay.  I suppose you should probably call me Cat.”

“Right.  Okay. Um…” Alex took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “I need some advice.”

“From me?” Cat said.

“Yeah,” Alex said.

“I admit, I’m surprised.  I assumed I was in for a shovel talk.  Actually, I think I expected at least three of them. Possibly four, if I ever decide to let Clark back in the building.  Though I expected the one from Winslow would be especially amusing.”

“I would actually pay to see that,” Alex said. “But no.  Kara showed me the paperwork you gave her.  I’ll admit, I was pissed off by some of the things on the list, but I’ve seen you with her, and I know how much of your own time you’ve spent taking care of her with the whole Doomsday thing and the James thing. And I figure anyone who is willing to burn down thirty years of their life to make amends for it when they think they’ve crossed the line might be worth a second chance.”

“And you know I’ll already aware of what you will do to me if I hurt your little sister,” Cat observed.

“Yeah, they won’t find the body,” Alex said.

“If I ever hurt her, Alex, I promise you I will hand you the shovel.”

“After talking to Lois, I believe that,” Alex said.

“Lois Lane?”

“Yeah,” Alex said.  “I needed to deal with the Clark situation anyway, and I had to be sure. I mean, after the paperwork, I figured you were on the level, but this is Kara.”

“And Kara always wants to see the best in people,” Cat finished.

“Yeah,” Alex said.  “I mean, I get it.  It’s how she copes.  She gets up in the morning, and shoves down every shitty thing that’s ever happened to her into a place so deep it can’t hurt her, and the happiness and joy and optimism are the cork in the bottle.  But I’ve been looking out for her for some long it’s like a reflex.  I want to step on anything that so much as looks at her funny.”

“And I’m definitely a threat,” Cat said.

Alex shrugged.  “She loves you,” Alex said.  “I don’t know how long that love has involved the desire to do things that I beg both of you to never, ever tell me about, but she was star struck by you before she even applied at CatCo.  I’m pretty sure she’d do almost anything you asked.  So, I had to be sure.  I figured Lois would give me all the dirty, since, you know, you too make this huge show of hating each other.  Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be total bullshit, and I find out she’s in love with you too.”

Cat flinched, and immediately hated herself for showing weakness.  “I think you’re reading a little too much into whatever it was she said.  Any feelings Lois might have had for me are long gone.”

“Maybe,” Alex said.  “I mean, her exact words were, ‘Clark is the love of my life, but that doesn’t mean I ever stopped being in love with Cat, or that I will ever be over her,’ so I could see how I might be misinterpreting things.”

“Well, Lois’ has never been good at laying out her point in a clear and concise manner,” Cat said, but than a little surprised to hear what Lois had said.

“I know,” Alex said.  “You’d think a Pulitzer Prize Winner wouldn’t be so damn vague, but once I told her why I was calling, she told me a lot of stuff.  About how the two of you got together.  About how much she loved you, but how she couldn’t seem to stop herself from hurting you.  About how much she wanted to be with you and but couldn’t convince herself to take the hit that coming out in the early nineties would have been.  About how you begged her to go to couples counselling, and about how she left you because she thought you deserved someone who wouldn’t be ashamed of what they felt for you.”

“That’s why she left?” Cat asked.  She regretted it immediately, because the question had just slipped out without any filter at all.

“According to her,” Alex said.

Cat took a deep breath and let it out slowly, repeating the process several times as she stomped down on her anger.  “Well, if that’s the case, I think I’m going to speak with my accountant and see about sending her a bill for all four divorces and twenty-five years’ worth of therapy bills.”

“I know the feeling,” Alex said, and Cat was a little surprised at the anger in her voice.  “Trying to understand women is a little like trying to understand Morse Code over a staticky line while your being shot at, and the person transmitting is sending a message in ancient high Kandoran.”

Cat let out a small laugh and had to reach up to cover her mouth to keep from laughing harder, but Alex looked up at her, and Cat could see the annoyance behind those eyes for a moment.  If faded fast though.  When Cat was sure she could control herself, she moved her hand.

“Romantic difficulties?” Cat asked.

“Kind of,” Alex said.  “Honestly, that’s sort of why I’m here.”

“Oh?” Cat said.

“Yeah.  I um… I mean, we don’t know each other well, and I don’t usually ask anyone for advice, but Kara is always talking about the way you’re able to cut through the bullshit and get right to the heart of the problem.  And considering you’ve got my sister, Lois and Lucy Lane, and pretty much the entire Autostraddle readership worshiping the ground you walk on, I thought maybe you could help steer me in the right direction.”

“You’re asking me for romantic advice?” Cat asked, not quite sure how this conversation had taken a turn for the surreal so quickly.

“I guess so,” Alex said.  “Kara said you’d even written a book.”

“Not one of my better works,” Cat said, “but yes.”

“I, um…  I met this woman,” Alex said.  “And I developed feelings.”

“That does happen,” Cat said.

“Yeah.  Um, not so much to me before, but yeah.  She called me out on it, and it scared me, but I got over it and I came out to Kara, and I told this woman how I felt, and I kissed her and…” Alex trailed off, the words clearly coming with increasing difficulty as she got closer to the point.

“She didn’t feel the same way,” Cat said.

“No,” Alex said.  “She didn’t.  She said she didn’t want to get involved with someone who was fresh off the boat.”

“I see,” Cat said.  “What exactly are you looking for, Alex?”

