#nothing against t//ann//er but. whatever

[fictionallyinparadise]

Why ship Luna with T//ann//er when you can ship her with me

[chthonic-cassandra]

F, G, and T for the fic asks?

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Hmm. For this question I'm going to go back a decade to a 2012 fic of mine, Timorous Dreams (Richard III/Anne Neville). Warning for canon-typical ableism in the below excerpt:

“You were glad enough,” he replied, quick as a viper, “to come to the bed of your husband’s murderer, dear wife. Curious that your conscience should trouble you now.”

Fury made her tremble. “I have not forgiven you, Richard, and you are a fool if you think I have. You remember my curses; I did not feign when I pronounced them.”

“What are you then, too weak to dare your own revenge? Oh, you may be sure that I believe in your hatred, when you moaned my name so prettily the other night -”

“Do you ever listen? I did not say that I hate you, but only that I have not forgiven what you did. I meant my curses and still do, but I shall not be the agent of their fulfillment. It is not for me to decide your punishment. I married you for love, but now -”

“But now? I am the same man you married, Anne. If I am a murderer now, then I was so then.”

“There is a difference between killing grown men who can defend themselves and slaughtering children. To kill a child is monstrous -”

“Monstrous deeds,” he told her, his voice suddenly cold and hard as stone, “are fitting to a monster such as I.”

Anne tried to gentle her voice, in fear and in compassion. “I have never thought you a monster, my lord. Ask yourself whether I ever have held your deformity against you.”

He stepped close to her then, his heel of his bad leg thudding dully on the floor, grabbing her hair in his hands. “It was my skill that made you forget my ugliness, lady. I remember how I slowly dripped my honeyed words onto your revulsion until it melted into desire. Do you think I have forgotten your insults then? Foul toad, you called me, diffused infection of a man. You thought me a monster ere ever I ever made you think you loved me.”

His breath was hot upon her face, and, for the first time in their marriage, Anne feared that Richard might hit her. But she kept her voice even.

“Yet still, I chose to marry you. You may argue that your flattery addled my wits or blinded my eyes, but there was nothing to prevent my refusal of your suit. The opinion of all the world would have been with me. I chose you, husband.”

There are a number of reasons why I am proud of this scene. Writing dialogue in Shakespeare fic is always difficult because I don't want to try to outright match his language, which would be a hubristic and foolish task, but I do want to give some light echoes of it in a modern idiom, enough that there's some feeling of continuity (this is my method for writing in any historical canon, actually); I think I got that pretty effectively here.

This scene is also one in which I have to take a stand, from a characterization standpoint, on some of the most notorious ambiguities in these characters' relationship. RIII is a gloriously porous and malleable text, and in some ways any certain answer on what the hell is going on for Anne is always going to be a let down; but I like the version of her that I wrote here, and I think this scene does a lot to sell that. I love love love getting to write scenes where characters who have tangled and fraught emotional entanglements with each other get to outright name tensions between them, and this was a very gratifying example of that to write.

G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

From start to finish, almost always.

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?

In a different by related vein to my objection to guilty pleasure as a category, I also don't love complaining publicly about fandom tropes at this stage of my life. I don't know, I just want people to write whatever they want to write, even if I don't myself like it? There's certainly stuff that gets on my nerves, and there's a lot that I'm not particularly interested in reading and a ton more that I would never write myself (as people who read my fic may have noticed, I have a pretty limited range of things I write myself). I mean, I reserve the right to go right back to complaining later, but that's just not where I am right now.

Wait, maybe I'll say that I can't stand those content warnings that go out of their way to apologize for engaging with problematic content, or that give some kind of sickly sweet assurance to potential readers who have experience trauma that they are strong or whatever? That's a weird thing I've been noticing recently, and I'm sure it comes from a place of anxiety that I am sympathetic to, but also I find it extraordinarily off-putting.

[harryhandstan]

washed away in you

I don’t have much to say except I appreciate your patience with me as I worked on this piece! I apologize again for all the confusion with posting and deleting and now reposting. This is the third part to my Dad!Harry series. Once again you don’t have to read those to understand this one, but I’ve linked them below in case you would like to revisit them. :)

Thank you to @taintedwonder for reading over part of this for me!

word count: 4.2k

needles tw // (small mention towards the end)

I Want Your Belly (part one) | Wonderful and Warm (part two) | writing tag | masterlist

y’all have already been so good to me but as always likes, rbs, and comments are welcome!!

//

Of all the weeks to be put on bed rest, it had to be the week that Harry started filming for his new movie role.

Technically you were on modified bed rest, which meant resting as much as possible but still moving around as necessary, but the phrase terrified Harry enough that he was doing whatever he could to keep you still. It hadn’t been an easy task, you were in your 8th month of pregnancy, quickly approaching your due date, and there still seemed to be a mountain of important things to get done before your son’s arrival.

It had only been two days since you’d started having what you thought were contractions. It had forced you and Harry to realize just how unprepared the two of you were when you had to rush out of the house at 2 a.m. with nothing packed for what could possibly be the night of your child’s appearance into the world. Just the two of you with disheveled hair and rumpled pajamas under the harsh lighting of the ER exam room. 8 hours of tests and scans and a visit from your doctor later, you returned home to fall back in bed and catch up on the sleep you had missed.

“Listen you’re both new to all this..I get it. But you’re putting too much stress on your body and that’s what caused this tonight. I know it’s hard but, take a week, relax, bed rest as much as possible. I’ll see you in my office again in a few days just to make sure everything is progressing along like we want. If there’s still too much stress on the baby, we may have to push your due date up a little earlier. But we don’t want to do that if we can avoid it.”

Currently you were in the nursery, where most of the last minute things to do remained. You were standing at the changing table, folding a set of onesies to be put away. Harry had been urging you for the past 10 minutes to sit down.

“Harry, I have been in bed all night, or as much of it as your son allowed me to be without kicking me in the ribs or pressing on my bladder. I just wanna get these folded and put away and I’ll be done.”

“Well you can at least sit while y’doing them. Or, let me finish ‘em.” His hands fall on your shoulders, gently guiding you towards the rocking chair in the corner. You gesture for him to bring the basket closer, “And why is he only my son when he’s causing you trouble?”

