#t: a royal audience

[littlexdeaths]

stage tech eddie munson x actress reader

warnings: 18+ only here folks, modern!college au, dry humping, little bit of kissing, just two ‘friends’ practicing, ami’right?

a/n: shoutout to both @keeksandgigz and @hippiegoth97 for hyping me up and encouraging me to finish/post this. also full credit to keeks for giving me the idea for that one specific eddie line in here hehe. you are both angels and ily 🫶🏻

“eddie, i don’t know about this…” you hesitate, silently praying he can’t hear your quickening pulse due to your close proximity. “this isn’t too weird?”

it’s a precarious position you’ve found yourself in, straddling the lap of one of your tech crew. and if anyone were to peek their head in the auditorium they would think something much more scandalous was taking place.

but between the two of you, this was just a friend helping out another. even if the utterance of the word friend made you want to shrink inwardly.

because you felt way more than friendly feelings towards the guy seated beneath you.

“hey, it’s alright… just,” he pauses, hands carefully slipping around your waist to coax you fully onto his lap. “there— see? i don’t bite.”

but eddie’s cheeky grin does nothing to slow your accelerated heart rate.

“besides, if you can’t do this with just you and me… how do you expect to do it in front of an audience?”

he gestures to the sea of empty seats, but the unyielding reassurance in his eyes has you relaxing fully onto his lap.

“there you go,” he mumbles, glancing down at the pages of your open script beside him.

while you fully knew what you were in for when you auditioned for this show, you didn’t exactly expect yourself to be thrust into the role of leading lady veronica sawyer.

you had been gunning for the role of ditzy, but adorable heather mcnamara— but were utterly surprised to find yourself cast in the role of veronica instead. but it was a challenge you were more than willing to take on. 

so when eddie (amongst the rest of the cast and crew) had seen you struggling during beginning rehearsals for dead girl walking— he of course offered to help you work on your confidence outside of scheduled rehearsals.

while his intentions were mostly pure, he can’t deny that having you in his lap was making him feel things he would be too ashamed to admit aloud. he just hopes his lower half can keep itself in check for the next hour and a half.

you blow out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, allowing your hands to rest fully on his shoulders. you can feel his muscles contract beneath your fingers when he sets your script back down on the stage floor.

“so, from the full steam ahead line?” he asks.

but you’re suddenly rendered speechless when the dimmed stage lights reflect the deep flecks of gold in his eyes.

oh you were so royally fucked.

“u-uh, just before that?” you suddenly break his intense gaze but your next move has heat soaking into your limbs.

you slide your hands down the front of his chest, only stopping when you reach the hem of his t-shirt. your eyes flick back up to his in a silent question, to which he just nods. 

“gonna ride me till you break me, right?” he grins, his hand gently squeezing your hip in a reassuring manner. 

but his words send a shock through your system and without thinking you quickly rip the soft fabric up and over his head.

it hits the stage floor with a silent thud and before he can react your lips are on his neck. light as feather when they trail down the base of his throat, the encouraging, yet snarky words of your director now flooding through your head.

i want passion, give me horny teenage aggression!

so when you suddenly shove him until he’s lying back on the stage, you can see the flash of surprise that flits over his features. but you somehow miss the way his cock stirs beneath his jeans and the hunger that reflects in his eyes. 

“sorry, you okay?” you whisper between kisses down his chest and eddie swears he’s gone to heaven.

“yeah— yeah, shit. keep going.”

you bite back a small smirk at the breathless hitch in his voice but continue your descent down his torso. you can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath your lips and the faint tinge of sweat on your tongue. 

it takes all of your remaining resolve not to lick over the dark ink that swirls across his hip bone, but you are suddenly reminded of exactly where you are and why you are even doing this in the first place. 

focus. 

but when your fingers carefully card through the patch of hair just below his navel to reach for his belt buckle— it’s eddie who has to pull himself together.

while you’ve been attempting to count the beats of the instrumental break in your head, you soon realize you’ve gone on a little longer than originally intended. but eddie hasn’t bothered to correct your mistake.

the male was far too enamored with how good your lips feel against his skin. your eyes flick up to meet his ever darkening gaze as you sit back up, tossing your head back with your arm stretched high above your head.

