#keep bootlicking in the bedroom please

[severin-photocopy]

thank you Meloni for *looks at hand* less freedom of press

[torispn15]

Warning long post ahead:

I have heard a lot from the news and from articles today. It can drive you crazy. So, I´m channeling my energy into explaining a couple of things about our (the US) political and economic system. It´s not perfect, as I put more emotion into this post than just straight logic. I have taken a politics 101 course and did a lot of studying and I am using basic common sense and empathy. At first I am talking about the Capitol incident and then it expands into more detail. If you don´t want to read, that´s cool. (I am not really gonna branch out into other countries on this topic. The main focus is the US) Anyways, here it is:

"A political philosophy and movement that is sceptical of authority and rejects all involuntary, coercive forms of hierarchy. Anarchism calls for the abolition of the state, which it holds to be undesirable, unnecessary, and harmful."

Does this sound like the behavior of the people that stormed the Capitol? No. It sounds like the opposite of what they want. I´ve seen a lot of news networks such as NBC, call the fascists, anarchists. That, above, is the description of anarchism.

Anarchists reject any hierarchy. They, the fascists, want government and they want Trump. So, calling them anarchists is very very not accurate.

"A form of far-right, authoritarian ultranationalism characterized by dictatorial power, forcible suppression of opposition and strong regimentation of society and of the economy. They believe that liberal democracy is obsolete and regard the complete mobilization of society under a totalitarian one-party state as necessary to prepare a nation for armed conflict and to respond effectively to economic difficulties."

Does this sound more like the behavior of the people that stormed the Capitol? Yes. It does. That is the description of fascism.

"A fascist state is led by a strong leader such as a dictator and a martial law government composed of the members of the governing fascist party to forge national unity and maintain a stable and orderly society."

Remind you of anything??

Now, read this:

"Advocates the abolition of the state, capitalism, wage labour, social hierarchies and private property (while retaining respect for personal property, along with collectively-owned items, goods and services) in favor of common ownership of the means of production and direct democracy as well as a horizontal network of workers' councils with production and consumption based on the guiding principle "From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs"."

This sounds way better than the first two, right? This is the description of anarcho-communism. Which is what I, personally, align with most.

What about this:

"An economic system based on the private ownership of the means of production and their operation for profit. Central characteristics include capital accumulation, competitive markets, a price system, private property and the recognition of property rights, voluntary exchange and wage labor. In this market economy, decision-making and investments are determined by every owner of wealth, property or production ability in capital and financial markets whereas prices and the distribution of goods and services are mainly determined by competition in goods and services markets."

This is the description of capitalism, which is what we have now. But, what you have to understand is that capitalism usually leads to fascism. Late-stage capitalism is fascism. One core idea of fascism is capitalism. Which is one of many reasons why it´s terrible. Also, you live here. You know how bad capitalism is. It´s why you can´t afford to buy medicine or go to the doctors. It´s why people die of starvation. It´s not because people don´t work hard enough. There are people who work three jobs who are still low-income individuals and families. It´s because of capitalism. It doesn´t give you any freedom. It is the opposite of freedom. In the "land of the free" we have a political and economic system that enslaves us. Think about that. Think about how much freedom you actually have.

When all of this is put into frame, what are your thoughts? What sounds like a place you want to live in?

The way we are now, the reason why most of the garbage in this country happens, you can connect that to capitalism. You can trace what happened at the Capitol today to fascism and capitalism (Which are basically the same thing).

A lot of Americans work minimum wage jobs. Minimum wage is $7.25 an hour, on average in the US. Assuming you work 40 hours a week, that equals 2,080 hours in a year. Your hourly wage of 7 dollars would end up being about $14,560 per year in salary. Even if you got $15 an hour, working 37.5 hours a week, you would still only make $29,250 a year. $15 an hour isn't enough to secure affordable housing in most US states. Nationally, someone would need to make $17.90 an hour to rent a one-bedroom apartment or $22.10 an hour to cover a two-bedroom home. In order to live comfortably, you´d have to get extra hours or a better job. Extra hours, is just slaving more of your life away to the point where it won´t matter how much money you earn. And it is very hard to get a job. Even if you go to college, you aren´t owed or guaranteed a job. You slave you life away. And none of this takes into consideration family members. None of this takes into consideration any children or people living in the household. You have to struggle all the time under capitalism.

You are in the top 1.8% of americans if you make more than 400k a year. So, no, not everyone or anyone can be rich or live nicely here. America loves to brand itself as a free country and the land of opportunity but, it has shown that is anything but. 30 million people in America, do not have health insurance. Do you know how much medical care costs without insurance? No one should struggle for basic medical care. Every human being deserves the basic necessities to stay alive. Every single one of us shouldn´t have to pay for food or water. We shouldn´t struggle to afford putting food on the table working two jobs while the millionaires and billionaires who sit on a yacht all day, who don´t earn a single cent, never have to worry about that. You wanna know how they make that money, you wanna know who gives them that money? You do. Your hard work and nights away from your family, earns them that money. That is your money. The system is set up for people like that to succeed and keep succeeding. The rich keep getting richer while you stay the same or even lose money. Does that sound fair or just to you? Life isn´t fair, no, but this isn´t life. This is a man-made system that we can fix. We built this and we can tear it down.

So stop being a bootlicker and sucking off capitalism just because there´s a small chance that, maybe, you will get rich. If you´re black in America, you have a 15.1% lower chance of becoming a millionaire than a white person in America. If you are white or asian with a college education, you have around a 20% chance of being a millionaire. But, if you can´t afford college, and you only have a high school diploma, your chances drop to a 2% chance. And most people who are rich in this country didn´t start out with a start-up company and worked hard. No. No. The majority of millionaires and billionaires did either one of these things or all of them:

⬤ Got lucky. By means of gambling, lottery, ⋆cough⋆ making a sex tape and it getting traction ⋆cough⋆...... things like that.

⬤ Scamming someone. By means of ponzi scheme, pyramid scheme, advance-fee scam, credit fraud, identity theft... things of that nature.

⬤ Other illegal shit. By means of embezzlement, hacking, robbing, selling counterfit goods (which can also fall into the scamming someone section), etc... you get the point.

And that doesn´t include being born into money and not paying any taxes as well. It usually doesn´t have shit to do with working hard. If working hard made you a millionaire, a hell of a lot more people would be rich af.

There´s also a lot more factors and circumstances to take into account. Even if I had time to explain, I probably couldn´t because, well, frankly, it´s impossible to go into every factor or circumstance especially since, I couldn´t possibly know every single one. This is a very basic and general post and I tried my best to explain some stuff. (some of the figures and percentages might be off by a percent ot two but, that´s easily searchable)

I do encourage researching, actual research. Because I, nor, anyone on this app are the authority for any topic. Never take anyone´s word for anything, especially not on this app of of all places. Please study and research. When you research, it is very important to check out the websites and sources for too much bias and make sure to fact check, such as comparing it to other websites and sources. Or maybe you could read different books about economics or politics and things of that nature. But, even for books, always fact check and check for too much bias. You can easily fall into traps if you don´t. I just started listening to an audio book titled: Anarchism and Other Essays by Emma Goldman. I am trying to learn more about anarchism and other political philosophies as well. I am most certaintly not a "political person" but, I do love to learn and I do love human beings and believe that human beings deserve basic rights which makes me interested in learning about different ways to improve our way of life.

So... that´s it.... I hope y´all have a goodnight/evening/morning! 💛

[igottoomuchwriting]

Tough Work (Reed900)

TW: Mentions of child abuse

From Gavin: hey bb i'm gonna be home late just so ya know

From Gavin: dont want you worrying

Richard looked at the message in his hub and smiled. He was glad that Gavin remembered to text him instead of leaving Richard to worry about his health and well being.

When the couple had started dating, Richard brought up the fact that they would most likely let their feelings get in the way of doing their jobs correctly. At first Gavin brushed him off, thinking that their relationship wouldn’t have strong enough feelings that it would become a detriment to their work. 

Then, a month into their relationship, they ended up in a shootout with a suspect. The suspect had been aiming at Richard. Gavin, being the irrational man that he is, he jumped in front of Richard as he shot at the suspect. He was able to hit the suspect without killing him, however Gavin was hit in the side. Luckily all major organs were avoided and he was released without a few days, but Richard used this event to make Gavin see that working separately would be better for their relationship. Plus, they wouldn’t have to be around each other 24/7, statistically giving their relationship a better chance at surviving.

Richard ended up transferring, seeing as he had only been working at the main precinct for a year, verus Gavin working there since he began his career. His new workplace accepted him fully, especially after he got a letter of recommendation from Hank—his reputation still seemed to be held high amongst the other precincts.

It wasn’t a bad step up between the couple, though Connor did inform Richard that for the first two weeks of Richard being at a new precinct, he was crankier and seemed to be picking more fights. Richard talked to Gavin about it and was able to get Gavin to stop picking on new recruits (and Connor and Hank, at Connor’s request).

With the couple now working at different precincts, they had to balance different work schedules. Richard had both of their schedules on his internal calendar, so he knew when their days lined up, when they could meet up before going home, when they could head to work together, anything like that. Of course, there are days when either of them have to work late, so they make sure to keep each other updated for any changes.

Knowing it would be a while before Gavin would be able to get home, Richard decided to put off cooking dinner. He would be able to make something quick for Gavin when he got back. For now, he would make headway on the new book series he picked up while he waited.

Richard’s head snapped up when he heard the lock turn, just in time to see Gavin storming in and slamming the door shut behind him.

Richard watched as Gavin kicked off his shoes in a random spot, throwing his jacket on the ground and marching past Richard without so much as a hello.

“Gavin?” Richard called, confused.

“What.” Richard quickly made a note of where he left off and made his way towards the bedroom. He doesn’t know what could have happened that would make Gavin this mad, but he needed to get to the bottom of it.

“How was work?” Often Gavin did not like being asked what was wrong straight out, so Richard always had to go around until he wore Gavin down enough to open up. There were times when he wished Gavin trusted him enough to open up, but as he has learned from deviancy and every story that Connor and Tina have shared with him, humans—especially his human—were not that simple.

“Fine.” He did not look at Richard, just continued throwing his clothes around and making a mess.

“Did you get a lot of work done?”

“Yep.” Richard's face scrunched up in confusion. Something really must have made Gavin mad if he was refusing to look or talk to him.

Richard decided to stay back and watch. It seemed that Gavin had already forgotten that he was there, just moving around and picking up what he threw. Richard understood this to be his stress cleaning. He was okay with a little mess, a little clutter, though when the world gets too much he just cleans.

And then he just stopped. Gavin had been moving extra chargers they had back into the chest at the end of their bed when he froze. Richard waited for him to move, for him to keep cleaning, but it seemed as if he was in a trance. He stayed where he was, almost unblinking while staring at the box, hands clenched around the shirt he was holding.