“Maybe cause it was your birthday treat that got us into this mess. Or because he already likes to tease us so much. Besides, you can’t do them, I have a system.”

“Yeah, a birthday treat planned by you. And I know the system, you showed me two days ago.”

“You knew the system, we changed it.”

“We? I’ve barely been home how’ve we..”

“I may have called your Mum again.” You shrug, propping your feet up on the small ottoman positioned in front of the chair, “She and I agreed it’s better this way.”

“You didn’t think it was important to notify me of this system you and y’new bestie have thought up?” He’s turned to lean his back against the changing table, arms folded across his chest. As much as he wants to be upset, he’s over the moon that you and Anne have become so much closer over the past few months. Between his mom and yours, plus your sister and his, he was thrilled to see you had so much support for days when he couldn’t be there. Anne had offered to fly out to spend the week with you, as did your mom, but you put them both off, promising you would need them more the few weeks after the birth.

“Been a little busy growing a human here, Harry. May have slipped my mind. I would’ve gotten around to it eventually.”

“Right, you can just tell me where everything goes then.” He’s already worked his way through folding the last of the pile, smiling proudly at you as you lean your head back and close your eyes, sinking further into the chair.

“Socks in the second drawer to the left, hats in the middle. If the onesies are newborn sized, they go to the right. Anything bigger than that gets tucked in the baskets by size there in the middle shelf of the closet, if you can find room.”

Between the two of your families and your group of mutual friends, you’d been given 4 baby showers over the past few months, combining with the items you and Harry had supplied for yourselves. People had been more than generous in helping stock the nursery for your little one.

“All done. How ‘bout some breakfast now?”

“You don’t have time. You have to be on set in less than an hour. I’ll make myself something in a bit. I may go back to sleep for a while, just got up to see you off and wanted to put those things away.”

“Always have time for you, angel,” He offers his hand to help you lift yourself up, “Maybe a smoothie?”

“Alright, if I let you make me a smoothie, will you take yours to go? Don’t want you to be late because of me.”

“Deal. But only if you let me tuck you back into bed before I go.”

“Deal.” You lean up slightly to accept the sweet kiss he offers before shuffling off to the kitchen together.

//

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve decided. You’re not allowed to look.”

You knew he wasn’t listening, trying to maybe, but not really. He sits across the room at the desk in the corner of your bedroom, glasses perched on the end of his nose, guitar in his lap, journal open in front of him. He’s in writing mode, something that usually takes you at least 30 minutes to coax him from and convince him to come to bed. Not that you ever wanted to interrupt his process, but tonight you’re feeling anxious about your impending delivery, dread slowing working its way through your body. 

It had been only a few days since your follow up appointment with your doctor. She had deemed you fit to come off bed rest, but urged you to continue to try to keep your stress level to a minimum as much as possible. Easier said than done, but you were finding small ways to relax yourself when you could; meditation, music, reading. But tonight you just wanted Harry for reassurance.

In your nightly scroll through one of your recent favorite mom-to-be blogs, you had come across an article on the difficulty of delivery. You appreciated moms who were brave enough to share their stories online and this person in particular had included a video. Despite your anxiety, you clicked to watch, curiosity overriding any fear rising in your chest. 

When he finally puts away the guitar and the journal and sheds his soft purple robe to swim up the bed to settle next to you, he asks, “Were y’sayin’ something earlier, m’love? Got lost there for a bit, m’sorry.”

His writing sessions were normally done in his office or the studio, but the past few weeks he’d preferred to do them here. Liked the idea of you trying to softly hum along to a new tune he was working through, occasionally offering your opinions about what you liked or didn’t. It was rare that you disliked anything, but he liked that you didn’t shy away from being honest with him. His favorite though? The sight of you, an open book, hand always resting on the side of your belly while you read. It was just as much a comfort for him to be near you these days as it was for you.

“Yeah. I’ve decided. You’re not allowed to look when I deliver this baby.”

His head rests on your thigh, only the side of his face visible as he looks up at you, but it’s enough to see the disappointment flash before he composes himself, not wanting to upset you.

“Alright. What d’you mean by that? Like..you don’t want me in the room or..”

“No, no, I want you in the room, that was never a question. You’re just not allowed to look when I’m pushing. I watched a video and I’m traumatized and I just..”

He sits up quickly, “You watched a birthing video? Without me?”

“Yeah, earlier when you were zoned out. You’ve never seen one?”

“Never been curious enough to watch one ‘til now. Not ‘til I thought of you having our babe. Show me the one you watched?”

You’re hesitant. Truly you’re touched he’s so curious and wants to share this experience with you, but right now the thought of him seeing your body change like that is scary. He senses your unease, almost reads your mind; he knows you so well.

“Babe, s’your body. If you really don’t want me t’look, then I won’t. Just..at least show me what you watched so I can see for myself what it’s like, what you’ll go through. S’all m’askin’ for now.”

“Okay, fine,” You pat the bed next to you and he scurries up to sit, his head on your shoulder while you navigate through your browser history to find the video. You start it, but your eyes stay focused on his face.

“Y’not gonna watch it again with me?”

“No,” You drape your arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer so you can rest your head on top of his, “I’d rather watch your reactions this time around.”

You’re curious to see how he reacts to certain parts; his little gasps and winces as the video progresses. When it ends, you’re not surprised to see tears have fallen down his face and made a small wet spot on the front of his t-shirt.

“Harry, you’re not upset with me, are you?”

“‘Course not, meant what I said earlier. If you really don’t want me t’look, then I won’t..but I don’t want you to think I’ll look at you any differently after. You’re givin’ me one of the greatest gifts anyone ever has, if anything I love you more than I ever thought I could. And that’s only gonna grow once our boy’s here.”

You run your hands through his hair, not sure what to say. You’ve never had a love this big, one that envelops you so fully. The past few months have shown you just how deeply he cares for you, and just how much your own heart could stretch to fill with your overwhelming love for Harry and now the baby growing inside you.      

He doesn’t take offense to your silence, just stills your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing each of your fingertips. He slumps further down the bed, head level with your stomach. He pokes it softly through your shirt. He doesn’t even have to ask anymore, you know what he wants and you’re glad to give in to him. You scoot down to rest your head on your pillow, pulling your shirt up and tucking the fabric under your breasts.

