#literally I am squeezing Sailor in my hand I want to learn more about this boy.. he INTRESTING 💪

[puppyeared]

Xīn Yá and @crow-cap ‘s Little Sailor

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Persephone’s Symphony | Day One | Hades

Hey lovelies— here is the next part! I wanted to pause here and add a little note: the word tiny is thrown around here. I don’t want this to hinder anyone of you to not read this because you think the word doesn’t apply to you. I want to make a couple things clear. 1) All shapes and sizes are beautiful and I, myself, am a wonderfully plump lady. 2) I don’t use the word as a physical description in a way meant to limit a ‘reader insert’ type of fiction— I use it because Bucky Barnes is a super soldier and anyone would be small to him. Thus I hope you can enjoy it the same way I can— because sometimes we all just need to feel like a super soldier could rip us in half. Stay safe my lovelies and please do enjoy!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: some angsty moments but overall no warnings

Word count: 4.1k

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Master List

She’s tiny. That’s the only thing he can think for the first couple hours. She is so damn tiny and fragile and soft and he doesn’t know how to be around a human that tiny and fragile and soft. Maybe it’s worse because he has to keep this tiny human alive. He hasn’t had to do that before— all the other tiny people in his life have been perfectly capable of keeping themselves alive. Even Steve all those years ago, when he only came up to his shoulder—barely— would have fought tooth and nail to stay alive. Even then it always felt like Bucky was just there in case. Maybe that was just Steve though.

He blinks— he doesn’t want to think about the man right now. He can’t afford to get lost in his head. Gods only know if he starts thinking about those days— the ‘good’ old days— he won’t stop. Maybe not for days. Maybe because they’ll remind him that he’s not supposed to be here— that he isn’t made to keep tiny, gentle, grilled cheese cooking, question asking things alive. Usually he’s the one hindering people from being alive— hindering life itself. Usually it doesn’t bug him this much but he can’t help but equate the girl in the Caltech hoodie with life—

“Is what they say about New York pizza true?”

— And himself with death.

“S’alright— Chicago is better.”

He watches as she flips through a book that she had picked up off the coffee table a few minutes ago. The Big Book of Dogs. Is he supposed to laugh at that? She is— giggling and flipping through pages upon pages of puppies. It isn’t aimed at him, her musical, soft sounds. She isn’t laughing at him. It only feels like she is. He’s learned to separate the difference these days— it’s just in his head. Still, he has to turn away from her, using the guise— his job— of being a bodyguard to keep his gaze moving.

From the corner of his eye he watches as she lowers the book, peaking over at him from behind a peppy looking Alaskan Malamute— yes, he knows his dogs. He is one, after all.

“You know, I think there are quite a few people who disagree with you on that one.”

Bucky pretends to ignore the way she quirks a brow at him, her eyes drifting back to the page. He also ignores the way his heart spikes at the little movement. Snap out of it, Barnes. He stands, stalking to the living room window and pulling back the heavy green curtain. Nobody is out there— he didn’t expect there would be someone, he just needed to move. How many more hours?

“Thought you were asking me.” He quips, staring out towards the bayou where the water has turned grey and choppy.

He watches as the rain pours down the window pane, tap tap tapping in front of his nose as the sunlight surrenders to the misty storm clouds. As much as he hates to admit it, Wilson was right— the rainy season’s rolling in on the dot. Even he is starting to feel the effects, his bones beginning to leaden.

As if on cue, she yawns, setting down The Big Book of Dogs and curling her legs into her chest, hiding them beneath the mountain of fabric she wears. “I was gauging. Consider it a test.”

Bucky huffs— not sure if he’s annoyed because of her questioning or because of how, despite the tension still laced through his shoulder blades like sailors knots, he isn’t that bothered by it. Annoyed because he isn’t annoyed— that’s a first. He lets the curtain drop again and turns to the TV where Netflix lays open but unused, blocking out one mind numbing haze for another. What would they even watch together?

“Oh yeah? Did I pass?”

Maybe some cheesy sit-com. That feels harmless enough and he’s been catching up on a few of them. Some of them even make him laugh. Maybe that’s in poor taste though. He’s never had to deal with someone else’s grief before— he rarely deals with his own as is.

“Maybe it would be better to just not ask that.”

He doesn’t think before he says it— he doesn’t have time to, it slips out before he can grab it and shove it back in his stupid, sentimental mouth. “You sound like Steve.”

Fuck. Her head pokes up, her doe eyes somehow managing to meet his gaze despite how hard he tries to force his neck to turn in the other direction. How does one person look so soft? He can see the question in her eyes, the way they spark with intrigue. He watches in slow motion as her lips— not glossy like they had been in the picture but still just as pink— peel apart.

“Who’s Steve?” Her voice is too sweet— too sincere. Like she actually doesn’t know. Then again, maybe she doesn’t— they never really used his name.

Bucky can’t answer. It’s too early and Steve is too long of a story. One hundred years worth of story, to be precise. How is he supposed to fit all of that into one answer? He can’t. He can’t answer but he can’t not answer either— not when she’s looking at him like she wants to know every little thing about him.

Bucky can’t answer so he doesn’t answer. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

She sinks back against the leather cushions, pulling her hands into her sweater. He almost curses when she curls her knees closer to her body. He can’t really see them from under her hoodie but he can see the movement— the way she wraps her arms around her legs so that she looks like a tiny blob of fabric and a head. His chest squeezes at the sight of her pulling away from him. Can he ever say anything right?

He told Wilson— he told him that he wouldn’t be a good fit for the job. What, a man like him? Man, dog, wolf, asshole. What’s the difference? He was right, that’s all that matters. It’s been all of five hours and he’s already making her uncomfortable all because he can’t—

“You’re the one who brought it up.” She grumbles, her soft— less sweet— voice pulling him from his unintentional staring contest with her forehead. His neck flushes with heat. Shit.

Bucky sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know it’s just— it’s a long story, doll.”

Again, it just slips out. Instead of wanting to push the word back into his lips this time, though, he wants to punch himself in the mouth. Doll? Really? He watches as her eyes blow wide, his stomach sinking when her pink lips peel apart again, her jaw going slack but none of her honeyed words coming out this time. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Immediately he begins running through apologies in his head. Of course none of them are actually worth their weight— not in gold or anything else. Not even in the energy it would take to say them. What’s he supposed to say? Sorry the last time I spoke to a woman was eighty years ago. That would be even more explaining. Damnit, Bucky!

He tries not to groan out loud, clenching his jaw, still staring into her eyes. Look away, you idiot! He can’t. He’s about to say something— or maybe he’s about to literally throw himself out the window, he isn’t exactly sure which is going to play out just yet— but before he can do either the delicate girl in the Caltech sweater speaks first.

“I— erm—” she squirms in her seat but her eyes stay latched on him the entire time— maybe she’s a fighter after all— “we have time?”

For a moment he just stares at her, lost in the way her nose scrunches, her lips pressing together like she’s the one who said something out of line. Like she, too, is contemplating punching herself in the face. That’s when he caves. It’s to save her from a broken nose. He repeats it like a mantra. He isn’t giving in because he’s weak, he’s giving in because it’s his job to make sure she’s safe— even from herself.

He takes a step forward, only now realizing he’s been standing in the middle of the room the entire time. Has he always been this fucking awkward? Nodding his chin towards the floor, the space in front of where she’s perched, he shoots her a look he can only hope resonates as something along the lines of ‘can I sit?’. She nods and he lowers himself to the ground in front of her, leaning against the side of the couch as gently as the super soldier can muster. Despite his efforts he still lands with a thud, the couch shifting backwards a couple inches. It’s not terrible— she only slightly flinches this time and he only kind of wants to bury himself alive.

“Not that much time—” he watches as her face drops, the way her her cheek twitches like she's sinking her teeth into it, and he hurries the rest of his sentence— “but if you ask—” he tries for a smile that feels more like the right side of his face seizing than anything— “then I’ll answer.”

He waits for a beat, his gaze locked on her hands which she pulls from her sleeves only to twist together again. He has to stop himself from looking down at his own hands— from thinking again about how fragile and delicate she is. He doesn’t have to look to know that both of her hands could fit in one of his. Especially his special hand. She hasn’t asked about it. A few times he’s caught her peeking at it, no doubt a million questions swirling behind those wide eyes of hers, but those are questions she has kept to herself. He wouldn’t blame her if she did ask, though— or if she was terrified.

“Alright,” his eyes flick back to her face, meeting her determined stare and avoiding the way his chest lightens, “deal.”

He nods.

“But—”

Oh no.

“You have to ask me things too. It’s only fair— that way we both know things about each other.”

It’s only fair. He doesn’t know what to say. Again. It seems that every time he feels like he’s beginning to figure her out he gets shoved on his ass. Literally— he is quite literally on his ass right now. All because of what? A little girl? A little girl with small hands and a stare worse than his?

A little girl who thinks he of all people deserves fair. He knew life was cruel but this is worse— this is evil.

“Ask away.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Wait, wait, wait— you can’t be serious!”

Her giggles sound more like music than laughter to him. Usually he hates music— the newer stuff at least, maybe Wilson was right; maybe he is an old man— but this is bearable. This is mesmerizing.

He glances up at her from over his shoulder, fighting the same smile that’s been threatening his lips for the better part of two hours now. He isn’t sure why exactly he does it. Maybe because he knows it would be nothing compared to hers. Maybe it’s because it doesn’t deserve to be compared to hers. He isn’t a religious man but it feels blasphemous to even suggest he could exist with a margin of the sanctity she exudes. He’s committed many sins— that he can say with certainty— but to propose that he is the same as her would be the worst one of all.

Of course, that doesn’t stop him from soaking up every pious laugh into his wicked skull— he isn’t a perfect man, after all.

“Deadly serious. Steve was pissed at me for weeks. How was I supposed to know she had a husband?” He is rewarded with more giggles, ones that set his chest on fire.

Is that what happens when demons spend too much time around angels— they start to burn?

She pulls the blanket she acquired around an hour ago over her face, muffling her laughter much to his dismay. “You could have asked her!”

Bucky lifts a shoulder before letting it flop back down again. “You’re right.”

This is how it has gone since he proposed she ask him questions. She asks him her question— usually something light and easy— favourite color, favorite food, what was the last thing he bought. That one threw him for a loop but he answered anyway— Chinese food. She had giggled at that. You don’t seem like a Chinese food kind of guy. She’s not wrong. That is usually what she does after the questions, though— giggles. Giggles and teases him. Tortures him. Same thing. He doesn’t even think she knows what she’s doing.

Then, of course, he asks her questions of his own. They’re pretty much the same— favorite animal, middle name, what Passadena is like. Warm and busy. That was her answer— he’s never been to SoCal so who’s to say whether or not she was telling the truth. He really doesn’t care. He was more paying attention to the timbre of her voice— the way she makes normal words sound important. He didn’t know he could be so enthralled listening to someone talk about a cat named mittens.

For the first hour or so it was questions like that. The easy, no commitment kind. He wouldn’t have minded if they had stayed like that but, as he kept answering, she had grown more and more confident. Honestly, he didn’t mind that either. It was interesting to watch as she became comfortable around him. Well, more comfortable than before— more comfortable than he would have thought she could be around a guy like him. Her knees eventually pushed out of that hoodie and she relaxed into the couch. It was strange— completely and utterly strange.

By the second hour she had braved the first of many hard questions. It wasn’t what he thought it would be— still nothing about his arm— it was nothing close to that, actually.

It was about his mother.

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be a hard question but it was, unexpectedly so. His mother. He hasn’t thought about his mother in years. Longer. Decades. He wasn’t expecting to feel so guilty about it but there he was, feeling like his throat was being crushed, while describing to the tiny, lovely girl— who has just lost her own mother— his mother’s lily of the valley perfume. He assumed that’s why she asked— because she misses her mother. He doesn’t blame her. He just never thought that he would miss his mother, too, today.

The rest weren’t as bad as that one. They still made his jaw ache, sure, but not like that. The ones about Steve were the only ones remotely comparable. How did you meet him? What was he like? What’s your favourite story with him in it? That was the last question— the one that made her giggle herself into a half hanging, half sprawling position over the arm of the couch— the position she is currently in right now.

He doctored the answers a little bit— he figured now isn’t the right time to tell her he’s pushing a hundred and ten— but he kept the good parts. Like how Steve and he had run through the streets of Brooklyn that night— Steve without a shirt and him in nothing but a pair of boxers that he is pretty sure to this day had belonged to her husband— being chased by the New York police. Good times.

“What, erm, what was her name?” Her voice is extra gentle— airy.

She’s nervous or maybe out of breath. He can’t quite tell, she’s too flopped over to get a proper look. She’s breathtaking either way.

All of a sudden it’s extra hard to fight back his smile. “I thought it was my turn to ask a question.”

Sitting up, she pools back into her seat. She scrunches her nose at him but doesn’t object. He can see that she wants to, though. Her eyes hide nothing. Then again he’s been trained to read people— to see the minute tick of her jaw and the invisible pulsing of her pupils. Invisible to anyone but him. Invisible to anyone who isn’t a monster— the big, bad wolf. His borderline smile dies quickly and he can’t bring himself to search for it again. This is how it should be.

Bucky clears his throat, mulling over what to ask her next. His eyes drift over the tan hoodie, the frays on the cuffs and the fact that there are no strings, and, like that, he has an idea.

“What’s the deal with that hoodie?” He tries to make it casual but he really does want to know— it’s like four sizes too big, there has to be a story.

He tries to make it casual but she still sobers. Like her hands receding once more into the cuffs of her sweater, the last remnants of the giggly girl fade from his line of sight. He chases it as far as he can, watching as her fingers disappear completely and lingering just in case it’s only a fluke. But no, they don’t come back, and he wishes he could disappear with them.

“It was—” her tongue pokes out, swiping against her pink lip and making it shine— “it was my dad’s. He, uh, he went to Caltech too. Was part of their alumni.”

The super soldier nods, pulling his legs up as well, hoping that by copying her she’ll see it as a signal to keep going. He doesn’t want to speak over her and accidentally derail her thoughts. He wants to know about her dad— her whole family actually. Whatever is important to her, like the hoodie.

“We used to go to these big alumni dinners and he would talk at them. Families like us were invited I guess— like a thank you of sorts.” Her eyes take on a faraway look, still latched on his but glassy and distant, no longer actually seeing him. It’s a look he understands too well. “One time he pulled me on stage with him. I think maybe I was thirteen? He said—” she stops, swallowing so hard her throat bobs, and he has to shove his hand under his leg to keep from reaching out— “ah, I’m sorry. He said ‘this girl right here— this is my daughter! If you think I’m good at what I do then you should see her. She’s something I tell you— Gonna be the best this school has ever seen!’”

His chest tightens— not necessarily from her story but from the way her voice cracks, her soft tone becoming scratchy. She swallows again and he hates it. He hates that he can see tears ready to fall and he hates that she’s even here with him under these circumstances.

He hates that he’s still grateful to be here anyway, being the person who she tells her story to.

“Was he right?” He knows it isn’t his question but he has to say something— anything— to make this better. He has no idea if this is it but it’s worth a shot.

Her brows push together, her head tilting slightly to the side, much too elegantly to be normal— are all women this pretty or is it just her? She blinks, clearing some of the mist, eyes drawing over his face. She traces across his brows, down his nose, stopping on his lips for a pulse— like tracing out the rhythm to a song only she can discern. Everything she does is like music. It must just be her.

“What?” She doesn’t say it rudely; she says it like she didn’t hear him— like she was too far lost in the wonderland of her memory to hear anything— and his chest tightens even further.

“You said your father told everyone you were going to be the best— were you?”

He doesn’t take his eyes off of her, slowing his words and waiting for the recognition to creep in. It takes a moment but it does, the last of the glass evaporating into something else.

“I, uhm, I don’t know—”

“You do.” He presses— he can hear the edge of that something in her tone. The downplay is scribed over her feature— lowered eyes, flat mouth, trembling fingers— she wants to say something.

“What do you even know?”

About anything going on in my head— yeah, that’s not familiar at all.

Bucky doesn’t flinch when she hisses the words at him— partly because, despite the clear ice in her words, he doubts they came out as hard as she was hoping they would. Her voice isn’t made to sound wretched. He knows she could tell him the filthiest things— tear him down to the last peg, spit his name out like a curse— and she would still sound like an angel. That makes her dangerous— or at least it would if she didn’t already have tears welling up in those big eyes of hers again.

He flicks a brow, letting one corner of his mouth tick up, telling himself that it’s only for her peace of mind— to let her know that he isn’t angry at her. That he gets it. That sometimes he feels so fucking confused and hurt and scared that he, too, wants to hiss at people because at least then they leave him alone. Yeah, it’s only for her peace of mind.

“Try slamming the ‘you’ harder next time—” he draws the word out, exaggerating the motion while keeping his features a mixture of schooled and relaxed— “usually works out better.”

Her hands— which have been tangling over the collar of her hoodie— drop into her lap with a thunk, her eyes rolling. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome— but you never answered.”

She shoots him a deadpan stare— well, sort of. She never actually stopped looking at him so her face just morphes from vexed to blank. So far it’s his least favourite expression— he would rather she just got angry. He’d rather see fire— or ice— than nothing.

“I thought it was my turn?” Doesn’t she know that the more she avoids the question, the more he wants to know the answer?

Bucky doesn’t let up— he will if she actually tells him to drop it but she hasn’t and he doubts she will— she’s too determined to win. “Consider it payment for your extra questions.”

He holds her gaze still, waiting for the moment she folds. It takes longer than he expects it would, sitting in silence with her eyes on him for almost three minutes. He almost breaks around two and a half minutes. The girl has a way of looking at him like she can see right into his head. Still, he holds, waiting, waiting, waiting until finally— there it is!

Light a light shining in the darkness, her mouth pulls into a merciful smile— well, if mercy means the coy glint in her eye, that is. “I was the best.”

The super soldier nods, finally letting his gaze drop. He doesn’t say anything— he doesn’t have to. His point has already been made. He never wanted to be right. He just wanted her to say it. Not for him but for herself. He doesn’t let himself mull over what that says about him. Nothing good. That’s the only answer. It says nothing good about him, the lengths he’s already willing to go to keep this soft, icy girl safe. Him, a monster. It only tells him that he’s selfish— but he already knew that. Those are thoughts for another time.

“Your turn.” He reminds her, leaning back against the arm of the couch, all but aware of the foot of space between his head and her hand which is scratching over the leather behind him.

There is no pause this time— no beat, moment, or minute. Just like that she’s back, moving on to the next topic, almost as though she has had the question queued for ages now, dying to know the answer. He supposes it’s only fair— she let him ask his questions.

“What was her name?”

Her voice lacks the airy note it had held the last time she asked, clearly over waiting, and he has to turn to the window to hide the way he finally cracks, his lips sloping up in a grin that’s both too alien and too familiar. It tastes too much like the old days— like peach schnapps and movie theatre popcorn. She’s not ready for that. He knows because he isn’t.

“Delores.”

_______________

Tag List: @xhollycowx @remembered-license @dumble-daddy @hellotvshowtrash @thesummerbucky (if i missed anyone I am so sorry please shoot me a message and I’ll fix it)

[tickle-bugs]

Justice League Headcanons

So...yeah. Blame @fickle-tiction and @fanficsandfluff but I can’t get JL out of my head. I know next to nothing in terms of canon and I only enjoy a handful of DC movies, so this is the beginning of what I am calling the BEU (Bug Extended Universe). 

Essentially, in the words of Nick Fury, ‘I recognize your canon, but seeing as it’s a stupid-ass canon, I have elected to ignore it :)’. A mish-mash of everything I’ve learned about DC through osmosis and my own personal vibe checks :)

This is absurdly long so everything is under the cut:

Clark Kent

- Superman? NO, Superdork. 

- He’s extremely clumsy. If he wasn’t as fast as a speeding bullet he’d get his ass handed to him ten times over. He has two left feet. 

- He has a sweet tooth like no one’s business. Lois once found him perched on the kitchen counter at 3 am eating the donuts she brought home from work. 

- Super playful and affectionate! King of bear hugs! Country boy I love youuuuuuu

- Curses like a sailor. Do you really think Clark ‘Smallville, Kansas’ Kent is wholesome? He stubbed his toe once and yelled FUCK so loud that the windows vibrated. Everyone who isn’t in the league thinks he’s a boyscout but the league knows the truth. 

- Forgets about his powers a lot. He has been known to run through walls/take doors off their hinges when he’s excited. 

- Goblin. He loves messing with Bruce and roping Barry into his schemes. 

- Clark being ticklish is actually smth that can be so personal? His laugh is so loud and he always goes ‘sorry’ and tries to be quieter but it does NOT work. He has flight instincts more than fight instincts so he often starts unconsciously floating away when he’s tickled it’s so cute. He giggles a lot and he’s not particularly embarrassed by it.

- Do NOT get me started on ler Clark I could write a dissertation. He is SO playful and teasy but also sweet? He definitely is the type to laugh along with his lee. He definitely allows any sort of retaliation/fighting back like,,, if you manage to crawl away it’s because he let you, and if he wants too, he can be very mean and immovable.

- Bruce and Barry are his favorite targets. He doesn’t go after Diana because, frankly, he doesn’t have a death wish. He loves to cause problems on purpose by squeezing Arthur’s side and then blaming it on Barry. (Hal Jordan isn’t in the DCEU Justice League but I wish he was...they’d be partners in crime <3)

Bruce Wayne

- Okay let’s clarify some things: he’s not actually an asshole. He can be abrasive and snarky but he’s more towards the sarcastic gruff side vs straight-up mean.

- A lot of people think he’s genuinely an asshole/disconnected rich guy because he has a terrible habit of zoning out/interrupting people? Bruce actually just has intense ADHD that he refuses to get diagnosed, no matter how much Alfred pushes him. He doesn’t care what people think about him and he’s mostly learned how to manage it, so he leaves it alone.

- That being said, his friendship with Barry has me :’) Yes, he thinks Barry’s a pest (affectionate), but they share a few science-related hyperfixations (robotics, chemical engineering, etc). They can frequently be found holed up in the Batcave with a week’s worth of food and caffeine, and they’re just....tinkering. Watching them at work is amazing because as much as they annoy each other, they respect each other :)

- He’s 100% a cat person. He doesn’t have a problem with dogs, he just prefers cats. He feeds the strays that hang out around the Manor all the time...

-...which Alfred begs him not to do, because Bruce is severely allergic. He thinks he can power through the allergies until one of the stray cats does the face-headbump thing and he’s incapacitated emotionally and physically for the rest of the day. 

- He severely restrains his emotions but like...catch him on a good day or in a good mood and he’ll smile and laugh, especially in friendly company. He just generally believes in maintaining a poker face so no one can read him. 

- Not to be disrespectful but...thighs. I am Looking. 

- Bruce has a wonderful laugh. He’s not much of a giggler tbh but he has this open, clear, slightly scratchy kinda laugh (his voice is permanently hoarse from the Batman Voice). It’s so lovely. He has a habit of covering his mouth bc he’s embarrassed of his smile but if he finds something very funny he’ll laugh openly. 

- Thee Batman is ticklish and he...doesn’t hate it? Like of course he protests ten ways from Sunday but he more minds the ‘guys stop you’re ruining my dark and brooding facade’ bit. He hates being teased though and he will throw hands. 

- Circling back to the emotions thing, he’s very good at controlling his reactions, which means he has thoroughly convinced everyone he’s not ticklish. Except Clark, stupidly perceptive Clark, because he can hear Bruce’s heartbeat and see the way he clenches his jaw to avoid smiling. 

Diana Prince

- WIFEY!!!!! 