Richard stepped forward and placed his hand on Gavin’s shoulder, prepared to pull the man back into a hug when Gavin snapped out of it. He shrugged off Richard’s shoulder and threw the cables into the chest before moving on, not once looking at Richard.

“Would you like something to eat?” he asked. 

“No Nines, I don’t want anything to fucking eat!” he snapped. Richard watched as Gavin turned around, anger burning in his eyes. “I’m not the one who needs food! I’m not fucking hungry, yet I decide to eat because I’m bored, when there are people out there who actually need something to fucking eat!”

“Gavin, what—”

“I just—I—” Gavin let out a frustrated yell and kicked the chest. “It’s fucking ridiculous! They can’t do anything about it!”

Richard pulled Gavin back away from the chest, pump pounding and errors flashing in his system. Gavin tried pushing him off again, fighting him and yelling, but Richard would not let him go.

“Let go of me!”

Nines forced Gavin to face him, holding his arms pulling him close. “Gavin, Gavin, please, what’s wrong?”

Gavin didn’t answer. He had stopped fighting Richard but he still wouldn’t look at him. Richard analyzed his boyfriend, reading his heart rate and breathing. He knows that it annoys Gavin but he’s just worried about him.

“Gavin, please talk to me,” Richard whispered. He let go of Gavin’s arms and placed his hands on his waist. Gavin wrapped his arms on Richard’s waist as well and hid his face in his neck. “What is making you so upset?”

“The scene,” he mumbled.

“What scene?”

“The scene that I went to tonight,” Gavin huffed. “It’s just...it was horrible, babe. I couldn’t even believe anything I was hearing.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” Gavin held his breath, staying still as he contemplated.

“No, but I should.” he relented. Richard nodded his head and held Gavin closer, trying to provide as much comfort as he could. There are only a few things that he has seen make Gavin this upset, but he was always there when they happened. This is something that Richard has never had to deal with before.

“I got the call thirty minutes before I was going to get off of work,” he started. “I was confused on why they didn’t call Hank first, seeing as he is the senior officer in homicide, but I agreed to head to the scene nonetheless.” Richard nodded his head in understanding. Even though Hank and Gavin had a lot of tension, they really didn’t let any of that get in the way of their job. Of course it had taken a while for the two to get there, but Richard was proud of them.

“So I hopped in my shitty ass car and headed over. You know how it goes—I get there, it’s cold as shit, I look around for any obvious things, wave off people fucking peeping and trying to get a sneakpeak of the latest murder, get briefed.”

Gavin paused again. His breathing was deeper, more controlled, and Richard could tell that he was trying to keep his composure. He started rubbing Gavin’s lower back to comfort him and Gavin hugged him tight, kissing his neck.

“It.. the victim was a 9-year-old boy. His body wasn’t at the scene, he had been carried to the hospital, but we had been called on by doctors and other officials that we had to check out the house, as that is where the damage was done before he died. I checked out the house and… and—” Gavin grunted and took a deep breath once again.

“It is okay to cry and let out your feelings, Gavin,” Richard muttered.

“Yeah, I fucking know, it’s just—I saw his body. I saw the house.” He squeezed Richard tight but didn’t let go. “He was—there was so much fucking blood, Nines. Katy had gone around marked where all the blood splatter was and she ran out of fucking markers. We had gotten photos of the kid because that was important for our investigation and he—he had bruises, cuts, wounds, and blood all over him! He had a fucking hand print on his goddamn neck!” Richard could finally feel the tears on his synthetic skin, could feel Gavin shaking as he cried.

He was stunned. He knew that there were plenty of child murder cases that have been reported, but he and Gavin had never been called to see them, to investiagte them. It was never in their area.

“I am sorry, Gavin,” Richard mumbled.

“It’s just,” Gavin gasped. “He was so young! He didn’t fucking deserve an ending where he died at the hand of the people that are supposed to love him. And he looked so—so tortured! The bruises weren’t new, the wounds were healing. And it’s just—”

“Shh,” Richard mumbled. He adjusted his hold on Gavin and placed his hand on the back of his head, his other arm holding his waist. He swayed them on their feet as Gavin cried and cursed in frustration, in pain. 

They stayed like that for many minutes while Gavin cried. Richard just held him through it. He has never seen a case like this. He has seen and dealt with cases where children are involved and Gavin was always with him on those cases. Though, they were before they started dating, so Richard would not be surprised if Gavin would go to his apartment and do the exact same thing he is doing now, except then he is alone with his own thoughts.

“That’s why they didn’t want to give it to Hank,” Richard commented once Gavin started calming down. Gavin nodded his head.

“Yeah, like—They know it’s a part of his job description, but I feel like Connor got a whiff of what the scene was going to be like and turned them away. For his sake.” 

“That does sound like a very Connor thing to do.” Gavin let out a laugh.

“Yeah. Fucking bootlicker would never let someone even offer Hank his least favorite ice cream.” Richard let out a chuckle. 

Gavin pulled back from Richard just a bit, looking Richard in the face for the second time that night. His eyes were extremely red and puff, and he had a bit of snot trying to escape. It wasn’t the prettiest face, but Richard would never expect it to be. Not after seeing something like Gavin has had to.

“Thank you for letting me cry,” Gavin mumbled. 

“You can cry anytime you need,” Richard assured. “Your organic brain cannot handle when you bottle it up.”

“Yeah, okay, let’s see your circuits handle what my meatball can,” Gavin snapped, but he let out a small smile.

It was short lived. The smile quickly dropped from his face as he moved around, mind obviously still on the case.

“I think we should head to bed now,” Richard suggested. Gavin let out a nod. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I think that would be best.”

And so they got ready. Gavin took a shower before getting ready while Richard laid in bed, nothing but his boxers, reading up on any news about the murder from tonight. He knew it was difficult for Gavin to even talk about the case in the first place, so he just wanted to see if there was any way that he could get his questions answered.

Gavin climbed into bed next to him and Richard quickly closed out the searches, fully turning his attention towards Gavin who was quickly curling up into his side. Richard turned off the lights in the house remotely before scooting down to get into a more comfortable position for Gavin.

“Gavin?” Richard whispered. Gavin let out a ‘hm?’ in acknowledgment, so Richard knew he had to talk fast before he fell asleep.

“That little boy was in the hands of the best people that could save him. Though he did not make it, you can do the next best thing and put those who hurt him behind bars.”

Gavin squeezed Richard and hid his head in his chest, but he didn’t seem upset.

“I know,” Gavin mumbled. “Thanks babe.”

“I love you.”

“Love ya too.”

[everythingoesnk]

Once in Rockfield Farm (4/5)

summary; in this house we stan brian the hero

word count; 4 638

warnings; mary austin.

part 1

part 2

part 3

********

“Brian, can you get your fucking clogs out of the way?” Roger groaned, kicking them with the tip of his shoe.

“What’s gotten into you?” John complained, tired of his babyish behaviour.

“Don’t bother trying, Deaky” Brian said, sending Roger a look.

He wasn’t paying attention to them, perfectly displaying the lack of interest in carrying a conversation.

About you, you spent a lot of time with your friends lately, celebrating the successful end of the semester. All your hard work was rewarded, and you were finally clean and done with University.

There hadn’t been more opportunities to talk with you privately, and Roger wished you’d notice his efforts for things to go back to normal. It annoyed him that you always had something to do and wouldn’t find time to invest in him.

He fucked up everything saying he’d follow your suggestion to find another chick. It was childish and a mistake. He didn’t mean it and didn’t do it. He wanted to apologize and kept trying to do his bit, but you were closed off.

Excuses and excuses kept coming out of your mouth to avoid being alone with him.

Anxiety. That’s what you felt when recalling yours and Mary’s conversation.

Just the thought of Roger’s real intentions being the ones she addressed made you want to puke. You didn’t hate him or disliked him overnight, but you wouldn’t risk getting hurt.

Also, you’d been contemplating moving to America. Rockfield Farm’d become a vacation home rather than your residence.

Indifferent to your intentions to stay away from him, last Wednesday, Roger tried again.

He bought two tickets to attend a Romeo and Juliet play. He didn’t give two shits about Shakespeare or the performance, he just happened to hear you talk to John about how much you wanted to go. Turned out a guy called Gideon asked you first earlier that week to accompany him to that same bloody play. He could remember sympathy written on your face when he revealed you the plan.

Roger played it cool the best he could when you politely declined, justifying yourself saying you’d already agreed to go with Gideon.

“Maybe next time” he took a step back, staring down at his hands.

When you left the room he didn’t hesitate to tear the tickets into pieces.

“But I’m curious” John insisted.

“He’s angry because (Y/N)’s having a date tonight” Freddie half smiled.

Roger’s expression hardened. Freddie’s grin was no longer there.

“Oh, Rog” he pouted.

“What’s going on, Fred?” Brian asked in an undertone, leaning closer to Freddie.

John joined the little circle after looking briefly at Roger, who was peering through the window and susurrating something under his breath.

“Our sweet child is lovesick. Tonight was supposed to be his date with (Y/N), but she rejected him”

“She didn’t reject me” Roger claimed through gritted teeth. “Gideon happened to be faster”

Pronouncing this stranger’s name burned his tongue.

“It doesn’t mean it’s a date” Brian guessed. “I wouldn’t lose sleep over it, Roger”

He shook his head.

"She chose him over me, I'll get over it," he thought saying it out loud would make the statement sound easier.

“(Y/N) adores you, Rog. It’s not that deep, trust me” Freddie assured.

“What have I missed?” John asked.

“Something happened in the pub we don’t know about” Brian commented.

The image of Mary dragging you to the bathroom by the wrist sparked his curiosity. He was the only one apart from Roger who saw it, and he didn’t mention it to anyone.

Roger stopped listening somewhere around Freddie's words concerning drama and paid exclusive attention to what was happening outside.

An unfamiliar car that could only belong to Gideon pulled over in front of the house. He saw you climb out with him and head to the door.

“Hey, baby!” you hugged Sherlock after walking in and taking your coat off. “How’s my favourite boy doin’? Oh my God yes, I love you too my baby prince”

Sherlock barked happily a few times.

Hearing his paws against the floor, quickly running to announce your arrival to Her Majesty, made you smile from ear to ear.

“Sherlock ignored you totally”

“It’s fine. Can we go to your bedroom?”

“Okay”

The four of them heard the conversation.

Roger froze, and the others wanted the Grim Reaper to take them in time to escape the awkwardness.

Leaning with your shoulder against the living room door frame, you took off your heels.

“Hey guys," you greeted, undoing your ponytail and shaking out your hair.

“Hi, (Y/N)” John and Brian responded in unison.

“How’d it go?” Freddie asked straight forward.