Instantly his head rests on your tummy, a hand reaching around to lay there on the other side of it, wrapping himself around you. You reach over and turn the lamp on your bedside table off, sleep drifting it’s way through your body and mind. You let one hand fall to his back, the other one joining his arm to wrap protectively around your belly.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?” 

“You can look. If you want.”

“Y’don’t have to decide tonight. We still have a little time to plan.”

“No. I don’t want to take any of this experience from you. The whole thing’s just a bit scary though.”

“I know it is, m’terrified too. But everything’s gonna be alright. I’m gonna be there for every second of it.” 

“I know you are. You’re the only thing that’s kept me sane through all this. You’ve been so good to me, H. Putting up with all my mood swings and late night cravings and whatever I needed.” 

“I haven’t had to ‘put up’ with anything. Just want to make you and bub as happy as y’both already make me.” He turns to kiss the side of your stomach before looking up at you, “Comfy? Am I squishin’ you?”

“No, it’s nice. Don’t see how you can be comfy though.” 

“I’ll move to my pillow in a bit. Just like being close to you and bub,” He yawns, “Goodnight, babe. Love you both so much.”

“We love you too, Harry. More than you’ll ever know.”

//  

Sleep had been pretty much non-existent in your third trimester. You were lucky if you got a few hours each night and cat naps throughout the day were rare. 

Tonight is no different. It’s 3 a.m and once you get up for your fifth trip to the bathroom, you know there’s no point in trying to get comfortable again. Harry will be up soon, and as much as he tries to stay quiet during his morning routine, he always found some way to unintentionally wake you. You couldn’t even sleep through his soft kisses to your forehead to say goodbye anymore.

Normally you take yourself down to the living room to find a mindless tv show or movie to carry you through your insomnia, but Harry also seemed to be infected with your curse of being a light sleeper these days. Most nights he would attempt to join you, sweet enough to not want you to be alone, stubborn enough to not listen each time you urged him to go back to bed. He always paid for it the day after though, dark circles under his eyes and nodding off to sleep throughout whatever he had scheduled. 

So in hopes that you wouldn’t wake him by leaving tonight, you reach for the remote to the bedroom tv, muting it so the noise won’t disturb him. You would almost be content enough to stare at him for the rest of the night. The sharp outline of his jaw, freckles scattered across his face that would rival the constellations in the sky, all softened by the moonlight illuminating his face perfectly. As much as you don’t want to wake him, you can’t help but reach out to run the back of your hand over the smooth skin of the man you admire so much. You adore the way even in his sleep he molds to your touch, soft snores and deep, even breaths never stopping as you move up to brush his curls away from his face. 

You almost make it through 20 minutes of a movie before his eyes flutter open. You know how much your false contractions from before weighed on him, alarm is quick to flood his face before he has a chance to take in his surroundings. 

You answer before he has a chance to let worry take over, “It’s alright. We’re okay. Just the usual..couldn’t sleep.”

He rubs his eyes to clear them, “What time s’it?”

“4:30.”

He squints slightly at the movie playing before chuckling, “How many times y’think you’ve watched this one? Know it’s been at least a dozen or so in the last month.”

“It’s my favorite. One of them, anyway. It’s always been soothing to me.”

“Bet you could quote the whole thing by now, even with it muted.”

You glance up at the tv and it only takes a second for you to pinpoint the exact part. You take his comment as a challenge, pushing yourself up out of your nest of pillows to rest your back against the headboard before quoting, “Faith is a bluebird you see from afar. It’s for real, and as sure as the first evening star. You can’t touch it, or buy it, or wrap it up tight. But it’s there just the same, making things turn out right.”

Your voice breaks as you say the last few words. Maybe it’s the combination of exhaustion and all the new fears and hormones running through your mind and body. Nostalgia of watching this when you were younger and now sharing it with your child when they are old enough touches your heart and you can’t stop the tears continuously streaming down your face.

“Baby,” He pushes himself up to rest next to you, tugging you until you're pressed close to his side, “Please don’t cry.”

“M’miserable, Harry. I’m as big as the moon and I can’t breathe and my feet always hurt and I’m just..ready for him to be here. Ready for him to be out so I can hold him and kiss him and put him in his own bed so I can rest in mine again.” 

You know you sound childish and whiny and somewhat ridiculous, but being so sleep deprived means all sense has left and so the words come spilling out, a jumbled mess you doubt he even understood.

“I know you are, love. Hate to see you so upset,” He kisses the top of your head, “Certainly as bright as the moon, but not as big. Your body’s as exactly as it should be. I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but that’s only cause you’re tired. He’ll be here soon and we’ll have so many people here to help, yeah?”

All you can do is nod, you know he’s right and you know once you have a nap things won’t feel so overwhelming. You pull yourself away from him to wipe your face on your t-shirt. A smile stretches across your lips as the thought enters your mind, “If I’m as bright as the moon, you’re as golden as the sun.”

“Yeah?” He’s blushing now, looking down at his hands before his eyes dart up to meet yours, “Guess that makes bub our little star, huh?”

You giggle before shrugging, “Guess so.”

“By the way,” His hand rests on your thigh, “We gonna keep calling him bub or we gonna pick a name?” 

“Bub’s cute. Bub Styles.” You wrinkle your nose at the thought, “I just want it to be perfect for him, you know? I feel like I need to see his face before I just blindly pick a name. We could definitely narrow down some options though and see which one suits him best.”

“We’ll think of something special, eh? Somethin’ just f’him.”

“Yeah, we will,” You suck in a sharp intake of breath at a particularly hard kick from within your stomach. Harry’s head snaps to look over your face before looking down to where your hand lays on your belly.

“What’s wrong?” His eyes are wide, on edge as he waits for your answer.

“It’s fine he’s just..ah, being a little rowdy this morning.” You take his hand from your thigh and press it to where the kicks were landing, “Right here. Think that’s his butt, his head’s down here, and..ah, his feet are right about here. Can you feel him?”

His palm lays flat across the front of your belly, “S’amazing, never gets old. Bet it feels so..weird to you though.”

“At first, yeah, but got used to it pretty quickly. It’s comforting now, like he’s saying hello or contributing to our conversations when we talk.”