- Diana is hilarious okay? She’s just...so fucking funny. Her jokes never miss. You wouldn’t think she’s the quippy type, but she is, and she’s damn good at it. In a distant alternate universe, Peter Parker senses a rival. 

- Loves fresh fruit, but especially strawberries? She makes frequent trips to the local farmer’s market. 

- She also has a raging sweet tooth. She and Clark work together to steal sweets and buy snacks. 

- Will not back down from a challenge, ever. It’s kinda a problem.

- She has such a sweet laugh :’) It’s so bouncy and melodic and she scrunches her nose. She WILL snort and it’s the cutest thing ever. Yes she’s ticklish, but no one gets more than five seconds of laughter out of her before she turns the tables. 

- World’s meanest ler. Not only is she frequently on the prowl, she is near-ruthless, especially if she’s been baited. Once she sets her sights on someone, she won’t rest until she’s heard their laugh. 

- Diana is very mischievous and loves hearing her friends laugh. It’s impossible to be in her vicinity for more than five minutes without at LEAST a few pokes. She is not above just,,, random tickles either. 

- Nails. That is all. 

Arthur Curry

- Why are his tiddies always out? Someone please explain.

- The most targeted for pranks ever. Diana especially. Something about him just attracts goblinism. 

- He’s coming for Clark’s bear hugger crown. He picks people up so often that they’re just used to it now. 

- Playfighting and roughhousing is his love language. He absolutely loves wrestling with anyone who’ll humor him. He and Diana frequently tussle because they’re both good sports about it (Bruce is a little bit of a sore loser. Just a smidge). 

- Thinks he can get away with anything, which is decidedly not true. He just nopes his way out of the room and everyone’s like D:< get back here and atone for your sins!!! But Arthur’s already in the Pacific Ocean. 

- I like to think he’s ticklish, just not super ticklish y’know? He probably has a couple hidden spots that make him lose it though. Like he’ll definitely laugh and fall over, but he can and will fight back. Oh boy, will he fight back. 

- Batman: No fear.

Diana and Arthur sneaking up behind him:

Batman: One fear. 

- Y’know that picture of Jason Momoa sneaking up behind Henry Cavill on the red carpet? That is extremely relevant. Arthur loves to sneak up behind people and just...take them down. 

- Thinks Barry is annoying (affectionate) and the two of them are constantly chasing each other around. Barry is fast but Arthur’s strong (and wayy less ticklish than Barry)

- Physical affection!! He always has his arms around someone’s shoulders or something. He’s just a touchy kind of guy :)

Barry Allen

- Speedy boy! ADHD king! Sometimes his thoughts are also at superspeed, which means he talks way too fast and no one can understand him? But Bruce speaks fluent Barry and he translates often (though not without a labored sigh beforehand). 

- Physically affectionate but casual about it? He likes to play with people’s hands while he’s talking, bump shoulders with whoever he’s next to, etc. He doesn’t really realize he does it either. It’s not uncommon for him to be talking to Clark or Diana and they just...unconsciously give him their hand before he reaches for it.

- Okay so y’know how Bruce feeds the strays? Who do you think lets them in the first place? Barry has tried to adopt every stray he comes across, and when Alfred inevitably says no, Barry runs them to the shelter himself :’)

- Gifting is his love language!!! If he sees anything that remotely reminds him of his friends, he brings it to them. 

- He likes to hang out with Victor because he’s quiet, but doesn’t mind when Barry rambles, which he tends to do quite often. Barry will catch himself rambling and trail off, but Victor will encourage him to keep going, because he’s listening. 

- Thee Pillsbury Doughboy. Just these high-pitched, bouncy, frantic giggles that only get worse and eventually morph into cackles. He hiccups a lot too :’)

- Okay so he’s not a flailer but he’s super squirmy. Barry will cling onto his ler’s arms just to hold onto something. He kicks his legs too (he does this when he’s not being tickled either, if he laughs and he’s sitting somewhere he kicks). He also just constantly tries to crawl away. If he isn’t pinned down he will drag himself to safety. He also has a habit of curling up :’)

- Absolutely invented the speed-tickle. He actually doesn’t often use his powers (unless he’s chasing down Clark, because Clark isn’t above breaking the sound barrier to escape). He’s just got incredible hand-eye coordination and precision. His hands will be absolutely everywhere and he is so teasy about it. 

- Tries not to start fights he can’t finish, but he always gets roped into Clark’s mischief and gets targeted with revenge tickles. 

- He has tickled Clark once. It was incredible, amazing, showstopping, spectacular. Literally his crowning achievement. Did Clark absolutely destroy him afterwards? Yes, but it was so worth it. 

Victor Stone

- Quiet and stoic, but he’s always preferred listening and interjecting with a joke or two. 

- Closest with Barry and Diana, but he’s making an effort to bond with everyone.

- Unfortunately not ticklish :( I like to think soft touches on his face will make him smile and lean away, but it’s not going to get a laugh from him.

- Doesn’t often get involved in tickly shenanigans, but when he does, he surprises everyone with how much fun he has. A different, warmer side of him comes out when he’s among his friends.

- He’s a hugger! Definitely awkward about it, but he loves hugs and just...holding his friends. 

- He collects hoodies. He can’t really feel them when he’s wearing them, but he likes them and the idea of it. Barry seems to slip him a new hoodie every week. Victor has no idea where he gets them from but he’s not complaining. 

- He is an enabler. He will look at Bruce like :| “no, I don’t know where Barry and Clark are, nor do I no what they’re planning” But they’re literally right behind Bruce, about to squeeze his sides. 

- That being said, he won’t do that with Diana. If she asks where they are, he’ll subtly nod his head in their direction. Even in jest, he will never lie to her. Which makes him Thee person to avoid when Diana’s on her mischievous streaks.

[can-i-stay-awake]

Flower Bouquet: Moonflowers (Seonghwa x Reader) Part 1

Warnings: Insomnia? We’re not far into that boat yet, my angels

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Slow burn

Word Count: 2k

Series Masterlist

Spring’s warm breeze caresses your cheeks as you make your way to your school. You adjust the short sleeves of your summer uniform. You quite liked it. Crisp white school blouse with the very end of the sleeves lines with the same red tartan as your skirt and black tie. Though many of the female students chose to wear white knee highs, you couldn’t be bothered to shave this week so you wore black tights. To be honest, no one actually cared whether you shaved them or not but to you, it’s a matter of confidence. For such a rich school with rich or smart students gifted with scholarships, the people there aren’t as bad as you thought they would be. Of course there are the populars and whatnot but if ignored they ignore you. It’s really not your forte, speaking with people. You can’t say you’re introverted, but there’s no one who really connects to you.

It hasn’t been long since you’ve transferred here. Being a scholarship student is hard when all people care about it your money and looks… Or so you thought. After standing up for yourself to many various people and even publicly humiliating one of the most feared bullies in school, Kang Yeosang, you are neither glorified nor bullied. Though your classmates in English particularly enjoy your company to the point where you think you should just rename yourself, “Hey, what did you get for question six?”. You’ve only made friends with Yuna, a cute little (extremely tall) bespectacled girl whose potty mouth could possibly give sailors a run for their money.

“Y/n! Do you know what happened last weekend?” Yuna’s blonde hair dances in the light summer breeze. Her loud voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“What happened, Yuna? Did a goat break through your garden fence?” You reply sarcastically, linking your arms together. Her warmth gives you a little comfort.

“No, I wish. I want a pet goat. My brother’s getting married!” Yuna’s gorgeous amber eyes have drops of sunlight swimming in them and you can’t help but smile.

“Oh? Tell him I said congratulations”

“Will do. I’ll also ask if he wants a goat” She flashes a cheeky grin.

“I don’t think he wants anymore goats in the house. You’re good enough” You snicker, squeezing her arm tighter after she punches you in the arm playfully. Your feet clatter against the pavement and you two cross the polished school entrance.

For you, school is more of a place to learn rather than a place to socialise. Unlike others, who use this school as a place for their popularity to thrive, you are among those who keep their heads down and only have a select few to mingle with. You met the bubbly blonde on your first day as she showed you the way to biology, her sassy sweet dual personality humoured you and you two immediately clicked. Sadly, Yuna is more of an artistic person and you only have English together. So instead of sticking together, you are forced to part.

The low hum of the biology teacher’s voice just barely reaches you, your hands scribble at your paper like you’re trying to win a war as you frantically note everything he says down. The scent of oranges fills the classroom. In a way, it’s how you feel at home in biology. Today the teacher is going especially fast with her notes. Pain ebbs at your wrists and you let your eyes wander around the classroom. They travel to the windows, the glass pane reflecting the light of the sun, then they travel to the colourful diagrams made by other classes and they finally fell on the neat, colour coded notes of your desk mate, Park Seonghwa.

His handwriting isn’t very special, but the way the letters are spaced out makes it look mature and refined. The dark haired boy even has a blue colour scheme: azure, cobalt and cyan dotted across the page framed by drawn on silver stars.

Truth be told, both you and Seonghwa are quite shy so the only conversation you’ve actually shared this week was when he didn’t have a pencil because he let Hongjoong borrow his. But you two know each other well and even have a few inside jokes. You two tried to hold a conversation about you two signing up to tutor struggling students but Wooyoung burst in screeching about god knows what. It’s not like you to blurt random things out but before you can stop yourself, you whisper in awe.

“Wow, your notes are super neat. You could put that on study gram…”

Seonghwa’s face visibly brightens from the praise, a smile briefly on his face before returning to his textbook. You never notice the faint rings under his eyes once his stops smiling. “Oh, thanks Y/n”

You were always a little curious about Park Seonghwa, but you never realised how intriguing he is. Little things like the way he acts all cute with Hongjoong to get his attention, and how he has nearly a motherly impact on even the outcasts like Kang Yeosang by letting him keep the black raincoat he was forced to borrow when you can see from the dark haired boy’s shoes that they are a little beaten up. Of course, since he’s so organised, no one even notices the way he secretly calculates his lunch money instead of just pressing his card on the scanner. You too, are practically broke but you can afford decent shoes without worrying about the price. These little things that tend to slip other’s minds are tattooed into your eyesight, highlighted in fluorescent colours.

A few days later, once again in biology, his complexion looks seedy and tired. His skin is dull and the charismatic glow in his voice is jaded. Throughout the week, he becomes progressively more scatterbrained. Like that time in computing science when he dropped his earphones and bashed his head on the upside of his computing desk while trying to retrieve it, and the time he literally forgot his pencil case. The teachers look concerned and it’s quite evident they’ve already checked up on him only to be faced with a half assed reassuring smile.

“Jesus, Seonghwa looks like a mess… I feel bad for the poor guy.” Yuna exclaims, “He’s running for student council president but if he’s like this, he’ll faint dead away. Should I check up on him?” You two watch him practically sleepwalking to his form room, his footsteps dragging and hands rubbing at his eyes. Yuna has an eye for these things too, perhaps she’s not as attentive as you, but definitely more than most.

“Yeah, I’m thinking of doing just that. He’s a zombie.”

Two days pass and Seonghwa looks a little better after Hongjoong practically forced him to sleep, threatening to throw confetti at him which he had brought from the art room. You’ve been trying to find the right time since you can’t just go, “Oh hi, you look like shit. Are you good?” And biology seems too far away for you to communicate, but you decide to wait until then. But somehow, it’s like the gods placed the keys right in your hands and shoved you towards him when you meet him in the supermarket. You buy two packets of strawberries, one for yourself and another for Seonghwa. He smiles at you but his face is now painted over with thick coats of fatigue and the concern probably shows on your face because he stifles a yawn.

“Hey” You greet him, queuing behind him in the long ass line you wish would just move already.

“Hi, Y/n. How have you been doing?”

“Good, you?”

“Good” It’s hard to continue a conversation like this, but you stubbornly press on. Seonghwa looks tired but he’s not facing away from you either and you’ve got his full attention. “Really? You’ve been looking rough nowadays. You should take care of your health. Don’t you always nag Wooyoung, Hongjoong and Jongho about the exact same thing?”

“Oh, how do you know that?” He fakes surprise, trying to steer the topic away from him. You can’t pressure him to say he’s not fine, but you sigh.

“Yuna and Hongjoong are friends. You did hear what I said, right? Take care of your health” You nag and he pouts.

“I am, Y/n. It’s just the election is stressing me out a little.” His eyes swerve to the bottom left, an obvious lie.

“Alright, but I can help you with it. Okay? You’re a literal zombie nowadays. Even our English teacher realised that you’re not in good spirits, and she’s more oblivious and air headed than a four year old”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry for worrying you, I’ll take care of myself” He giggles, you can see the colour rising in his cheeks after a light hearted conversation. You’re not really that good with words, but if it makes him feel better, you’ll gladly do so.

The line progresses, and he lets you go first. Scanning the two boxes of strawberries and placing one in your schoolbag. You wait outside for the boy to scan various groceries and sweets and as he approaches the doorway you stop him.

“Seonghwa”

He turns around, the orange light of the evening sun blazing in his eyes. His dark hair dances in the wind.

“Take this” You hand him the box of strawberries and he’s lost for words, blushing and stammering.

It’s cute.

Very cute.

“Y/n, I r-really can’t take this! It’s yours!” He tries to hand it back to you but you firmly press the transparent container to his chest.

“Yeah, well I accidentally took two. This one’s for Yuna” You shake the bag you’re holding in your right hand. “I don’t like strawberries anyway”

His gaze is skeptical but he smiles sweetly and thanks you profusely. “Sure… Thank you so much Y/n! I’ll pay you back somehow, kay?”

“Park Seonghwa, you pay me back I break your back” You bark, but you let out a small laugh and he does too.

“Gosh, I ought to hire bodyguards” The light that Seonghwa’s eyes hold is so vibrant not even the milky way could hold a candle to the sparkles swimming in his warm gaze. “Thank you again, Y/n” He yells as he walks away from you.

“No problem, have a nice day and make sure to get some sleep” You holler back. As you make your way back home, your heart bubbles and fizzes like the drinks you see Mingi consume on a daily basis.

That night, you sleep well. No emptiness, no gaping void, no nightmares.

Just the comfort of your bed in the sea of your blankets.

It’s too bright this morning, too pretty with the flowers decorating the school entrance, too ethereal with the honey glow of the sun kissing your skin. Though it’s a little too hot, you keep a mini fan in your school bag and sunscreen to prevent anyone from dying.

“Hey, Yuna! I gave Seonghwa a box of strawberries after I met him in the grocery shop!”

“And good morning to you too” Yuna raises a brow, her eyes no longer framed by glasses but the faint outline of her contact lenses over her irises. She grins as you hand her a box. “For me?”

“For you” You smile as you two walk to school together.

“Hey! He looks better today!” You nudge her excitedly as you see the tall, handsome boy massaging red headed Hongjoong’s shoulders, exclaiming about how stiff he is. Though his energy isn’t up to 100%, you’re happy that he’s improving.

Or so you think.

“Seonghwa! Your votes are nearly taking the lead!” Yunho exclaims as they check the little website Wooyoung composed for the student council election.

“Oh? That’s nice” Yunho furrows his brow at Seonghwa’s nonchalant attitude.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re about to faint…” Yunho steadies the smaller of the two in his chair. Seonghwa giggles.

“You don’t need to worry about me, Yunho. I’ll go to the nurse’s if I’m not feeling great” He smiles, exhausted.

The brunet narrows his eyes, “Sure… I’m getting someone to check up on you, I have a meeting in the art club. Don’t move” Yunho rushes out the doorway only to meet you, on your phone checking your emails.

“Y/n, Seonghwa looks like he’s going to pass out. Could you keep an eye on him, please?”

“You don’t need to do that! I’m fine!” Seonghwa yells from the classroom but his voice is groggy, “and you definitely don’t need to do anything!” You look at Yunho, nodding and entering the classroom.

“Enjoy art club Yun-”

Thump.

You and Yunho pause to see an unconscious Seonghwa sliding sideways off of his chair and onto the floor. His hair flying to one side and his eyes fluttering shut. 

“Shit!” You dash to Seonghwa side and Yunho calls out his name. “We should get him to the nurses!”

Yunho nods and you raise his legs into Yunho’s arms until the brown haired boy stabilises his grip on Seonghwa, still knocked out. You open the doors for Yunho as he dashes to the nurses, you feel agony shoot through your heart like an arrow when you see the elder’s head lolling in Yunho’s embrace. The students around you clear a pathway, murmurs filling your ears and looks of concern covering your vision. 

The nurse, who everyone calls Minnie, puts Seonghwa in a comfortable position on entering, you realise Hongjoong already there gasping for breath. He probably caught wind of Seonghwa fainting and dashed to the office. 

“Sorry kids, only one of you can stay. It’s better not to startle Mr. Park.” Minnie’s soft voice soothes everyone’s panic. Even Hongjoong’s posture is slightly more relaxed, you've never seen him without his overly perfect stance and you're reminded that perhaps the redhead isn't as studious as he comes across. Yunho nods, rushing off to the art club, Hongjoong looks longingly over his shoulder as he leaves. 

”I’ll stay.” You announce. Nurse Minnie nods and pulls over a chair for you adjacent to Seonghwa’s freshly made bed. After opening a window and letting the breeze sway the curtains, you settle in and sit beside Seonghwa. His curls are splayed out on his pillow in such a disorganised but perfect way.

”Y/n..?” A voice deep with fatigue calls out to you and you have to restrain yourself from jumping up to the call. 

”Seonghwa...” Is all you can say as he groans and shuffles his pillows. You give him a glass of water and colour bleeds back into his face.

”Hey.” He smiles, rubbing at his eyes. 

”Is that all you can say when you've practically overworked yourself to the point of fainting?” You manage to keep your voice soft but you know he can hear the pout in your voice. ”Hwa...” Gently cupping one hand around his wrist, you see concealer on the finger he used to rub his eye with. You look back up at his face and a hint of dark circles are more evident on his porcelain face.

”I should get better concealer... Don't look at me like that, your expression looks like a cat eating a lemon, down to a cinch.” He chuckles but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. The aroma of citrus (with a hint of candy) fills the room. It reminds you of biology class and you realise the scent is coming from him. 

“What do you even do? And why does it get in the way of your sleep? Is it insomnia?” You try to coax an answer from him, but you know you can only go far. “You don’t need to tell me, but it might help to tell someone” Seonghwa grins, sinking further into his covers.

“You don’t need to worry about me” He whispers, and you see his legs adapt the fetal position.

“But I do, because you’re my friend.” 

“Am I?” Seonghwa’s dark eyes are once again all a-glimmer, his eyebrows are raised in surprise. It’s as if you’ve offered him a lifetimes supply of strawberries.

You stop yourself from doubling over and giggling, perhaps you understand why girls and boys alike look at Seonghwa the way they do. His calm and cool demeanour is alluring but those rare times where he opens up is what pulls you in. “Of course” You smile, and perhaps the blush dusted on Seonghwa cheeks isn’t a hallucination. 

“If you really want to know, I’m busy looking after my younger cousins, Jihyo and Daehyun. My siblings and parents are barely home.” 

“Seonghwa...” Concern once again bleeds into your face but the latter interjects before it settles. 

“They’re super adorable though! And well behaved! It’s nothing to worry about” But one look at the dark patches under his eyes tell you otherwise. 

“If you’re fainting due to exhaustion, it is a big deal” 

“It was super hot today though, it could have been because of that” His long fingers run through his hair and it falls perfectly back into place. You’re tempted to ask what shampoo he uses but you snap out of it. “Seonghwa. Do you want me to help?”

“Help? It’s not a big deal!” 

“If I bought Hongjoong here-“ You could see in his expression that he was awaiting Hongjoong’s nagging ever since you told him that Hongjoong and Yunho brought him here.

“No! Fine... He’ll nag my ear off” Red lips form a pout, his head drops. “He talks for so long that he ends up repeating everything he says and if you try and argue he starts all over again”

“I know. Remember when Jongho sprained his ankle playing basketball?” Hongjoong’s normally quiet and composed voice thundered throughout the hallways so loudly even the teachers dared not to intervene. 

“Exactly, I’ll die. You don’t want me to die, do you y/n?” Seonghwa looks up at you and uses the type of gaze you give teachers when you want to skip PE. He pouts even harder and when you grumble, he giggles. 

“I’m still coming over. If you’re not well rested by the time I’m finished playing with your cousin I’m moving in” Though these are jokes you usually pull with closer friends, something about your relationship with Seonghwa connects. You feel your presence calming him down and his soothing the creases on your brow. 

“I got it” He giggles and covers his mouth with his hand. ”When are you free? I'm free all week, including today”  

”Hmm, I have to help out Hongjoong with student council shit today... Is it alright if I come tomorrow?” 

”Sure! I'm positive Jihyo will enjoy some company. Daehyun is a little older and introverted, but she's tired looking after her younger sister too. We can look after them together” That’s not your plan, but you nod and smile. 

After school that next day, you wait for Seonghwa outside the gates. Unlike the cute, laid back persona he adapted in the nurse’s office the other day, his posture is perfect and his movements as elegant as a swan. It’s a facade, but a natural one that doesn’t stem from bad pasts. It’s just Seonghwa. 

You like ‘just Seonghwa’. 

”Y/n!” He waves and you wave back as his feet pick up the pace. ”Hey” He looks a little brazen, and you wonder if Hongjoong’s nagged him for returning to school beforehand.

”Hey Seonghwa! Did you stay in the nurse’s office or did you go to class yesterday? I didn’t see you leave”

”I had French. What do you think?” Seonghwa loathes his French teacher, who always makes loud noises and is way too animated and not focused enough on teaching. Seonghwa says that he seems like a nice person but he's not good enough of a teacher. You've yet to meet this man but you'd rather not if he ”has an attention span of a seven-year-old on a sugar high”. You two have some small talk until you reach his neighbourhood. ”Y/n, we need to be super careful. This isn't a good area.” He looks embarrassed and you try to wipe the anxious look on his face.

”I live pretty nearby, don’t worry. No fear! I have a death stare stronger than... I don’t know, who has really good death stare game?” 

“Medusa?” He chuckles.

“Medusa!” You giggle and you spot the tips of his ears flush. 

“I don’t have that much of an intimidating stare-“ Seonghwa is interrupted by a loud cat call in your direction, something about how your cute uniform would look cuter on the floor. “Fuck off!” He yells and the man is about to square up until you both shoot him a warning glare. You clutch the hockey stick in your hand you carry for PE and he leaves.

“I’ve never heard you curse before...” The Seonghwa you know is always poised and perfect, a gentle aura follows his wake as an ethereal glow does with an angel. He’s the one that whacks Wooyoung and San over the head with a rolled up chemistry booklet whenever they let a few foul words pass so you’d never imagine that kind of language. It was yet another side of Park Seonghwa you’ve just discovered.

“I’ve never seen you with such a face before...” You two both start laughing. He pulls out his phone and types frantically at his keyboard. Something motherly and caring lingers on his face as he picks up the phone and loving asks whom you presume is Daehyun, to be careful on the bus home.

 “Aww, what a caring brother”

Seonghwa flashes a painful smile your way. It’s one of the cutest things about him, you think. “She’s a scatterbrain. I can’t let her out of my sight! Little sisters are a handful I swear” 

You laugh at the overly exaggerated pout and huff that graces his features. 

“Oh, how’s the student council election going?” Seonghwa brushes his hair back with one hand and nervously chuckles. 

“I’m second place, but Hongjoong is pretty far ahead. I don’t actually mind very much. I just thought it would look good on my resume. Hongjoong is more the leader type, but if I’m being honest, I don’t think he wants to be elected” His eyes met yours and you admire the emotional intellect he holds to see past Hongjoong’s quiet and distant mask. He’s very extroverted when people come up to him, but whenever he’s alone you think that there’s a different world he sees through those starry eyes.