Roger chewed his bottom lip, incapable to keep his eyes off you. The way the fabric of your jeans hugged you was distracting, but as soon as Freddie made sure to try and collect information, his eyes and ears snapped upwards to hear every single word of what was going on around him.

“Horrible” you announced. “The play exquisite, amen to that, but we had a large family with children behind us that wouldn’t shut up”

It wasn’t after your rambling that you saw Roger standing in one corner. His jersey was so tight you could appreciate a tiny hint of his belly button.

You stared at each other for a bit: you sent him a mini smile that he didn’t respond to. On the contrary, his lips pressed together.

He was jealous.

So fucking jealous.

He felt like one big wolf caged, ready to storm out as soon as someone were to release him.

You got your eyes back on Freddie, colour mounting in your cheeks at the excruciating gaze Roger put you to test.

“This is Gideon, guys. Old friend of mine” you said, patting his shoulder.

Brian was the only one to say hi this time. John and Freddie simply nodded with a smile, Freddie pouring wine into a glass.

Sprawled across the sofa now, Roger looked imperturbable. He kept on twirling a drumstick and stealing quick looks at Gideon: he had his head shaved off, he was bony and very quiet around new people.

At 6:45 a.m. the next day, Roger woke up due to a bad dream of his drumkit being set on fire by accident because of Freddie.

Patting Sherlock’s head along the way, Roger’s steps took him to the kitchen to get some water.

Eyebrows furrowed as the light was switched on already, he couldn’t believe his eyes when Gideon turned it off and almost bumped into him in the hallway.

“Oh. Sorry, lad”

Had he spent the night here?! With you?! Roger didn’t speak for a few seconds.

“What are you doing here?”

“I stayed over for the night. I’m leaving in the morning… don’t worry” Gideon said, perfectly aware that the drummer didn’t appreciate his presence.

God, Roger was so obvious.

Gideon left to go back to sleep and Roger considered crashing his head into the wall.

Shoulders deflating and hands on his face, he understood it was time to give up on you. You pushed him to no other option.

//

An enormous impulse to stab a knife through Roger’s chest was dangerously growing inside you for the fiftieth time in the last half an hour. It sent your brain reeling how dumb he could be on purpose.

Jumping onto your bed, you reached for a magazine and started to flip through the pages, not really reading any of it. It was for the best, you needed to distract yourself or you’d indeed end up doing something stupid.

His ‘rocker’ habits started to get up your nose. You lost count of the number of times you told him not to bring home any of his bootlicker groupies.

You were already doing them a huge favour, but that's abusing your trust on large-scale.

There was a soft knock on the door.

Just like everyone could recognize someone’s footsteps after living together for some time, you could also tell who was behind such gentle noise.

“Come on in, Bri, come and fucking help me count to ten. Suddenly I don’t know anymore” you tossed the magazine away. It landed on top of the mountain of clothes scattered on the floor.

Lying now on your belly with your face against the pillow, you sensed the bed sank a bit when he took a seat next to you.

“You know,” he spoke, “it will only make things worse if you let him get to you like that”

“Oh, that’s rich” you snapped. “He’s been pushing my buttons for weeks now. I’m human, of course I’m gonna end up exploding”

Brief pause of you chewing your gum and Brian rubbing his thumbs against each other.

“I haven’t exploded yet, though” you reconsidered. “He better stop testing me”

“You’re just proving my point” Brian laughed.

You turned your head in his direction and shot him a look.

Brian patted your back with encouragement.

“How about I take the evening off and we go for a bike ride? Would that cheer you up?”

“Yes!” you cried, getting up.

A little getaway sounded marvellous.

Besides the fact that spending time with Brian was one of your favourite things to do ever since you met him, it was a beautiful day outside. Too beautiful to waste it indoors. The sky was entirely blue, not a single cloud spoiling the bright rays of sunshine from shining.

“The boys won’t mind?” you asked.

“We’ve been locked in the studio for days, not a single break. Freddie’s working hard in a new piece on the piano, John surely needs some time off too, and Roger’s keeping himself entertained. They won’t even notice I’m gone” Brian explained.

“Maybe John wants to join us” you added, looking for a most comfortable pair of boots.

“I don’t know, I’ll go ask him”

After lacing up your shoes you reunited with Brian downstairs and smiled widely when you saw John standing next to him, although disappointment overtook your face when Brian pouted at you. John wasn’t tagging along?

“Deaky?”

“Freddie asked me first to go shopping with him, sorry” he welcomed you in his arms when you opened yours to embrace him. “Everyone wants to hang out with me and I can’t please everybody at once” he winked at you.

“Brian told me he was gonna lock himself up with the piano the whole day, huh?”

Brian’s mouth curved into an apologetic smile, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“I deserve to treat myself too, my dear” Freddie sang, going down the stairs with his characteristic grace and a triumphant smug look.

The four of you started discussing your plans for the rest of the day.

They were going to the mall, seeing as Freddie wanted to renew his wardrobe. John was okay with the idea of rating outfits, but everything was a good excuse to go out and relax the mind a little, overwhelmed by having worked so many weeks non-stop. The album was almost done, and Rheid already mentioned to them something about touring Japan after the launch.

Perhaps they could find something interesting to wear on stage.

Bri and you preferred to get on the bikes and ride aimlessly instead, seeking some peace.

They headed to the van and Brian excused himself saying he needed to go to the bathroom.

You were gently tossing your hair in front of the round mirror hung on the main hall waiting for him, trying to tame the baby hairs that were all over the place.

You heard the clacking of heels approaching, and within seconds a stunning blonde doll was behind you.

Staring at each other in the glass, she bit her inside cheek, her gaze making it clear that she was mentally criticizing your appearance.

She felt special? She wasn’t, you wanted to tell her. The fourth one in a week maybe?

“Can I help you?” you began with one eyebrow raised.

“I was just leaving”

She took one step forward and wiped off the smeared lipstick around her lips.

“Roger’s asleep” she informed, chin up as she cleaned herself.

“Good to know”

She held her purse in between her arm and hip and gave you a half smile.

“Nice house” she smiled and clucked her tongue.

You didn’t respond and waited for her to get out of your sight.

When she closed the door, you let out a grunt.

“Roger Taylor, you’re a fucking pain in the ass” you condemned with your eyes shut, and flinched at the unexpected contact of a big hand on your shoulder, opening them.

Brian.

"I grabbed a few snacks and two bottles of water," he said contently, turning over himself a little for you to actually see his stuffed backpack.

You chuckled. What would you do without this precious soul?

“We’ll be gone for less than two hours, Bri”

“Just in case”

You stroked his chin fondly, getting a beautiful smile from him in return, and both walked out without worrying about leaving a note for Roger in case he woke up and saw the house empty.

//

Much to your amazement, you finished the supplies Brian had brought with him. Stopping at one of the bars in the nearest port before returning to Rockfield Farm was his idea.

People were enjoying the soft breeze of the first moments of the night before it was too cold to be outside.

"(Y/N)?" Brian asked softly.

You took the beer to your lips.

Brian sighed.

“What happened between you and Roger? I know he can be a little bitch sometimes, but you guys were together all the time and now—“

"It was a misunderstanding"

“Misunderstanding? What was a misunderstanding?”

Brian looked startled. Nothing was clicking.

Out of the blue, Mary’s intrusion to yours and Roger’s heated moment in the club seemed to be gaining weight for him.

“That day in the pub,” he started, and you turned your head away holding your breath, “what happened?”

"Nothing," you said, picking at your nails absentmindedly.

That wasn't enough for Brian.

"Look at me"

You did.

“Are you lying?”

“What would that get me?" you answered with a question, avoiding saying a resounding ‘no’.

"I don't know," he responded, resting his elbows on the table and framing his hands on either side of his face.

A personality trait of yours and many people, you hoped, was that you didn’t enjoy lying to the people you loved, and since you were aware that what you said wasn’t true to an extent you didn’t want to deny it again to try to convince him.

Everyone saw you and Roger flirting, but what happened between you and Mary was yours and Mary’s business. And possibly, just possibly, Roger’s.

“He’s been acting weird since…,” he looked up to the sky, mentally counting, “since that day you brought Gabriel home”

Putting your head in your hands for the slightest second, you wished Brian’d shut up and talk about anything but this. You didn’t even tell him he fucked up the boy’s name.

You folded your arms dropping back on the seat and chose to not open your mouth.

“You know it’s because he thinks you fucked him, right?” Brian sentenced.

He didn’t want you to think he was blaming you or insinuating anything. You were free to do the heck you wanted to do. He was just pointing out the obvious.

“I do”

Brian didn’t say anything.

“I do, and… But what if I did? It’s my life. I don’t owe Roger anything” you answered, spreading your arms.

He remained silent and just kept on listening to the words erupting out of your mouth.

“It’s not like we were dating. Why’s he so butthurt? I’m not stupid. I know he’s bringing those girls just to provoke me”

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Fuck Gabriel?”

“Fuck no. We’ve known each other since we were four, and we happen to meet up every now and then. He’s moving to Dublin soon with his sister. It’s a tradition that he stays over when he pays me a visit. It’s not like there was a single room available, y’know” you hinted, and Brian quickly nodded. Yep, because of them. “That’s what we did, Brian. Talk and fall asleep. And Roger instead of asking keeps fucking Barbie after Barbie. Fuck him, really”

“Sure”

“Sure what?” you snapped, irritation clear in your voice.

Brian succeeded in hiding a smirk.

“Screw him. He deserves it”

You looked at him as if he were fooling you. You really didn’t know where the conversation was going anymore.

“Screw him for living his life like you’re doing”

Ouch.

You blushed violently.

“That’s…”

"You're jealous, (Y/N). It's alright, love. Roger's being a jerk. What I find strange," he said back with a worried face, the tone in his voice making it clear that he knew you knew what he was referring to but were refusing to tell him, "is that in the beginning it was you giving him the cold shoulder. He came to me, you know, asking if I had the tiniest clue of what was going on”

Jesus, if Brian’s goal was to make you feel like trash, he was doing the job quite good.

“It’s totally fine if you don’t want to tell me,” Brian spoke, lowering his head and glancing at your fingers grasping the beer bottle tight, “but things are the way they are because you’re being stubborn and dishonest with each other”

//

“Bri, you’ve got to stop” Mary laughed timidly, hella uneasy due to Brian’s cold gaze upon her.

Brian, John and Mary were chilling downstairs waiting for you. Freddie and Roger were in the studio instead, having a laugh and playing around. They were all looking their best just for you. It was the 19th, your long awaited graduation day. It felt dreamlike to you, but it was finally here.

Nothing and no one would ruin it.

“Are you proud of yourself?” Brian questioned in a tranquil tone.

“What?” she put her brows together.

John, sitting with one leg over the other, lowered the newspaper and stared at them over the rim of the page.