He puts his mouth almost right against your tummy, so close his breath tickles and you feel the vibrations when he speaks, “Take it easy on mumma, little one. Just a bit longer, yeah? Can’t wait to see ya face. Bet y’so handsome like daddy, just gotta be a lil’ more patient like mummy, alright?” 

“Think maybe he’s ready for his pre-breakfast snack?”

“Dunno..I’ll ask him though,” He bends again, “That why y’bein’ such a brat to mum, huh? Woke her up early cause you were hungry? Alright, daddy’ll make your usual.”

He kisses your stomach, before straightening to where he’s level with your face, “That sound good?”

Your “usual” was a bowl of what had been your biggest craving throughout your pregnancy; fruit. On nights like this when sleeplessness couldn’t be defeated, the two of you normally gave in pretty quickly and had breakfast together. On days when you were able to sleep through Harry’s departure, you would always wake to the bowl already prepared and ready for you. Oftentimes there would be a quickly scribbled note with the words “Love, H” stuck to the top or the side of the bowl, like you didn’t already know who had left it for you.

“You’re spoiling him already, Harry.”

He smacks a quick kiss to your cheek, pulling back just a second before diving back in to peck another one on your other cheek, “Tryin’ to spoil you too, angel.”

//

Contractions, real ones you were sure this time, had started 30 minutes ago. As much as Harry wanted to rush you out of the house in your pajamas, you had insisted on at least 5 minutes to change and pull your hair into a quick ponytail before gathering your bag and dashing down the stairs.

Just as Harry’s hand lands on the doorknob, you tug on the sleeve of his jacket, “Harry, stop for a second.”

“Why? Are you having one now?”

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“This is one of our last moments before we become parents. I want you to slow down, take a deep breath, and kiss me.”

“You’re impossible, you know that? Active labor and you stop me for a kiss.” He rolls his eyes but you can see his shoulders drop, relaxing just enough to press his lips firmly against yours. You reach your hand up and around to the back of his neck, deepening it for a moment before drawing back to scan his face.

“Better?” Your hand continues to work through his hair, happy to watch his face relax slightly at your touch.

“Much. How are you so calm?”

“I don’t know, really. I thought I would be scared, and I am but..I’m ready. So ready to meet him.”

“Me too. Let’s go.” His hand falls to the small of you back, leading you out the door and to the car.

Once you arrive at the hospital, he doesn’t leave your side, not even when the nurse suggests he do so while you get your epidural. She agrees to let him stay, but makes him sit in a chair in front of you and sternly tells him not to look.

He holds both of your hands, squeezing them tightly as an attempt to distract you. He knows how much you hate needles, how the thought of this procedure alone had scared you almost as much as the idea of labor. You release a deep sigh of relief when they announce it’s done, and he helps you settle back into bed, tucking the blanket around you.

“So proud of you, baby. You’re already doing amazing.” 

Things progress much faster than you ever thought they would, and it’s only three hours before you’re ready to push. Harry’s there for every second of it, hand behind your back and small encouragements in your ear when you think you can’t go any further. 

“M’tired, H.” The room is full of people, your doctor and a set of nurses, but his focus stays on you; simply existing together in that moment. Small pieces of hair have come loose from your ponytail, clinging to the sweat now covering your forehead. He sweeps them away before resting his hand on your shoulder.

“I know y’are, lovie, but you’re so so close. Doin’ so incredible,” His smile is so wide, beaming at you when he leans closer, “Y’look gorgeous too, never seen you look more stunning than now.”

That has a laugh bursting from you, still breathless when you reply,  “You’re such a bad liar.”

“M’serious! Know better than to lie to you.” He winks just before working his arm around behind your back again, giving you the motivation you needed to keep going.

It’s not long before you hear what you’re certain is one of the best sounds you’ll ever hear, the sweet sound of your baby boy’s cry as he enters the world.

//

An hour later, both of you are still in awe of your little one, sleeping peaceful now in their dad’s strong arms. Harry’s wedged himself next to you in the hospital bed, long legs stretched in front of him. He keeps looking between where your head is propped on his shoulder and the baby.

He breaks the silence first, “Definitely think he has your hair. S’nice and soft.”

“Think it’ll be darker like yours though. Maybe he’ll have your eyes.” You reach over to run your finger along your baby’s nose.

He looks between you and the baby again, a prideful smile brightening his face. He smushes his lips against your temple, and you close your eyes as the feeling of adoration combined with the  exhaustion of the day washes over you. 

You hear him whisper just as you’re drifting to sleep, “My moon and star, together at last.”

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

I can't stop thinking about your madame red au and the headcannons you wrote last. Can I ask for Joker and reader where she helps him during the dance and all and defends him behind his back when some ladies are shocked because ,,how dare a woman lead a man?!". And maybe Madame Red notices the reader and her behaviour towards Joker and the others and already ships them? Sorry it's so long. Headcannons or scenarios are fine. 😅😁

PLEASE DON’T BE SORRY, THIS IS ALL I EVER WANT IN LIFE AND I OWE U FOR REQUESTING IT

it got so hecking long omg I never plan for things to get this long but when I like something a lot it just kind of happens!!!

The fact that your new companion is missing an arm seems to bother you far less than it does him, at least in the context of trying to figure out how to position yourselves to dance.

“I just, ah ― oof, Lord ― I-I dunno if this is gonna work.” His face is about as red as his hair by now, and he just draws himself away from you. “I’m… I’m sorry. This pro’ly ain’t such a good idea, beauty. Why, uh, why don’t ye go dance wit’ someone else?”

Able to feel other people’s eyes on you both, you shamelessly step back toward him. “Because I want to dance with you. It’s not really that big a deal, is it? There has to be a way.”

He offers you a timid smile. “Be m’ guest, m’ lady.”

The sound of several other girls tittering behind their fans as they watch the man flounder is all the determination you need.

“So I shall!” You return his smile before analyzing the situation. After a moment, you make a move: you wrap your arm around his waist and draw him flush against you. This might be a good start… “Hm, this may work. If I keep my arm here, then I can support you. That way, we can hold hands and you don’t have to worry about losing your grip or anything, because I’ll be holding you.”