“Oh? Why so?” 

Seonghwa’s walking pace slows a little, “It’s a guess, but Hongjoong’s parents seem to pressure him a lot. His grades, to be exact. Maybe I’m wrong, and maybe he has super nice parents. But I don’t think that’s likely” His gaze is downcast and pity pangs at your heart.

“Oh no...” You look at your black polished shoes and the flutter of your skirt as the grey pavement moves along with your footfalls. 

“All families have at least something to deal with. Some problems bigger than others” The two of you exit the dark alleyway into a block of Tennant flats and he fumbles for his keys as you cross the third one. “Where are you going, Y/n?” He chuckles as you accidentally pass the red door to his house. 

“Ah! Whoops! I went to the direction of my house by mistake!” You chuckle and wait patiently for him to unlock the door. A pastel yellow chick key charm swings as the silver of his keys shine in the streetlights. ”Cute charm” 

Seonghwa blushes. ”Oh, Daehyun got matching ones for us at a school festival. It's totally unlike her too, she's kind of well... See for yourself, she's probably home by now” 

The creak of the doorway makes you want to oil it right away but you stay put. Seonghwa takes his somehow unscratched and polished shoes on the mat and you do. “Sorry, I tried to clean but it’s a bit messy” 

Pearly white sofas blessed your vision, not a single hair nor stain defacing it, the oak floor gleamed like water in the sunlight. The marble dining table sparkled, an equally clean vase where a single (artificial) pink rose sat. In baskets suspended by chains by the windows, there lay a few moonflowers nearly in bloom. The furniture isn’t very expensive, perhaps a little more than outside your budget, but the pristine perfect polishing made the place look like a palace. 

“Messy? What’s clean to you?” You gasp in astonishment as he leads you to the living room where a blonde girl and a dark haired toddler sat. 

“Hey, Daehyun. Hiya, Jihyo! How was school?” Seonghwa’s loving tone changes to a cooing, sweet one when addressing Jihyo. Jihyo runs into Seonghwa’s arms and he lifts her up, giggling. She replies with something about finger painting. 

Daehyun’s blank gaze turns to you, a hint of curiosity in her eye. She waves at you calmly and you return it. “Hey, Daehyun, isn’t it?”

“Yep. Hi, Y/n. Can I call you that?”

“You can call me anything unless it’s “lady hand me down”, I’ve heard that so many times I’m ready to go on a killing spree” You joke, and Daehyun smiles slightly. 

“Jihyo, this is Y/n. We can all play together!” Seonghwa giggles in his sing-song-y drawl. He puts her down and her brown eyes shift to you, assessing you in a little kid way before giggling. 

“Hiya! I’m Jihyo~” She lisps, her words slightly broken but adorable all the same. You coo and crouch down to give her a high five. 

“How was school, Dae?” Seonghwa turns to the middle child, who huffs in annoyance.

“They never serve the good food. If I die of food poisoning, I’m suing them. They ruined salmon for me” You expect Seonghwa to chuckle, but he looks dead serious as he rolls his white sleeves up.

“That’s abuse. Shouldn’t they give you good food so that you can learn better? What non edible junk do they give you? How bad does it taste that it ruined salmon for you?” Daehyun replies with a gagging noise and they chuckle. You stare at her for a little, Daehyun is a lot like Seonghwa. Cold exterior, warm interior. Perhaps even colder than him, but easy to thaw. 

Jihyo waddles up to you after retrieving something from her vibrant pink toy box in the corner. “Blocks?” 

“You wanna play with them, Jihyo?” Seonghwa asks, his lips are upturned in a huge dorky grin and you feel your heart melt at the sight. 

“Seonghwa, you are to rest” You order in what you hope is an authoritative tone. 

It isn’t. 

“Seonghwa, you are to rest” He mocks your high pitches tone and pinches your nose. “Heard this from Hongjoong, not from you, please!” He pouts but you, though it takes a lot of willpower, don’t give in. 

“Nope, go to bed” 

“Y/n, will I have to go to bed!?” Jihyo pouts, and you wonder if it runs in the family. 

“Not you, angel” You smile softly. 

Daehyun looks up from her chemistry textbook and sighs, “Go. To. Sleep. Seonghwa. Or. I’ll-” 

Seonghwa jolts and rushes across the room, the action reminding you of the Angry Birds slingshot animation and covers her mouth, face red and fuming. ”Daehyun, you better not blab” He squeaks and Daehyun blinks, his hand still over her mouth.

“Then sleep, dumbass. Take some rest, or else I’ll knock you out” Her muffled voice makes you laugh a little.

“Isn’t that normal sibling stuff? You know, dumb threats?”

Seonghwa’s eyes widen in seriousness, “No, I swear, she actually means it sometimes. She once put a sleeping pill in my milk, the snake” 

“I did” Daehyun’s comically monotone voice back him up, her eyes not once leaving her book.

“I should have you arrested” He jokes and she smirks, “But I shouldn’t leave a guest here alone. It’s bad manners”

“I came here so you could rest, Hwa. Please take some rest.” You tell him. Seonghwa looks troubled and he sighs. 

“I’ll still be in this room to check up on you guys. But thanks” His looks a little stressed but after you make Jihyo laugh. Perhaps it’s the wave of relief the he feels, but the atmosphere in the room brightens, the orange hue of the evening sunshine painting streaks across your faces.  

Jihyo is extremely energetic, but when she sees you try to stifle a yawn, she lets out a concerned squeak. “Are you tired? Do you want to take a nap?” She asks, and you find it amazing how such a young child can read your emotions so well. 

“I’m alright, Jihyo, angel”

“Why do you call me that?” She stutters in her cute drawl. 

“Yeah, have you seen the Biblical versions of them?” Daehyun jokes, somehow managing to hear you from her electric blue headphones.

“Well, angels are very cute. And they bring happiness to people!”

“My mommy says all I bring her is-“ Seonghwa, who you thought was asleep, suddenly sits up from the couch and coughs. Jihyo is silenced immediately. 

“Please, excuse us” The dark haired boy picks up his young cousin and leads her to the side room to your left. His expression isn’t angry, but worried. 

You have a gut feeling that perhaps Jihyo had no choice but to observe the emotions of the people surrounding her.

Daehyun’s growls under her breath. 

“Is everything alright? Y-you don’t need to tell me, I don’t mean to meddle-“

“No, it’s fine. It’s just that our Auntie isn’t very nice. Me and Seonghwa just have busy parents, but Jihyo’s mum isn’t... Fit to be a parent” Her voice his still expressionless, not a hint of pity. She sounded as if she were giving a presentation. But her fists are clenched by he side. “Poor kid. She doesn’t know that her mum’s an asshole. She just thinks it’s how people show love. She’s only been here for a month or so, so Seonghwa and I are trying to help her out”

“Family is... A sensitive subject, huh? Is there even such thing as a perfect family like in the movies?” You didn’t mean to say it out loud, but Daehyun nods.

“Nope, don’t think so”

You feel the happy, cheerful morale drop into the pit of the earth as Seonghwa and Jihyo exit the room. Seonghwa looks more shaken than the surprisingly cheerful girl holding his hand.

“Dae, you don’t mind watching her for a little bit right? Call me if you need anything” He suddenly pulls you up and takes an umbrella out of the store cupboard by the shoe rack of his doorway.

“Kay, go” Daehyun hops off of the couch to watch TV with Jihyo on the couch, cuddling her as if she were a glass ornament rather than a four year old girl.

The choir of raindrops hitting the pavement of Seonghwa’s street resonates with your footsteps. He coughs awkwardly to break the silence.

“It was weird for you, right? I’m sorry” He mutters. Green cloth shoots into the sky and spreads its wings like a butterfly. He holds the strongly viridescent coloured umbrella above your heads, inching closer in order to share.

“What? No! Never! It’s totally fine! These things happen, Seonghwa. They shouldn’t, but they do. I just hope she’s okay”

A trace of anger seeps into his deep brown pupils. “I try to tell her. To re-teach here that she’s not responsible for her mother’s behaviour, but she doesn’t get it. She think Auntie loves her”

“Oh dear” 

“Please... Don’t mention this to any-“

“No, no! I would never! But Seonghwa, you shouldn’t have the burden of unravelling Jihyo’s tangled threads. You’re tired already. You and Daehyun shouldn’t be the ones to do that”

Grief and pity washes upon him, and it trickles into his words like water from a slightly cracked glass bottle. “Dae shouldn’t, I agree. But if I don’t, who will?”

“Can’t you speak to your parents?” 

“They’re stressed and busy-“

“They’re family, Seonghwa. Their occupation doesn’t hold a candle to their own family, let alone children” Your stern voice makes him sigh, and you hold the oak handle of the umbrella with him.

“Not all families are like that, Y/n... But I can’t say my family is one of them. But should I stress them out? They don’t know my Aunt is like this. At all.” His warm hands slightly overlap with yours as he re-adjusts his grip on his umbrella. You feel heat creeping up your cheeks, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Seonghwa turn away but not fast enough to cover his pink dusted cheeks.

“Don’t you think it would be better for Jihyo if a therapist helped her out?” You feel his breath causing a ripple of movement in your hair. The sun bleeds through the cracks left by the grey clouds, but they are barely enough to let the city bask in its glory. 

“You’re right. I didn’t think about it that way. How idiotic am I?”

“You’re not” You stare him dead in the eye, the sincerity of your tone even taking you aback.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. We’re not supposed to know everything, you know? She’s only been here for a month, according to Daehyun, so it’s a lot to take in” Seonghwa’s pinky brushes against the back of palm, before positioning his hand over your own. He squeezes it.

“Thank you, Y/n. I think I really needed to hear that” 

You two go back inside. 

The choir of the rain is mixed with your footsteps and the thump of your heartbeat.

And as Seonghwa edges nearer to take his shoes off, you hear his own rapid thumps.

“Jihyo loves me so much, don’t you, cupcake?” Seonghwa cooes as she crawls onto Seonghwa lap. 

“D-Dae” She squeals, pushing Seonghwa’s head down so she can crawl over his head to get to Daehyun, who is sitting behind him. He looks betrayed and flashes a painful smile at you.

“Nah, you’re just a stepping stone to him. Isn’t he, Jihyo?” Jihyo giggles and snuggles up to Daehyun, who puts her phone aside and taps her nose.

“She’s a baby” You coo, pinching her cheeks.

“Yeah, a baby. I love babies... But this one thinks I’m a stepping stone” Seonghwa pouts playfully.  

“You both have a pouting tendency. Watch a bee doesn’t sting you on the lip” You tease and Seonghwa rolls his eyes.

“A bee would be honoured to die kissing my lips” He flips his hair in a nonchalant manner but then proceeds to cringe. “I’ve been hanging around San and Mingi for too long” 

Daehyun gags. “Never flirt with your crush like that, they’ll get so shook they’ll migrate planets” Jihyo chuckles along with everyone. “Oh, the results of the election are coming out next month, no?”

“Yeah, I kind of don’t want to win though. Too much trouble” Seonghwa ruffles Jihyo’s hair. 

“Y/n, why didn’t you run? You’re a model student, you could have won!”

Poor Seonghwa must be oblivious to the fangirls surrounding him and Hongjoong left and right. You wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Uhh, yeah no. Not my thing. I like receiving orders, not giving them. I’m not the leader type”

Seonghwa pulls a face, “Me neither. Hongjoong is though. Maybe if he stopped daydreaming once in a while, he’d realise that. Though if he doesn’t want to be a part of the Student Council, he can be leader of the Art club. The person currently running is leaving”

“Art club?” Hongjoong had never seemed like the artistic type to you. But then again, you didn’t go to the same classes as him except Maths.

“Yeah, Hongjoong is really good at art. He can do all these weird things with glass. He made that bird for me over there!” Seonghwa points to the display case beside the television, there sat a cerulean glass blue bird. It looks very well done, with the feathers etched in and the beak perfectly shaped. 

“Don’t pull my leg, really?” It looked good enough to sell for quite a lot on a website. Hongjoong could start a business. 

“Yes, really!” He laughs his signature laugh, airy and gentle, and you nearly burst. If you didn’t realise you liked Seonghwa, you sure did now. “Do you want anything to drink?” 

“Oh, no. It’s alright!” You say, but a hiccup follows. Seonghwa chuckles and gets up.

“Water it is then” He waddles into the kitchen, with Jihyo clinging to his leg. “Anything you want, Angel?” He struggles to deal with her weight. 

“C-cookies, Hwa” Seonghwa winces at the puppy eyes before him.

“Not now, angel. You need to have room for dinner” Jihyo grumbles but then points at a bunch of grapes. 

“Wow! What species of toddler is she?” You joke as she hugs a plastic bowl filled with green grapes and goes up on her tiptoes to place it on the marble table. You’ve never met such a pliant kid before and it shocks you to the core.

“An angel, aren’t you, Jihyo?” The taller of the two picks her up so she can push it further into the centre of the table. 

“Yay! Angel!” She giggles.

“Daehyun? Are you hungry?” Seonghwa turns to the blonde, she nods a simple no. 

“Should we watch a movie?” Daehyun asks. “We got that DVD set last week, didn’t we?”

“Oh, yeah! Your call, Y/n” Seonghwa flashes a charming smile at you and you fumble for words.

“S-sure! Jihyo can choose” Jihyo giggles in delight and hops to the box set as Daehyun sets it out. 

“Why is this so deep?” Seonghwa whines, trying to bat away the tears forming in his eyes. You feel your heart shattering even though he isn’t actually that affected by Piggy being killed by the rock.

“Oh no! Don’t cry, we’ll all start crying” You plead, fanning them away. You wonder why Jihyo chose something as morbid as “Lord of the Flies” but she seems rather content with the gore. 

“I won’t cry. I’ll laugh” Daehyun nudges Seonghwa playfully and Seonghwa gets up to chase her. 

“Brat!”

“Oh, boo hoo. Go cry about it”

The entire evening is spent giggling and joking. You think it’s been the best evening in your life. 

“Ah, Y/n!” 

It’s been a few weeks since Seonghwa hung out with you. Ever since then, you two have been talking to each other more often like during breaks and after school activities. Along with Hongjoong and Yunho, you two have been carrying out duties and solving problems together. 

“No, I didn’t get three for question five” You sigh and turn around, to Seonghwa, who pokes you in the cheek with the back of his pen. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t think you said that”

“I’ve been asked that too. I got 37”

“Me too!” That gave you the reassurance that you got the question right. 

“Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to have some bubble tea out in the city for lunch? Just a little thank you for looking after Jihyo again this weekend” He goes a little pink but on his face is a flirty smirk you’ve never seen before. It makes you want to sink under the table and squeal. 

“Sure, but I think I should thank you for intruding” 

“No, I should thank you for helping me out again this week” You reply. The sunlight bursting through the window paints Seonghwa’s complexion, making him look even more devilishly handsome, his dark hair threaded with locks of gold. 

“We’ll be here all day. Just say yes” He flicks at your forehead gently and you smack his shoulder. “Don’t skip PE, Y/n. Jihyo is stronger than you and she failed.” 

“Fine. And do you want me to show you real strength, Park Seonghwa?” You both laugh, and the teacher gives you two a warning glare. 

“No, I swear! Pigeons are FBI robots!” You exclaim, and Seonghwa sniggers.

“So you’re saying if I kill one pigeon’s friends and family it won’t die of depression?” Another shit eating grin forms on his face. It’s so hot you wonder why the ice in your drink hasn’t melted yet, let alone Antarctica thawing. 

“You monster” You playfully pout. A few friends have told you you’ve been hanging out with him too much because you’ve picked up his habits. 

Seonghwa bats his eyelashes, “Moi? I’m an angel”

“Sure...” Seonghwa’s eyes suddenly light up, pulsating with mischievous intent.

“Hongjoong managed to fall asleep in the changing room. Look, I took a picture” Seonghwa wheezes as he unlocks his phone and shows you a picture of the dark haired boy with his eyes fluttered shut and mouth slightly parted. 

“Jesus, no one should be allowed to look that pretty while sleeping” You blurt out in awe. The boy in front of you scoffs. 

“He was drooling, idiot. Anyhow, I’m way more charming than Hongjoong” Seonghwa tries to play it cool, raising his eyebrows and winking but you can sense the jealousy bubbling up within him.

“Jealous?” You snicker, taking a spoonful of the strawberry decorated cake. The sweetness melts in your mouth, along with the fruity tang of the strawberries. 

“No!” He laughs, a little too loudly that the cafe barista looks at him, her pretty doe eyes widened in shock. The boy then clears his throat and proceeds to continue his conversation. “I’m not jealous- Oh, hold on” Seonghwa moves in a little closer to brush off the whipped cream on the corner of you lips. The rough pads of his fingers gliding across the skin of your lips. He smoothly licks it off of his fingers and you both go red after the realisation of what he did. 

“Ah, thanks”

“No problem” He coughs awkwardly. You check the time and tell him that it’s probably a good idea that you two head back to classes. Seonghwa nods, and as you two walk down the road he gently pulls you in by the waist as a car goes by.

“Are you okay? Ugh, drivers” Seonghwa scoffs, and squeezes your waist and then releases you. 

“Hwa!” You dare say that he’s getting bolder nowadays as both of you have realised your feelings for each other. But instead of blowing the candle out directly, you’re both gently waving at the flickering flame. 

“Sorry” He giggles, and you know he doesn’t mean it. “Come to this side” He swaps places with you so that he is on the side of the road closer to cars zooming past.

“Thanks, Seonghwa”

“No problem. Oh goodness the election results are coming out in a few days and I really regret running for it now! I’m so nervous”

You squeeze his upper arm, “Relax. I’m sure you’ll do a great job even if you win. I’ll be here to help out and I’m sure Yunho and the others will be glad to as well”  Seonghwa’s eyes return to their normal, bright and sparkly sheen. 

“Really?” His voice holds the innocence of a four year old, despite his deep and elegant drawl.

“Really” 

That night, you can feel Seonghwa’s restlessness from blocks away. The silence of the night drives you up the wall and you pull out your phone. Is it the election? 

You: You awake?

You don’t expect an answer, you shouldn’t. But your face lights up at the sudden green bubble indicating that he’s online popping up immediately.

Hwa: No, I’m asleep ;p

You: Alright, well when you wake up remember that I’m cheering for you! <3

Hwa: shdufyyfipiueouriguu

You: ?

Hwa: Sorry my fongers were beingg dimb

Hwa: *Fingers

Hwa: *Being

Hwa: *Dumb

You: Lmao, go to sleep you nonce.

Hwa: Nonce? Meanie :(

You: I don’t trust people who use those weird keyboard emojis. Use your phone ones like a normal person lmao

Hwa: Hello, Childline? I would like to report a case of child abuse. This individual has called me a “nonce” and is now choosing to insult my emojis! Harry Potter and the Audacity of this Cutie 

Hwa: JHsudhsdyduyfisuyfuyfuyfuyufisu

You: Aww, thanks 😊 

Your heart accelerates. Of course, after you and Seonghwa started hanging out more, he was more flirty and bold but you’ve never seen him become flustered before. He’s called you a baby and addresses you very endearingly. But is this sleep deprived Seonghwa embarrassed? It’s adorably funny to you. 

Hwa: soodjjSOFFOJJFIJNFJJFI

Hwa: Damn it.

Hwa: I’m way too sleep deprived to play it cool

You: Should I send you an ASMR video? It helps me sleep sometimes

Hwa: Really? That would be great

Hwa: Excuse me, wait a second. Why are you awake?

You: Insomnia, ran out of pills.

Hwa: Poor thing :(

Hwa: Do you have a 24 hour pharmacy near you? I’m sure there’s one down the road and we don’t live far apart.

You: DKM STOP USING THOSE CURSED EMOJIS

You: And idk, it’s dangerous for me to walk at night. Even with my hockey stick lolol

Hwa: Where do you live? I’m coming

You: Seonghwa! No! It’s alright! I can stay awake

Hwa: Then I’ll stay awake with you <3

You: You don’t need to. 

Hwa: I would have forced you to sleep, but Joong has insomnia and I kinda get that it’s hard

Hwa: So if you can’t sleep, ping me~

You: “Ping me” lmao

You: Thank you though.

You: You do so much for me. You know that? Like, whenever I feel like shit, you’re there. 

You: Do you read my mind, Seonghwa?

Hwa: I’m glad I’m able to be here for you. At first I felt like I was had to so I could pay you back. But now it comes naturally. I don’t really click with people, but I can with you. 

Hwa: Don’t get me wrong, I’m only here because I want to be. I like taking care of you and I’m thankful you do the same. 

Hwa: Just seeing you makes me happy 

You: I feel the exact same way, Hwa.

You: You make everything so warm and happy. It’s your presence and I get along with you so well! 

You: I know you said it already, but please don’t feel indebted to take care of me, Seonghwa. I too, do it because I sincerely care about you. 

You: I love yo| 

Your fingers dash across the screen, but another sky blue text bubble makes your heart drop, the adrenaline building up in you blowing out in a sad puff. 

Hwa: I’m sorry, I’ll be right back. Getting a call.

“Seonghwa... I don’t want to do this anymore” The latter’s stomach and heart hurl up and down at the chocked voice, probably crying through the phone.

“Hongjoong? Talk to me” Seonghwa tries to keep his voice steady and attempts to clear his mind and analyse the rise and fall of his voice and the tone. He wants to see Hongjoong face to face. That’s the best way he can read people, with their expressions. But he knows that Hongjoong doesn’t dare show his face while he’s crying, a rarity.

“The... The election... It was my parents who made me do it. Seonghwa... Seonghwa I can’t do this anymore” Hongjoong sobs, his clear voice murky with sleep and sadness. Seonghwa feels his own eyes fill up but he swipes them away.

“Focus on Hongjoong” He hisses to himself mentally. 

“Hongjoong, your parents can’t dictate what you do or not. If you feel pressured and they don’t listen, you have to do something”

“I know! But what? Who’s going to help me? What if I get kicked out? My parents might still love me if I rebel, but I don’t want to take that gamble. Seonghwa... What do I do?” 

Seonghwa bites his nail. For once, Seonghwa doesn’t know what to do. It makes him feel helpless that someone is hurting, especially if that someone is a friend. Hongjoong isn’t the type of person to be very in touch with his emotions, and seeing his glass mask shatter breaks him apart too. 

“Hongjoong, you do what you think is right. And if you don’t know what is, then ask someone who knows. I’m sorry, Hongjoong, but I don’t know what to do. But you can always talk to me. I’ll always be here for you, Hongjoong” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. If they kick you out, I’ll find you a place to stay” 

Seonghwa hears Hongjoong crumpling down, “I don’t want to be abandoned” It feels like a spear through the chest hearing his torn voice. 

“I know, sweetheart. No one does. But if you feel like that’s what you have to do, you have to remember that there are people who will always accept you. I will, Yunho will, Y/n will, Wooyoung will. Forever” 

“But they’re my parents. They’re supposed to be here for me!”

“Joong...”

“Can’t I ever please them?”

“I’m sorry, Hongjoong, I don’t think I can answer that” Seonghwa whimpers quietly, trying to reply tactfully. 

“Seonghwa, I need to go. I hear footsteps-“

“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa groans as the jingle of the phone cut sound effect goes off. Blinking back his tears, he opens the chatroom you two share, now blurred lines of black and white and blue bubbles. 

Hwa: Sorry.

You: It’s okay.

Something feels off in the discreet way that he types. Seonghwa is quiet but he’s not a man of few words when opened up to. 

You: Are you okay?

Hwa: Yeah.