“full steam ahead— take this dead girl walking.” you sing.

“h-how’d you find my address?” he stutters.

“—let’s break the bed, rock this dead girl walking…”

eddie’s a little stunned before he can deliver his next line at the subtle roll of your hips. the male merely leans up on his elbows to bring you closer as he tries to look anywhere but your chest.

that spark of confidence has re-ignited within you and eddie can’t help but feel a surge of pride fill his chest as he watches you in complete awe.

“no sleep tonight for you, better chug that mountain dew,” you tap your thumb against his jaw when you cup his cheek, fully immersing yourself in this moment with him.

he nods almost frantically, echoing JD’s breathless sentiment as his warm palms envelope the bare skin of your thighs. you gladly push one of his hands up higher beneath your pleated skirt, until he’s nearing the curve of your ass.

every movement and graze of his skin feels natural, like his hands are meant to be on you. it had never felt like this when you rehearsed with jonathan, that feeling of red hot desire was always missing whenever he gripped you tighter. 

but when eddie continues to pull you in, it ignites a flame deep within you, one that you never expected anyone to stoke again. 

you playfully tap your palm against his cheek in a mock slap and guide his dominant hand to tug on the loose strands of your hair.

“touch me there and there and there…” you gasp, yanking open the snap buttons on your blouse. 

eddie’s eyes nearly pop out of his head when he takes in the lacy pink fabric of your bra, unable to tear his gaze away as you start to rock your hips down into his. 

when you feel the bulge that’s now entirely pressing against your clothed core, it only encourages you to guide his hands up to completely envelope your breasts. 

any remnants of the blocking and choreography have completely left your mind as you both desperately grind against each other. 

the male meets your thrusts with almost perfect precision, his fly catching on your clothed clit in a way that has your whimpering in between breathy lyrics. 

those sparks that have been building up inside you are about to completely burst into a raging fire, threatening to swallow you both whole if you aren’t careful. 

“— wait, wait!” he all but groans when your lips press against his jaw. 

his body seizes up beneath you, all in an effort to stop himself from completely busting in his jeans. each drag of your hips feels too good and the pretty noises you’re making have him wondering what you’d sound like moaning his name instead. 

control yourself, munson.  

eddie is panting by the time you finish belting out your final note, your body practically slumping forward against his bare chest. he cradles you a little softer, fingertips gently trailing over the bare skin of your back. and it has a shiver running down your spine.

when he finally speaks, he can’t hide the titillate lilt in his voice. 

“… so, you wanna run it again?”

[mssoapart]

Day 7

Free-day (Out of order and late) Alenoah as Sherlock/Moriarty.

I like it when two characters play mind games and scheming against or with each other.

I didn`t plan to create an AU, but – my rant and bits of literature/character analysis (The Vision). Also, draw concept sketch.

Noah (Detective Sherlock Holmes). I mean, they're both geniuses, introverts who don't care about social opinion and some versions depicted him as being good with dogs. In Victorian England, I totally see Noah opening a detective agency, because you either go working on a plant or you might use your geniuses’ intelligence to solve crimes, like game puzzles, and make monies to pay bills and buy new books because in 1800 many books were expensive and produced in small quantities.

Plus! I might look at this too far, but I think the Sherlock and Watson analogy was implemented in London episode when they strip team Chris just to Noah and Owen for investigation.

Owen (Dr. Watson). Basically in the original books, Watson plays the role of the guy, your typical visual novel MC, well narrator, who has character, but his whole purpose is just to be a witness to detectives doing, asking questions for the audience. This leads to usually representing Watson as either annoyed with Sherlock's antics or (usually in kids' media) naïve but with good intentions because of this simplification, to show his kindhearted nature in cartoons and caricatures he is portrayed as chubby, which is what we need! But all of them did service in the Anglo-Afghan War, even Disney version mentioned it. (Also if you want to do Nowen version of Jhonlock I don`t mind, sure go for it)

Alejandro (professor Moriarty). Do I really need to explain? Both archvillains in their stories. Professor, respected in society for his talent and achievements, wealthy, but behind all of that façade he`s "Napoleon of crime". He doesn’t usually do crimes himself but rather, schemes, orchestrates the events, or provides the plans that will lead to a successful crime, like paying money to a court so that someone can be released from prison.