Another round of blush blooms over his cheeks. “T-this ain’t exac’ly proper, though, is it? I mean… Mum said th’ man’s s’posed ta be th’ one wit’ ‘is arm round the lady’s waist. Heh, treatin’ me like a lady, are ye? Makin’ a joke like ev’ryone else?”

You can’t help but to burst out laughing, though you take care not to be too loud. The two of you have enough attention on you already, and you get the sense that it’s not the good kind, so you don’t want to attract more. “What?? I wouldn’t make a joke of you. It’s just that we have to do things a bit differently, and we have to do whatever works. It doesn’t mean I’m treating you like a lady. If this is what works, then that should be the proper thing, shouldn’t it?”

“… Well…” His good arm scratches at the side of his cheek as he seems to think that over. It makes a lot of sense, as far as you’re concerned. The very definition of proper is that something is correct. If the way you normally dance doesn’t work when dancing with him, then clearly it isn’t proper. “I, ah, guess I never thought ‘f it that way b’fore. Good way ta put it. This is… alrigh’, then? Dancin’ like this? Ye don’t mind it?”

“Of course not. It’ll be kind of exciting to do things differently.” With your free hand, you take his, weaving your fingers into the spaces between his and noting how it just feels right. “I think this is song is meant to be waltzed to, so… one, two, three?” you tease.

When he chuckles, it’s a sound like golden honey. He has such a lovely voice, and a bright laugh to match even as he’s keeping it soft. “One, two, three, it is, m’ beauty.”

So the two of you start to move. As you lead him around the dance floor, you focus on him rather than all the people who are staring at you. “By the way, I don’t think we introduced ourselves. I’m (Name). And your name?”

“Ah, it’s JOKER,” he hums. “Mum told me she’d never heard ‘f anyone wit’ tha’name, but I picked it m’self a while ago. Never ‘ad any other one.”

“Huh… Lady Durless-Barnett isn’t your mother by blood, right?”

“Aye, tha’s right. She found us all an’ took us in.”

“So, what about the woman who gave birth to you? She didn’t give you any kind of name?”

He averts his eyes down toward your feet with a halfhearted shrug. “She didn’t. Rather not talk ‘bout any o’ that, ‘f ye don’t mind.”

You frown, but recover quickly. “Oh… no, that’s fine. I understand. Then ― all the others that Lady Durless-Barnett took in along with you. You were all basically a family before she found you? You’re all brothers and sisters?”

“Mhm. Tha’s ‘ow we’ve always thought o’ each other.”

“That’s so sweet.” You glance around the room for a minute, spotting some of them, and you can’t help the smile that settles on your lips. “What are their names? What are they like?”

His own smile is back at those questions. “Well… th’ two over sittin’ in th’ chairs, that’s Mally an’ Dagger. They’re each missin’ a leg. Both a bit ‘otheaded, if ye ask me, but that jus’ means they’re also passionate an’ determined. Go ta th’ ends o’ the Earth f’r ye if they think ye deserve it.”

“What about the tall fellow standing by the punch?”

Joker laughs and this time a little snort makes its way out. “Aw, that’s Jumbo. Ye can tell righ’ off what’s goin’ on with ‘im, can’t ye? I knoo he looks scary, but ‘e’s got the biggest ‘eart I ever seen. More afraid o’ ye than ye are o’ him, I’d wager. That suit don’t fit ‘im right; Mum did ‘er best.”

“And the girl next to him by the refreshment table ― the one with cake all over her dress?”

“Ah, God! She’s got it all dirty already, does she?” That grin of his is… really something. “Tha’s Freckles. We call ‘er Doll sometimes, too. Ye knoo, she’s pro’ly the brightest outta all o’ us, ‘r at least brighter’n I am. She’s pretty much th’ heart o’ our li’l group, always got a smile f’r us all.”

“I think the last two are… running around flirting? They seem to be half everyone else’s height?”

It’s obvious that the image is hilarious to him. “Oh, Peter an’ Wendy. Those two only grew ta a certain ‘eight, an’ they’re ‘bout as inseparable as anythin’. Peter can be a bitter pill ta swallow, rough round the edges… come ta think ‘f it, so can Wendy, she’s jus’ quieter. Once ye get ta know ‘em, though, ye see they ain’t bad at all.”

You give one more look at all of them, then return your gaze to Joker’s face. “… So, how about you?”

He blinks a few times, looking surprised. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” you giggle. “Now that I know that everyone else is passionate, nice,energetic, loyal… what are you? How would you describe yourself the way you just described your family?”

“Oh… er…” And he’s blushing again. Precious. “I… dunno, really.”

A hum vibrates up from your throat. “I suppose I’ll just have to find out for myself, then. As it stands, this is one of the most pleasant dances I’ve ever had with someone, so I would use charming as a starting point.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Ye think?”

“I’ve done this a few times, you know.” You lead him in the next step, twirling around with him in your arms. “So far, you’re probably the best dance partner I’ve had. You’re very sweet.”

“Awh, ye’re havin’ a go at me. Don’t make me blush, beauty.”

As the song transitions into a new one, you lean over and give a very light kiss to his cheek. “Oh, don’t limit me like that. You’re very handsome when you blush.”

You loosen your arm so that he can move away if he doesn’t want to dance for another song. “So,” you say, “would you like to go for another song?”

He shifts himself out of your arms. “Actually, sure. But first, would it… maybe be alrigh’ if I brought Mally an’ Dagger over? They both been poutin’ over not bein’ able ta dance, an’, well, if ye can find a good way ta ‘elp me dance, I bet ye could f’r them too. Sure make ‘em real happy, if ye’re up f’r that.”

“Oh… of course! I’m nothing if not up for a challenge.” You step back and give him a curtsy. “Hurry back!”

-

“Joker, darling, did I just see you were dancing with (Name) (Surname)? Goodness, and you didn’t think you’d be confident enough to ask anyone to dance, yet you asked the most beautiful, eligible woman in the room!”

Joker shoots a nervous grin at his mother, who’s currently fanning herself as she surveys her party. “Actually, she… she was th’ one who asked me.”

“What?” Anne’s eyes get even wider, sparkling devilishly. “Oh, my!! That can only mean one thing. She’s interested in you.”