Hwa: Why?

You: Are you sure? Instinct.

Hwa: Lol that’s sharp

You: Do you want to talk about it?

Hwa: There’s nothing wrong, dove. I’m just tired.

You: Try get a glass of warm milk.

You: You can talk to me if you feel crappy, okay? Whenever you need it.

Hwa: Thank you, Y/n. But I think that I can only take you up on that offer when it’s my issue to talk about, I don’t think I can tell you this time. 

Hwa: We started giving Jihyo therapy, by the way. 

Hwa: So thank you, for everything you’ve done.

You: Alright, I understand. But if you need help with anything, you don’t have to tell me who it is, but maybe I can help.

Hwa: Thanks, but I’ll try to figure this one out on my own <3 

Hwa: Hey, I think I should try and sleep. 

Hwa: Goodnight, cutie

You: Goodnight, Hwa 

“Congratulations, Hongjoong! You won!!!” Yunho claps the smaller man on the back, who then flinches. Seonghwa looks concerned and pulls Hongjoong into his chest for a brief moment, quickly enough to allow a window of time to brush tears away.

“Thanks, guys!” He giggles, and a dazzling smile blinds everyone in the room. “I’ll do my best to impress all of you, so don’t abandon me!” He laughs at his little joke and so does everyone else. But Seonghwa is not laughing. 

“Tough luck, Hwa! It was so close!” You pat his shoulder, and he grins at you. 

“I’m free from burden, what’s this about?” He chuckles, his baritone voice a sweet melody. The sunlight is dim and the shades of the afternoon haze are bright and pastel blues. 

“Really?”  The smile on his lips seems forced, not reaching his eyes as per usual. Heat from the atmosphere scorches you and the rising tension in the room doesn’t cool it down either.

“Yeah”

You leave it at that. 

As you’re about to ask him if Jihyo needs babysitting, Hongjoong clasps onto the dark haired boy’s sleeve. “Can we talk?” You hear the short man’s voice and how it dangerously wobbles. 

“Sure” Seonghwa turns away and you don’t fail to notice the comforting hand around Hongjoong’s shoulder. 

“Hwa?” You’re surprised by two hands suddenly picking you up and lifting you to the air, an uncharacteristic squeal emerging from a pair of cherry red lips. “Are you okay?” You giggle, warm at the small laughs from the other. 

“Yeah! More than okay!” Seonghwa sighs and puts you down. “Sorry, I got too excited. It’s just that... I’m happy for a friend” Seonghwa would normally blush and lifting you up and perhaps even apologise for doing so but there’s something occupying his brain that makes him steer away from even you. 

“That’s great! I’m so proud of Hongjoong” You smile sweetly, the golden-orange hues of sunlight framing your face, Seonghwa looks a little taken aback. 

“You- you knew?” 

“I knew who it was, not what was going on” You correct him and Seonghwa looks admiringly at you.

“Are you psychic? You know everything about other people...” The gleaming stars in his eyes become more dim and melt into the sea of his eyes like cubes of sugar.

“Well... I’m observant?” 

Seonghwa nods. Like him, you’re in a world of your own but so alive and free in the real world too. It’s too beautiful too block out, so you walk along the fine line of the little flower filled bubble with Seonghwa and the world of the classrooms with the scent of vanilla and sunshine. 

“Hmm, Y/n...”

“Yeah?”

“Are you free this Saturday?” He hums, fiddling with a lock of black silky hair that keeps falling in his face.

“Yeah...” You reach up and pin back his hair with a pretty hairpin, decorated with a tiny plastic moonflower. The way Seonghwa’s cheeks become pink remind you of the purple hue of potassium permanganate bleeding into the water in the biology demonstration the teacher showed you.

With Seonghwa.

You realise you do a lot of things with Seonghwa.

You ate with him many many times (With Hongjoong and Yunho tagging along at times. You went to concert with Daehyun, Jihyo and him last month. The tickets decorate your wall, covered in doodles of little flowers. You helped him with his speeches for his election, often staying after school to fan him off and correct his grammar as his mental health spiralled downwards. 

It makes you feel all warm and butterflies gather, spreading their wings and flying about your body in a flurry of heartfelt affection. You look at him again, his eyes no longer tainted with dark circles and replaced with a rosy blush. 

You can’t beat around the bush anymore, or else it will grow into a forest. A forest where Seonghwa may no longer roam in.

“It’s going to be Saturday” You tell yourself as you thread baby blue ribbons into your hair, matching the light blue frock and pale yellowish white oversized cardigan. Blue butterflies adorn your ears as they hang down on silver earrings.

“It’s going to be today”

You’re surprised you haven’t passed away yet from the sheer beauty of Park Seonghwa. His blue silk blue blouse hangs down to reveal a little bit of his slightly bronze chest and you want to target the mole on it with a kiss attack. He gasps softly and pings your hanging earring. “We’re matching” 

The silk of his shirt and the blue of your dress are very similar in hue, and you make a sound of realisation. “Woah we are” Seonghwa chuckles and taps your nose. 

“On Saturdays, we wear blue” And he yelps as you gently smack him on the shoulder.

“Don’t clown Gretchen like that, she’s my baby” You nag him as you practically inhale the piece of cake no longer on your plate. You tried to by dainty at first but you thought of future dates and thought it would be alright if you loosened up before tightening them. 

Seonghwa chuckles shyly. “I really like this cafe, you know. It’s pretty” His eyes wander the cafe, scanning the blue walls and little artificial moonflowers in baskets. 

“Yeah! And the cake is amazing. Doesn’t Yunho work here?” You laugh. 

“Mhmm, he loves the aesthetic of it too. It’s partially why he wears so many of those clips” His lips suddenly part into an “o” shape. “Oh! I forgot to give you the clip!” Seonghwa pulls out the pretty moonflower hairpin, looking even smaller in his large hand. As you’re about to reach out for it he swipes it out of your reach, a little grin playing on his face. “Hold still, Y/n” And you feel his fingers swipe through your hair along with the metal of the clip. “You look better in it than I do. Daehyun bullied me about it all night” He pulls a face and you chuckle. 

As you two walk out of the cafe and into the park behind it, you see the hues of sunset bleeding into the horizon. You sift through your phone as you wait for Seonghwa to come back from the bathroom. 

“Boo!” 

“SWEET JESUS” You yelp and you’re about to smack him in the chest but you see the pink wrapping of the florist beside the cafe. He gently places them in your hands. White moonflowers pop out and the calming husky scent makes you sigh.

“Hehe, scared you” He ruffles your hair and you look into his eyes. You expect the mischievous glint in his eyes but they are replaced with a warm loving stare. The light of the sun flickers in his eyes and the breeze kisses your skin. 

“Hwa?”

“Y/n, hear me out” He goes a little pink, playing with a strand of his hair.

“I really like you. A lot. I mean, I love you. It’s- I don’t know why. It’s not because you’re just so beautiful and adorable- which you are! I’m not denying it! But you’re so... Thoughtful and sincere. And I was thinking that maybe you could be my girlfriend?” His voice is deeper but laced with awkward tension. You look at his face, growing redder at the second and you smile. 

“Me too”

“Pardon?!”

“I love you too” 

“R-really? You’re not just saying that-“ Seonghwa excitedly grasps your hands in his. 

“Yes, really. Hwa, I really respect how you’re so caring and kind. With Jihyo, Daehyun and Hongjoong. You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met”

Seonghwa’s eyes shine, perhaps with happy tears or the light of shimmering sky.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yep” 

Seonghwa tries to lean in and pinches your cheeks, “Pucker up”

“I can’t stop smiling”

The dark haired boy doubles down with laughter before squishing your cheeks, “Better?”

“Better” You say, but it comes out muffled. 

His lips gently brush against yours, his hand doesn’t leave your face and you gently lace your fingers through his dark locks and he sighs into the kiss, leaning further into you and supporting your figure against the wall behind you. 

“You know why I gave you moonflowers?”

“Why?”

“The clip, it was really pretty” He taps it, re-adjusting it and planting a kiss on your forehead. “But moonflowers are my favourite too, so I thought they would look prettier with you holding them” He giggles a little bit at the cheesy words. “I love you”

“I love you too, Seonghwa” You capture his lips in another kiss. 

[forkanna]

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Sorry about the long delay in updates. My life's been a bit up and down of late; good things and bad. Hopefully things will settle soon. Either way, I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

CHAPTER NINE

This was definitely a new one on Rise Kujikawa. She felt like the world had turned upside down — again — and she was supposed to navigate her way without a map or a compass. Where to begin?

"What… are you- oh come on, liking girls doesn't make you a boy. Has that really been worrying you all this time?"

Ai blinked across at her for a few seconds. "What? Oh, yes, but… Rise-chan, I'm trying to tell you something pretty major. Aren't you paying attention?"

"Come on, you're not a boy! Regardless of why you think you are, so like, you can cut that out right now. Okay?" She reached over to take up her hand and squeeze it firmly between both of her own, trying to ignore the way Ai whimpered. "We're friends. If you never want to kiss me again, that's okay, but just wanting to kiss me a couple times? Does not mean you're a boy, or messed up, or me and you have to move to Ni-Chome, or anything. It's all good."

Ebihara remained quiet for a second, simply holding her friend's hand. Looking more than a little lost. "Well, Ni-Chome is right around the corner from here… and that's where… people like us go. Right?"

"Hey! There's no 'people like us', we're just people!"

"Ugh, I know," she burst out in irritation at herself, suddenly standing up and pacing back and forth in front of Rise. "I know! It's so stupid that I get in my own head about this, but I can't just enjoy anything. Why am I like this? Do I have no chill?!"

"Guess not." When Ai stopped to glare at her, she rolled her eyes. "Well, you really don't! I'm not saying it's bad or you're bad, but you do need to learn how to relax."

But she kept pacing. Rise had just about given up and assumed that was the end of the discussion, and that she should go back to trying to find another song to sing — when Ai suddenly knelt down in front of her, hands gripping the sofa on either side of the idol's hips.

"Wha- hey, what are you doing?!"

"Getting your attention, girl. I need you to really hear me."

"God, I hear you just fine! We just got done agreeing you don't need to make a big deal out of every-"

"My birth name was Aihiko," she pushed ahead stubbornly, such a fierce determination in her eyes that Rise had to fight down the instinct to cower. Even drunk, she could be a real force of nature. "And I always knew that didn't fit me. It just took me until really late in elementary school before I figured out why.

"What I told you and the others before was true. I was always bullied, always called 'Piggy-hara' because I was fat. Because I didn't fit in, anywhere. No matter how many times I looked at the sports clubs, at the manly men I was supposed to look up to, my parents told me I would become someday… I didn't want to. I wanted to be Taeko Ohnuki, or Utada — I wanted to be Sailor Moon. All the other boys would fight over being Red Hawk when we played Featherman; I was too happy to be Pink Argus, when nobody else would want to touch that character unless we were playing with another girl. My whole life, I knew… I just didn't have a word for it. Not until… Ikko."

When she didn't continue for a moment, Rise cleared her throat to prompt quietly, "Ikko?"

"The talk show host. Trans and fabulous. I could see right there on my television screen, in front of my crying eyes thanks to another day of bullying and shame, a woman who was born like me — living her truth, live and in colour in front of the whole country. And sure, those talk shows are a little corny, but to me, as a little boy who thought he was just going to be broken for the rest of his life? They looked like hope."

"Oh… Ikko, yeah. Think I've seen her on Shin Domoto Kyoudai, and um, Onee MANS. Yeah." Rise was struggling to keep up mentally. She felt like any second now, the whole thing was going to come crashing down around her ears…

"Believe me, I know this is a lot to take in," she said with a sigh, brow creasing in concern for her friend. Which Rise thought was encouraging. "But once I realized who and what I was, and we were now suddenly filthy fucking rich, I asked my parents to help me be who I always was. Ironic that my mother was against it and my father was only too happy to help, but I mean, life is weird. And I have never really looked back… until now. With you."

"With me? Wait, wait… I feel like I'm losing my mind a little bit here. Do I have this right? You were born as a boy — which there's no way I can believe, just look at you! But because of some talk show host, and a bunch of mean kids who were jerks to you, you decided you didn't want to be a boy anymore?"

Ai grimaced. "That is… an oversimplification, but essentially, yes."

"And now you think you made the wrong choice because…" A hard swallow. "Me. Because you like me." Ai gave a small nod. "Whoa."

"You don't believe me." Her head fell forward until it was resting on Rise's shoulder. Now that they were so close, she could feel how badly her friend was trembling. "I should have known. Stupid. Why do I always think I know better, and things will go differently? Do I have brain damage? Maybe that's it, maybe it's brain damage and I need to be admitted to some kind of facility with padded walls and electroshock."

"Shut up already, wow…" Her hand came up to gently caress over Ai's hair. "Listen... It's not that I want to be skeptical. I can tell you aren't just screwing around, but come on, how do you expect me to believe any of this? You are gorgeous! And Ikko, she's also really pretty but I can tell she was born a boy. You? No way. It's just too crazy to be possible — and if you only knew some of the things I've seen, you would know I don't say that for no reason!"

Ai nodded glumly. Defeated. That was really the only word for it, and Rise felt awful, but she also couldn't flick a switch and suddenly not have that healthy dose of skepticism. Who would believe a story like this right out of the gate with absolutely zero proof right in front of their eyes?

"Sorry," Rise finally whispered in a small voice.

"Why? Nothing to be sorry about. In fact, I know you won't get it, but you really helped me today."

"Huh? How did I do that? By not believing you?!"

"Exactly." Standing up again, she brushed off the front of her long skirt studiously. "If it's so inconceivable to you that I could have been a boy in a past life, then I guess that means I'm not crazy for pursuing my dream — living life as who I am inside. So I guess… thank you."

That sinking feeling swirling around in Rise's stomach was getting stronger. Maybe Ai wasn't kidding. But that was insane! Sure, Naoto had been able to hide her gender for a little while, but it wasn't as easy going in the other direction. If Ai were a boy in disguise, she would be doing things to hide certain aspects of her anatomy. Such as…

Such as a frilly lace collar around her neck. At all times.

"Is… what's… under here…?"

Her fingers barely came in contact with the collar when Ebihara took a step backwards — and literally tripped over the coffee table, sprawling on her back on the carpet with a ghastly yelp. Rise hurried around to crouch over her.

"I'm sorry! God, I'm really sorry, are you all right?!"

"Y-yeah," she groaned, even though she was holding her head, which indicated that no, she probably wasn't.

"I just wanted to ask about that collar," Rise said while helping her sit up. "But I didn't mean to scare you, I probably should have asked before I reached for it."

"Yeah, you should have. But it's no big deal." The phone buzzed again. "Ugh. It's getting late, we probably shouldn't ask for more time. This way we can maybe slip back in before final period and avoid catching hell."

"Hah! No way can we make it back in time, I really don't think so. But keep dreaming."

"Always," Ai offered with a slight smirk.

                                      ~ o ~

But as her friend answered the phone and she started gathering up their things, Rise's brain was swirling with far too many thoughts. They followed her out of the karaoke establishment and all the way back to the train platform, into the car itself. At least it wasn't as crowded as it would be if they caught a later train, even though they still had a good hour and a half left in their trip. Her poor young mind was plagued by a thousand questions, anxieties, and just random thoughts that were so unwelcome but wouldn't seem to go away for anything.

Could all that craziness actually be true? No. It was so impossible and ludicrous. Yet Ai had said every word with conviction, and no trace of uncertainty. Either this was one of the most convincing scams of all time, or…

Could she really be a boy?

Just glancing over at the flawlessly beautiful profile of Ai Ebihara was seemingly enough to put that possibility to death. Impossible. Even though Rise knew that there were women out there who had been born different, and she very vaguely understood the concept, she didn't know any of them personally. Any she had seen in popular media were various degrees of feminine and pretty, but still obviously not born the way she was; there were readily apparent differences. None of which she observed when looking at her new best friend. How was she supposed to believe such a wild story?

But she couldn't completely let go of how earnestly Ai had looked at her when confessing about her alleged condition. If she really were full of shit, she probably would have never tried to sell it so hard; what did she have to gain by it? Anything? Not as far as she could tell, no matter how she tried to look at it. There was no impetus for her to make up such a wild tale.

So then… crazy as it was, if she had nothing to gain by lying…

'No way, though!' she screamed internally, clamping her eyes shut for a moment as the train bumped along toward Yasoinaba. 'She's so perfect, she's prettier than me. Why is she doing this to me? Why lie? I don't know what to think anymore!'

Her thoughts were interrupted by a hand slipping into her own. Rise peeled open her eyes to see her friend, this beautiful woman who she was suspecting of horrible lies, smiling gently over at her with a concerned expression. Her heart melted. It didn't clear up any confusion at all, but she couldn't pretend this girl was being cruel to her for no reason. Not when she looked at her like that.

"You okay?"

"Y-yeah! Great! Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because I'm a horrible bitch for dropping a bombshell on you," Ai supplied quietly. "You should be pissed."

"Nope. I mean… okay, I do have a question." When there was no reply, Rise continued, "Why didn't you just show me?"

"Show you what?

"You know…"

Ai blinked at her friend's reddening features for a couple of seconds until she got it, and her lip curled. "Oh, what the fuck? You want me to just flash you?!"

"NO!" A few people turned to look at the two of them, and she double-checked that her hat was hiding her trademark hair again. "Not here! And I didn't say I wanted you to, I'm just, y'know… wouldn't that have been the easiest way? To prove what you were telling me?"

"Yeah, I guess so, but that seems really gross. Besides…"

When she didn't finish her thought, Rise nudged her with her elbow. "Hey, c'mon, don't chicken out now. We literally just made out so I don't think there's any reason to be shy anymore."

"I mean, okay, but it's not about feeling shy. I was going to say I had hoped you would believe me."

Damn. That really cut her to the core. But she couldn't even get upset about it, because as Ai said, she hadn't been holding back because she was shy. Obviously, she wasn't sure it was kind of her to issue a pseudo accusation like that. Her own fault for digging.

"Y-yeah. I can see why you would think that, but I mean, I've just never thought about anything like this before. It doesn't have anything to do with you! Yukiko or Chie could tell me the same exact thing and I would be just as skeptical. Does… I mean, do you hate me?"

"No," Ai whispered with quiet urgency, gripping her hand tighter. And Rise gripped back; she needed the comfort, and wanted her bestie to know that none of this meant she was going anywhere.

"You're sure?"

"Really, really sure. I'm sad you didn't believe me but I can't deny you have a point; as great as it is to know I look good enough to pass even when I'm telling you about it point-blank — seriously it's a huge relief, you will never know — I guess this is the one downside."

Rise tipped to the side until her head was resting on Ai's shoulder. She still felt dizzy. This was a nightmare and a dream, and she just wanted to go back to yesterday. Before she had been told impossible things that had to be true, because it was actually stranger that they be lies. It was like some kind of…

Magic.

"I'm being stupid," she finally breathed aloud as the revelation hit her like a bolt out of the blue. How could she have been looking at this so backwards?!

"What?"

"Nothing," she whispered. "Just… I've seen some pretty crazy stuff in my life. You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Ai definitely wouldn't believe her. "And I'm sitting here, thinking it's too weird that you might have been born a boy? That's so dumb!"

Clearly taking that in a slightly different manner, her friend chuckled and said, "There you go. I mean, you were in the entertainment industry."

"It's not like it is in the west, Ebi-chan. Like… a little, but when I toured the U.S.? Lots of people like that, all the makeup artists, and… you know, that Lady Gaga?" Ai shook her head. "She's really big over there, I have one of her albums somewhere."

"Bring it over, then. I mean, if she's queer, I want to hear her."

"Well, I don't know she is, but she has this whole… you know, dressing like a drag queen, big feathers and meat dresses! Crazy stuff!" They both laughed together, relaxing into the closeness. Like it should be.

"Either way, bring it," Ai said, interrupting her weird stomach-upside-down moment of realising what she had just been thinking. "I mean, don't expect me to choose her over Mariya, but…"

Rise giggled and whispered, "Or me. Because you're not a fan of my trash music."

"HEY! Shut the fuck up, I never said- UGH, you are a pain in the ASS." An airy sigh as she kissed the top of Rise's head. "You're lucky you're so cute."

Full blush. Rise was glad for her sunglasses and hat or she would have died of embarrassment. Biting her lip, she reached up to pull Ai closer, almost snuggling into her as best she could on the uncomfortable train seats. All she wanted was for the world to fall away, leaving them to revel in the escape from their reality. Their escape into each other.

"I'm scared."

"Me too."

"Really?" Rise whispered. "I'm… I don't even know… what to think. Are we lesbians? Or, because you were a boy, is it just…"

"Honestly? I don't know, either. That's why I was freaking out earlier. But now, I…" She cleared her throat and said, almost fearfully, "I think 'lesbian' could be the right word. Though I did really like Yu… ugh, I'm a lost cause."

"No," she snapped at her, looking up into her eyes. "Hey. You're the number one hottie of Yasogami High. Everybody says so."

"They say I'm a bitch, too."

"So? You've earned being a little bit of a bitch for a while. But I do think it's time to put the bitchy-pants away and start being Ai Ebihara again. Or, um…" Then she laughed in embarrassment.

"What?" she asked, brow furrowed in preemptive fear.

"I forgot already. Your real name; you told me, I just… you're Ebi-chan, I can't remember it."

"Oh. Well, it doesn't matter, because that's not really me anymore. Like you with 'Risette'; you cringe every time anyone says it. Even just now."

"Huh?! No, I didn't!"

"You so did, Rise-cheese."

The pop star puffed out her cheeks angrily as she glared up at her best friend. Then she pouted extra hard. "You can't make fun of me. It's mean."

"Thought you said I earned the right to be a bitch," Ai teased with a half-smirk.

"Not to ME! And I also said you can stop now! Hmph." Then she turned away from her, folding her arms over her chest as she glared away into the compartment.

"Oh wow, dramatic." But when Rise didn't turn back after a minute, she grabbed her upper arm and shook it slightly. "Come on… you can't really be this mad." More silence. A little desperation began to enter Ai's voice. "Rise… wait, wait, you're pissed off because I called you 'cheese'?!"

"I'm not cheese." But she did peek over her shoulder, and saw Ai looking legitimately conflicted. So she laughed awkwardly and turned back around, raising a hand to smooth over her hair. "Sorry… hey, I'm sorry. I was just messing around."

Ai dipped her head, expression just as conflicted as before. "This… is hard. Wow. I knew it was dumb, and you were being dumb, and I wanted to give you more shit, but my heart just started hurting, and…"

That was quite a wealth of feelings. Rise felt a little worried; would Ai really be able to handle what they were getting themselves into? Would either of them? Unable to hold back anymore, she threw her arms around her and pulled her in for the tightest hug she could manage.

"Ebi-chan… we'll be fine. Don't be so down, don't… don't lose track of what's good between us. How we fit together."

"Yeah?" she asked shakily. "You mean, how we have nothing in common, and didn't know each other before the past few weeks, a-and… and why would you even like me?"

"We have a lot in common. We like singing, and daifuku, and Korean dramas. And we both know what it's like for people not to be able to see you for who you really are; to make a lot of assumptions about you based on your appearance." Her brow furrowed, even while she was speaking. "Oh… and I guess that was even worse for you when you were a kid, huh? If you were a boy… and you felt like a girl inside… is… I mean, did I say that right? Do I know what I'm talking about?"

The softest chuckle floated out of Ai's lips as she pushed her face against Rise's neck. The nose and lips felt warm, and soft, and a little moist where she was speaking against her skin… creating goosebumps in the wake of the breath. "You're saying everything right. You always do. Probably an idol superpower."