Heather (Irene Adler). OK, in the original books (all books written not by Arthur Conan Doyle are basically fanfics) her character and Sherlock don`t date (But if you like, it`s fine). She was more like “I know what you are” towards him.  I want to base it more on Warner Bros Sherlock where Irene works with Moriarty, but they also try to get rid of each other. She is also famous for blackmailing royals, If it isn`t most Heather thing I don`t know what is.

Eva (Mrs. Hudson). The landlady. I think it would be funny, she yelling at them to pay their bills in time.

See you next week

[stardancerluv]

What the Emperor Wants

Part Eight

Summary: Justice is served, feelings are realized.

Warnings/Notes: 18+ & over! P in V consensual sex, implied violence…death in the coliseum, drinking, old time thoughts about the gods & life.

Sol Invictus: Roman god of the Sun, Pluto: Roman god of Death, & Ursa: Bear

❤️s, comments, feedback & reblogs are always welcome! Thank you for reading! (A bit long!)

Sitting in the royal box of the coliseum made you nervous. You had only stood and served prior to this day. As you settled in your seat you felt like all the eyes were on you. You knew that wasn’t the truth of the matter but it didn’t help. Your heart kept a steady beat.

“Don’t worry. The eyes will be on me soon enough.”

Startled, you glanced at Geta. A slow smile spread across his face.

You glanced around the intensity of his gaze made you shift where you sat. Taking a breath before looking back at him. “Sire?”

“Justice is going to be served.”

“Good.”

*******

This was going on to send ripples in the water. He looked forward to seeing if it would bring about a storm. Regardless, the earth will be free of one enemy. Perhaps, others will scurry out of the shadows and reveal themselves.

The herald, called for the attention of the vast audience. Trumpets sounded. He felt as if the gods, were on his side as he walked to edge of the royal box.

“People of Rome!”

He shouted. A thick silence fell over the arena, it ceased what remaining words flew from people’s lips.

“People of Rome!” He repeated, he looked over the seats.

“When dawn broke this morning, before Sol Invictus flew across the sky to bring us the sun; a man snuck into my dwelling. He wished for me to meet, Pluto.”

The crowd erupted. He allowed them to scream their disgust, their unpleasantness.

Easily, the herald brought the coliseum once more the order.

“My trusted guards, have questioned him.”

He let his lips curl into a wide smile.

“And it is here I will let you all witness justice. You will see what happens to anyone who tries to end my life.”

The clanging of metal filled the colosseum as the gates rose up, the man beaten and bruised was brought out. Seeing his condition pleased him greatly.

“Now, I will allow you and the gods to choose his final fight.”

A snarl followed by a loud, guttural roar filled the arena. A lion, pounced and rocked his iron cage. He circled in the small space eager to be released.

“Shall we allow a lion have its way?” He called out.

The man now standing by himself could be seen trembling at the place the guards had walked him too.

The creaking of a much larger cage came into the arena. Just as some of the loose sand was kicked up in a breeze and blew when a roar from the depths of its belly was heard. A bear, far taller than serval men stood on its hind legs and banged against his cage. Spit, fangs were bared as it roared once more.

“Who shall this assassin be brought to justice by?”

The crowd went wild. Their screams, their cheers were far louder than both of the beasts that were in the arena.

He watched from his perch, the man fell to his knees. His eyes, which had once been filled with hatred and malice now were watery and full of pleading, remaining on his knees. He completely forgot the sword the guards had dropped near him as he appeared to cry out with pleas for mercy. The man who had wanted him dead not that long ago.

A laugh erupted from his throat and he threw back his head in amusement. His crown of golden leaves remained where it rested atop his head.

Power, surged through him. He spread out his arms. He got his answer. It was as if the words had been whispered in his ear.

“The gods have spoken!” He hollered.

The crowd, once again silenced.

“Today, a bear is what deliver the sentence!”

The men who drew out the lion, returned it to the shadowy tunnels where they fed and kept it ready for any match or punishment.

The men who brought in the bear, bowed to him before turning to the locks that held the bear secure.

The man jumped to his feet, barely able to grab the sword left for him. He bowed quickly. That irked Geta, but he would be dead soon enough, he mused.