“Her? Oh, Mum, she’s lovely, she really is, but… I-I dunno.” Just thinking about you makes his heart skip a beat. He’s very much interested in you, but the two of you did just meet, and he’s… missing pieces. “She couldn’t be int’rested in me.”

Anne pauses in the motion to point her fan toward the dance floor. “Then why is she doing that?”

When Joker turns his head where his mother is pointing, he not only sees what you’re doing, he hears it too. Currently, you’re positioned as if in a stand-off with one of the other attendees.

“― And you don’t know anything about him! You want to insult someone, pick on someone your own size and come at me. Go on! If you want me to tell my father to cut off business with yours, I dare you to say something. A woman leading a man in a waltz isn’t that strange! Well? Suddenly you don’t have anything to say? Just turn around like the coward you are, and if I hear you so much as breathe another word about him, you will be sorry.”

Joker’s attention isn’t even on the fact that the other lady turns bright red before flouncing off with her friends. He doesn’t care about her reaction; he cares about what you’re saying and doing. What…?

It would appear you’re defending him from someone who tried to make rude remarks about him. Why? Isn’t that the kind of thing that could ruin your standing if you get too heated about it? Why would you risk that just because someone made a cruel comment about someone you barely know? Why would you threaten such a big thing as changing your father’s business partners for him, who’s basically a stranger to you?

Anne’s giggling as she nudges Joker with one elbow. “Keeping that in mind, we should start thinking about whether you’d like a June wedding or a December wedding.”

“Mum!!” he snorts, though his face is all aglow with a soft pink. “That’s not… I’m not… she’s…”

“She likes you. Which, of course, proves that she has excellent taste.” Anne runs an affectionate hand through her son’s hair. “Why don’t you set up a date with her, sweetheart?”

Joker’s gaze returns to you, still standing in the middle of the dance floor, arms crossed, silently daring anyone to say anything mean about him or any of the others, while he remembers how kindly you treated him.

“… I just might do that, Mum. Just might.”

[it-will-not-last-the-night]

-Oil and Water-

4 AM

“Woah, geeze, that was so close,” Ryuji fell back against the wall, tossing his controller aside, and deflated. A sense of palpable relief was evident on his features, alongside a bleary-eyed look of fatigue.

Futaba did not share his same state of fatigue.

“Whew, c’mon, it wasn’t really that close, we had him from about halfway, you just always pop your ulties to early!” She hurried to collect the controller even as she spoke, absently inspecting it for damage.

The two sat in her room, on her bed, magazines, drinks, snacks and pillows spread about them as they faced the monitor they’d been playing on, hooked up to a console. The screen still flickered on the game briefly as Futaba idled through stats and scores at her own leisure.

“I was gonna die! I had to drop the shield!” He protested, weakly, cutting himself off with a rather obnoxious yawn, earning an eyeroll from his younger companion.

“Your health was dropping well within my expected parameters, you wouldn’ t have had to activate the shield for at least another 2 minutes and, then, it would have lasted all the way through his final phase, instead of us having to dodge like crazy for the last bit,” there was no arguing with Futaba on it, in no small part since Ryuji doubted anything she said wasn’t absolutely correct. As a result he settled for just waving a hand at her dismissively, groping about for his phone.

“Whatever Miss Queen of Games-”

“Goddess, if you must,”

Ryuji made an unflattering snorting sound and finally located his phone. “Seriously? 4 in the morning? That was, what, five hours playing? Geeze, no wonder my ass feels numb,” Ryuji remained classy as always.

“That’s nothing, I’ve been on raids that take up to 9 hours solid playing. Of course most of that is when there’s some trick to the raid, so you gotta play over and over on the same parts till someone figures it out, then it’s always way easier in hindsight,” she turned off the console as she spoke, hearing Ryuji’s neck give an audible crick as he stretched out. Stupid, muscled, boy.

“Seriously? That’s like...the whole day. There’s no way I could sit still that long, it’d drive me nuts,” Futaba could only scoff at his plebian constitution.

“You can’t sit still for a minute without complaining so you aren’t a good bar for this at all. You were shifting around so much I thought you were just going to push me off! Not to mention now you rubbed your numb butt all over my precious bed! I’ll have to disinfect the sheets!” 

“It isn’t my fault your room has almost nowhere else to sit, okay? Also you’re in school now so you gotta get rest, remember what Makoto said? No more sleeping in the day and staying up at night, ‘ight?”

“Sleep is for the weak, I prefer to just turbocharge with sugar and power through school then stay up all night, it’s a perfect solution!” A perfect solution it was not, and Futaba knew this. Adjusting to her first year at Shujin had come with a number of obstacles. One of those was trying to get back into a normal sleeping pattern, something she hadn’t done for years. Even now she struggled falling asleep any time before 2 or 3 in the morning, leading to more than a few incidents of passing out at Shujin and getting lectured by Sojiro. There was, of course, no way Futaba was ever going to admit that to a bonehead like Ryuji. Even struggling to sleep she still managed considerably better scores than him so, when you think about it, her way was clearly better.

“What are you, a vampire? Seriously Futaba, sleep’s important for a growing kid, even a pipsqueak like you could still pack on a few inches,” he tauntingly held his hand above her head in the air, grinning crookedly. 

Vampire’s weren’t really Futaba’s style, she prefered aliens or orcs, but more importantly; “A few inches? Ryuji! My breast size is not something you should be worrying about! You just want me to grow up like Ann and Haru and Makoto don’t you? Admit it!” If he was going to open the door to taunting than Futaba would give as good as she got and, if history was any judge, she gave considerably more than he could handle.

“W-what? No! No! I meant height! Height! Taller, taller Futaba! I didn’t...I wouldn’t...you’re fine how you are I...not that I care! Or...as long as you’re happy then...I just meant...” he devolved into a Ryuji-esque meltdown, cheeks tinged pink, eyes wide as saucers, babbling and wavings his arms about in an incoherent mess. She couldn’t help but giggle. There was almost no-one as fun to tease as Ryuji, his unique blend of earnesty, foot-in-mouth syndrome and idiocy was simply unmatched. 

“It’s okay, doofus, but let that be a lesson to you not to make comments about a lady’s physique! Stick to what you know; meat and muscles and punching stuff,” she poked a finger into his chest accusatorily and tried to ignore how irritatingly solid it was.