"Maybe," she admitted with a light laugh, some of her anxiety beginning to melt away. "But I promise I'll only use it for good. I'll do my best!"

"God, you can't even turn it off. So gross!"

"You don't have to call me 'gross'! That's not nice!"

"Hey, I'm totally nice. What would you do without me being so 'nice' you want to punch a baby?"

When Rise pulled back, the most horrified expression on her face at that last bit of imagery, Ai burst out laughing so hard that she had to double over, arms wrapped around her middle. The mirth was catching; Rise giggled until she snorted like a pig, then was covering her face with both hands in shame while her supposed best friend guffawed openly at her. And she wouldn't have had it any other way, mortifying as it was. At least it meant the worst was over.

Wasn't it?

                                       To Be Continued…

[suggestionsofthecaribbean]

The Pearl: Elizabeth and James

Part 1/2.  All the delights and confusions of intimacy; immediately upon conclusion of this conversation, Elizabeth and James recoup in her cabin, intending to enjoy the former and forced to navigate the latter along the way.

CW:  James’ personal history, particularly the recent events in Tortuga (gone into in greater detail here), renders his sexuality a thorny territory he is not entirely comfortable in, much as he would like it to be, for her sake.  Elizabeth, a rash and affectionate person, but not a particularly emotionally intuitive one, has to learn to be more sensitive and communicative with him, but it’s a journey, and her insecurity that he, perhaps, may not want her as he once did, complicates it further.  

There may be some for whom this chapter veers into uncomfortable places - Elizabeth is not pushy, but she gets tactless, particularly in her attempts to understand where he’s coming from.  We are personally pleased with their approaching, however slowly, a better understanding of each other and a better style of communication, but readers for whom the topic of desire or lack thereof is a touchy one may want to sit this out.

Feat. @lizzyswann-turnersuggestions​ and @norringtonsuggestions​

Captain Swann, who had been taking a break from studying astronomy with Captain Barbossa to text, took a break from texting to have a Word with Captain Norrington.  This involved hastily striding across the deck, brushing her hair out of her face, striving to not be flustered, and then pausing to reply to another text when the very man was in sight of her, because she was so keen not to have the final say in anything.  

On that note, as to prevent him from having a moment to reply, she shouted, loud enough to turn heads: “CAPTAIN NORRINGTON!”

And heads did turn.  Elizabeth had not prepared for how flushed she was in the face at that, lest anyone witness worse than name-shouting; how serious had he been about holding this over her head?  Because he could just blab about it here and now, instead.  That alone prevented her from wanting to give the impression that she was angry at him, so while her walk said business, the lift of her chin when she approached him said flirtation.

“My cabin, if you will,” she said, and then regally turned around to shoot every man watching a glare.  That put an end to that.

James’s face was quite still as he followed her, but the expression frozen on it was a light smirk. When she finally looked at him again, he moved enough to lift his eyebrows in smug amusement.

Door shut, she immediately shoved him, stifling as much of her laughter as she could.  

“I don’t fancy her!  You - shh! Shhhhhh-”

Who she was shushing was up for some debate.

“Are you sure of that? Are you really sure-“

She made an abortive attempt to tickle him quiet that ended quickly in dropping her head onto his chest in an effort to bury her blushing and smother her mortified laughter at the same time.

“I’m not about to let go of this,” he laughed, putting his arms around her.

“Nothing happened-”

“Oh, I’m quite aware-“

“You’re aware, are you?  Have a second sense of what I get up to?”

“She’s on my crew, I keep aware-“

“For all you know, I have already made plans with her behind your back,” said Elizabeth with a widening smirk - turning this around on him was the only tool left at her disposal to prevent herself from being quite as embarrassed as she was feeling.  Her hands slid down his back, squeezed affectionately. He jolted in surprise and began to laugh again.

“Plans? Oh? Without me-“

“Perhaps, as I do not have, what did you call it? The equipage? - we could find some use for you-”

This was the kind of thing guaranteed to break James Norrington’s famous stoicism even if he hadn’t already given himself a break on it. He certainly tried to avoid laughing any longer, but he sputtered and failed, until he was helplessly leaning his head against hers and shaking.

She hmmed at him affectionately and kissed his temple, rubbing her fingers under his hair as she held his head and waited for him to be teasable again.

“I think- I think I’m getting a touch giddy from a week of sobriety,” he admitted. “A kind of reverse drunkenness-“

“Tell me what I can do to help,” she whispered, kissing him on the forehead.

“It’s not a matter of needing help,” he said, with another bleary laugh. “I shall prevail, I’m certain of that.”

When he lifted his head, he returned the kiss, but was sure to give it to her lips instead. Elizabeth kissed him back, but tried to speak to him shortly after, although she was reluctant to break the kiss - she spoke, then, against his lips, voice coming out muffled: “You’re not - you don’t really think - you don’t think I’ll leave you, do you-?”

“Mm- leave is a harsh word,” said James. “I suppose it has ever been close to my mind that our arrangement may not be permanent-“

“Do we have to think so far ahead?  We could literally die trying to save Jack-”

“Let us pray not. I think if I were to die trying to rescue Jack Sparrow, I might never live it down,” James said flatly.

Elizabeth attempted to not laugh at that.

“Well,” he said, “are we reassured now?”

“On the contrary,” she said, still attempting not to sputter and occasionally cracking and doing it anyway, “I am less certain than I have ever been-”

“Your crew are probably forming some interesting ideas as to what’s going on in here,” James noted, glancing toward the door and then back to her, with the same smirk as before.

“As long as you are fine with that then I am,” she said, some of her blush returning, though she could meet his eyes.

“It’s part of the territory of being your dog, is it not?” he said lightly.

“Tell me what you would rather we imply and we shall either imply it, or… implement it…” she said, taking him by the hands, rubbing the backs of them with her thumbs.

“Mm- I’m rather short on imagination,” he admitted, leaning his face toward hers again. “Better you devise the scenario, and I follow along, as is my wont.”

“James,” she said softly, pulling back just enough to try and make out his expression, “if something is the matter, say so.”

He shook his head.

“Nothing is the matter,” he said, and he cupped her chin in his hand affectionately to prove it. “I’ve had a lot of time to think on it, and I have come to find it- a comfort, of sorts. It’s familiar, in its way. Directives, duties…” Wryly, he added, “Before long I expect you’ll have fashioned me a uniform.”

“Dog’s head buckles,” she reminded him, and she kissed him.

“Like a coat of arms,” James murmured. When he kissed her in turn, he could only hope his week-old beard did not scratch her too terribly. It was, of course, a silly concern. She liked his beard, and cupped his cheek to hold him closer.

“I don’t want to just give you - more of the same, you know-”

“Elizabeth,” he said, “you have seen what I am like in the absence of the same.”

“True,” she said, with a gentle laugh. “And yet somehow there is still so much ass-kicking either way,” and she tousled his hair. Short as it was, it was actually beginning to show its growth far more evidently week by week now than it ever had worn long, and there was by now too much of it to fit neatly under a wig anymore without arranging it. He was beginning to look rather more like a common sailor than a Navy officer, present or former.

“Well,” he said, “I believe the point stands nonetheless. It’s… easier this way, I think. I’m used to living by defined parameters.”

“So am I, but I didn’t like it,” she pointed out, and laughed as she kissed him again.  “We must find some way to meet in the middle.”

“I’m best suited to this kind of structure,” James protested. “It’s… well, it’s a purpose.”

“It’s a what,” she asked in glee.

“It’s something by which I can order my life.”

“Those aren’t the same thing-”

“Elizabeth,” he said, “you are the only thing left in the world about which I care enough to do that.”

Elizabeth was a little overcome, but it manifested in the only way she knew how to show it - in delight.  She kissed him - tried to topple him, in fact.

“Elizabeth-“

There wasn’t much room in the cabin. James hit the bed with a thump, startled into laughter.

“My God-“

“Don’t go that far,” she teased him, to which he rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“You’re going to make me break the bed-“

“I would have you on the floor, if I had to,” she said smoothly.  “Though I don’t fancy explaining to Barbossa what happened to his guest room-”

“I scarcely fit on the bed the other night as it is,” he said pointedly.

“You’re a lot of man.”

“You haven’t much basis for comparison,” he conceded modestly.  Elizabeth slid off him, laughing.  It was less immediately fun than kissing was, but it was not so bad, once the mood had settled, to be lying on a bed with someone with the mid-afternoon sun drifting in through a window and your hand stroking their cheek.  

And when they were not presently talking, James got a look in his eyes that he only gave her - like he did not believe what he saw, but wanted to.  She had willfully ignored that before.  She supposed she hadn’t liked feeling guilty about it. She felt guilty about it still, but it was worth a twinge or two of that to look at him, looking at her.

“Is that all you meant to clear up, then?” he asked.

“That I don’t fancy her? Yeah,” she said with a snort in concession to her own foolishness. Her hand slid down from his face, her fingers dragging over his throat, as she moved to lay it over his heart. Jones’ was beating nearby, but that wasn’t the heartbeat she wanted to feel.

“If you did,” he said carefully, “I doubt there would be much I could do about it.”

“There would be something I could do about it,” said Elizabeth, her own pulse quickening. Her eyes moved from her hand on his heart to his eyes, looking fierce, and perhaps a little desperate.  “James, you don’t think I’d-?”

“You left your husband on my account,” he sighed. “I am aware that this is by no means a conventional arrangement.”

“I didn’t-”  Her anguish showed on her face and smothered whatever words she wanted to say.  She couldn’t even think of any.

“Elizabeth,” he began, as he reached out to touch her face, then thought better of it. “Have I spoken out of turn?”

“You don’t think that I’m just some - I’m just faithless - I’m just looking for a good time and with anybody, do you-”

“I never said that,” James interrupted. “Nor do I believe it.”

Elizabeth was so upset and rattled by this that she needed to be embraced, immediately. James was quick to oblige.

“It is only that your separation was so sudden, that I don’t know what I may fairly… hold you to,” he said, in the same cautious tone.

“If Will had not left - if Will had asked me to choose,” said Elizabeth quietly, “I was going to… I was going to stop with you both.”

“Ah,” said James. “I- well.”

He had no idea what to say to that, so he decided not to try. It wasn’t much, he knew- it was at worst a confirmation of what he already feared, but he wanted a bottle like a man dying of thirst.

It was fortunate, at least, that he still wanted it less than he wanted Elizabeth.

“You will still have my loyalty, of course-“ he began.

“I don’t want someone else,” she said quickly, talking over him.

“Are you certain?”

“I know I couldn’t choose before - I’m sorry for that,” she said, still speaking quickly, and trying, perhaps somewhat wretchedly, to comfort him by smoothing his hair back from his forehead. “But God, if I loved you any less, I would have shut it away for good, I would have stayed with Will and I would never have let you know.  I tried to.  I couldn’t - and I didn’t want to.  I didn’t want to.”

“Elizabeth,” he sighed. “Please don’t apologize. You know I had relinquished our relationship, such as it ever was, that night on the Dutchman.”

“Did you?  It seems to me you renewed it - such as it ever was.  Or perhaps it started then.”  She pressed the top of her head up against his chin, shutting her eyes with her face so near his throat the lashes brushed against his skin.

“Mm. What would the crew think if they saw you like this?”

“Don’t care.”

“Not that I am ungrateful,” he said, burying his hand in her hair and rubbing the back of her neck, “but I would hate to see you endanger your standing with a midday tumble in your dog’s arms.”

“‘I have a headache,’” she moaned in preparation, pressing her forehead against him pathetically.  “‘Ooh, I think my head’s going to explode-’”

“So you come to your drunken dog for relief?” James retorted, not unfondly, and tenderly smoothing her hair back as though she really were in pain all the same.

“Maybe I need a very special medicine-”

“You say that and they’ll assume you mean tincture of laudanum, coming to me.”

“Maybe I do. Oh, James, why can’t you shut up, I was trying to be nice-” she said affectionately.

“Because you have a reputation you told me you must maintain on pain of death- God help me, Lizzy, I know what that’s like.”

He didn’t emphasize this by sitting up for fear of dislodging her, but he lifted his head enough to hopefully convey the seriousness of the situation.

“What kind of gap do you think exists between what they think we are doing in here and what we are doing in here?” she asked in some annoyance.  “As if anyone would be surprised that we are in bed.”

“I don’t want to cause you any greater trouble than my lassitude already has,” James said. “Please.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, got to a sitting position and gestured at him to stay where he was.  Then she took him by the wrists and straddled him.  The movement seemed… abrupt.

“Now may I have a serious conversation with you without fearing for my God damn reputation?”

James slowly looked her over as well as he could from his position, eyes widening.

“Er. Yes, I suppose this will do-“

“Will it?” she asked, pinning his wrists to the mattress on either side of his head.  It wasn’t a particularly uncomfortable position to have him in.  “Because if not I shall begin to insist we spend every minute of our alone time with you bent over something just in case someone walks in on it.”

“Elizabeth-“

“That a yes, dog?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

She brought one hand up to her mouth and kissed the palm of it before pressing it over her own heart and holding it there.  An apology.

“I meant to say earlier, I do not attempt to paint myself better than I am: I did not really choose you.  But James, I would.  I would now.  Do you believe me?”

He wanted to.

He wasn’t sure.

“Of course,” he said, without hesitation.

She smiled somewhat painfully.  She didn’t believe him.  But she leaned down and kissed him all the same.

“Just tell me what you need from me,” James murmured between kisses, “and I will do it…”

“Tell me, James,” she sighed, letting his other hand go so that he could, hopefully, touch her with it.  Her grip on his other she maintained, entwining their fingers, rubbing her thumb over his fingers, bidding him feel her heartbeat.   “What is it like, to possess the heart of the most dangerous person on the sea?”

He slid his fingers into her hair.

“It is a tremendous burden that I know has placed me in harm’s way,” he said softly, gazing up at her, “but which I would not trade for the world…”

Fuck her reputation.

Elizabeth dropped down to embrace him again, and she was trembling with gratitude. James, misunderstanding, pushed up in alarm.

“Elizabeth?”

“Hold me, James-”

“Ssh- I’m here. Tell me what’s frightened you, sweetheart-“

“Nothing-”  Realizing where he had misunderstood her, she willed herself to relax into his arms and pushed herself up just enough to press kisses all over his face.

“Elizabeth-“

He didn’t exactly mind being kissed, but something about it was still hitting a false note.

“Elizabeth, please-“

“What is it?”

“Are you all right? You’re shaking,” he said, taking her hand in his own, which was thankfully steady now that his drinking tremors had passed.

She leaned up just enough to look down at him and see his face, smiling ruefully.

“I don’t deserve your love, but I want it,” she said, releasing the hand of his she held so that she could gently cup his face instead.  She brushed her thumb over the new beard developing on his handsome jawline as she kissed his open mouth.

“I suppose-“

He didn’t get to finish the sentence; kissing her was better than that, and her hair and the back of her neck were both in easy caressing distance.

The longer they did this, the likelier it became that someone would come looking for them, and the harder it became to stop.  Eventually Elizabeth decided that there was an easy explanation - she could say they were eating their lunch, the hour was late enough - and then realized that the best way to actually implement that was to acquire lunch so that they could eat it and then resume whatever they were doing. Also, she didn’t want James to go without food for very long; she thought it seemed likely to agitate his desire to drink.

The reluctantly agreed to part ways and then do just that, spending some time actually captaining before reconvening with food.  Elizabeth thought she would get the eating over and done with quickly, on account of being hungrier for something else entirely.  It turned out she was, mostly, just hungry.  She sat with him on the bed, one leg proprietarily over his leg, eating from a large platter she’d assembled for them both.  It was nothing fancy, in spite of their captain status; it was the same thing everyone else ate, plus some of Barbossa’s fruit.

“Are we packing more provisions at the witch’s house?” James asked, after swallowing a bit of what had been ostentatiously marked as PROSCIUTTO DI PARMA but was plainly the same salted pork he was already used to from his time in the Navy. On reflection, he wasn’t sure if there was actually much of a difference between Prosciutto di Parma and salt pork, but he had to concede that he didn’t have enough of a finely developed palate to entirely know the difference- though it did seem just like Barbossa to stock the ship with salt pork under a more impressive name.

It was the oranges that were of more interest to him- they were small, of course, not like the fist-sized delicacies he’d occasionally eaten in Jamaica, but very sweet, and capable of being peeled without a knife. All he had to do was dig his thumbnail into the peel and pull, and it came away in thick, sweet-smelling flakes that could be saved and dried to grate for-

Well, perhaps not rum, in his case, but they would probably still lend a good taste to water they were boiled in. He tried not to think about rum by breaking up the little orange and offering Elizabeth a wedge.

Elizabeth smirked at him, took his wrist and ate the slice from his fingers, though gracefully enough that she started to laugh at herself.

“There,” he teased. “If the rumors are true, there’s another six weeks of good health for you.”

“I’ve heard other rumors,” she said primly.  “Perhaps I ought to spend some alone time with our Spanish lady.”

This took James a moment, after which his eyes rolled directly back into his head to the point of nearly going white. Elizabeth started giggling and tapping him on the ribs with her fingertips.

“I haven’t even given you a proper demonstration of that,” he said, pointing at her to emphasize it, “so good luck with that.”

(This was about as filthy as he could yet tolerate being with Elizabeth.)

“I think it would be fairly intuitive. I can empathize; you can’t.”

He paused, about to ask exactly how knowledgeable her empathy was, and then looked at her hand and decided against it.

“I do not see what is meant to be so distracting about her. I have yet to have so much as a clear view of her face with that hat in the way.”

Elizabeth made a cupping gesture over her own chest and looked at him in disbelief. James, in turn, gestured as though grabbing coat lapels that covered anything beneath them.

“Christ’s wounds,” said Elizabeth in near scorn, “what did you see in me?  Do you have eyes?”

“You were already a dear friend,” James said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes again. “Not everyone pays attention to these things, Elizabeth. If I went noticing every time a handsome woman walked in front of me I would accomplish nothing but proving the worst ideas about the Navy to be incontrovertible-“

Elizabeth wanted to roll her eyes at him, but she realized she had managed to overlook his entire descent into bearded, open-shirted beauty the first time he’d sported it and that it was relatively easy to do.

“I give you permission,” she said, carefully and chastely, “to notice her.  And report back to me on it, will you?”

“And then what?” James demanded in exasperation. “Is it not enough to concede that the woman is good-looking?”

“Maybe I will make you tell me your fantasies,” asked Elizabeth, teasing him and moving gingerly to her side.  Her leg remained over his, but now she slid it underneath the other, which somehow seemed even more intimate.

“So now I’ve been tasked with inventing fantasies,” he said, giving her a very flat look up from his orange.

“Do you not have fantasies?  You’re a- used to be - a naval officer.  What else could you have done with your nights?”  In spite of the topic, Elizabeth’s frown was more curious than salacious.

“I slept,” he said stiffly. “I made plans. I wrote in my log- what, do you suppose I had time to dwell on carnal matters-”

“Who doesn’t have time for a little bit of dwelling-”

“There’s little point in dwelling when one is three weeks from port!”

“It was a euphemism!”

“I had to be prepared for someone to come knocking on my cabin door at all hours,” said James, with an attempt at firm dignity. “It was not… prudent, to prioritize such matters.”

“They could hardly be surprised - they’d have been doing it, too.”

“Yes,” he said patiently, “but as an example-”

“Of what, impotence?”

“You are in a uniquely suited position to know otherwise,” said James, just before he tipped back a tin cup of a disappointing mixture of coconut water and lemon juice.

“Just the thing to recommend you to a girl’s father. ‘Sir, I am capable, yet wholly sexless.  I do not notice contours of any kind-’”

“Elizabeth-”

“What a wedding night,” she said, casting him an amused, but detached look - not a cruel one, but one unsympathetic enough to unintentionally hurt - as she sipped her own cup and pulled a face, bearing it well, especially for a lady raised on teacakes and prime cuts.  “No fantasies to speak of, just your good Navy enthusiasm for doing your duty-”

“I told you,” he said, with an annoyed, forced evenness, “I practiced.”

“Good. It sounds as though you need to.”

“Most men do, if Lettie’s word is to be trusted.”

“Not at pleasuring themselves,” she said dismissively.

“Why do you want this so close to my mind?” James blurted.

“I’d flattered myself you’d wanted me,” she said, a touch bitter, and then surprised at that.  “That’s all.”

“Of course I wanted to marry you,” James said, frowning.

“Oh, you idiot,” she said, now in real irritation, flushing and feebly kicking him.

“Elizabeth-”

He had to cover his cup to keep it from spilling.

“And what do husbands and wives do, do you know that part?”

“Yes,” he said in frustration. “That’s why I sought out lessons.”

“But you never thought about - about it?”

He shrugged.

“It seemed… uncouth.”

She stared at him.

“Thinking in such a manner, of a woman who had not yet made herself available in such a way…” he said, spreading his hands apologetically.

“Nothing?”

“I suppose I thought of… kissing you,” he admitted. “Carrying you into the bedroom-”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, turning pink, and glanced aside.  But after a moment she stole a look back at him and said, “Really?”  She smiled involuntarily, only for a moment, before composing her expression as casually as possible.

“That seemed suitable,” he said. “Acceptable.”

“And - what did you - What did you imagine to be my reaction-”

“I suppose I hoped you might lean your head on my shoulder-” He gestured to the specific place, just beyond his neck.

Elizabeth felt like she was, strangely, vibrating - like a phone ringing on silent.  “Do you remember - do you remember walking with me in the garden at my father’s house-”

“I’m ashamed to say I have dwelled upon it, in my lower moments,” he said, eyes averted.

“Why did you try nothing? You never even took my hand-”

He looked up at her again.

“I did not wish to be overzealous in my affections.”

“You didn’t have any zeal.”

“Or so you believed.”

“So you showed!”

“It would have been unseemly to do otherwise!”

“More fool you,” she said coolly, though the momentary flash of anger in her eyes was all heat. “I do think you had a chance then.”

James stared at her, stunned into silence.

“Well,” he said finally. “There is little point in regretting that at this late date-”

“You didn’t think about it at all?” Elizabeth interrupted him, swiftly and in enough agitation to reveal how personally wounded she felt by it.  “You didn’t - nothing?”

“I didn’t think about that with anyone!” James retorted.

“But you wanted to marry me-”

“I don’t- Elizabeth, I don’t dwell on such things. I never have-”

She looked hurt, she felt foolish for looking hurt, and she tried to end the conversation, or her part of it, by taking the last swallows of the tasteless anti-scurvy concoction, but it only invited comparison to all the prim sips of tea she’d sipped across a delicate wooden table from this man in well-bred company and know that his eye had never once slipped over her décolletage.

“I- the few times it occurred to me, I pushed it away. It seemed a grotesque violation,” said James.

“It - it did occur to you, though?” asked Elizabeth, wanting to stop herself from seeming too vain and pathetic, and undercutting it with her smile of relief.

“The thought of you taking your hair down-”

Elizabeth’s mouth opened, and the blood rushed to her face.  She avoided his eyes, but hers were wide.

“-I had to shut it out,” he said, too quickly. “The- the implied intimacy-”

“You’re making me wish I wore it up again,” she said with a nervous laugh.  It died on her dry lips as she looked at him.

“No, you don’t,” he said ruefully. “I drank to dull the thought of it.”

“I suppose it isn’t the same when I braid it up, is it.”

“It’s different now,” he said. “And we have already been rather intimate.”

“I know,” she said; “but only twice.”

“Only twice!”

“Are you counting more than once in one day? I am counting by days-”

“And that’s leaving off Tortuga-”

She flushed yet again.  “Yes, there is that, but- James, I-”  She broke off and bit her lip, smiling down at the abandoned rest of their luncheon, feeling a greater fool than she had accused him of being.  