“I don’t know,” she said.  “I mean, it’s not really a break up, but if I’m honest, I was always relieved when a guy dumped me.  Which probably should have clued me into the fact that I’m apparently a huge lesbian.  This… it hurts.  I think about her all the time, and I just hate that I still want to be with her when she doesn’t want me, and I feel humiliated that the first time I’ve ever cared about someone like that, I’m not good enough for them.  And I just…  I need to know how to move on.  And I don’t want to drag up any painful memories for you, but when Lois told me what happened, I thought…  You’ve been through this and maybe you could tell me how to make it stop feeling like someone cut me open and hollowed me out inside.”

Cat watched as Alex sat there, pouring her heart out.  Somewhere about half way through, Alex had started crying, and Cat felt her heart breaking for the other woman.  She normally hated seeing people cry, but apparently, women named Danvers were a weak spot for her otherwise prickly exterior.  Besides, this one was an easy fix.  After all, she had written the book.

“She didn’t say she didn’t want you,” Cat said.

“What?” Alex asked.

“Alex, if you’re telling me everything, then she didn’t say she didn’t want you.  She said she was nervous about getting involved with someone who’d just come out. And given that, prior to your sister, the most meaningful relationship of my life turned into a disaster because, among other things, the woman I was in love with was so deeply closeted that she would treat me like she hated me in public, and I was so hurt I couldn’t stop myself from lashing out in return, I can understand her point.  It doesn’t mean she’s right, but I can understand it.”

“Then what do I do?” Alex asked.

“Don’t be fresh off the boat,” Cat said.  Alex gave her a confused look, and Cat sighed and reached down, opening one of the draws in her desk and pulling out a paperback book. “I had originally intended to give this to your sister when she was pining for Oslen, but then two of my employees went all revengy, aliens mind controlled the whole city, and before I could give her the book, the two of them seemed to sort it out.  So, today is your lucky day.”  She held out the book to Alex.

“The Lighthouse Technique?” Alex asked, giving the book a dubious expression.

“Yes,” Cat said.  “Like I said, not my best work, but it got me a spot on Oprah.  The point is, this woman…”

“Maggie,” Alex said.

“This Maggie is interested, but she afraid you’re going to get cold feet and go scampering back to Narnia, or realize this is just an experiment, or something equally ridiculous.  So, you need to allay those fears.  Show her you’re the outest, proudest lesbian on the block. Make yourself shiny and attractive, but most of all, make yourself unavailable.  When she sees everything you have to offer being offered to someone else, it will drive her crazy, and sooner or later, she’ll come to you, hat in hand.”

“But how do I do that?”

“That’s a good question,” Cat said as she reached for her phone.  “Are you free Friday night?” Cat asked as she flicked through her contacts.

“Baring an alien invasion,” Alex said.

“Good,” Cat said as she hit the send button, and raised the phone to her ear.

“CAT!” the woman on the other end of the line responded.

“Hey, Claire,” Cat replied.  “How are you this morning?”

“Oh, you know how it is.  I deal with nothing but lawyers and FBI agents all day.”

“You’re a Federal Judge, Claire,” Cat said.

“I know,” Claire replied.  “My mother is so ashamed.”

“Your mother is a Hippy who hasn’t realized the sixties are over.”

“This is true,” Claire said.  “Now, tell me darling, why did you call?  Finally decided you needed a younger woman in your life after all?”

“Yes, but her name is Kara, and she’s the jealous type.”

“The assistant!  Oh, Cat, that is so cliché!  I love it!”

Cat glanced up at Alex who has an utterly bewildered expression on her face, and grinned.  “Well, you’re going to love this even more.  She’s got an absolutely gorgeous sister who’s an FBI agent.”

“Please tell me she’s gay,” Claire said.

“Just out of Naria, dear,” Cat said, smiling at the sudden look of panic on Alex’s face.  “The problem is, the toaster oven recipient doesn’t want to date someone who’s fresh off the boat.”

“Oh, the poor little baby gay!  This will never do!” Claire replied.  “Send me a picture.”

Cat took the phone away from her ear and activated the Camera, snapping a picture of a slightly shocked Alex and sending it to Claire.

“Oh, the poor dear has been crying, too,” Claire said. “Friday night?”

“I’ll text you her phone number.  Seven O’clock good for you?”

“Yes,” Claire said.  “Tell her to bring her handcuffs!”

Cat laughed as Claire hung up.  She looked over at Alex.

“You have a date with Claire Deangelo Friday night at 7:00 PM,” Cat said.

“The warrant judge?” Alex squeaked.

“Oh, you know her then?” Cat asked.

Alex shook her head.  “Not personally, but she signs about half our warrants.”

“Well, I suggest you don’t take any for her to sign Friday.  But do dress up.  I’ll have Eve arrange a town car.”

“Um… but… where will I take her?” Alex asked.

Cat rolled her eyes.  “You really are just as bad as your sister.  Eve will arrange a town car.  GLAAD is holding a fundraiser Friday night.  I usually just send my donation by courier, but you can take the tickets.  There’s an open bar, and Claire is a divine dance and despite being a huge flirt won’t expect anything but a bit of pleasant company for the evening, so relax. You’ll go, you’ll get your picture taken with a beautiful, successful woman on your arm, and if those pictures just happen to find their way in front of Maggie, well, it’s not your fault.”

Alex stared at her for moment, her jaw hanging down slightly, before she seemed to shake herself out of it.  “I’m not sure if you’re brilliant, or crazy, but please don’t ever go Supervillain,” she said.  “We wouldn’t have a chance.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Cat said.  “I’m me.”

“Thank you,” Alex said.  “Not just for this.  For taking care of my sister, and for dealing with Clark and James.”

“You can thank me when your Maggie comes to you begging for a date.  Now give me her contact information so I can make sure she sees the pictures of you and Claire.”