“You know I am good at other stuff too,” he sulked, a hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Evidence would beg to differ,” she shot back, sticking a tongue out at him and earning another amused snort from the blonde...well, only partly blonde, darker roots were beginning to show again. Ever since Ren had moved away his dedication to keeping his hair blonde had been fading. 

“Whatever, look you sure it’s still cool if I crash here for tonight? Sojiro’s cool with it while he’s out?” 

“Nah, I didn’t tell him, so when he comes back and finds you here tomorrow morning, er, later in the morning he’ll probably kill you,” stringing Ryuji along was just to easy for her, how could she blamed for pulling his leg when he basically stuck it out for her every single time?

“W-” was as far as Ryuji managed, leaping to his full height, voice dangerously high, before Futaba’s familiar cackle clued him in on what was yet another instance of her messing with him.

“Relax, geeze, obvs I told him,” she shook her head as he calmed down; “Besdes, he’s okay with any of you being here, Inari, you, Ren, so long as it’s you guys it’s okay, so ease up on the paranoia, will ya?” 

“Hey! If I’m paranoid it’s cause you keep messin’ with me!” Ryuji shot back weakly, grumbling all the while. Futaba simply shrugged.

“So what do you wanna do next?”

“Sleep?” He said it as if it was some obvious conclusion she should have reached already. She tried to make sure her disappointment didn’t show and, luckily, Ryuji was one of the people she was rather good at hiding things from, though that was probably more just because Ren, Makoto and Haru were, by comparison, far more perceptive than him.

“I mean it’s already way past my normal time and I like gettin’ up early, sleeping in the whole day, just feels like I’m wastin’ time, ya know?” He didn’t mean it as a question, not a real one, Futaba knew a rhetorical question when she heard one. 

“So that’s what I’ve been doing, huh?” She kept it to a whisper, not exactly wishing to inject bitterness into what had otherwise been a fun night. There was nothing really for it in the end, he was an early rising, workout obsessed, extroverted meathead, she was a nightowl, introvert, who could barely make the walk down her own stairs without panting. They were just like oil and water, night and day and other cool sounding metaphors. 

For some reason that bothered her a bit.

“Okay, okay, fine, yeesh, can’t believe you still have a bedtime, and you call me the kid?”

[sundaymisogeny-blog]