“Yes?”

He reached for her hand. That only embarrassed her further, when moments ago she had been accusing him of not wanting to touch her enough.

“I know I may be a king of pirates, and a rather undeserving captain, to boot- but I still have all the vanities of a lady,” she said with a rueful, but sincere smile, still looking down, now focusing her attention on their hands, as she rubbed her thumb over the back of his.

“Why, then, do you wish for me to pay more attention to the Spanish girl?” he asked, genuinely baffled. “I love you, Elizabeth. I love you.”

She looked at him abruptly, a lost and wondering look in her eyes. James smiled for a quick moment, but it fell just as quickly as he returned to his plate.

“I just want….” she began, but she couldn’t finish, and withdrew her hand.  The moment seemed to have passed very quickly, but she had lost her appetite for their meal, which was not particularly flavorful, anyway.  She saw why their men enjoyed their rum so much, and made a compartmentalized mental note to herself to find something to alleviate that when they were back from this latest mess of Jack’s.

He watched her, and while it occurred to him to ask what she meant, he feared that would seem graceless and prying even now. He touched her knee instead, with a look of concern.  She looked quickly up at him and smiled again; it was a reflex, but it was sincere, though it had a lot in common with smiles she had given him in years past that had been more than a little pained.

“...what all women want,” she said quietly. “Pirate King or not.  To be wanted.  And beautiful. I feel…. If it is a choice, of course I will choose my freedom.  It is a pretty poor trade, to imprison all women and tell them that they inspire poems and paintings and whatever.  But I did not realize what I might miss from that life until you returned to me and I saw myself through your eyes.”

“I would never have satisfied you on that account,” he said, moving his hand away. “I do not- I feel as though any inclinations of an artistic nature I might once have had were stunted, burned out. You should have seen the poetry I once wrote Mrs. Fenton.”

He made a rueful little scoffing noise.

“I never gave it to her. Nor, do I think, were any about the woman herself, so you needn’t feel jealous of that.”

“No, that isn’t what I meant-” she said in frustration. “All women, including your Mrs. Fenton - we’re only ever allowed to be beautiful and married.  And we don’t have a choice in that matter - well, if we do, we invite the world’s judgment.  That’s the only way to do anything, as a girl.  If you’re beautiful or if you marry well.  It’s even worse for women like Giselle.  She’s not exactly been courted by commodores,” she said moodily, tossing her empty cup onto the floor, where it clattered.  “Not unless you mean so very euphemistically. Well, I’m not sorry I chose this over that. I just didn’t realize until you got here that I would miss any of it.  The nicer bits.  The ones that are supposed to make up for the crap.”

James watched her for a long moment.

“...I didn’t realize,” he said softly. “I thought you were in your element here.”

“I want to think so,” she said with a quiet, harsh laugh. “Sometimes I feel as out of place as I ever did in Port Royal, though.  I like it best when you’re here.  You’re my people, James.  You’re not Port Royal - not really - and you’re not really pirate, either.  But making do.  And it suits you, but you haven’t gotten there yet.  Like me -”

He nearly protested that he wasn’t making do as much as he was finding the only use he had left, but if even a little of that use was to make her feel less useless and out of place by her own reckoning, it wasn’t that terrible, he supposed. Instead of reaching for her hand, which he supposed would read as a weak and sexless gesture after everything they had just discussed, he moved the tray aside and picked up another orange, meeting her eyes as he did.

He peeled it, broke off another little wedge, and held it out to her lips between his fingertips.

“You’re doing a better job than you think.”

This time she held onto his hand, and kept her eyes on his as she accepted the orange.  It did not have the amusing undercurrent it had had earlier.  She took it as an apology, though she expected neither of them fully knew what he needed to apologize for - possibly every dim thing that had passed between them in another lifetime.  She also felt that the brush of his thumb against the inside of her upper lip sent a chill down her back even in the Caribbean climate, and when she had swallowed the orange she kept her hand on his - fingers on his palm, thumb at the back of his hand- and kissed his knuckles, returning his gaze again.

“I know that this may not be of any reassurance,” he said, “but I only feel as though I’ve truly made your acquaintance out here, as you- as we are, presently. I believe that in turn my affection has only increased.”

He hazarded a smile.  Elizabeth reached out and brushed her thumb over that smile, entwining the fingers of her other hand with the hand of his she held.

“I feel as though I’ve met you for the first time, and yet as if I’ve known you forever, better and longer than I’ve ever known anyone,” she said in wonder. “I can’t explain it.  It as though knowing you now illuminates every single thing you’ve ever said or done before.  And now I recall things that irritated me or bored me in the past, and I see them differently, and I love you for them - as if I always had.  That’s funny, isn’t it?”

“It’s encouraging,” he said, laughing.

“Is that what it is for you, too?”

“It’s a welcome reminder of continuity,” said James, “to know that you see me as an improved continuation of my prior life, rather than the ruins of it. For me, watching you- it is like watching a rose bush become a bower and climb over the walls of the manor house that once kept it trimmed and arranged for display.”

“That’s poetry, James,” she pointed out, but she let go of him.  

She wanted to put these dishes on the floor.

And then she wanted to rest her head exactly where he’d said he had once thought of.  That one little concession to her aforementioned vanity - telling her that.  

“You’re right,” she said, with a sigh of contentment, shutting her eyes.  “It wouldn’t have been appropriate to think of any more than this, not when I wasn’t yours.  But it would be nice - it would be nice to know I had inspired that.  Back when I was still capable of being pretty.  When I was supposed to be.”

“You are far lovelier now than you were then,” he murmured. “There is a joy in your eyes you once pointedly lacked.”

“That’s also poetry.”

“Nothing very good, though, is it?” he laughed.

“Second-rate poems, for a second-rate mistress,” she said with a bitter laugh of her own.  “It suits me fine.”

“You’re far too lethal to be counted as a second rate,” James said dryly.

She still looked morose, but she couldn’t grudge him a smile.  “Yeah.  I did a fairly good job of ruining your life, after all.  Now you’re stuck with me.”

“Elizabeth,” he sighed, “I was already a-“

He swallowed.

“Elizabeth. Listen to me. I was a pirate-hunting drunk who had most likely reached the end of his promotional ladder when I brought you into that battlement and asked for your hand. All right? Does that assuage you? If the Admiralty had any faith in my ongoing prospects, they would have sent me off to the Channel, or at least out to deal with French ships off of Jamaica, not pirates. I’m not even the youngest to have made Commodore. They gave that to Keppel only a few months past, and he’s of an age with you, I believe, and created a viscount besides. That’s what they do for men with futures. I’m not- I wasn’t the great, promising leader you thought. I was only ever the… the backup system, and already in my cups when you weren’t looking. You ruined nothing- because looking back, there was nothing to ruin. I did not see it then, but it is plain now.”

He said this firmly- almost fiercely- and made his point by kissing her at its conclusion.  She had been angry enough at what he said to be thoroughly thrown off by that, but after accepting the kiss for just a moment, she took his face in her hands and pulled back enough to look him in the eye.

“My father didn’t think so,” she said defiantly, and made her point by kissing him.

“Your father probably believed I would eventually follow him into the governor’s mansion,” James shot back when he could free his mouth long enough to say so, and then kissing her again to smother her argument.

“And- mm-” Elizabeth was faring worse than he was, having no practice, as he apparently had, at stifling her libido, and presently wanting him very much to keep his mouth where it was, “-you- might’ve- done-”

“I’m- mm- hardly a political animal-“

“I suppose he thought-- “ Elizabeth was nearly panting, she so struggled to kiss him and speak at once that she forgot to breathe. “-- I’d do it for you--”

“Pr- probably-“

Elizabeth put her hand between his thighs while slipping her tongue into his mouth with a moan of resignation. James smirked against her mouth and did what little he could under the circumstances to move himself back from her hand, teasing her.  Elizabeth reached forward for him enough to lose her balance, narrowly avoiding a painful collision of their faces but unable to evade making an idiot of herself as she fell onto his chest.

James laughed affectionately and helped her up.

“You really ought to be more patient.”

“I can’t,” she entreated, putting her hands on his arms and sliding them upwards, pulling herself closer into his lap in the process.  “I spend every moment I can spare thinking on your beautiful face -- and the last place you put it--”

“Not bad for capable yet sexless, was it?” he said pointedly.

“You win,” she wheedled, nuzzling him. “You win, darling.  You’re all man, every inch-”

“You haven’t had every inch yet,” he reminded her.

“I’ve seen it,” she said, sliding her hand up his thigh again, and tilting her head up to look into his eyes.  “Every inch.”

James crossed his legs.

“Patience is a virtue.”

“Pirate,” she reminded him, her lips smiling against his.

“Even so-”

“Do you really not want me?” she asked, hands resting on his knees, tilting her head.

“Of course I want you,” he said, leaning forward to claim her mouth.

“Then why don’t you want me?” she asked softly.

“I do-”

He put his hand on hers.

“-but not right now.”

“I can entice you, if you like…” she said, bringing his hand to her throat and pressing his palm over her collarbone.

“In the middle of the day?” he asked, leaning closer.

“Oh- shit- that’s right,” she said, breaking the mood so abruptly and wincing at her own stupidity such that she did not see him blinking.  “I forgot to tell you - Giselle wants to have a little all-girls party and I offered up the cabin as a meeting place.  There’s nowhere else we can actually seclude ourselves.”

“Why are you asking me?” James asked, taking her hands. “It’s your cabin.”

“I’m not asking you,” she said wryly, kissing him on the cheek.  “You’re being informed.  Unfortunately…”

“Well,” he said, “some of us can wait.”

He kissed her again, as though his cheek were not enough.  She accepted the kiss, but did not deepen it, because she wanted to argue that point.

“But why should we have to, when we are here together now…”

“For the sake of your reputation, at the very least,” James said insistently, leaning his forehead against hers. His eye was less bloodshot now- the pooled blood had receded, and was replaced by a small pink filigree burst.  

“I don’t think it harms my reputation to abscond into my cabin after lunch to make my mistress service me,” she argued. “Barbossa spends his free time training a monkey and sewing it its own little outfits!”

“Then allow me to service you,” he said pointedly. “Let me tend to you, as your dog.”

She closed one hand into a fist and weakly pressed it against his chest, where she unfurled it and sadly rubbed her fingers over his collarbone.

“That isn’t what I want, James.”

“What… precisely… do you want, then, Elizabeth?” he asked, tipping her face up to his.

She tilted her head enough to kiss his thumb, then shut her eyes and lean into his hand.

“It’s my turn. I want to taste you.”

“Are you certain that’s wise, Your Majesty? Anyone could come in here, cameras blazing-”

“They had better not,” she said, kissing his palm affectionately.  “Tell me you don’t want me to, and I’ll stop. I’m not trying to make you-”

“It’s your standing that I’m worried about,” he said as he moved his hand to cup her cheek instead. “You’ve much more to lose- as both King, and as a woman.”

“I don’t think anyone is going to come in, and besides - if they do we can very easily pretend I’m doing something else-”

“And what would that be-”

“Come on,” she said, eye-rolling.  She did not elaborate.  “Besides, I hate to shock you, but if anyone came into my cabin without even knocking first, I would shoot him regardless of what I were doing.  That would uphold my reputation.”

“I’m afraid I’m not exactly prepared,” he retorted.

“For what?”

He gestured down between his legs, rolling his eyes at the indignity of having to indicate this.

“I don’t expect that to last. You adore me.”

“Of course I do,” he said indignantly. “But the timing at present-“

“What, you can’t get it up when the sun is?” she asked, baffled.  “Come lie down with me and we’ll kiss for a while, then…”

“If her majesty insists,” said James, with an exaggerated seated bow. “But this might take some time. I feel you ought to be forewarned.”

“It’s good enough to be kissing,” said Elizabeth, visibly perking up at the implication that they would.  “Do you mind if I- get a little more comfortable-”

“Be my guest-“

Elizabeth shrugged off a number of accessories - belts, a waistcoat, a lot of weapons - until she wore just her trousers and her shirt, then she enthusiastically kissed him - pulling herself close and throwing a leg over his lap. James startled and had to lean back on one arm to keep her from knocking the both of them over, but he put his other arm around her and deepened the kiss. Elizabeth rested her arms on his shoulders, playing with his hair while she kissed him.

“What are you doing up there,” he murmured, without much rebuke in his voice.

“I like it here,” she said with a sleepy-sounding, very contented laugh.  “Touch me. That’s an order.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” James sighed in affected weariness. “If I may speak in my defense, I never noticed any contours in Port Royal largely because a woman’s dress and all of that underlying scaffolding does not leave much contour to notice in the first place, save a bit of exaggerated bosom. This, now, on the other hand…”

It felt forward to admit, even now, with her flopped against him and her mass of loosened hair falling freely, but he did as he was told and slid his hand against her side, through her thin shirt.

“God help me, Elizabeth,” he said, fully aware of the type of teasing this was inviting. “I… I like you very much in men’s clothing.”

Elizabeth’s eyes, shut to better savor the touch of his hands, opened wide at the specifics of that, startling her into laughing.  “Good Lord, I hope that is not to imply I look enough like a boy for you-”

“It’s quite the opposite, really,” he said. “Women in stays all have the same sort of shape. I feel I can form a greater… appreciation this way.”

He showed her what he meant with an appreciative slip of the hand to meet her bosom over the shirt.  It took her by surprise.  In spite of what they’d been up to now - approaching nearly a month of being up to, in fact - she still reacted to being touched with a startling degree of innocence.  

“To say nothing of your legs- with a skirt and panniers you might as well be rolling about on casters-”

“You think I don’t - ohh, James.”  

She kissed him, distractedly.

“Mm- what’s that?”

“I hated those skirts,” she whispered affectionately, trying to get closer to him without hindering him at the same time.

“Did you? I never noticed- at least not once you were no longer a girl-”

“Yes, I finally conquered it,” Elizabeth laughed.  “Womanhood - the whole mess-”

“I rather assumed if we married that you’d end up in breeches eventually,” he admitted, “being at sea and all that.”

“Is that something you thought about?” she asked, with a curious frown.

He blanched, eyes widening.

“-here and there-” he said, rather quickly.

Elizabeth bit her lower lip, but it did not disguise her smile of contentment.  She wasn’t smug; she was too sincerely happy to hear it for that.  

“I suppose you’re closer now to the ideal I had for our future than you ever were in Port Royal,” James said, a little helplessly. “Does that reassure you?”

“It does.”

“Good,” he said softly. “I feared you might find it… perverse, in some way.”

“After everything I just said to you?” she teased him - gently; he seemed delicate now.

“Especially after your fear that I prefer you as a boy-“

“I mean, I seem to have made a rather convincing one, without too much alteration to my appearance-” she said with a rueful laugh.

“With your head held down, in an outsized coat,” he reminded her, peppering the sentence with tiny kisses intended to reassure her, “and your hair in a queue, with whatever possessed you to do this-“

He touched one of the shorter locks of hair that still fell around her face. At the time he referred to, they had been a short fringe that fell only as far as her cheekbones.

He did not bring up that he had been miserably drunk when he first failed to recognize her.

“I wonder what I looked like when I first heard you,” she said, trying to suppress her laughter and succeeding only insofar as it sounded like she was suppressing a series of coughs.  “It must have been something - I could not believe it at first -”

“I didn’t notice,” he said darkly. “I was somewhat preoccupied, as you might recall.”

“I was around the pillar from you. I couldn’t see you. I came in right in the middle of it.”

“Oh, don’t remind me-”

“Your voice,” she said, touching his throat and gazing at him, eyes not fully focused.  “It took a moment to understand I was really hearing it, but you’re unmistakeable.”

“So I’ve been told,” he groaned. “I was not incognito for very long after they left me there.”

But despite this unpleasant reminder, he had no intention of letting this bog down their time together. His hands found the lacing of her shirt and untied it.

She gasped. That plucked her out of her memories, and how.

“It’s harder to ignore this, too,” James murmured, opening the lacing to expose her bosom.

“Well, now that I’ve stopped wearing jumps, I imagine-” she said in an attempt to seem still very composed, ruined entirely by her inability to breathe.

“Even in jumps,” he objected. “Though I can’t say I mind this- it’s not like stays, of course it shows in stays-”

“I’m flattered,” she said, flatly, but not flattered.

“And honestly, if one lives with enough men for long enough, stays lose their charm,” he added dryly. “That’s something I suppose you’ve been spared living among pirates- the spectacle of everything men have under their clothes-”

“I don’t have the slimmest fraction of an idea of what you mean,” she said flatly. “James, where - pray tell, if you know, if you’ve noticed - are the men, with whom I travel, from?”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” he said, waving it off. “That’s why you’ve never seen a man’s stays, or his stock-padding, or anything of that nature. That quite destroyed any eroticism a woman’s underthings might have had for me.”

“So you’re telling me I have more of an appreciation for that than you have.”

“I reckon so,” he said cautiously.

“I suppose it’s different, being one,” she said, with more nostalgic reflection than she realized.  “Everything that’s a burden to wear on oneself is a joy to complain about with other girls.”

“It’s the one thing I was spared, I imagine, being put to sea so young,” he said, with a brief laugh. “The admiral saw no point in having me trussed up as a boy, and I suppose as I grew older I was too proud to go in for any of that.”

“Nothing would fit anyway,” Elizabeth remarked economically.

“That too,” he said flatly.

“Do you think you like women less because you’ve seen them so seldom?”

James frowned.

“What are you talking about? Of course I’m fond of women-”

“Perhaps in some kind of eccentric manner,” she said.  “Haven’t you sort of noticed your feelings, as you describe them, are morbidly cool?  I think I have shown more enthusiasm, and I am a woman-”

“I had other matters- other goals on which to train my sight,” he said vaguely.

“But for recreation-”

“I… I did seek it out from time to time, in port,” he said carefully. “To… relax. It was a far sight better than fumbling in the dark below deck-”

“It just seems to be - unusual,” said Elizabeth, choosing her words carefully, and noticing with dismay she had apparently driven him from his affections, “for a man to disdain every single female practice with an object of attracting men.”

“It never struck me as important,” he said. “Merely incidental.”

Elizabeth leaned her head cautiously on his shoulder, looking almost troubled.

“Would you like me to continue?” he asked, sitting up. “Elizabeth- please don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. I find you to be- well. Probably the loveliest woman I have ever met-“

Elizabeth flushed very suddenly, startled out of a reminiscence that resembled a daydream in most ways to be reminded of the present in only the most pleasing manner possible.

“Oh, James.  That’s - I cannot imagine why, and you knew me all throughout my gargoyle years, too-”

“Your- Elizabeth, don’t be ridiculous,” he said, taking her into his arms again reassuringly, with his hand in her hair to match. “Gargoyle years?”

“Comedic exaggeration-”  Elizabeth was almost affronted for a moment that he had read her as being so self-deprecating, but then again, if James had said something similar, he would have meant it.  “Mostly in that I was a terror, and I heartily embraced it.”

“I dare say you’re back to that,” he teased, “but rather prettier this time-“

“It took a while to grow into my chin,” she said primly.

He kissed it, pointedly, and she burst into graceless laughter - probably spitting on him in the process.  

“Stop!”

“I suppose you did. I never thought of it with that level of exactitude.”

“After all that you’ve told me,” she said, in fond exasperation, but with an emphasis on the exasperation, “I am amazed you ever noticed anything.”

“Perhaps if you’d dressed more like this,” he said, “I may have had a greater recognition that I would be far worse at concealing-“

“Dressed like one of your navy lads?” she said, smirking.

“If you insist on putting it that way, yes,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“If I could have, I would have,” she said, realizing the moment the words left her lips how true it was.

She had wanted a lot of things, as she burned candles to nubs in her room at night trying to finish lurid pamphlets about pirates, dry books about ancient societies and illustrated texts about insects or whatever else it was she did as a child, and all of them represented the same thing to

her - freedom from everything she was being raised to be.  She had stolen Estrella’s clothes more than once to travel into town incognito and if she could have pretended to be a boy the way she later had on the Edinburgh Trader, she realized, she would have - not merely for the greater freedom, but for the greater comfort as well.

“I endeavor to strike a better balance, in the future, between men and women’s dress,” she admitted, “and English and Chinese dress, too, for that matter - but for the time being - it’s bare breasts and trousers, all the way-”

“You know,” he said, pulling her down toward him, “this is exactly why I love you.”

Elizabeth gasped in affronted delight, then kissed him.

“I’m rather glad, though, that in your pursuit of that you didn’t deprive the world of this,” he added, lightly gripping her hair.  

She shut her eyes, very briefly.

“Now that is my greatest vanity, and I cannot joke about it,” she said, clearly joking anyway, though she looked solemn.

“I don’t mean to suggest you would have been diminished without it,” he said, just as solemnly, “but I would have missed it all the same.”

He kissed a tress of it to emphasize his point.

“It’s permitted-” she laughed.

“Hm?” He was moving on to her neck now.

“It’s - oooh.”  She shut her eyes and leaned into it.  Between this and the placement of his hand, she did not know that she could form another sentence.

“I’m not certain I follow, Your Majesty,” he said as he settled on her collarbone.  She bobbed in his lap like a piece of driftwood, trying, simultaneously, to stay situated where it would be most pleasant, and to get his mouth on as much of her skin as possible, but he was so damn tall.

“James,” she complained.  

“Mm?”

“You have no right to be so good at this-”

“On account of the sexlessness?” he said dryly.

“Yes-”  Whether that was a response, though, or a slip in her composure, was unclear.

“How flattering,” he said, kissing between her breasts.

“Does this - does this bother you-” Elizabeth shut her eyes tightly and hoped he said it didn’t; she didn’t know what she would do if he stopped.

“Which part-“

“The part where we aren’t- married-”

“Elizabeth- I don’t think we ever shall be-“

“I know, but you’ve always been so proper,” she said. The irony of saying this astride his lap and panting heavily was not lost on her.  She reached for his hand and squeezed it over her breast, then pulled his head back by what little grip she could get on his hair and began to return the favor, kissing his throat, despite the beard.

James tensed and inhaled sharply.

“Pulling already-“

“It’s long enough-”

“Lovely,” he said dryly, though without totally losing his momentum. “Elizabeth-“

“Darling?”

“Give me a bit of warning next time, will you?”

“Oh, all right - next time I’ll just -”

She took his chin and jerked his head back - not hard, but suddenly.  Then it was her turn to lavish attention on his collarbones.

“Thanks-“

He hissed a little.

“They didn’t do that so often in Tortuga-“

“Oh, darling -” She straightened enough to kiss him softly on the mouth. “ -- I’m sorry.”

“You’d no way of knowing.”

“Still stands.”

He kissed her in turn to show his lack of anger.

“...thank you,” he said softly. “I hope that does not interfere with your desire.”

“It’s a bit of a disappointment,” she said, then sputtered in laughter at herself. “I should probably be more concerned by that.”

“I look forward to thinking of you in the future, and not…”

He struggled for the right word. Failing, he settled for merely ���That.”

Elizabeth smiled at him, touching his face gently with her fingertips.  In spite of their present activities, she found herself caught off guard by him - him hoping for their future together, hoping for her desire.  Sometimes she felt she had to catch her breath at how quickly things with James were progressing - currently it was a mixture of that and the way he looked.  The sunlight in his eyes, his eyelashes - ridiculous right now.

“I look forward to thinking of you in the future, too,” she said, a little shyly.

“I’m honored that you should want me,” he said, looking up at her, eyes soft with gratitude, “even knowing that I’ve-“

“Yes, James?”

“-disgraced myself, for the sake of a few bottles and a place to lay my head,” he said, reaching for her hand.