“Don’t be silly, Mary. Whatever you said to (Y/N) that day in the pub, you messed everything up”

Mary was surprised that Brian came at her like that. They never argued, never. But she could tell the subject mattered to him.

Shifting on her feet, she hesitated where to start.

“Seeing as you care so much about (Y/N), like I do," she reiterated, "you should know that I made her a favour"

“Who are you to interfere, Mary?”

“C’mon, you know Roger better than I do and know that he doesn’t take commitment seriously“

“I asked you one thing. Who are you to interfere?”

Mary’s face went blank. She looked at John, but he quickly hid behind the newspaper only to peek at her again as soon as her eyes met the ground.

“For Christ’s sake, Mary! Who are you to interfere!” Brian shouted, pushing for an answer.

She clenched her fists.

“What’s happening here?” Freddie’s voice interrupted.

Both turned their heads at him, surprised that he was back so soon.

“Nothing” she hurried to say, and sent Brian a pleading look.

"Nothing?" Brian asked sarcastically, his voice raising a bunch of octaves.

Freddie and Roger stepped further into the room.

When Roger’s eyes connected with Brian’s, he knew something important concerning him was the main topic.

His eyes wandered between him and Mary.

Brian gestured her to speak.

She'd never felt this way before, since a mighty character was one of her many strengths. A woman with little hesitations. Roles changed, though. She couldn't even dare to give Freddie a fast glance, afraid that he'd hate her for this. She truly cared about you a lot, and clearly wasn't fond of Roger. She thought she was doing the right thing.

You and Freddie were the ones who mattered to her the most in the world, and losing you both because of this drama would destroy her.

Roger, fed up of so much suspense, proceed to move closer to Mary. He stared right into her eyes.

“What have you done?” he asked with an alarming and shocking put together voice, to which Mary consequently felt goosebumps run through her spine.

It was now or never.

“I encouraged her to stay away from you. I assumed you just wanted to…” she made a vague gesture with her hand, “and I didn’t want her heart to be broken because of you”

“Mary!!” Freddie gasped.

Temperature in his body building up, and face as red as the blood boiling in his veins, Roger’s hands went to rub the back of his neck where one vein was perilously showing.

John took a long sip of his drink, not really prepared for shit to go down now.

“You… you…” Roger didn’t know how to put into words everything that he wanted to say.

Mary’s lower lip started trembling. Freddie didn’t like one bit seeing her so vulnerable, but he couldn’t force himself to feel sorry for her when he didn’t.

“Christ, are you going to cry now? You’re fucking sick in the head” Roger sassed, exasperated.

The colour drained out of Mary's face yet again due to the embarrassment he was putting her through.

“Fuck you. You don’t know anything about me or my feelings” Roger cursed.

“They sure aren’t that strong when you’ve been fucking women here, in her bloody home!” Mary lectured, hoping to win some confidence in her speech.

“I DIDN’T FUCK THEM! I brought them only to end up kicking them out every time because I couldn’t!” Roger snapped, tightening his expression. “I like her too much!”

The room fell silent.

Roger stared at his mates with arms slightly raised at the quietness. His gaze paced between all of them, who couldn’t articulate a single sound even if they tried. He then turned to Mary and snapped a finger at her with threatening eyes.

“Now I’m gonna go upstairs and explain everything to (Y/N), and you better don’t interrupt us, got it? You already did enough”

"Rog, I think she does get it," Freddie said coming at Mary's rescue, worried that he might spit at her.

“Let her speak, she has a mouth, right? A fucking stupid dirty mouth that should’ve been kept closed”

“Talk to me with respect, you asshole!” Mary screamed angrily.

“You didn’t earn it!!!!” he growled.

John cleared his throat loud and clear in an attempt to make them shut up in time.

“Guys?”

Five heads snapped at the bottom of the stairs, where you were.

Barefoot but dressed in the pastel blue dress Roger gifted you what seemed like an eternity ago. Your hair wasn't done yet, up in a bun so it wouldn't get in your way when doing the makeup.

Tugging at her earring, Mary’s face dropped, embarrassed.

As soon as Roger’s eyes landed on you, his legs turned to jelly.

He didn’t think twice: in a hurry he grabbed you by the arm, basically dragging you out of there, until you were both locked up in your bedroom, and murmured an apology when slamming the door by accident.

Seeing as his lighter didn't want to cooperate plus the agonising need to smoke, Roger began to hiss barbarities under his breath.

“What’s the matter? We have to leave in twenty minutes” you said, sitting down.

“No, get up”

“What? I don’t want to, I have to—“

“Please, get up. I can’t speak to you if we’re uneven”

You did as told, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Fine. I’m standing up now”

Anchoring your attention discreetly on his body language, you came to realize that whatever was holding him back was causing him so much trouble.

He drew nearer to you, but regretted it and stepped away. You straightened and gave a very short laugh, impatient.

“Roger”

“Do you still regret what happened in the pub?”

“What does this have to do with… anything, now?” you blurted out with difficulty, hot in the face.

It was the first time you were talking about it when sober.

Roger jerked his head towards you, staring intensely.

“Does it matter?” you breathed, saddened, learning that he wanted a much more elaborated response you didn’t have.

“Of course it fucking—“ Roger stopped there and decided to start again. “Of course it matters”

Because you didn’t know where he was going, you didn’t speak. Roger continued.

“I don’t expect you to care, but I’ve got a few things I want to clear up”

He looked so desperate you found no choice.

“I’m listening”

“Honestly, I… God, you’re so smart but so stupid at the same time”

You blushed. Dude… what the?

“I… I care so much about you, and you don’t even seem to notice shit”

He paused and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Those girls I invited over I didn't do anything with"

“Woah, not even a blowjob? Hard to believe so. The last one fucking came to me with a… triumphant smile, and swollen lips, and… Ugh”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Maybe I made out with one. But that’s it, we only kissed. I was drunk, I can’t even remember her face. Believe me. One of them even punched me for dumping her before she could even unzip her dress”

You laughed at that but quickly covered your mouth. You were supposed to be serious about this, you couldn’t just laugh like that!

Roger shook his head but smiled a little.

“(Y/N),” he called, back to the relevant stuff. “Mary told me everything. Now I get it when you thought that staying away from me was the best option. My reputation doesn’t help, I know”

His eyes were incredibly soft.

There was an intense wish to deny it, to convince yourself that you weren’t thrilled about him opening up to you. Who could you fool? That’s everything you ever wanted from him. But you couldn’t allow yourself to give in. There was no way that this would have a happy ending.

He sighed deeply.

“I miss you. Talk to me again, I can’t bear it anymore. Next time I’ll be nicer to Gideon, I promise. But if he hurts you I won’t hesitate to kill him” a tormenting sentiment devoured him whole as he confessed.

You shook your head.

“There’s nothing between Gideon and I. A boy and a girl can be friends, Roger”

“But you slept together and I thought—“ he replied with flushed cheeks.

“We. Did. Nothing” you reassured him.

Shame drawn on his face, he nodded and you clapped your hands upfront.

“My turn”

Roger cocked his head in your direction questioningly.

“I’m moving to New York by the end of the season, approximately”

He first looked at you unblinkingly and then stared off into space.

“You can't," he said after a while pursing his lips, breath hitching in his throat.

"What do you mean ‘I can't'?" you asked suppressing a shy chuckle, your heart suddenly pounding vigorously in your chest.

“You can’t leave like that”

“Well… I’ve got nothing to look forward here”

Mouth set in a hard line, a new idea better than the one he had of buying you the dress held on to his conflicted mind. The light at the end of the tunnel didn't seem so far away now. He just hoped it all would work out as he wanted it too.

He checked his watch.

“If you don’t hurry up you’ll be late”

His attitude was confusing you. You slowly nodded.

“Are you alright, Roger? Your mood swings are scaring me”

“I am”

Your heart shook furiously at his following declaration.

“You look absolutely ravishing, love. Money well spent”

********

tagging; @sweetdaisys @multifics @incorrcctqueen @namelesslosers @benders-diamond-earring @mercurycrowley @ixchel-9275

[thegreenmeridian]

Wrote this for a gifset but the app crashes every time I try and post it under said gifset so fuck tumblr I’m posting it anyway!

@chocolattebun @elenatria

————

Valery sighed into the phone. He was supposed to be on sickness leave. He’d somehow managed to secure a month of free time for some desperately needed rest and yet here he was, on the phone to his replacement trying to explain the basic functions of his job. Zagoskin was far from his first choice as replacement but the man was a ladder climbing bootlicker who had somehow managed to curry favour with the right people and thus, Valery had been forced to accept him. The man was apparently incapable of doing anything without phoning Valery for his approval, and to simper about how impressive he found Valery’s ability to do his damn job without constant help.

“It shouldn’t be difficult, Comrade Zagoskin. The notes I left were quite thorough.”

“Indeed they were, Professor Legasov! They have been incredibly helpful, you explain things so clearly. But you’re far better at this administrative stuff than I am and I would be remiss in my duties if I did not seek your expert opinion.”

Valery was sorely tempted to just swear profusely at the idiot and hang up. He took a deep breath in a hopefully-not-vain attempt to control his frustration.

“Zagoskin—“ he started, but he was cut off by warm arms wrapping around him and tugging him back against a bare chest.

“Come back to bed, Valera,” Boris whispered, nuzzling into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Valery shuddered and tilted his head back against Boris. The heat of his skin felt wonderful against his own and the strength of the arms around him was leeching away any tension the phone call had caused to build up.

“Back to bed, come on. It’s cold without you,” Boris said, pressing soft kisses to his skin. Valery closed his eyes and let himself sink into the feeling of being cherished.

“Professor Legasov...? Are you still there?”

The voice on the phone forced his eyes open again. Boris’ nose slid up his neck and behind his ear, his breath tickling the sensitive skin. He grabbed one of Boris’ hands and pulled it to his chest, pressing back closer to him.

“This is my sick leave Zagoskin. The job is simple. If you cannot do it, find a replacement for yourself. I don’t want to hear from you again.”

He turned around in Boris arms and was greeted with a slow, lazy kiss. Boris’ face was soft with sleep and affection and he was all the more handsome for it.

“It’s cold without you, come back,” he said softly.

“You could put a vest on Boria, I told you it gets too cold in here to sleep comfortably in only shorts.”

“I’ll consider putting mine on if you take yours off.”

Valery chuckled. “That doesn’t make any sense, Boria.”

“Neither does keeping your body hidden from me. Or standing here in the hall when we could be in bed.”

Valery couldn’t argue with him. The casual domesticity they had fallen into over the last few days had been perfect. Waking up next to Boris, cooking meals with him, watching him sneak scraps to the cat... it was quite possibly the most content he had ever felt in his adult life. To be this comfortable around another human being, to feel this loved, it was something he never imagined would happen for him. He slipped his hand into Boris’ and allowed himself to be tugged back towards the bedroom.