The bear, shook himself off ignoring the men who retreated back to passageway from which they came. He appeared to look around.

“Be the hands of the gods, great Ursa!” Geta called out.

The bear rose at his words, letting out a roar. He had been trained well. Geta smiled. The bear finally saw the man. He lowered himself onto all fours.

“Now for justice.” He said softly and caught the eyes of you, his brother who actually looked pleased for the first time in a while and the general. Who looked actually ill at ease. he shrugged it off. He knew he liked the freedom of a battle. The landscape of the earth beneath his feet as he fought along side his legion with a sword in hand.

Sitting down, he saw as the bear and the man clashed. A scream and roar mingled and became one. The man did manage to graze the bear’s shoulder with the blade before he was knocked into the air from the full force of the bear. A fight ensued.

Geta, glanced away to see you. There was a flush in your cheeks and your eyes looked as if a storm had rolled in, reminding him of how you spoke of things to him. But your emotions, he couldn’t be certain of. He watched as you turned towards him, surely you felt his gaze up you. Your eyes met his.

“He is getting what he deserves for what he attempted to do. In the underworld, he will never forget.” You said, with a great strength behind it.

It pleased him.

“Yes. And he will know that a girl, who is as delicate as a spring’s bloom saw him and foiled his dark, devious deeds.”

“Anything to keep you and Rome, safe and at peace, Sire.”

********

“I had thought, you told the others we would be joining them for the festivities being held. Food, dancers would be brought out for your pleasure.”

Your stomach was still in knots, after watching the man torn apart by the bear and fights that had been held after to further celebrate the justice that had been severed. The gladiators had fought with great pride that afternoon.

Wine, the fruit did nothing to calm you. A shadow of what could have been, fell over your heart. If you had not returned for his crest that held your clothing, it would have been a completely different day. You were certain of it.

Your place, would be different. You would mostly would have been in that arena. You knew in your heart that Caracalla despised you. Though, with this glorious delivering of justice and Geta’s kind words, you would continue to live, to breath.

“That is true. They will be. Wine, will be poured. Toasts will be made. Words, will fly in my praise. Though as a man, an emperor I wish to take a moment.”

“If that is your will, Geta. I can give you some solitude if it is what you wish?”

A light chuckle came from him. You glanced at him, his eyes that met yours were bright as if the sun itself was blessing the fresh earth it chose to shine upon.

“No, that is not what I wish.”

The warmth of his hand on your lower back could be felt through the soft fabrics you wore. He easily guided you to his quarters. Once the door, closed behind the two of you.

“I need to be one with you.”

“Geta?”

“Yes?”

You watched as he carefully took his crown off and laid it on a table near where the two of you stood. Your heart quickened in your chest. With quick pace, he was in front of you.

“This is a pleasure, the great Venus has given us. I wish to feel it once again.”

His fingers grazed the curve of your jaw.

You closed your eyes and nodded. “I wish to feel it as well. But then shall I retire for the evening?”

He shook his head. “No, we shall go and enjoy the banquet, watch the dancers. I want one of my favorite possessions at my side.” He smiled.

Something about his words, that smile made a fluttering in your stomach. It was the very emperor, that wished for you and no one else. In all the stars and prayers you made, would have been something you ever thought would be bestowed upon you.

“This will be our own display of gratitude to the gods for the justice served today.”

His thumb grazed your lips, your heart began to thud like the night before. If not harder since now you knew what you would be feeling.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

********

“Wait?”

“Yes?”

He let his eyes move over you. A softening of his words, that came to his tongue urged him to speak. You had been the to save his life. Not the guards that stood outside his door.

“You are far lovelier than any fresco, in my domus. I will have to fetch in artist in the coming seasons.”

“Truly Geta?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

His hand glided down your soft side, the fabrics made you only more pleasing. He brought his hands to your hips and squeezed. You winced, parting those flower petal pink lips.

“Just as your breasts, shall be good for a baby to eventually suckle these hips,” He smiled. “These hips,” He repeated will help carry that baby. A real gift from the gods.”

“You think so, Geta?”

Your breathless, made him pull you against him. He loved how you felt against him. Made his desire in his lions for you tighten.

“Certainly. Now go and lay down.”

“What of my clothes? Will they not be amiss?”