“I don’t care about that,” she said, lacing their fingers, then shutting her eyes and sorting this out in her head. “That is I don’t… want, or like, or respect you less for it. I care that you hated it.”

“It was worst when I didn’t,” he said softly. “If I could, I shut my eyes, and tried to think of anything else. I told myself I was a boy again, fumbling about in the dark below deck, getting release.”

He averted his eyes.

“I even climaxed a few times, doing that. It was a small relief, for a few minutes.”

Without looking at her, he shook his head and closed his eyes.

“I’d never done that as a boy. It was simply the nearest thing I could think of. On regaining my bearings, I felt worse for having even momentarily enjoyed it, and I’d drown the thought as soon as it came. I don’t know what any of that means.”

“Oh, James. Of course not.”

Elizabeth caressed his hair for a moment, then pulled his head down beneath her chin, which was just about the limit of how low she could bring him and how high she could sit.  She had to take a moment to find words; ordinarily she was quick-witted, but this required more from her than wit.  She could comfort him with her hands, though - one rubbing the hair at the nape of his neck, the other on his back.  She just wanted to hold him.

“There’s no shame in bearing misery.  There’s no shame in making misery bearable.  What else were you to do?  Die of it?”

“God knows I tried,” he said, with a weary laugh.

He closed his eyes again and let himself lean on her.

“I don’t want to any longer,” he said, after a long silence. “I don’t want to die.”

“Good,” she said.  She snorted into his hair, almost more in relief than amusement, then kissed the top of his head.  “Good.”

“Your patience is admirable,” he said, sitting up enough to face her again, hair ruffled from her ministrations. “I feel I ought to be more of a man than I am, for your sake, and that I am still regaining that particular suite of skills.”

“I find I do not require more or less of a man than you are.  We’re good here.”

He kissed her again- slowly, tenderly, as though thanking her.

“It’s as though it’s a weight I can’t be rid of- something cold and heavy at my center that I thought I could exorcise when I regained my life,” he admitted. “It never left. I don’t know if it can. I thought I would be rid of it under Beckett. Beckett didn’t change a damned thing. Beckett only made it colder, heavier-“

He caught himself before he could become any more vehement.

“...it’s still there,” he said. “But it is not half so cold nor heavy, here. I feel as though there is something beyond that, something I’m regaining- I don’t know. That probably sounds foolish, but it’s something-“

“I believe you,” she said softly, watching his eyes with wonder in hers.

Her expression did not go unnoticed.

“What is it?”

“Hm?”

“You look as though you’ve witnessed the Second Coming,” he said, smoothing her hair behind one ear.

“Bit of an exaggeration,” she said with a dry smile.

He smiled and suppressed a laugh.

“My apologies for the change of- we’ll say subject,” he said.

“Ah, well.” She laughed now.

“I will admit, it’s a relief to have finally said as much,” James said, nodding as though it were only dawning on him.

“I’m… I feel flattered that you told me,” she admitted, not certain he would take that well. “Like a secret confidence.”

“Whom else could I have told?” he asked, reaching for her hand.

Elizabeth kissed him.  That was like a secret confidence too - especially as there was still so much she wasn’t ready to tell him.

“There’s nothing else to tell,” he said, with the dawning realization of how true that was. “We’re back to where we began, with you knowing everything there is to know about me. I have not acquired any especially desirable secrets since then.”

He looked at her and smiled his old, strained smile, which broadened out his mouth but never reached his eyes. It was the same hesitant smile with which he had met her reluctant acceptance of his marriage proposal.

It was true, Elizabeth realized unpleasantly - they had gone back to that.  And again, Elizabeth’s secrets were about Will - and how much she cared for him.  She avoided the guilt his smile brought her by pulling him into another embrace, staring blankly over his shoulder and slipping her fingers into his hair with a tenderness he would not know was an apology.

“I will not burden you with any further details of that sorry period in my life,” he said, rather briskly. “Having it out on the table is its own relief.”

“You know you can tell me anything you want to,” she said, scolding him a little.

“I lost the tooth in the alley behind the Three-Breasted Siren,” he said flatly. “There. Now there is nothing else to tell.”

“Navy hazard, one way or the other.”

“It’s lucky to have gone that way,” he said, with a grim half-laugh.

“Indeed. I think king and country have suffered a great loss with your defection. I wonder who the handsomest man in the Royal Navy is now.”

He grinned, too flattered to complain.

“Elizabeth, that’s hardly important-“

“It is the little things in life,” said Elizabeth in an affectedly vainglorious manner.

“I certainly won’t be the handsomest lad on the other side of the operation,” he said agreeably. “I believe that falls to you.”

“Low,” she said with a short laugh. “Very low.”

“Not as low as your shirt has fallen.”

“You untied it,” she reminded him.

“And quite intentionally so,” he said as he slid his hands into it and down to her ribcage.

“Do you want to do this now?” she asked quietly, putting a hand over his elbow to pause him without pushing him away.  Her eyes sought his, even as she slid closer into his lap.  “There are other things I like to have your company in than this.”

“Enlighten me.”

“I like speaking with you,” she laughed; “did you think I didn’t?”

“No,” he said, “but I believed you enjoyed other things more.”

“They’re still new to me,” said Elizabeth, coloring. “I can’t help it if I find them distracting.”  She walked her fingers up his arm to rub at his collarbone again. She would have to express her gratitude to Giselle later for convincing James to dress like this.

“Now what-“ he said, affectionate and bewildered all at once.

She looked mildly irritated at him.  As though he didn’t know.  “Nothing.”

“What did you wish to speak of, then?”

“Oh, anything,” said Elizabeth, realizing that was what they were doing now with a mixture of disappointment and relief, and slipping sideways off his lap, she settled into a comfortable position on the bed, lying on her side, head leaning on her hand.  “We are friends, aren’t we?”

“Rather more than that, at this rate,” he said as he leaned back down to pull the tray up again. “Or so I may hope.”

She graced him with a smile.

“Mutual mistresses,” she said, smile now showing teeth.

“There is a masculine term for that,” he countered. “Two, actually- though having learned them, ‘mistress’ may be the more palatable after all.”

“Enlighten me,” said Elizabeth, sticking her fingers into an orange.

“Kept boy,” he said flatly.

“Actually think Barbossa might have said that,” she said, managing to make sloppily eating fruit look erotic; the open shirt did not help.  “Don’t properly recall.”

“Barbossa must be taking an interest, then, because he supplied the second as well.”

“He’s an old busybody. What was the second?”

“Some singsong Italian nonsense. Chee- cicisbeo? Something like that. It’s practically an occupation in Venice, by his account. Something to do with accompanying a married woman in public and whispering in her ear-“

“Probably knows that one from experience,” she said sagely.

“Rather rich, given the emphasis he put on how often such gentlemen are inverted-“

“Well I have no idea how upright he is, not to put too fine a point on it,” she said, moving to flop on her back. “What word do you want to use? I assume none of what’s been mentioned.”

“It seems they sometimes call cicisbei ‘cavalieri servanti’ instead, but that’s practically ‘knight errant’-“

“Why are you such a nerd? Just answer me.”

“I’m asking you,” he said heatedly. “Evidently my choices are limited to mistress or some bizarre Continental male concubinage-“

Elizabeth fell silent for an irritated moment.

“I told you you could call yourself my lover,” she said, when she thought she had collected herself.  “You said you couldn’t say that.”

James tried to recall why that was, and realized it was undoubtedly some stupid stab at honor in a fit of pique. He would really have to work on that.

“Well,” he said, with cautious dignity. “I have changed my mind.”

That made her almost insufferably happy.  She crammed the last of her orange in her mouth to hide her smile.

“If you find it suitable-“

“It was my idea, wasn’t it?”

“Even so-“

“James,” she said in exasperation.

“Yes, Elizabeth?”

“Can you - can you do something for me?”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Shut up and kiss me,” she said, her irritation bleeding into affection and an overall incredulity that one man could make her feel such a wide variety of things all at once. “I need you to just - stop talking and be kissing me right now-”

He granted her request with a good-natured eye roll and a careful effort to navigate his large body over the bed without prematurely disturbing her, and stretched out beside her as well as he could to follow it with a few smaller, softer kisses.  She slid her hands up his ribs, one sliding up his chest to slip into his hair, although in keeping with her promise, she didn’t grip it this time; the other remained where it was.  During a lull in the kissing she broke away to kiss his neck again.

“Elizabeth,” he said softly.

“What is it,” she murmured.

“I’m only savoring the feel of your name in my mouth,” he said, in a voice so low he was nearly whispering.

“I would still like to feel you in my mouth,” she reminded him again, resuming her kisses and opening his shirt to give herself greater access.

“Elizabeth-”

It was his turn to sound exasperated, though having her pulling on his clothes like this was… not unpleasant, and his back involuntarily arched a little.

“I can be patient,” she protested.  She could put her mouth elsewhere on him, at least for now.  She had never undressed him with such excellent lighting conditions - by the time she’d gotten him out of his shirt on the Gloriana, it had been later in the evening.  He was beautiful, of course.

“And to think, I thought I would be forced to warn you before our wedding night-”

“Of what, your breadth-” she snorted.  “What would you have to warn me of that I could not see when you were clothed-”

“Sword-strokes. Bullet holes. The absence of the wig, before I knew how you despised it- it’s rather impressed on one in the Navy that one’s bride may be startled or moved to pity by even a man as relatively unscathed as I am, and thank God for that.”

Undressing was helping his state of mind after the unwanted shock of her pulling on his hair. Most of what had ensued in Tortuga had been either fully clothed or limited to dropped trousers and something to lean on. He had no actual fear of startling her now, even if she hadn’t already seen where his former glory had incidentally marked him- he quite thoroughly considered himself marked and not disfigured, with a mixture of pride and intense relief to have reached this point with someone he loved before the latter had a chance to happen.

“Of course, with you I feared more that you might pity me my former pain,” he admitted. He felt mildly self-conscious not being able to tell what his hair was doing in its partially grown-out state. In another lifetime Lettie Bolger had admired it long and then titched teasingly but not unfondly when it had been cropped for the wig. Either of those would have sat better with James’s fastidious sense of presentation than the uncertainty of whatever was going on now after Elizabeth had tried to grab it.

“Would that have been a poor quality in a wife?” said Elizabeth, a little sharply; he was probably right.  Pity would certainly have come before desire, not least of all because at the time all she had wanted was Will, enough to smother any attraction to anyone else - at least until…

Certainly none of this mattered now, not when things had turned out as they had.  She did not know when she’d ever see Will again, and if he was not in her future she did not have to force herself to think of him.  At least she could make one of them happy.  She distracted her restless thoughts by putting her hands on him, and then her lips, when enough of him was uncovered.

“I don’t desire to be pitied,” he said. “That you do not now is a blessing.”

“Then what do you desire?”

Admiration, he thought immediately, though his shame prevented him from saying so.

“It’s all right- keep at what you’re doing-“

“Not an answer,” said Elizabeth playfully, even as she obeyed him.

“I suppose I had once hoped you might find the wounds intriguing-“

“I would have,” she argued. “Maybe not the first night - it would have been a lot happening at once-”

“I doubt it would have happened on our wedding night,” he objected.

Elizabeth looked shocked by that.

“Why not? What else would happen on a wedding night?” she asked, vehemently pissed.

“What did you think, that I would throw you down on the bed and have my way with you?” James said incredulously.

“Hardly,” said Elizabeth, a little flushed, though one could presume that was from agitation with him.  “I supposed you would have some short explanatory speech prepared and then fumble your way through it.”

“A dreadful imposition all the same-“

“What, you thought I was just going to lie there in terror?  Dumb and silent?”

“I don’t know what I thought exactly, save that expecting it as a point of due course seemed… cruel.”

“I spent over a month preparing myself for the certainty, at the time, of marriage to a man I did not love; I wasn’t trembling in trepidation at the thought of touching you,” said Elizabeth, with the ghost of a sneer on her lips.  But when she lay back, grumpily, on the bed, and looked him in the face again, it was all petulance and vanity on her face, and nothing crueler than that.  “Credit me at least that I knew what I was agreeing to.”

“An agreement is not desire. If I wished for my love affairs to remain transactional, there are women for whom that would be simply another evening, but to demand that as an obligatory condition of marriage?”

He looked genuinely concerned by the prospect.

“No demand necessary; I already expected it.”

“Elizabeth, that’s horrific.”

“Why propose to a woman at all if you think it’s such a cruel imposition?” asked Elizabeth promptly.

“Companionship, for one-“

“You said you had Miss Bolger teach you all of those tricks so that you could ‘give me a memorable wedding night,’” exclaimed Elizabeth in an exasperation that bordered disgust, “now you’re telling me you didn’t even plan to consummate our marriage?”

“Not immediately- not by the time you had actually accepted-“ he snapped.

“Oh, so then you changed your mind? I suppose you thought I was too damaged by Captain Barbossa- in spite of all evidence to the contrary-”

“Your trepidation was clear,” James said, the familiar glare returning to his face. “That’s why. Because you seemed pleased but lacking in anticipation, which would appear to have indeed been the case-“

“I suppose then that in that, as well as in everything since, I would have had to have taken the lead!” retorted Elizabeth.

“If it had come to that, I would have gladly bedded you-“

“Oh! Good!” Elizabeth snapped, then faltered, eyes unfocusing. “Oh…”

James did not exactly roll his eyes, but he spent a good second or so looking as though he were trying to spot something just above and to his right while sighing in exasperation.

“Morbidly cool?” he said. “Is that what you think?”

Elizabeth, meanwhile, had folded her arms over her chest and resolutely stared into the ceiling until her eyes could pick out distinct shapes again.

“You’re full of pretty words, but when it comes down to the act, you are very aloof, and now you are telling me you never dreamed of me and did not, in fact, even intend to take me to your bed when we married; does that not seem to you an unusually chilly attitude to have towards women and love?”

“Is this another navy joke,” he said flatly.

“No!  You are an unusual man!”

“I am merely temperate-“

He immediately caught himself and added, before she could, “Temperate in matters of sex, at least.”

“I would prefer something more complimentary,” said Elizabeth, still disgruntled.

“It may be that your understanding of what is usual is tainted by pirates,” said James, “and Sparrow in particular.”

“But that’s what I want,” said Elizabeth, now smacking him with her pillow.

“Elizabeth!” This was of course somewhat muffled by the pillow, which she pressed into his face in the few moments it took for her to swing her leg over his waist again.  By the time he had pushed it off, she was able to lean in and kiss him. He closed his eyes and leaned up and into it, though as soon as they had parted he repeated, in some offense:

“Morbidly cool? Morbidly? Really-“

“Disprove it,” she whispered, brushing her hair behind her ear so it no longer fell into his face.

“Elizabeth, that’s not how it works-“

“I am just a blushing maid. You have to show me how it works-” said Elizabeth, smirking.

“Am I going to be tasting you, then?” James said flatly. “I thought you wanted the opposite.”

“I do-”

“That’s going to put the onus of proof on you, sweetheart,” he retorted.

“Oh, no, it’s quite the opposite,” said Elizabeth, with her lips moving against his as she spoke.  “You see, James, you are going to have to endure pleasure for a change.  Do you think you can cope?”

He began to laugh at this.

“Do you really think so poorly of me-“

“Yes, very.”  She kissed him on the nose affectionately, then on the mouth with something far headier than affection.  “...get it up for me, James?” she asked in a whisper, almost blowing the words across his lips, like smoke.  Her eyes sparkled.

“You’ll have to help me with that,” he said, brushing her hair from her face.

“Tell me what to do,” she said, though she turned her head and caught his fingertip in her mouth somewhat intuitively.

“You can’t start all at once,” he said, as though lecturing her on the finer points of naval procedure. “Kiss me first-“

She was eager to do so.

“All right,” he said, breathing evenly. “You might try moving downward, very gradually-“

“Is this helping?” she asked, her own breathing decidedly not so.

“That was for luck.”

He grinned. Elizabeth snorted.

“James, can you tie my hair back first, it’s getting in the way-”

“You know I can, though I’ll have to sit up a bit-“

“Permitted.”

“How gracious of Your Majesty. Have you anything to tie it with?”

“No.”

She probably did, but that meant she had to get up, which she did, reluctantly, with a groan. She returned to him with a leather thong and sat on the edge of the bed, her whole manner betraying petulance. James sat up behind her and studied the situation at hand.

“Mm. I’d better plait it, or else this is going to get in the way,” he commented, stroking the shorter hair that fell around her face.

“Do whatever you must so that I may do whatever I want.”

The only way to keep the front of her hair in with the rest was to begin it as two plaits- one on each side- that began rather high on her head and then joined at the back of her neck, where he tied the loose ends together with the leather thong she had brought him. It wasn’t the neatest job he’d ever done, but it would do.

“Why do you know what you’re doing?” asked Elizabeth, feeling as self-conscious as though a maid were serving her.

“I’ve lived at sea for most of my life. One learns things.”

“Mm.”

“And I never was one for putting tar in my hair.”

“Mm.”

He rolled his eyes. “What now-”

“Oh, I know better than to say anything.”

“Oh, no, come out with it then-”

Elizabeth very delicately shook her head, seeing as she could hardly move it.  After a moment, she endeavored to change the subject. “I used to do this with Amelia.”

“With- oh, yes.”

“Don’t you remember her?” asked Elizabeth, indignantly.

“It took me a moment. I was always more focused on you.”

She looked momentarily stunned out of concentration at that.  “Well, not always.”

“In situations where she was present, typically-“

Elizabeth quickly flipped through the catalogue of memories containing James Norrington in Port Royal and found that, as much as she had believed herself to be aware of his intentions, she had clearly overlooked his feelings in nearly every instance.

“I wish I had known your heart sooner,” she said, sounding nearly wistful.

“You speak of her often,” said James, who was in no hurry to rake over the topic of who should have noticed whom again.  Elizabeth colored at having this brought to her attention.

“I am…. Realizing things,” said Elizabeth, cautiously.

He leaned around her to meet her eye.

“Yes?”

“Busybody,” she exclaimed affrontedly, and flicked him in the nose.

“You brought it up-“

“...I suppose we have our Spanish acquaintance to thank for the revelation,” said Elizabeth, looking decidedly away from him now.  “It is not frowned on for girls to be close.  It is not scrutinized.”

“You-“

No sooner had he begun to ask what she meant did he realize he already knew. He leaned back on his hands.

“I see.”

“If she had been a boy I suppose it would have been extremely obvious,” said Elizabeth with a self-conscious laugh. “Though we wouldn’t have been permitted the friendship if she had been.  I was inconsolable on her wedding day.  Estrella told me I had, or would make, other good friends.  I said it wouldn’t be the same.  You know, it really did not seem unusual at the time-”

“Perhaps it isn’t,” he said. “Heaven knows I’ve seen such things between men-“

“Lends a new layer to my blindness to your feelings,” said Elizabeth, laughing feebly.  She felt light-headed.  “It is your fault I am thinking of this; you kept maligning stays.”

“You haven’t seen what most men have on beneath their clothes; it rather destroyed any eroticism stays might have held for me,” James said in blunt dismissal. “That does not assume the same of you-“

“It seems illogical to find so attractive on other women something one wears oneself without arousing any similar feelings, but, with all the clarity of hindsight, it seems I did,” said Elizabeth, now venturing to look back at him, very flushed beneath her tan.  “Perhaps you have not seen stays and stockings in the right context.”

“In lovemaking. That’s what you’re getting at. Well, I have, and I remain unimpressed-“

The right context resurfaced in a memory of Amelia undressing before climbing into Elizabeth’s bed, which had not been an uncommon event when they were girls.  Elizabeth could not stop bringing these memories to the light of day; they all seemed very different now, with all she had learned, or been teased over by James.  Namely, the flirtatious way Elizabeth treated her friend - the little games they had played, rehearsing their wedding nights together - and the recurring jest that they ought not to get married at all, but run away and become bandits (or astronomers, witches, shopkeepers, seamstresses, circus performers - whichever new strange profession, or present chore, was on their mind at present, but for Elizabeth, it was always bandits, unsurprisingly).  If Amelia had ever taken that seriously, Elizabeth suspected she might have, too.

“No, not lovemaking. Just… worn.  But on the body of a woman of whom you are very fond, who is… who is talking to you, and about to slip into your bed.”

James wisely decided against arguing this point further and clapped his hand on her shoulder in a way he hoped was comforting.

She squinted at him.  

“You’re taking this quietly.”

“It’s long past,” he said.

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” she asked, attempting levity, but clearly anxious for his answer.

“Why would it bother me?”

“I don’t know, some notion of female sexual purity?”

“Elizabeth.”

He was practically scowling.

“Jealousy, more like.  I thought you might be jealous.”

“Would you prefer I make a perfunctory attempt to smother you while railing about faithlessness or something of that nature? Personally, I’m rather tired for that-“

“Can’t you take anything seriously?  Aren’t you in the least bit bothered, if not by this - then by Jenny and Angelica?”

“What do you want me to say, Elizabeth? I am trying to think well of you-“

“I don’t know,” she said, frustrated. “I suppose I keep trying to pick a fight and I don’t know why.”

“I suppose it would be dishonest to claim the idea does not give me some pause- but Elizabeth, I will not judge you-“

She gave him a wavering smile.  “Oh… That does not displease me.”

“It would be poor of me indeed, after all that nonsense I witnessed in the navy, to treat this as some insurmountable difficulty,” he said, very firmly.

“That’s not what I thought you’d do,” Elizabeth laughed, smiling so widely all her teeth were showing.  “I just thought you would be bothered.  A bit jealous. Perhaps beg me to reassure you I still wanted you-”

“You wanted me in your mouth a few minutes ago.” said James. “I am rather reassured.”

“I still do,” said Elizabeth, leaning in and kissing him impetuously.

“Good.”

“I always thought it took very little to excite a man,” said Elizabeth, leaning in to push him onto his back again. “That’s what I’ve always heard.”

“That’s a good story for a man who wishes to conceal his poor longevity-“

“Oh, please.  What does it take?  Because it seems to be more work for you than for me-”

“It’s not as though I research it!” James sputtered indignantly.

“Still, you have to admit, this is a bit of a reverse from the usual,” she said, before moving her mouth to his bare chest again.

“Not the way I recall it,” he grumbled.

“Hm?  What do you recall, then?  Have you got more Lettie Bolger Life Lessons for me?”

“I recall it taking a good third of an hour to deal with anything below deck!”

“Suppose I have my work cut out for me, then,” said Elizabeth.

She prioritized his scars first, since he had alluded to them being an insecurity and she did, after all, like his body better for having them.

“What are you doing-“

He sat up just a little, then realized and lay back down. “Ah.”

“You don’t enjoy this?” asked Elizabeth, leaning back, somewhat hurt.

“I can’t feel much there- the nerve endings are quite gone.”

Elizabeth laughed shortly in surprise.  “James, you said you would teach me.  So tell me what you need me to do. Tell me… tell me what entices you.”

He stared at her.

“You, for one-“

“Apparently not enough,” said Elizabeth, finding the inside of his thigh and rubbing it.

James flinched and instinctively half-rolled his hips away from her, before realizing he’d done so and laying down flat again.

“You seem to want a very specific response-“

“Yeah?  The one that enables this whole enterprise?”

But she had withdrawn from him regardless, resigned but seeming cheerful about it.  “James, let me be the noble one, the one who does not require this as an obligatory condition to loving you.”

“Elizabeth-“

“You don’t owe me this.”

“I want you to have it,” he retorted.

Elizabeth smoothed the braid off her shoulder.

“Oh?  Don’t tease me, James.”