Yes, he thought to himself. This really is a far better use of my time this morning.

————

*** If you like my work, please consider helping me out through buymeacoff.ee/greenmeridian or becoming my patron at patreon.com/greenmeridian ***

[melissagt]

So.. this time, for Andronikos and Lelu, Please! ~ 1 - Who is the most affectionate? 3. Most common argument? 4. Favorite non-sexual activity? 6. What is their favorite feature of their partner’s? 12. Who initiates kisses? 21. Who is more likely to start dancing with the other?

1 - Who is the most affectionate? Hmmm, this is a tough one. Unlike Kira, Lelu doesn’t care for Imperials and The Bootlicking™. She’s in charge when they’re on the job, but it’s always been a game for them for Nik to step outside the dividing line and see how far he can push. In private, or in a public place where she’s unrecognized (which is increasingly more challenging), he’s usually the dominant one, and she’s more than fine with that. 

For them, kissing is great, but a simple touch says volumes. Brushing foreheads. The caress of a cheek. The nip of an earlobe. Affection comes in so many forms, and I guess what I’m trying to say is that they’re both equal in that respect. They’re always finding ways to acknowledge each other, even when they can’t be open about it. 

3 - Most common argument? That depends on what sort of argument we’re talking about, lol. They like to play fight a lot, which usually ends up in some explosive bedroom theatrics that may or may not be actually limited to the bedroom…but serious stuff? Like what keeps Nik up at night? Honesty. She really broke his heart with how she handled the start of Things to be Defined Later with Theron, and I’m not sure she realizes how close he came to leaving. Or maybe she does. She pushed him away and tried to hide it from him, and the one thing he’s always asked for is honesty. It shook their relationship to the core, and it’s going to take work to completely win back his trust. 

Another common theme with them is her health. She’s never been one to get enough sleep and perhaps doesn’t eat as much as she should, and Nik can sometimes get on her case like a mother hen in that respect. (It’s actually kind of funny when you think about it, because Theron is the same way…and Nik eventually has two to deal with…he’s definitely The Adult in their little family.)

4 - Favorite non-sexual activity? Date Night. I mean, yeah it does typically end up as a sexual activity, lol, but they both really love just cutting back and enjoying each other’s company as a couple. Just a completely normal, nobody-gives-a-shit-about-them couple. Watching him hustle a game of sabacc. Or walking hand-in-hand in the rain. Looking at the stars. It’s really sappy, I know, but their lives are so actively chaotic that the far-and-few slow moments are extra meaningful to them. 

6 - What is their favorite feature of their partner’s? Haha, I’m just gonna be completely obvious here and say that Lelu has a thing for Nik’s ass…or maybe it’s his lips. No, ass… Definitely lips… :P

Nik loves to comment on Lelu’s ass or some epic-level sideboob, but I think if he was really being honest and not just being a guy, he would say it’s her eyes. He can be pretty poetic when he wants to be…this is how he described them when they first met on Tattooine - But they weren’t just green, he noticed, and not for the first time. As the light caught them, it was like looking into a pool in the ocean, one where the water was so clear you could see bits of the sun shining through it, almost dancing in the current. 

12 - Who initiates kisses? I think it depends on who is being dominant at any given time. Nik loves little kisses that mean a lot to him…forehead, cheeks, the backs of her fingers, so when they have a brief respite while on the job, he’s usually the one to initiate that sort of stuff. In private, it’s anybody’s game, lol.

21 - Who is more likely to start dancing with the other? This one is easy. Nik loves to dance. Date Night frequently ends up at a club, and he’s always the one to pull his Crazy Sith onto the dance floor. 

[ellebeebee]

Guillaume Comtois, Revairan diplomat, spends a day fixing the mistake of an underling.  Unfortunately, this day has more significance for him than he generally allows himself to acknowledge.

5213 words, various pairings referenced (m/m and f/m), mild warning for language

Lord Guillaume Comtois, Under-Ambassador at the Revairan Embassy in management of domestic affairs, was just putting in his left cufflink when his butler Yates knocked on his bedroom door.

“Come in,” Guillaume stated.  His manservant Henri hovered at his shoulder, holding up his coat for the day with his clean white gloves.  The black silk had been carefully brushed and held not even the smallest speck of lint.

Yates cracked the door open.  He’d worked under the previous butler for fifteen years.  The previous butler had worked for the Comtois house for nearly sixty.  Nobility and their servants tended toward lifelong affairs with one another.

“Sir,” Yates said quietly. “A Mister Morel from the embassy to see you.  He says it’s urgent.”

Guillaume frowned at him.

“Did he say what about?”

“No, sir.”

“Sun’s barely up, and he’s already pushing a new crisis on me?”

“Shall I send him away?”

“No,” Guillaume stated.  He gestured to Henri and let him help him with his coat. “Human life presever happens to be my chief responsibility.”

Yates followed him out the door and down the dark-carpeted hall lined the portraits of all the Comtois lords and ladies from the ages, human layers down to the depths of the Great Wars.  Some of them shared the dark sepia skin, the broad and pronounced cheekbones, and the lush lips that he had inherited.  As Guillaume climbed down his grand stairway with sharp, quick taps from his hard heels, Morel at the bottom stared up at him uneasily.

“What is it now?” Guillaume said, his voice echoing in the wide and high foyer.

Morel coughed nervously, fiddling with his hat in his hands.  A few years younger than Guillaume, but from the sort of family that had been ingrained into the diplomatic service for aeons.  And had the good sense to adapt quickly to changing policies, changing regimes.  Morel, nervous and blatantly ginger-haired, had hung on to his position and stumbled up promotions by din of his people skills.  In other words, he didn’t mind being the butt of the jokes of foreign dignitaries and letting them outdrink him.

“Ah, sir,” Morel said. “There was-- well, I was at the-- the thing is--”

“You were at the Starre last night, playing nursemaid to that Fetti-- Fettiman person-- That Arlish pompous bootlicker.”

“Lord Fettiplace.  And I was at the Starre with him.  And the Corbet brothers, and--”

“Get to the point, Morel.”

The younger man did that jerky nervous cough again. “Okay, well.  You know how I’ve been using that Bathurst grandson-- the one with the doctorate, because Fettiman-- Fettiplace fancies himself some sort of trade genius.”

“Yes, and Jon Bathurst had strict instructions to dumb it down for the man,” Guillaume said.  His tone was getting more and more clipped and polite, in the way that meant his inner ire was growing.

Morel licked his lips. “Yes, well.  We all got a little-- well, a lot drunk and forgot to keep Bathurst from getting drunk, and then he and Fettiplace got into it--”

Guillaume raised a hand, and Morel shut up, the whites of his eyes gone broad.

“Just tell me how bad it is,” Guillaume stated.

“Ah,” Morel started. “We may have all begun chanting at him, ‘Revairan mores for Arlish whores’ at one point.  Or maybe it was Revairan whores.  I don’t quite, um, remember.”

Guillaume closed his eyes and exhaled.  All in all, it was far too early in the morning to have such a tension headache coming on.  When he reopened his eyes, Morel was staring at him anxiously.

His jaw shifting, he said, low and calm, “I will fix this.  I want you to go home.  In fact, I want you to go home for the next two weeks until Lord Fettiplace gets back on a boat to whatever dull hole he crawled from.  And you had better pray that it’s still two weeks from now, and not this afternoon.”

Morel opened and closed his mouth.  Finally, he nodded.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

He made a sort of half bow.  Henri had reappeared with his hat, which Guillaume took.

Putting on his own, Morel gestured to the door as the doorman opened it. “I’m going toward the embassy, shall I walk you part way?”

Guillaume stopped on the threshold to stare back at the man.  The freckles on Morel’s neck seemed to scatter and contract as his adam’s apple bobbed.

“Or I can take the scenic route,” Morel stated, slightly pitchy.

“That would be advisable,” Guilluame answered with a hard smile.

Despite Yates’s polite reminder (read: admonition) that he hadn’t had breakfast, Guillaume left his city manor for the quiet lane his family had spent decades and decades of social seasons on.  The sky still held that delicate touch of violet and canary yellow of the early hours of morning, which belonged to the laundresses carrying large sacks of their livelihood on their hips.  The hours that belonged to the manservants taking gaggles of white yipping lapdogs out of their mistresses’ hair.  It would be hours yet before the nobility took to the parks or the shops.

Guillaume crossed two streets over and passed a few blocks of well-to-do white cake-topper mansions.  He stopped at the Namaire manor.

-

“Darling, it is far too early in the morning for such angry requests,” Sabine stated.

She was seated in her sunny morning room, tawny with dark curls half-up and wearing a dressing coat too elaborate for so early in the day.  But she was never one to be told there was a certain protocol for overwrought embroidery.  The baroness stared at him over a steaming teacup.  Guillaume sighed and unbuttoned the bottom button of his coat as he sat across from her.

“It was not an angry request,” he said.

He waved away a servant when he tried to give him a setting for the breakfast array on the table.  Sabine beckoned the servant back.

“Your face says otherwise,” she stated. “Eat.  You clearly need the sustenance.”

“If it’s too much of an imposition--”

“I didn’t say that,” Sabine said. “It’s just that I had all these lovely little plans today.  I’d like more details if I’m going to cancel them.”

Guillaume accepted a cup of tea and a slice of delicious smelling quiche.  This gesture of obedience seemed to please her, as the baroness smiled for once.  He gave her back the false smile that she always knew was false but also made light of his inner wrath.  She laughed.

He took a sip of tea. “Really, it doesn’t have to be anything elaborate.  You know Jan Allard, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said. “Through Didier.  You want me to invite him?”

“Allard, yes.  Didier, no,” Guillaume said. “I need Jan Allard, a casual affair-- not a full dinner or anything too obvious, and you and all your charming glory.”

She gave raised a brow at him. “Outright flattery.  You’re really giving it the hard sell.  Either that or this person we’re wooing has somehow beguiled you shamelessly.”

“It’s not that sort of wooing,” he stated. “It’s more along the lines of ‘you could take your trade agreement to Corval because some idiot minor diplomat here insulted you, but look-- something shiny, woo.’”

He made appropriate finger motions at the sound effect.  Sabine laughed, falling to the back of her chair.

“You really are in a state today,” she said, giggling. “Fine.  Who is this mystery man of the hour?”

“Lord Nealson Fettiplace, of Arland.  Member of the Arlish royal secretariat, liason between the treasury and various embassies.  I say ‘various’ because it seems that his self-righteous pontificating on things he has little understanding of gets him politely shoved off into the pools of some other unsuspecting diplomatic corps with alarming regularity.”

“Arlish?” Sabine said. “Are you sure about this?  They’re terrified of widows over there.  Think we’re all soul-sucking harpies or something.”

“That or they’re banking on it,” Guillaume said drily.