“No one will take sight.”

He watched as you went and laid down and pulled aside where the fabrics met and parted ways.

“Remove the scrap of modesty fabric, I want nothing to hinder me.”

Stepping closer, he finally he freed himself. The coolness of his room gave him a gentle relief from the heat of his passion. He came to kneel beside you, open and ready to receive him.

“Do you want to see more of me, Geta?”

“Yes, that would be very pleasing.”

His heart squeezed as he watched you pull the folds of fabric away from your full breasts. You were truly his own living piece of art. The gods, truly pleased him with giving you to him.

The soft sound from your lips as he entered you and the one that came from him became one. It felt so good.

“You were made for me.” He managed to say before he began moving in and out of you.

Your body tightened as your moans grew louder. He had braced himself on the bed underneath the two of you. Easily, he lost himself in his passion as it took ahold of him.

“Yes, yes let me hear you.”

“Yes, Geta. My emperor.” Your moans and breathlessness grew louder, stronger.

His body tightened as he felt his pleasure growing. That’s when he remembered the soft bud at the apex of your legs, the ones that caused you flutter around his length. He needed to feel that again. Reached down, his thumb gently grazing it. Your body matched and moved with him.

“Give yourself to the pleasure. Let it fill you.” He urged you.

He let his thumb graze your soft bud once more. Your moans filled his room with more beauty than a lyre and seeing that he was the cause, made him move even deeper into you. Causing, his pleasure to finally come over him, and soon he was filling you with the seed only he possessed. The strength he felt earlier came over him. He felt as everything had the soft glow a sunset would give all within its reach.

*******

“These are the dancers from the new providence brother, are they not divine?” Caracalla, leaned in smiling as he nodded to one who swished near. Hints of jasmine, lingered in her wake.

“Yes. I knew that alliance would reap several good tidings.” Geta, smile and sipped at his wine.

At the moment, he was still settling into the comfort from the pleasure you and him shared. Everyone, there was in good spirits even his brother. Turmoil between them could come back another day but tonight there could be peace.

He knew of the history of Romulus and Remus, he truly wished that history would not befall him and Caracalla. Though, he would never push away the lingering of his trust he had for his brother in his heart.

As you sat near Geta and watched the dancers while nibbling on some fruit. Something blossomed in you. After, his pleasure had taken him over, he had for moment pulled you closer to him while his breathing finally calmed. He glanced back at you from over his glass, as if he had known your thoughts and gave a fleeting smile, it stirred a warmth in you.

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @screaming-blue-bagel @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @heartsforjosephquinn @helsa3942

[spaceorphan18]

Awards Show :: A Klaine Fic

Summary:

Famous Klaine AU

Kurt and Blaine are both nominated for a major theater award. They attend the show, while trying to navigate when and how to reveal a major secret.

Rated T: for mild language, small amount of drinking, and mild sexy times.

A/N:

for Klaine Secret Santa Gift Exchange 2024 - for @jayne89 <3 Thanks for to @snarkyhag for the beta! Ao3 Link Found Here Hope you guys like it! Thanks for reading!!

*****

Kurt Hummel exits the backseat of his car and takes his first step onto the red carpet.  The scene is pure pandemonium.  The red carpet is lined with reporters and cameras, actors and celebrities, and ropes that hold off thousands of screaming fans.  Every time he steps foot into one of these hooplas, he has half a mind to get back into the car and sneak in the back way.  Unlike most of his colleagues in the theater world, he’s never been a huge fan of these events.  Sure, he’ll discuss the gossip and the fashion until the cows come home, but having to live it is always a different story.  

He nervously plays with his phone as he makes his first few steps down the carpet.  He shouldn’t have it with him, he knows, but it’s a strange source of comfort.  It’s something to do with his hands, which might otherwise be stuffed into the pockets of his very expensive suit.  

He hears sudden clicks, and he knows already that there are cameras pointed in his direction.  He should be used to it.  In some ways he is used to it.  But it never fails to surprise him that there are people who actually want photos of him. He’s gone for a simpler look this year -- a gorgeous teal jacket and pants, paired with a royal purple shirt, with a silver pin for an accent.  The whole thing is textured, and the cut is flattering and appealing, and much more toned down than the eccentric design he wore the previous year.  