“You don’t suppose we can reverse things and give me a bit of a running start, do you-“

“Reverse things?”

“Let me start off on you-“

Elizabeth’s eyebrows lifted.  “I can’t say I am opposed, but - is that- really.  Do you think that’s going to help, or are you anxious to be out of the spotlight-”

“It certainly worked last time,” he said, in a tone that could only be described as ‘grumpy’.

“Why didn’t you say so?” asked Elizabeth, in firm disapproval. “I would have sorted you out, you should have let me-”

“I wasn’t about to drag you into that!” he said with a horrified grimace. “As though it were some kind of automatic exchange-“

“James,” said Elizabeth, looking ready to have an aneurism.

“It was easier to think of you and your pleasure-“

“My pleasure is in being here with you. If that is all that matters to you you can stand by the bed and watch me pleasure myself-”

His eyes widened a little at that. He looked away.

“Well?” she demanded. “I tell you, I shall make good on that threat-”

“I would appreciate it if you did not,” James said, in a very low voice.

“Why, what do you think I do on nights where you’re not around-”

“Oh, God-“

He covered his face with the crook of his arm.

“Elizabeth, is this really necessary-“

“James, my God, you blush like a girl.  I take it back! I shall pretend to be as sexless as a doll for your sake. Only let me see your beautiful face again-”

He wasn’t blushing when he lowered his arm, but his breathing was deep and a little too slow.

“Elizabeth- that’s- no, don’t do that-“

She backed off from where she had been leaning over him. “James.  Look.  I’m not trying to hurt you.”  Elizabeth sighed and approached him from a different angle, lower down and leaning against him, resting her head gingerly on his shoulder and wrapping her arm around his chest.  She tilted her head back to glimpse him.  It wasn’t the best angle for it, but she thought he would prefer this.  “Or- or scandalize you.  If you aren’t enjoying it then neither am I,” and she meant it, punctuating it with her fingertip on his lips, like a kiss by proxy.

He let it linger for a moment and then gently moved her hand away.

“It would be easier to enjoy it if I had any assurance of yours-“

“In what way?”

“If you would please let me start on you-“

“James,” she laughed.

“Just how sexless do you find me?” he asked, aghast. “Good God-“

“I don’t think we are on the same page at all,” said Elizabeth, helplessly lost, but laughing about it still.  

“That makes two of us,” James muttered.

“James, I don’t find you sexless,” she ventured to begin, after a moment’s pause and silence left them no further to understanding each other. “Perhaps a bit tepid, but you make a good show for yourself when you get up to it.”

The pun was wholly intended.  Elizabeth leaned up on her elbow to whisper coyly in his ear, her fingertips lightly resting on his jaw. “And I do not mean to underrate the particular manner of joy you bring me…”

“I know, I know,” he said. “Please understand, it’s- it’s complicated.”

“Would you like to tell me, Captain?”

“Is that an order?” he asked unhappily.

“It is a request,” said Elizabeth, settling against him again.

He moved his lower body away from her as well as he could, with a brief flare of panic that if she realized he was aroused that would be that.

“I would prefer to just- switch first, if that’s all right with you.”

“James, I understand that you are concerned about my reputation,” she said in frustration, “but-”

“I just told you the last time I enjoyed it,” he said, forcing himself to sit up. “Elizabeth. Please.”

She bit her lip. “I’m not opposed, I am just - concerned,” she said, looking up at him.  “James, much as I love you for my dog, it brings me… far greater joy to know we are happy together.”

He nodded.

“I understand,” he said, turning to look at her. “But I fear it may be some time before that gives me the happiness you speak of.”

“This is ridiculous, I mean-”  Elizabeth bit her lip again, this time to shut herself up.  “Are you telling me everything?”

“It’s easier to know I have pleasured you first,” he repeated stubbornly. “It’s-“

He rubbed one side of his face with the flat of his hand, exhausted.

“Elizabeth, I just told you- in Tortuga-“

“Is that all it is?” asked Elizabeth in a flood of relief. “That’s it?”

“Am I some sort of weeping maiden for that now as well?” James asked sourly.

Elizabeth reached up and touched his cheek, a warm, open-palmed caress.  

“I thought this was some fixation on that dog business!”

“Oh, God-“

“That you were neglecting yourself in my favor out of some need to debase yourself- oh, come down and kiss me, idiot.”

“Elizabeth!”

His offense did not prevent him from following her instruction.  This was a welcome antidote to all of Elizabeth’s concerns; she could taste his tongue if not the rest of him, and finding his hands, she guided them up to her breasts - “because I know how fond you are,” she whispered teasingly to him.

“I’ll be better afterward,” he murmured. “It just takes… time…”

“Touch me, James-”  She leaned upward to kiss him again.

“Mm.” He smiled into the kiss.

She was still nearly exposed, and all the lovelier for it. While it wasn’t exactly touching, James dipped down to kiss her on the collarbone, then back again to her throat.  Her hands found his hair again, but pettingly, now, lovingly - he would have had none of that in Tortuga, she would bet. He leaned into it with a low laugh and gently kissed the underside of her jaw.

“Better.”

If it was her enjoyment he sought, she would not hold any of it back for the sake of propriety, or even a sense of building pressure, and so when he kissed her, she arched, and when he laughed against her throat, she moaned his name.

“Yes…?”

There was the lightest impression of teeth in that same spot.

Elizabeth had been making a conscious effort before.  This wretched noise was purely involuntary. “James!”

“Too much?”

This wasn’t a sudden, severe blurt of concern, though; he spoke it directly against her throat, as though to kiss her bruise better.

“No,” she gasped. “I merely- cannot believe- James, this is very good-”

“Hm?” He was moving downward now.

“Going - bit fast, aren’t you-” She clutched at his shoulders helplessly, but did not stop him.

“There’s plenty in between, wouldn’t you say-“

“Oh- yes-”  She struggled to maintain some authority, but she was having a hard time maintaining speech in the meantime. “I’ll - allow it-”

“By your leave, then, Your Majesty-“

Elizabeth let him kiss her a while longer, squirming underneath him, before she sat up in some agitation and yanked her shirt over her head, unable to take that nonsense any longer, thank you.

“Elizabeth-“

This cry of surprise did not prevent him from burying his face in her chest, which drew yet another wretched gasp from her, and she was soon after cooing his name.

“My God, you’re beautiful,” he said between kisses. “That’s another duty of mine, I should think-”

He lifted his head to look at her.

“Protecting this beauty-”

She scowled in the midst of it. “What.”

“I never said I would love you less without it,” he said, halfway muffled by a kiss on the hip.

“My looks, not my - mm. Life? Really, James?”

“I thought the second was already implied. Hence-”

Kiss, kiss.

“Another duty-”

“You are ridiculous- maybe one of my duties is protecting yours, hm?  Wouldn’t that strike you as a funny thing for me to say?” she asked, slipping her fingers through his hair and pushing his head back via a palm against the forehead to look up at her, so that she could lift her eyebrows at him.

James smirked and went back to kissing her.  She laughed out loud at that, and permitted this too.  Her breath hitched in her throat, yanking her out of the plan to tease him further.  And was it so strange to James to see things that way?  A little weird, perhaps - making her feel too much like the maiden he had once seen her as - but she could put up with a little weirdness to hear James tell her she was beautiful again.

In the meantime, James’s hands had found the button flap of her breeches. He rubbed her hips through the fabric with his thumbs.

“May I-”

“Is this…”  She struggled to form words again, and in this case found it especially difficult, for fear of saying the wrong thing. “...does this please you?”

“Very much-” he blurted, a little too quickly.

“Promise?”

“Are you… reluctant?” he asked, frowning.

“I want to make you happy - tell me you are-”  Her voice rang small and vulnerable in her own ears.

“Yes, I’m happy,” he said, in a tone of good-natured exasperation.

“You have to say so!”

“Elizabeth-”

She was laughing, but herself exasperated, in her own way.  “I can’t precisely tell-”

“May I?” he repeated, a little more emphatically. “Or are you going to sit there shirtless as a sailor-”

“I am a sailor,” said Elizabeth, muzzily and imperiously.

“Lisbet-”

It was unclear if this was an intentional diminutive or if it was just the muffling of his mouth against her hip again talking.  

“One thing first,” said Elizabeth, moving herself to a sitting position by wrapping her leg over him and using him as leverage. (This had the unfortunate side effect of pulling his head between her thighs for a moment; she prayed he minded it very little.) Then she divested him of his own shirt.

“I don’t think it’s proper you should wear more clothes than me,” said Elizabeth.  Now she was smirking.

In the bright daylight, the scars on his back were much starker, though by now James felt no need to remind her that they existed before she looked at him. He moved upward again, remembering her appreciation of the others- he could not imagine his back as anything but a neutral factor- and kissed her once more on the mouth.

Elizabeth pulled him to her waist and her hips like she was welcoming him back home, opening her mouth and her legs for him, opening her heart to him, and holding none of it back.

“May I say something?” he asked.

“Anything, darling, what is it?”

“Right.”

He nodded, as though catching his breath.

“...I love you.”

Elizabeth melted.

“Oh. Oh, James.”

“I hope that’s not too forward-”

She shook her head distractedly, then leaned up to kiss him again, urging him to believe she loved him too, even though she could not, not in this moment, bring herself to say it.

“-good,” he said, beginning to smile again, and then kissing her harder.

Elizabeth wrapped her leg around his waist and rocked against him, one hand exploring his chest while the other sank into his hair and gave her some leverage to kiss him back as good as he gave.

“And am I pleasing to you-”

“Can’t you- tell?”

“It’s good to hear it,” he volleyed back at her, more than a little smugly.

“I can barely breathe-” she gasped, which was true.  “What more do- you want-”

“I want to hear you say it. Is that so much to ask?”

“I shall if - Tell me again that I’m beautiful,” Elizabeth commanded, without any sense of shame.  At this point, they were long past shame.

“I shall tell you that as often as you like,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“It would please me if you would tell me now,” said Elizabeth, turning his face to hers with her finger beneath his chin.

“You’re radiant-”

Elizabeth beamed at him, but brushed her hand over her own hair now, shyly.  She had no shame, but she was not that brazen yet, either. “Oh, I wish I could have you, James,” she broke out unthinkingly.  “Do you suppose-”

“-now?”

Elizabeth was reluctant to speak on it. “Oh, it’s not fair-”

“Elizabeth, what is it?”

“I wish - I want you inside of me-”

“I- Elizabeth, again, I’m very willing,” he began, “but if anything happens, the greater burden will be yours, and I don’t wish to heedlessly give that to you-”

“I know, I know- I’m not asking, I am merely…”  She sought the right word, then happened upon it abruptly. “- complaining.”

She smiled at him in visible distress.  It was unfortunately an expression he had seen her wear during their engagement, though this time, at least, she was happy to be with him.  

“You’ll think of something, I’m sure,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him.

“I could probably rut between your thighs,” he said uncertainly, “but I do not know what you would get from that. That’s more of a… men’s hobby.”

She guided his hand there instead, meeting his eyes and flushing for the sake of what feeble stake she still had in her modesty.  She wanted to speak again, but faltered a moment, taking his hand and squeezing it while she sorted out her words.

“... James, let…. James, make me say your name.  I want anyone passing by to know what you’re doing.”

“With my-” He took her hand and kissed it.

“How do you want me, sweetheart?”

“Whichever way you want, so long as I have you-”

“Are you certain you want it out in the open like that?”

“As though it isn’t already! Wouldn’t you rather be overheard pleasuring me than have it assumed I’m going at you every night with some sort of- I don’t know, implement? What do women use?”

James blinked.

“We’ll talk about that later-”

“Let them all know you are a man, then, hmm? As well as my dog.”

“Lisbet,” he groaned, and this time it was clearly intentional, though rather undermined by the kiss with which he followed it.

She accepted him with parted lips, fingers in his hair again.

“May I…?” he asked for a third time, and more softly and tenderly than before by far.

“Please-” she pleaded, eyes seeking his with as much vulnerability in them as passion.

James kissed her and began to lean her back on the bed again, pinning her wrists near the headboard as he kissed down her body in turn.

“You’re beautiful,” he repeated, more in private wonderment than to fulfill her request. “Good God-”’

Elizabeth squirmed again, pulling one hand free to touch him and maintain some sense of agency in all of this.  She had no smart reply to what he said, though.  She felt overwhelmed listening to it.

“I’m going to unfasten your breeches now. Are you ready?”

“Yes-”

“And your drawers after-“

It felt a little bit like her lungs were closing up. “Oh - yes-”

Her hair-petting approached frantic levels. He didn’t even get to it right away- with her drawers down, James had access to her inner thighs as well. He kissed one of them.  

Elizabeth was already making good on her promise to alert anyone passing by the door to her cabin.

[treasure-trove-of-my-writing]

Why I Love Anime

By Kaitlin Meaney

           I figured I would take a break from writing about feelsy stuff to tell you about why I think anime is so awesome and that there is a lot to love about it. Also because I literally don’t have an anime to write about this week, at least nothing I’ve watched a whole series of yet. This is me taking a break this month.

Anime has been a big part of my life ever since I was a child. My first exposures coming from Pokemon, Beyblade, Sailor Moon, Digimon, and Yu-Gi-Oh just to name a few. As I got older I found that the medium was a lot bigger than just the few I had seen in Saturday morning cartoons. In high school I was exposed to my first few subbed anime in the school anime club. I would say that I only truly realized my love for anime while in that club. Now I am an active member of the fandom watching anything that tickles my fancy.

Anime is a much appreciated medium of television but it is vastly underrated. It’s regarded as one of the nerdiest thing right next to Dungeons and Dragons and/or video games. But there are some things about this medium that set it apart from the others. Something that makes it unique and creates the devoted fans that exist in abundance this day and age. I’ll be talking about what I personally love about anime and what makes it so cool in my eyes. Everyone has their own interpretation and this is mine. If you’ve read my other articles you know the kind of feelings I have towards this medium (laughing, crying...mostly crying), but here I plan on going into more detail.

First of all, a very brief history lesson for the new kids. Anime had its start in the early 20th century but there is speculation over what was the first anime and when it was made. From then on things started to evolve in the 1920’s and beyond making anime as we know it today.

Anime, for all intents and purposes, is an art form, much like the cartoons of North America and films in general. What I think I love most about anime and especially the films that come out of this medium, is the hand drawn animation. Sure, it’s not as organically hand drawn as animation used to be, technology is used to speed the process, but in an age of computer generated animation being an ever growing trend it’s refreshing to still see hand drawn art being used. And dang are some of these shows freaking beautiful. Of course the films look better because of the bigger budgets, but when the animation studio is just right, it can be truly breathtaking. Animation can do things that a camera cannot do on it’s own. Scenes can convey more drama in animation that when they are filmed. Whether it’s the cinematography or just the sometimes over-dramatic facial expressions, feelings are conveyed much better in animation. You feel the character’s heartache, their excitement, determination, anger, etc.

The writing in most anime series’ is also nothing to sneeze at. Compared to most north American television shows; I don’t think I’ve ever felt for characters as much as I have in the few anime I’ve actually gotten around to finishing. Something about how these creators put so much content in eleven, episodes only twenty minutes in length. Though of course there are series’ that have hundreds of episodes spanning a long reaching story, but it’s the fact that there are shorter series that can convey so much with so little time. It fascinates me to no end. A good example is the show I wrote about last month Anohana. It crams the history these friends have and their journey to make their late friend’s wish come true in only eleven episodes. It conveys all their grief very slowly but effectively. It takes its time and doesn’t rush through everything to squeeze in more than it needs to.

This leads me to the next thing I love about anime, the content. Something about how these writers create beautiful stories out of the simplest plot lines blows me away. The series can have the most ridiculous sounding plot, for example high school girls competing in international war re-enactments using historical tanks. Ridiculous enough? If you gave a crazy premise like that a chance it could be more than you ever expected it to be. There’s even a series about a big burly guy in a maid outfit. There’s something for everyone since anime is such a diverse medium. If you want weird plots like those previously mentioned, there’s an anime for that; if you like Victorian mystery stories like Sherlock Holmes, there’s probably an anime out there similar to that; if you’re really into romantic high school romances, there is a lot of anime for that. Honestly, if you can think of it, there’s probably an anime for that.

(Chihayafuru: from left Arata, Chihaya and Taichi)

Anime can even be educational. Whether it be about real history, Japanese culture or even a modern day concept such as sports, you will learn something. As an example, anime centering around any kind of sport go through the motions of having their character’s train for competitions and such. As they do this time is also taken to tell you about these competitions and what is needed to win them. This raises the stakes and making it more interesting. A good example of this type of anime is Chihayafuru. It’s a sports anime about a card game centered around poetry called Hyakunin Isshu karuta (Hundred Poets). The first line of a poem is sung from a card, and out of fifty cards in from of one player and their opponent, the player must find the card with the next verse of the poem and slap it away claiming that card. I had never heard of this game before watching this show but the way it conveys the intensity of the game and the pressure of competitive tournaments had me wanting more. In watching this series, you learn about how the game works and why it becomes so intense while played competitively and that’s how anime centered around any real world sport helps you learn about it.

Anime is still a big part of my life today and I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. Finding new shows and new experiences at the conventions just make my life a wonderful experience and I hope you find something you like in it as well if you decide to look into this crazy, amazing, medium.

[chrisgis4680-blog]

Communism

So I think the reading on the three parts of Marxism was a bit of an easier read than pretty much anything actually written by Marx. In the first part of Marxism the author writes about Marxism being materialism. Which I think I can see that. Marx mostly talks about capital a lot of the time and how everything is capital and ownership of that capital. He also talks a lot a bout labor, but often about how that labor relates to capital and how big business is screwing over the laborer. In a way I see how it all is kind of about materialism. Hmm though as I type it out maybe not. Marxism is not really about being for big businesses exploiting their workers he just wanted to let the workers know what was going on. It really was just the businesses that were being materialistic.

Part 2 talks a lot about economics and how money is everything so yeah I guess it just says what Marx had said  in all of his readings really. The author also states that Marx studied modern economics and how “where bourgeois economists saw relations between things Mars saw relationships between people.” I think I can see that for the most part. Marx’s big thing seemed to be labor really. Or at least that is the most common subject I was able to get out of him. Maybe I found it more interesting than anything else. Anyway, he talked about labor and the ownership of labor and in a way personified capital. He was trying to bring people back into the labor process by making them realize they were having their own human element sucked out of them by the businesses they labored for, and how the businesses did not give a crap other than wanting the laborers to go to work all day.

Part 3 is about socialism and how early socialism was basically utopian which in a way reminds me of utopian anarchy. It criticized capitalism and mentioned that revolutions reveal the struggle of the classes. I really like this statement and see a lot of truth to it. I mean how do revolutions start anyway? One particular group, usually a class of people, again usually the lower class, is exploited and/or treated very unfairly by the upper classes. The upper classes get a lot out of mistreating the lower classes and eventually conditions get so bad for the lower classes that they have to stand up and say something or they all die off. Which in this case brings me right back around to the point of what seems to be the same in every part of radical politics that confuses me… How on earth do higher classes expect to exploit the lower classes to the point of killing them and then still turn around a profit if they no longer have people to squeeze money out of? I suppose in class we talked about this a little where we mentioned that the people who use the laborers pay them just enough to make it to work every day. But when you take a closer look at it like in the Paris Commune, eventually they try to pay them so little that they do NOT have enough money to live and make it to work every day. Then they die off and my question still stands. Or if they do not die off then they revolt, which seems to almost always end well for the upper class. Just kidding.

Molecular Red has an interesting picture of Lenin and Bogdanov where it says other people have been erased. Quick note, I always find old photos so fascinating, and especially old school “photoshop” like how did they do that before photoshop? What was the process? I also wonder about this a lot with old movies, which I will probably talk about later when talking about the film we watched in class. I think that is why I find old film so fascinating. Just all the extra work it takes to make a person disappear from a photo without the ease of a computer. Bah! Super cool. Bogdanov is known for having the wrong philosophy because he brought the utopian philosophy back into Marxism. Though I know utopian societies never work out and are rarely the same based on human nature that not everybody will agree so everybody has a different picture of their utopia, I still find it super interesting. Maybe that is why I find it so interesting. It would be cool if everybody a manifesto on their own utopian society. I think maybe you can learn a lot about a person based on that, like if they are a creep, or way too wishy washy, or best friend material you may want to merge your society with. The tone of the writing also seems like they are saying that the fact that the utopia was set on Mars makes it absolutely crazy. I honestly do not know which year we are in anymore when it comes to these writings, but I do think the whole Mars society thing has been around for a while. Not to mention if one believes in science and that it always advances and grows, I do not see how it is all that far fetched really. But that is me looking at it from a 2017 student who is trying their best to keep up with intense readings as much as she possibly can.

The next chapter of Molecular Red mentions that Marx changed the view of how one writes about economics. Apparently no one has before written about it from the point of view from the laborers. Which I think now would seem obvious. But on the other hand we think about how we are told to write, and teachers always say “write about what you know” so maybe this was as revolutionary as the author is saying. I think it is funny that something so simple would not have been thought up for a long time. But then I look at the government we have rich white straight christian men writing about health care for a nation with less white people than non whites as well at at least the same amount of women as men. This and the fact that I am not surprised the new health care seems to cater the rich white men and the insurance companies they all have stock in, then yes I may not be so surprised economics was only written about by the elites. Was Marx an elite? I don’t think that was mentioned in class, or asked at the very least. So really my question is did he flip the point of view or did he just write from his point of view? I do think he deserves all the credit for this no matter which class he was in, but it would be interesting to know eh?

The writings about The Battleship Potemkin were a bit on the informative side but also oddly opinionated. One mentioned that the film is not an art film and anyone who claims it as such has obviously never seen the film. Okay let me take this on as an art student then. Ahem. In 1917 Duchamp presented a found urinal and turned it on it’s side then signed it therefore claiming it as art. This piece of art was then accepted as art therefore proving that anything is art as long as it is called art. And then BOOM basically all the rest of the contemporary art movements were born. Okay maybe the movie was not made specifically to be a piece of art. There are lots or art films that could fall into the category of being specifically film art. But honestly what is film art anyway? The director of the movie may have wanted it to be a political film, and yes it is obviously a political film, but there is way more to the film than that. The author of the article goes on and on forever about cinematography and montage style and blah blah whatever. That is artistic ya dummy. We have spent the entire semester reading long boring writings that I honestly cannot stand in order for me to wait around for the more visual art we get to later and if a dang manifesto is art, then so is this film.

The director uses so many carefully placed artistic shots to tell his story. For example, I noticed how he always showed the captain of the ship as standing on a platform with just the sky as the background. This shows the camera angle from the sailor's’ point of view. That is a storytelling choice as well as an artistic choice. This shows not only is the captain LITERALLY above them but he sees himself as above them and they see him as above them, but not in a good way. The director also tended to use a lot of intimate face shots to show emotion. This is necessary because there is not a lot of talking in the film to express emotion anyway. Portraits as a general are artsy and these dynamic shots help being the audience into the film more, they care more because they recognize the characters and the pure human aspect of emotions. In order for something to be political it has to relate to the audience, well at least in this case with the message the director seems to be trying to get across. He obviously wants the audience to sympathize with the sailors and the citizens. This only happens with dynamic shots of close ups and wide shots of the vas amounts of people. Tension is constantly built with the rhythmic cuts in the stairway scene between people falling down the stairs, being shot and the faces of horror. He also uses intimate shots of the boy getting his hand stepped on which takes the audience right up in the action creating more tension and anxiety from the audience by pretty much throwing them into the action. There is almost no way that anybody could argue that this film is not artistic. You do not have to like art in order for it to be art. Anything is art, especially this film.