She put down her teacup and frowned at him. “No need to be so crude.  It’s morning.”

“You brought it up,” he returned.

Sabine gave him a look.  He gazed back placidly.  And then they both couldn’t help snorting and grinning at each other.

“Trust me,” Guillaume stated. “He’s the type to think he’s being worldly or something by gracing your home.”

“Charming,” Sabine said.  She shook her head with exaggerated primness. “Alright.  A little gathering just thrown together-- my, aren’t you a fascinating person, Lord Fettiworth--”

“Fettiplace.”

“Fettiplace,” she agreed solemnly.

Guillaume stood and rebuttoned his jacket.  He rounded the table to her chair, and bent to kiss her on the cheek.

“Thank you,” he told her.

She gazed up at him.  Something passed in her eyes, and she took his hand in one of hers.

“Guillaume...” she hesitated. “Today is…”

He lightly squeezed her hand.  He didn’t exactly warn her with his eyes, but she must have understood all the same.  She smiled in a thin way.

She exhaled. “Well.  You may as well go on.  I have an impromptu run-in with Allard on my itinerary and other arrangements to make.”

Guillaume nodded and left the Namaire city manor for the slightly busier lane.  The Lorraine manse faced directly across the way, but Hugo Lorraine was out playing polo and failing at hunting out in the countryside for about a week.  Hugo never got up before noon, anyway.  And Guillaume had better uses of his time than having his ear chattered off by the ninny-headed prat.  Why were they friends again?

Pulling his hat more snugly against his close-cropped scalp, Guillaume went on.  It was a bit more of a walk to the embassy from Sabine’s than from his own street, and he spent the time ruminating about all that he had to do.

The Royal Embassy of Revaire resided in a relatively new building compound, only two centuries old, that had been built after that particularly nasty Corvali invasion which reached as far inland as the capital.  The previous embassy had been burned and pillaged, and the new one sprawled across nearly an entire block that was a stone’s throw from the royal palace.  No one could be mistaken about the Crown’s shadow eternally falling on the business of diplomatic relations.

Guillaume climbed rapidly up the broad expanse of steps into the embassy, nodding to the men and women he knew.  At this hour, most were the commoners at assistance jobs and the more minor secretary positions; the nobles who held the majority of the higher ranks rarely came in before the lunch hour.  He made it all the way across the over-large and over-decorated foyer that nearly defeaned you with echoes during the busiest hours (read: end of the day rush out), up the stairs to his floor, and half-way down the dark-purple south wing that held the domestic Revairan ambassadors before he was stopped for a conversation.

“Lord Comtois,” said the Skaltan man exiting a door to his left.

“Secretary Urel,” Guillaume returned with a practised smile.

Urel of Skalt had not actually returned to his homeland in nearly a decade.  His father was an Arlish merchant’s son that had gotten “kidnapped” by a Hisean captain and after a few years at sea deposited in Skalt rather than returned to Arland.  A Skaltan warrior had married him, and subsequently “divorced” (as their country did allow) when the relationship soured.  Urel, the product of this relationship, ended up taking diplomatic positions for his tribe at quite a young age.  He’d spent eight years in Corval and the last eighteen months in Revaire.

Urel wore traditional tattoos across his hands, a fine Corvali cloak over a somewhat unusual Revairan suit, and a full head of mahogany curls.

“Early bird gets the worm?” Urel smiled, his gray eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Something along those lines,” Guillaume stated drily. “You’ve done well, I heard.  Handling the treasury and the exchange rates.”

“Well for my country or yours?” he returned, teeth flashing.

“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?  Promises of fine knowledge and miraculous remedies is one thing, but producing realities…”

“That is the kicker, isn’t it?” Urel laughed lightly. “Well, certainly makes my negotiated rate all the more impressive, no?”

“Certainly.”

“In fact,” Urel continued with his eyes narrowing and that particular dancing smile flitting about his well-featured face. “I was thinking of you during the talks.”

Guillaume did not register a bit of surprise in his expression, did not look around to see if others were listening.  You learned long ago not to draw attention at these moments; either that or suffer suspicion and ridicule stemming from your own ineptitudes.  The hall was broad and empty, anyway; only their reflections across the polished marble floor kept them company.

Guillaume’s jaw shifted. “Really?  And here I thought I had left your regard completely.”

Urel tilted his head slightly with an apologetic and charming smile. “On the contrary.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  I’ve always admired your negotiation skills.”

“I don’t know,” Guillaume said carefully. “Your experience in these matters seem much more useful than any skill I could claim.”

The Skaltan diplomat chuckled as he took a step closer. “Either way, I’ve enjoyed my time here and I’m planning to stay longer.  In the future, I hope I can count on your friendship.”

Guillaume smiled, aware of Urel’s proximity and all the things it brought with it (scent and that unbearable unseen pressure).  Like a warm lake, deep and dark.

“Of course,” he returned instead with all due protocol.

“Are you free for lunch?” Urel asked lightly.

Guillaume paused.  Behind them, a pair of under-secretaries passed down the hall with ringing heels and a quiet conversation.  Guillaume took his own step forward, as if he were going to pass the other man by completely, but stopped to turn his head until they were nearly bumping noses.

He whispered, “If you want to screw, you don’t have to act like you’re courting me.  You don’t have to ask me to lunch, or to tea, or the club.  And no, I’m unavailable today.”

Urel considered him.

They’d met, over a year ago now, not long after Urel had first arrived in Revaire.  It had begun rather quickly; an invitation to the club, the next week an invitation back home for a nightcap.  And then the ridiculous circus of highs and lows, suddenly waxing and waning interest.  It was understandable in a way; they did not have the luxury of freedom from social judgment, and to have an interest at all outside of marriage vows had opprobriums.  But still.  

Guillaume did not appreciate being toyed with.

“Perhaps next week,” Urel stated.

“We’ll see,” Guillaume returned.

They tipped hats to one another and went on their ways.

At his section’s office, he gave his cloak and hat to an assistant and knocked on the open doorframe of Baron Savagn’s personal office.  The older man, with a terra-cotta swarthiness and a frame given to bulk, glanced up at his entrance through little gold rimmed round spectacles.  He slapped down the sheaf of papers to his desk’s ink-stained green felt blotter.

“Morel went to you?” the baron asked.

“The most charming of wake-up calls,” Guillaume answered. “I’ll handle it.”

“Good,” Savagn stated.

That was a dismissal.  Baron Savagn ran his section of Revairan domestic diplomats with a hands-off policy that tended to weed out complete incompetents.  If you couldn’t at least float in this pool of piranhas, then you were quickly rid of by the brunt of your own mistakes.  It suited Guillaume quite well; he could take his own prerogatives rather than have some nepotistic fool who’s forefathers had been bumbling through the exact some job for generations breathing down his neck.

Guillaume spent the rest of the morning riffling through Morel’s notes on Fettiplace for all the good that did him (read: they did no good at all).  And he sent a note to an acquaintance among the Arlish envoy that owed him a favor: instructions to stop Fettiplace in the foyer at day’s end by whatever means necessary (note: the sort of triteness that passed for conversation with the man).

Around noon, a messenger delivered a card from Sabine:

Cards.  I hope the man is good at winning, because we are very good at losing, aren’t we, dear?  Light repast at the game table, wine yes or no? Lovely Jan sends his regards.

He told her yes to the wine, but to keep it pale and innocent-looking; rieslings and chardonnays.

In the afternoon, Guillaume wandered to the Covali wing (which overlooked the embassy’s one garden, the rich bastards), to ostensibly check up on some gossip.  In reality, he was feeling the waters on the subject of the one crucial trade agreement Fettiplace had his grubby little hands on.  The verdict: Corvali opinions were obtuse, useless, and mildly threatening.  As usual.

Four candlemarks past noon, and the ambassadors and secretaries began filing out of their offices to linger in the halls and community areas for those end of the day conversations which mattered as much as the day’s work at times.  Guillaume gave his apologies to the men and women in his section, and calmly strode through the maze of corridors for the embassy’s main foyer.

“Fanny Luyten,” Guillaume called when he spotted his target.

The Arlish under-secretary looked up at his greeting.  Fanny Luyten occupied a position in which she was decidedly outnumbered.  Arland maintained a definite baseline for their ambassadors: noble, rich, conservative, and male.  Fanny had the disadvantage of being none of these and the great mystery of having overcome all of them.  Guillaume was curious about her story but knew only half of it and doubted anyone would ever know the full of it.

“Lord Comtois, good evening,” Fanny Luyten smiled and curtsied at his approach.  Her skin shone golden against black hair, her dress formal, clean-lined, and high-collared.  She turned to her companion beside her. “Lord Fettiplace, may I introduce Lord Guillaume Comtois, Revairan Under-Ambassador.  Lord Comtois, Lord Nealson Fettiplace of Arland’s royal secretariat.”

The gentlemen exchanged bows.

“Lord Fettiplace, your reputation proceeds you,” Guillaume said, flashing a white smile.

“Mmm, I’m afraid you have the better of me then, sir,” the Arlish dignitary said.  He had a way of standing, with his large and rather poofed red cravat, his chest thrust forward and one hand tucked into the interior of his waistcoat, that reminded one of some sort of bird.  The complex and singular curl laying across his forehead did little to repair this image.

“That is often the case, sir,” Fanny interjected. “Lord Comtois seems to know all occupants of the room no matter the occasion.  He is quite--”

“Yes, Revairans do seem to know a lot, don’t they,” Fettiplace interrupted with a bit more force than the light conversation called for.  When Guillaume and Fanny smiled politely at him during the pause, he added, “About things.  All sorts, it would seem.”

“Well!” Fanny said brightly, ignoring the awkwardness entirely. “You said you had a carriage waiting, Lord Comtois?”

“Yes, the baroness was kind enough to send one,” Guillaume replied.   He turned back to Fettiplace. “Are you engaged this evening, my lord?  I have heard you have fascinating views on international trade and would love to hear more.  My friend, the Baroness of Namaire, is having a small gathering tonight and invited myself and Miss Luyten here.  Cards, I think, and a light dinner.  You are welcome to join.”

“Who?” Fettiplace all but demanded of Fanny beside him.

“The Baroness of Namaire.  Earlier, Countess Ylda and Lord Farrow were discussing a gala she held not long ago.”

Fettiplace tapped his elaborately topped walking cane with two decided knocks. “Oh yes, the widow.”

Guillaume smiled over his own inner bristling. “I think Jan Allard will be there.  Do you know of his work, my lord?”

Fettiplace sputtered a bit, Of course-- everyone in my field knows Jan Allard and The Seven Components of Controlled Trade, and without much further prompting he followed them to the carriage Sabine had sent.  Many exclamations were made over how honored they all were to have such a guest as Fettiplace among them.  Thank heavens the trip to the Namaire mansion was short, as the Arlish dignitaries puffing up as Guillaume and Fanny ooh’d over his circuitous expounding on market forces became an entirely untenable charade.