He takes a deep breath and moves forward.  He hears his name being called from multiple directions.  Some are the event guides, ushering him to go.  Some are the photographers, dying to get that first shot of him arriving.  But a majority of the screaming is coming from the fans.  He doesn’t love the crowds.  He doesn’t. But he does try his best -- for them.  

He gives a smile, and a wave, and inches closer to the ropes where they’re all standing.  They’ve come all this way, and have probably stood outside for mere glimpses of the celebrities for hours.  It’s insane - but there was a time when he may have done the same, just for a brief interaction with someone he admired.  

Before going to the fans, however, he takes a quick moment to scan the carpet ahead of him.  There are plenty of people he recognizes, plenty of people he’s worked with before, a few big names that make him seem like a small fish in a big pond, and a few faces he doesn’t recognize at all.  But one in particular stands out.  Standing in his bright, mustard yellow suit is Blaine Anderson.  

Kurt takes a moment to watch Blaine as he easily moves along the crowd; chatting, signing autographs, laughing and whatever the fans are telling him.  He positively glows in the energy.  He always has.  Kurt shakes his head, fondly.  He loves his job, but feels more at peace when an audience is quietly sitting and watching him on stage.  When he has the ability to turn it all off, and connect with the character and the story and come alive as a different person.  Being him has always been difficult.  But Blaine has no such difficulty.  It’s admirable, really.  And he adores Blaine for it.  

He then sneaks a quick second to check out Blaine’s ass, nice and round and on display whenever Blaine reaches his arms out to sign another autograph.  Kurt bites his bottom lip, thinking about earlier that morning, when he had seen that ass up close and person.  He grins, thinking about it; thinking about how despite their growing celebrity status, some things remain just between the two of them.  

For a quick second, Blaine turns his head behind him and, as if a magnet were drawn between them, notices Kurt.  He beams, wiggles his eyebrows for a second, and then goes back to the fans.  Tonight is not about him and Blaine.  Tonight is about the show.  They both know that.  Which is why they keep what they have together on the down low.  But it doesn’t stop them from stealing a moment or two.  

Kurt turns back to his side of the carpet, ready to address the legions of people waiting on the other side of the rope. As he approaches, their yells become deafening, and most of what they’re screaming is incomprehensible.  The only thing he really can make out is his name.  

He smiles brighter, trying his best to appear as kind as possible, as he takes a marker and begins to scribble his name on a Playbill.  Most of the fans are respectful.  And while overwhelmed, shower him with compliments -- everything ranging from ‘I loved your performance, it moved me so much’ to ‘can I have your babies?’.  He always has to chuckle at the range he finds.  

There’s always at least one person, however, who gives him pause.  “Hey, did you and Blaine Anderson break up?” It's a young woman with a nose ring attempting to take a photo of him with her phone -- who seems less interested in him than whatever gossip she’s going to share online.  “Cause, like, y’all haven’t spoken to each other in weeks.  Online, I mean.  Like, y’all are done, aren’t you?” 

He lets out a sigh, tries his best not to look back at Blaine. He knows that with celebrity comes lack of privacy.  He’s been bracing for it.  But what he has with Blaine is special, and he’ll protect that the best he can.  Kurt moves on to answer another fan, who has a question about a wig he wore in a previous production, ignoring the girl with the nose ring. 

***

The interviewer is a tall, platinum blonde woman with a too dark tan and a bright, shimmering gold dress that clashes with her skin.  Kurt has talked with her before - as she works for one of those websites that streams all its content on YouTube or some specialized streaming service.  He can’t remember which one, and the ‘M’ on her microphone doesn’t help any, but since he’s being shuffled to every journalist out here, he just goes with the flow.  

“Kuuuuuurt,” her high-pitched voice cries.  “Kurt Hummel everyone.” She says it to her audience in the camera, wherever that might be.  Kurt gives a friendly smile and waves to the people watching on the other side of the screen.  He may not like this part of the job, but he tries to always give his best to the fans.  “How excited are you to be here?” The woman, whose name if he remembers correctly is Karlee, asks.  

“It’s a pleasure.  And surreal. Always surreal,” he replies, truthfully.  

“Before we get too much further, we have to get your bestie over here,” she says, unexpectedly.  