A Secret Place

"Sir?" Anne's voice has a definite tremor to it, and understandably so. The hand which patted her bottom a few moments earlier up under her buttocks, before patting again with a little lift to each cheek in turn, had a distinctly expert feel to it, as though it had smacked more bottoms than she would care to know about. "Sir? Excuse me, Sir." "Hmm?" They are standing outside a door which, when it has been unlocked, will lead to a long, narrow passage. At the far end of the passage will be a second door, and beyond that, a room which Anne has never seen but about which she has heard more than enough. The man whom she is calling 'sir' has been introduced to her as a 'school governor', although she has never met him before. At this moment he is sorting through a bunch of keys for one that will fit the lock. "Sir — m-may I ask — wh-what exactly is it that I've done wrong?" "Done wrong, my dear? Um — ah yes, this is the one." The key turns easily in the well-oiled lock. "After you." And Anne's bottom is smacked playfully through the door. The passage is dark, and the girl stumbles as her foot catches on an uneven floorboard. "Just a moment," Basil gropes along the wall for the light switch, his hand swooshing softly against the brickwork. The light clicks on. A naked bulb glares down bleakly from the ceiling. "Alright — I'll just close the door." Anne hears the quiet 'click' as the key turns. She goes dubiously towards the second door, Basil following and watching her navy knickers as they pull tight around pert buttocks, her bottom full and plump and with that firm-soft look that is typical of the teenage girl's bum. Basil squeezes past at the second door and unlocks it. He coaxes the girl into the little room with a hand cupped under her buttocks. She feels warm and skittish to the touch, her skin satiny where his fingers overlap the leg elastic of her knickers. There is only one window in the room, high in one wall, and the level of lighting is not improved by the grime on the quartered window panes. The bare floorboards have a layer of dust on them, although there are numerous footprints, and at one place there is an area which looks as though people have been scraping their feet around and clearing the dust away. High on the wall, immediately above this shoe-scraped bit of floor, there is a metal bracket projecting from the bricks. It is at about the height a girl might reach if she were to stand on the very tips of her toes. There is an old school desk and a tall stool and nothing else. Basil closes the door, and there is a rattling sound. Anne looks around and sees several canes dangling from hooks screwed into the door's woodwork. They swing gently in the quietness of this frightening room, making little intermittent scraping sounds as they touch against the door with their swinging. The girl's eyes follow the hypnotic movement of these ominous intimations of the present function of this hideaway. She looks pleadingly at the man whom she supposes to be a governor of the school, seeing something in his expression that she mistakes for kindness or sympathy or understanding of her predicament. "Sir — please — what did I do wrong, sir?" "Wrong? I'm afraid I don't know what you've done wrong, my dear." The vague smile is there again. "Didn't you have to see the Headmaster? Didn't he explain the matter to you?" "N-no, n-not really, sir." He glances down at her knickers. "But he told you that you were to be punished, surely. I mean, I presumed that the point of your turning up to see me in your knickers was that you knew you were to be punished and simply wanted to be as co-operative as possible. Wasn't that it?" Anne blushes furiously at having to talk about her knickers to this man, this stranger. "N-no sir — the Headmaster told m-me that I was to come in my gym things, but I got my shorts wet in the shower this afternoon, sir, so I couldn't wear them, and when I t-told the Headmaster he said it didn't matter, an-and I should come in my — my knickers, sir." Basil drops his eyes and another of his ephemeral smiles plays around his mouth. And a charming idea it had been too. Finding her waiting in a tee-shirt and school knickers, and nothing else besides socks and shoes, had got him off to a good start right from the start. That man knew him too well. "Well, it doesn't make much difference, actually. I shouldn't worry about it. I mean, you're not going to have them on long, are you my dear?" Anne's face looks slightly shocked at that. Her tongue peeps out and touches her lips nervously. "Sir — are you sure I'm to be p-punished? The Headmaster didn't actually say that I was to be punished, sir. He didn't actually say." "Oh yes. You're to be caned, my dear. Soundly caned." "Oooh —!" Anne's eyes blink as though tears are threatening already. She edges away and bumps against the wall. "S-sir — please sir — do I have to be c-caned sir?" "Er — well yes. Yes, you do." Another of his smiles — of course he's simply teasing her, which is why he smiles — passes across his face. "Surely you know that naughty girls are liable to be caned, don't you? Hmm?" "Er — I didn't realise I'd been naughty. I — I still don't know what I've done. An-and I've only been here a few days sir — I don't know much about c-caning and things, sir." "Really? You've only been here a few days? Dear oh dear! Well it's a pity you have to start off with a caning I suppose, but — well, there it is. I mean, I'm only lending a hand this evening. The Headmaster has an appointment, and he asked me if I would fill in for him in various ways — I suppose you just happen to be one of the little duties I have to perform. Er — in my capacity of school governor, that is. I mean, he definitely said that Anne Powell, whom I would find waiting at — I suppose you are Anne Powell, aren't you?" Plainly wishing that right at this moment she wasn't, Anne nods her head dismally. "Well, there you are. You're to be caned, Anne and I'm afraid that's that." Basil spins on his heel, all resolution and determination to do his duty, and he takes one of the canes from the hooks behind the door. He flexes it in his hands, as though not sure it's quite right for a bottom as plump as Anne's, then he puts it back and checks along the row for one that might have just that extra touch of sting in its supple length. This performance, the testing of the canes and the swishing of them, the experimental taps against the palm of the hand, the quiet, almost considerate suggestion that the girl might like to bend over and touch her toes so that the cane can stroke teasingly across her knickers, the instruction to stick her plump young bottom out so that a series of tentative little pats can reach across both round buttocks and a flick with the tip can sting her without warning on the bits her pants leave bare: all these things conspire to undermine whatever reserves of determination the girl has to be brave and see it through, and suddenly she is sniffing and snuffling and then she is crying in an undemonstrative way that somehow reveals more of her distress than if she had sobbed out loud. He keeps her down there, touching her toes, while the cane 'swhits' and 'whups' playfully across her navy knickers, making her start nervously and pant a little between her quiet tears, the strokes not really strokes, enough only to make her buttocks tweak together as the cane lands. Anne's weeping becomes gradually more like sobbing; her knees are beginning to flex with every other stroke as she struggles against the urge to swerve her bum away from the smarting cane-flicks. A few more, just a touch harder, and then Basil draws his hand across her bottom, patting it and telling her what a perfect bottom it is for the cane, slipping her knickers across into the division and standing back a little so that the cane has a better swing at the freshly bared plumpness of her trembly, reddening bottom. Several minutes of this and Anne is plainly losing her grip. She is getting livelier at every teasing contact of the cane with her crimsoned bum, and her crying is becoming irregular with little 'ouch's and 'ooogh's to relieve the monotony of her distress. "Right. That will do, I should think," says Basil. Anne stands up gingerly, eyes wide, hands sneaking round to her bottom to rub and squeeze. "Yes, I think this is the cane I'll use." Anne's look of shocked disbelief is something to behold. "Come over here." Basil indicates the bracket set in the wall. "Hold onto this — up on your toes, now. Come on." "Please — please don't. No more — Please!" "No more? Whatever do you mean girl? I haven't even begun yet." When Anne has finally done as she has been told, and she is standing on tip-toe, clinging to the bracket with her arms above her head, Basil squats down behind her and peels her knickers down from her hips, down her thighs, down to her ankles. She swings nervously around, trying to keep her eyes on him as he circles round her, the cane in his hand. She tries to edge away as he strokes a hand down the curve of her tummy, down into the moist niche between her thighs. His hand cups the soft swell of her pubic mound, fingers slipping along underneath her. With the cane held short in his other hand he begins to give her a series of strokes, harder than before, most of them angling up under her bum-cheeks, catching her always in much the same place, making her jerk and jolt away from the sting, forward onto his hand. Anne's evasive attempts send her veering away in various directions, but always the interloping hand restrains her. Her eyes constantly swivel round to look pleadingly into those of her tormentor. She gasps pleas, promises, profuse apologies, her lips moist and sweet, her tears flowing copiously down her cheeks. She pants and sobs but she clings onto the bracket. She is still dangling there ten minutes or so later. Her bottom has so many crimson stripes across its pert rotundity that it is impossible to differentiate between them for the most part, except where a wilder swing on Anne's part has presented her flank to the swishing cane and a red finger has inscribed itself across unmarked skin.

Basil leaves her there and goes to the desk in the corner of the room. He rummages around and produces a small jar from which he unscrews the lid. He dips in a finger, bringing it out with a fat dollop of translucent cream on it. Anne blinks through wet-rimmed, puffy eyes. She utters no coherent sound as Basil slides his hand down underneath her, but she pulls herself up on her toes as the cream slides along the tunnel between her thighs. Basil's other hand meets the slippery goo between her bum-cheeks and begins to spread it over her tender bottom in small, gentle, circular sweeps, across and round to where the soreness is worst, then back again through the slippery gap between her thighs. He talks to her quietly, murmuring soothing words and telling her she's been a brave, brave girl, and not to let go of the bracket, not just yet, not until he tells her. Slowly, involuntarily perhaps yet quite definitely, Anne begins to respond to the slithery, slidy stimulation as Basil's fingers slip between her legs. His voice coaxes her, chides her gently when she seems to recover her senses and wants to pull away, calms her into obedient compliance while his fingers nudge her confidently to a quivering, undemonstrative climax, reached almost resignedly, panted out quietly in submission to the inevitable. When Anne has dressed herself again — she has only to pull up her knickers of course, so it takes but a moment — she is sent to wait at the end of the passage. Keeping her eyes averted from those of the man who has frightened and bewildered her by turns, she leaves the little room and goes unhappily down the passage. Basil locks the door behind him and then lets the bewildered and ashamed Anne out of the second door. He lets her go, and she scampers off, bottom bobbing crimson where her knickers fail to cover the evidence of the punishment. Basil walks unhurriedly away to have a brandy with his old friend, Reggie.