Of course, as they were ushered into one of her lounges, Sabine dazzled them with her usual charm and warmth.  And Guillaume’s opinion of Fettiplace solidified as he watched the Arlish dignitary be completely spellbound by Sabine’s long lashes and the pretty figure she cut.  The man pretended to be immune and cool-headed about her smiles and sweet comments that greased the wheels of their conversation -- but it was obvious.  Guillaume rather wanted to backhand the idiot.

Jan Allard seemed amused by the whole affair.  The economist and writer had a square jaw and boyish freckles dancing across his masculine nose.  Sabine must have primed Allard before their arrival, because he required little prompting to expound eloquently on his own theories, twisting them even to somehow feature Arland as a paragon of a judicious economic and political power.

“For example,” Allard was saying, “I’m sure Arland would never permit the humiliations to the institution of the crown as they do here in Revaire.”

“Here, here!” Fettiplace harrumphed.  He was a little red from all the white wine and the winnings he’d pried from the card table.

“Just the other day, I was passing the Grand Square-- right in the center of our fair city-- where they were burning the latest pamphlet of that scoundrel Fox Foxley.  You know him, my lord?”

“Rebellious firebrand of some sort, no?” Fettiplace sniffed.

Allard raised his glass in salute. “The very same, sir.  Shameful stuff, sir.  Just shameful.  Spreading dissent and dissatisfaction in this sensitive time.”

“They ought to catch him and string him up!” Fettiplace barked.

Sabine brought a hand to her cheek and her face became the very picture of maidenly dismay. “Really, gentlemen, I appreciate such manly passion.  But there are ladies present.”

Fettiplace coughed. “I apologize for offending your more delicate sensibilities, my lady.”

Sabine smiled at him with those sparkling blue eyes of hers.  Fettiplace practically preened.

To Guillaume’s right, Fanny Luyten was trying to stifle a giggle.  She leaned into the card table with a conspiratorial whisper.

“I’ve seen one of those pamphlets, sirs.  And the man can write.”

Guillaume threw down his hand. “I’m out.” No one was really playing anymore, anyway.  He continued, “Then it’s all the more shameful that such talents should be wasted.”

Jan Allard began chuckling. “Well, wasted talent or not-- it is bound to be dead talent soon enough.  The Crown will run that Fox Foxley down with their dogs soon enough.”

Sabine interjected, her tone raised, “I believe that’s enough of such dreary talk, gentlemen.  Lord Fettiplace, do you play the pianoforte?  Come, we shall have music.”

Fettiplace stumbled along in the hostess’s wake to an adjacent music room.  Fanny tagged along, altogether too amused by the spectacle of the Arlish man’s ponderous interpretation of a light Revairan ditty and Sabine’s whimsical singing, wandering from note to note with undue confidence.

Allard, still seated at the table with Guillaume, watched the scene down the long room and through a broad arch.  The writer wore a half-smile.  And the half-smile incrementally widened when Sabine glanced up at them from her position standing beside the seated Fettiplace.

Ah.

Allard turned back to Guillaume, getting up to take a seat directly next to him.

“You are shameless,” Guillaume told him, amused.

Allard raised a brow.

Guillaume shook his head. “It’s alright.  She’s very careful.  We won’t be overheard.” He waved vaguely around the candlelit room, the darkness outside having come creeping in to nurture the interior shadows.  Guillaume grinned. “What was it?  The Crown’s dogs will run you down?”

Allard laughed.  “Did I sell it too hard?”

“Your head is going to roll for such stunts,” Guillaume told him, reaching for the wine and two glasses.

Allard accepted the offering. “I’m surprised it hasn’t already.  Nice to hear that I actually have talent to waste, though.”

Guillaume considered him.  “I suspect there was another pair of lips you’d rather have heard that from,” he said over his wine glass.

Allard, having had one eye on the scene in the other room and one ear on their conversation, turned fully to Guillaume at this.

“Look, I don’t want to step on any toes,” the writer said, low and apologetic. “I know she’s doing all this for you, and--”

Guillaume raised a hand to stop him. “Relax.  It’s not like that between us.”

Allard’s broad shoulders visibly loosened. “Oh.  It’s just you’re always something of a pair at social events--”

“We’re friends.  We help each other out,” Guillaume smiled.

Pausing, the writer grinned slowly.  He leaned in with twinkling (read: twinkling) eyes. “So?  What do you think?”

Guillaume shook his head; they were all clearly feeling the wine. “She likes a brooding intellectual.”

Allard chuckled. “Well, I’m up a shit creek, then, pardon my Old Revairan, as I am clearly neither of those.”

The evening ended better than expected with Fettiplace sufficiently pampered and flattered.  Guillaume did not approach the subject of the trade agreement; that wasn’t how this worked and he was comfortably assured that the man wasn’t running off on the next outbound ship for Corval.  He would drop by the Arlish envoy in the morning to check on Fanny, say a brief hello to Fettiplace, and invite him to lunch later this week.  One needed a certain amount of coyness, after all.  Negotiation was a game of finding who needed the other more.

It was always obvious which was the loser in the end.

-

After the guests had been shuffled off in one of her coaches, Sabine tiredly dragged herself to her room.  She lost her shoes at the foot of the first flight of stairs; someone would get them eventually.  They were used to it, her dear staff.  She was pulling her long earrings out when she pushed open her room’s door, and found Guillaume half-sprawled on a settee.  She jumped, and dropped the lacey diamonds in her hand.

“Heavens, you startled me,” she scolded him as she bent to scoop up the earring.

Guillaume straightened a bit, looking owlish and tired and a bit crumpled.  His collar hung loose and he’d also kicked his shoes off.

“Sorry,” he said. “Victoire let me in.”

“I thought you wandered away a while ago.”

He shrugged.  She turned away to wet a cloth at her wash basin and wipe away at her makeup.  He watched her: these simple domestic actions so rarely seen.

She was pulling pins out of her curls when he said, “Sabine.”

She looked at him.  At his gesture she approached his settee and sat.

He leaned into her.

“Allard likes you,” he told her.

She sighed and curled her feet up underneath her, and made a bed of silk and tulle with her skirts that whispered and protested as Guillaume leaned into them.

“I know,” she said. “I know, and I shouldn’t.  The Summit isn’t too far now.”

He glanced at her.  At his look, she couldn’t help cracking a grin.

“I really shouldn’t.”

He snorted as she giggled softly.

Their laughter subsided into quiet.  This had been the room she’d shared with the baron; she’d never changed rooms, even after his death.  Guillaume had been to this house many times but could count on one hand the times he’d entered this room.  He should feel like an intruder, an interloper.  But he didn’t.  Just like the nature of her marriage had changed through the years, the meaning and significance of this room, those portraits, and that bed had changed as well.

“It’s been six years,” Guillaume finally said. “Six years since his death this day.”

Sabine shifted.  She put an arm around his shoulders.

“I thought--” she said slowly, pausing. “You’ve never wanted to talk about this before.”

Guillaume shrugged. “A mistake, I think.  Do you mind?”

“No, of course not--” she stated.  Her arm tightened around him and he closed his eyes.

“I spent years running after someone who was never going to give me what I needed,” Guillaume said. “It wasn’t much, I told myself.  He’ll come around.  I was too young and--”

He stumbled. “I was too young and in love to see that I needed to move on.  I was foolish and blind, and it made me permissive to the way he treated me.  I could blame him entirely, but in hindsight I know I should have been more honest about what I wanted.  To him, and most of all to myself.”

He leaned further into her shoulder, and she rested her cheek against his temple.

“Oh, darling,” she whispered.

“I just needed a few words,” Guillaume continued. “That’s all.  I didn’t need a promise or some grand gesture.  I see now I was actually asking for the hardest thing.  But he didn’t have to make it so difficult for me to let go--”

He faltered. “He didn’t have to keep reaching for me.” He paused. “Well.  I suppose I didn’t have to keep reaching back, either.”

He snorted humorlessly.

“And then he had the nerve to die on me.  And even after all these years, I will suddenly look up and miss him-- miss him like someone beating me bloody. Like someone stabbing me again and again.  I don’t know how many times I’ve thought, fine, it would be fine if he kept using me, just please let him come back, if he were just here--”

He stopped.  She’d begun crying, or was that him?  He was very, very tired.

And it was all so difficult.

-

He woke to dim early morning sunbeams toying with those inexplicable dust motes silhouetted like little lives adrift in the cosmos.

They’d fallen asleep on the settee, clothed and rumpled, with her arm around him and him tucked into her chest.  He sat up, sighing, and tried not to disturb her.  But she still stirred and brought up a hand over her eyes, making a soft little unhappy grunt.

He scooted away, planting his feet back onto terra firma and leaning into his palms, elbows resting on his knees.  He finally looked up to meet her gaze.  He reached out, and she took his hand.  Their fingers squeezed, reassuring in the pressure and realness.

“I love you,” she told him. “Nothing will ever mean more to me than your friendship.”

He gave her a look. “Knock on wood.  You’ll make a liar of yourself one of these days.”

She returned to him her own pointed look. “I mean it.  I love you.”

He smiled. “Thank you.  I love you, too, Sabine.”

Their palms grew warm.

“Do you think Victoire could spirit me out of here?  Unseen?”

“Embarrassed, are you?  Very well, come along.”

“You know I didn’t mean--”

“Oh, I know what you meant, Guillaume Comtois--” she laughed.

He left the Namaire manse, not even dreading the sight of Lord Fettiplace later on that day.

[prinzenhasserin]

Yuletide!

Dear Yule Goat/Creator/Person I Will Love Forever,

I am very excited for anything you write for these fandoms. Please feel free to take my prompts and likes any way you wish, as long as you stick to my dislikes. Don’t feel like you have to stick to the prompts! I’m always open for other characters. Generally, I will be delighted with any rating from gen to explicit. I hope you have fun creating!

My AO3 name is Prinzenhasserin, here. If you want to browse more of my letters, here are some at my exchange letter tag. 

Likes:

fake/pretend relationships, arranged marriages

loyalty

odd couples

found family, dysfunctional families that nevertheless love each other

historical stories for same-sex pairings that aren’t unhappy but that fit with the society of the time (so like, spinster ladies living together; bachelors-for-life)

cultural differences, age differences, height differences

heists, rescue missions, case fic

dragons, fairy tales, magical realism, urban fantasy

competent characters

people not realising they’re the most competent at their job/hobby

people failing their way to success

happy endings, earning your happy ending, open yet hopeful endings

cynical humour

mutual pining

suits, corsetry, fancy dresses

Identity shenanigans (secret identities, mistaken identities)

Blatant Lies

Enemies finding common ground and becoming friends/lovers; rivalry

outsider POV, 1st person narrator

epistolary, fictional non-fiction, worldbuilding, interactive fiction, poetry

orange/blue morality (that is, not entirely human morality); grey/grey morality

people not usually found in law enforcement solving crimes

non-verbal expressions of affection

contradictions: that is, I like my fantasy with the mundane (doing taxes in a mythical land of dragons, or space pirates!) and I like my mundane fiction with outrageous happenings.

Kinks:

wall sex! overcome with sudden desire! sex with clothes on! 

shifting power dynamics (outside the bedroom, and inside the bedroom), actions on both sides, basically

stiff characters letting go of their iron control inside the bedroom; characters feeling guilty of their desire but not guilty enough to stop; coming to terms with the guilt

lots of foreplay, drawn out orgasms, edging

desperate sex, drunk sex, we-just-can’t-help-it!sex, sex for life-affirming; sex pollen

sex toys

Dislikes (Do-Not-Want):

rape played for laughs, or as backstory

sexuality, or gender as the focus of plot or used for drama

suicide

tragic endings (ambiguous endings are fine, though!)

RED (Movies)

(Characters: Victoria, Sarah Ross)

This movie, goddamn it. It’s so silly, and so! much! shit! explodes, but I can’t help but find it charming and adorable.

If you want to write me Victoria teaching Sarah how to handle her weapons and shoot shit up, I am absolutely here for that. I would also love secret spy shenanigans, or a situation where only the secret skills of the customer service person Sarah or the filling skills of a bored bureaucrat (also: Sarah) save the day in a spectacular manner.

Or Victoria taking Sarah under her wing and teaching her everything she knows about life, men, and how to end both. Or trying to protect her from the fucked-up shit in her life, and then maybe realising that maybe Sarah doesn’t need to be protected.

I am a fan of the age difference, too, and I do ship them together, if you rather want to write that. Give me all the fucked up femslash! Going on murderous rampages together, and having sex amid the slain corpses of their enemies, yes, that. Bedsharing because circumstances have them hiding out in the Siberian Tundra. Victoria dressing up Sarah and taking her as a trophy wife to diplomatic functions? Seducing Sarah so Victoria can rub their togetherness into Frank’s face. Taking people of guard, because the expected a toy boy, and not -- whatever Sarah is.

DNW: mommy kink

Gokusen (Manga)

(Characters: any -- Fujiyama Shizuka, Kuroda Ryuuichirou, Sawada Shin, Yamaguchi Kumiko)

How do I love this manga so much? I have no idea. I’m not even near high school age anymore, and yet the plot (and tbh, sometimes its ridiculous nature) always gets to me. I’d read more about any aspect of this canon, and if you want to bring in any other characters, and leave others out, feel entirely free to.

Post-canon would be great, but anything goes really. Focusing on just one character would be terrific. Having all of them would be great!

Kumiko has adventures with another class, or her minions! Does she continue with being a school teacher? Maybe she starts leading the Yakuza group, and still goes to school to teach her kids manners, and morals, and how to fight the system?

Shin goes to law school/Africa/some place, but gets lost on the way there! Will he come back to Yankumi? Will he eventually lead the Yakuza group?

Fujiyama Shizuka doesn’t get why she’s the one without the beautiful student toy-boy, and tries to find one herself, and instead falls in love with, idk, the new female teacher? one of Yankumi’s brothers? the new janitor? Or she watches and cackles a lot as Yankumi and Shin date, and then maybe found a Yakuza orphanage, and/or marry.

Kuroda Ryuuchiro and his quest for the rightful heir to his Yakuza group! How does he feel about his granddaughter running around with the police chief’s son — does that bother him more than the whole student thing? Does Shin really inherit the Kuroda family group? Does he become a Yakuza lawyer? Or does Yankumi make him stay away, or maybe Kuroda makes them stay away?

I ship Shin/Yankumi but gen is delightful also.

How does Shin convince Yankumi to have sex with him? Is he getting kidnapped left and right before they actually get together because all and sundry already think they’ve been doing each other for years?

If they are already in an established relationship, how does Shin deal with Yankumi’s students (especially when one of them develops a crush)?

I have no problems about depicting violence, or graphic criminal activities, but please keep the violence perpetrated by the nominated characters within the spirit of the manga? I like to root for morally ambiguous characters, but not if they are truly evil.

Roundtable Rival - Lindsey Stirling (Music Video)

(Characters: Durango Black, The Violinist (Roundtable Rival))

I love this music video! It’s so silly and fun! It is here, if you want to watch it yourself, but basically, people are fighting each other with music instruments to a jaunty tune, set in the Wild Wild West.

Basically, fighting with music! Foiling dastardly plans! I want to read more about this! And anything goes, really. If you want to focus more on one character, or want to show this from an outside perspective, either would be great.

Lowkey, I’m really a fan of rival-dynamics, and love to ship enemies, so bringing a lovestory between Durango Black and the Violinist would make my day. Or if there’s a dynamic like "You are the only one allowed to catch me"? —Perfection

Maybe they know each other from before? Maybe there’s epic discussion about different ways to fight each other with music (I’d be into reading about that!).

Would also be into PWP where the Violinist dominates Durango Black. Some Bootlicking, maybe? Or creative uses of the music instruments. Or clothing porn!

Or case fic where The Violinist tours around the country, catching criminals; or just a glimpse into how music developed its own fighting style — or performing tricks like shooting an apple out of the air, just with music instruments!

(Additional question for worldbuilding: What is that clear liquid they serve in beer humps?)

DNW: rape (dubcon is fine, though!)

British Romantic Writers RPF 

Characters: John Keats (British Romantic Writers RPF), Lord Byron (British Romantic Writers RPF), Percy Shelley (British Romantic Writers RPF)

Okay, I’m not even vaguely sorry. Here’s my confession: I ship all of these with each other, as pairs, or as threesome. I’d read them writing spite!fic, or rather spite!poetry, about each other, though! Or a zombie!AU, in which they are all stumbling incompetently around the dead suddenly among the living. Or maybe they turn out to be surprisingly competent at killing/evading zombies! (I’d expect nothing less from Percy Shelley who seduced people on graveyards, tbh)

Hey — at least they knew of each other! I am into the really very dysfunctional relationships with each other, here. Who is to say they wouldn’t have been very happy with each other in various constellations? Lord Byron seemed to have detested Keats — or at least thought his poetry as "mental masturbation" — I’d dig them in a rival relationship, that suddenly develops into a sexual relationship. Maybe even romantic? (Definitely romantic in the original sense)

And I can definitely see Lord Byron condescending down on Keats for his poor upbringing, without being aware that this is what he is doing, and Keats so not having that. And Percy Shelley with his continued efforts into giving all his money to charity while having the luxury to seduce women and traipse around the continent!

How about an AU in which Keats doesn’t die and joins Percy Shelley in Pisa (and for some reason Lord Byron is there, too — I will not read this for the historical accuracy, believe me)

Basically! Literature! Orgies! Seducing people in graveyards, and skinny-dipping in French rivers, that’s all I really want. I’m not saying no if you do decide to go down the historical accurate road, but I’ll also read all sorts of wild AUs.

Or adventures in Greece during the revolution in an Everybody-Lives!AU?

Percy Shelley wrote an elegy about Keats, and said this when he invited him to Pisa: "I am aware indeed that I am nourishing a rival who will far surpass me and this is an additional motive & will be an added pleasure." Added pleasure? (He means fucking! says me) I am just very into rival relationships that turn sexual or more.

Look, I’m just here for Lord Byron and Percy Shelley seducing a reluctant Keats — and Keats maybe anchoring them a bit down to earth. Or various combinations.

I am not into the long-term effects of drug use and the suffering thereof, but if you want to mention it, that is totally fine. I wouldn’t want it glorified.

DNW: contemplation of suicide, vore

Miss Marple - Agatha Christie

Characters: Jane Marple

I am a fan of Miss Marple. I, too, have lived in a quiet town where you can see into the abysses of the human condition :D

I’d love to read something that lead her to the person we know her as, maybe when she went to the girl school in Switzerland? Maybe during her time in the cypher division, during the war — maybe the cypher division was really a cover for Miss Marple’s spy activities for the war office?

I’d also love fic about her as we know her: spending time in St. Mary Mead’s and solving crimes, quietly knitting her nephew another sweater. Holiday themed fic! Somebody keeps stealing the geese for the holiday celebrations!

Honestly, I’d also really like to read about her in a relationship, especially one that people wouldn’t expect of an elderly woman. Did she have a youthful indiscretion with the prime minister, and now that he is widowed, he visits her again, and Jane’s nephew is entirely shocked by the whole thing?

Was she maybe in love with a woman the whole time? Did she quietly retire into a cottage with her best friend, and they have a romantic relationship with each other?

(Or crossovers! It would be super interesting if Miss Marple knew a wizard from the Harry Potter universe, or maybe she’s a squib or a with herself? Or maybe she knows Phryne Fisher, or Lord Peter Wimsey!)

Island of the Aunts | Monster Mission - Eva Ibbotson

Characters: Dorothy (Island of the Aunts)

Look. This is one of my favourite books. I would read absolutely anything about every single character— I choose Dorothy, simply because she’s my most favourite, but if you want to write a story where she’s not the focus, I’d still be ecstatic.

That said, omg, Dorothy. I love her (and her wok!) and I would read countless stories on adventures she had while going off of the island in a rage to be angry at polluters, or hunters of endangered species, or both. I like that she seems to be the most competent in dealing with outsiders, even though usually she rather likes to resort to violence.

So! Pre-Canon, or Post-Canon, whatever; either would be great!

How is the work on the island? How is Dorothy dealing with her piranha farm? Maybe she decided to pursue some other, even stranger, protection against various and sundry? Does the Kraken return to the island?

How does Dorothy deal with the mermaids? Is she tolerant of their foibles, or is it a similar relationship to the one she has with her sister Betty, that is: polite bewilderment?

How does Dorothy feel to be suddenly the responsible one, who didn’t kidnap children and make them work with her? How’s her relationship with Etta, and does Dorothy milk it for all that it is worth?

Did Dorothy ever fall in love? Was it someone off the island, campaigning for more environmental protection? A mythical creature of her very own?

Who did she meet in prison? (Was Archie someone Dorothy pulled in?) How did she deal with prison in Hong-kong? Is Dorothy the reason there are now forest cities in China (— this is maybe a bit of a reach, since Hong Kong isn’t really mainland China and all, but I’d love if the Aunts have a bit of an influence on the world, even though Fabio is probably never going to be Brasilians prime minister. Though I would read a story about that.)

(Burning questions I have that aren’t relevant to Dorothy as a character: Is Herbert ever going to return? Is the younger Kraken?)

DNW: unhappy endings

If there’s something confusing, please don’t hesitate to ask! (Anon happens to be open, too.) And I hope you have a fun Yuletide!