Kurt isn’t quite sure what she’s talking about until she waves a hand (one that’s holding a cue card in it) over to someone behind him.  “Blaine Anderson, get on over here.” 

Oh.  Oh . 

Blaine comes up right next to him, all friendly smiles and charm and doesn’t give Kurt one ounce of attention.  He does, however, slightly push his elbow into Kurt’s arm.  Kurt pushes back.  He almost gives a laugh, but retrains.  

“Karlee, what a delight, honey, you look wonderful,” Blaine coos, taking her hand, and giving her cheek a kiss.  

Fucking Blaine, always being so suave.  Kurt bites his bottom lip, amused at how easily Blaine does it.  Blaine is definitely playing it up with the playful banter, but he also is well aware that it keeps the attention off of Kurt.  Just as Kurt likes it.  They do make a great team.  

“Look at the two of you, matching tonight.”  

Kurt and Blaine turn towards each other, both pretending to be shocked.  

I told you they��d notice -- Kurt says with his eyes and a grin, thinking about the hours-long conversation they had about what to wear. 

Blaine gives a casual shrug, but Kurt can read him like a book.  Who cares? We’re hot and they love it.  

We’re supposed to be low profile, Blaine. 

We’re theater actors, Kurt, nothing about us is low profile.  

They probably shouldn’t be doing their secret exchange, not when they’re supposed to be paying attention to Kaylee, not while everyone is watching, but Blaine has such beautiful honey-gold eyes… the shield Kurt always has up, especially in public, is dented just a little when those eyes shine so brightly on him.  

After a few moments of fashion talk, Kaylee hits them with something completely different.  “So, the two of you met a decade ago now on the stage during the original run of Show Choir! -- which ended up being such a surprising hit and thrust you both into the limelight.  I hear now there are talks of a movie version -- any chance you’ll be involved.” 

“No,” Kurt says, maybe too quickly and too sharply.  He owes that show everything.  And yet he never wants to relive any of it ever again.  Blaine eyes him and knows… 

As always, Blaine manages to be much more diplomatic in response.  “I think I can speak for Kurt when I say -- we will always cherish what that show was for us.  It got us both on our feet.  It taught us everything we know now. But it’s time to let a new generation take the reins.  And, I mean, we’re both pushing thirty now.  No one wants to see thirty-year-olds playing high school students. Even on stage.”  

“Of course, we’ll cheer on whatever new cast takes it on,” Kurt adds, hopeful that it sounds encouraging enough for the soundbite it’ll inevitably become.  

Kaylee throws her head back in laughter as if it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.  “Well, it’ll be exciting to watch for sure.  So, the two of you are both nominated tonight for your phenomenal roles in such different productions.  Kurt, you’re nominated for your devastating turn where you play an American Civil War soldier figuring out his sexuality.  While Blaine, you have a haunting turn as a ghost in what everyone has been calling an epic space opera on stage.  Your roles are so different and yet have hit audiences so hard.  How do you feel about that?” 

“It’s cliche, I know, but as everyone says, it is an honor to be nominated,” Kurt says. “And I think that everyone nominated tonight deserves to be here.  I think it speaks to the writing and production and power of the stage that we are allowed to have such characters to play.  And I think it speaks to the power of storytelling that you can have such a variety of characters and yet be so moved by them.  I think we both feel really, really lucky that there are so many good shows being produced right now.”  

“I think Kurt’s said it beautifully,” Blaine adds.  “I can’t possibly top that.” 

“One last question -- any fun plans to celebrate tonight?” 

Kurt gives her an odd look, then for a split second, gives Blaine a panicked look. 

She knows? 

She’s talking about celebrating winning an award, Kurt… 

Well, I did win this morning… 

They share knowing looks.  

“I’m sure there’s plenty of trouble we can get ourselves into,” Blaine says with a sly grin.  

****

Kurt throws back his second shot and slams the glass on the bar.  Nothing like having something in you to calm the nerves.  He knows his limits, and when the bartender asks if he’d like another, he shakes his head and nudges the glass away.  Normally, he settles for a nice cocktail at these things, but his anxiety has been climbing all evening.  It’s not that he thinks he’s going to win - he’s aware of all the betting pools and the articles, his chances are very slim considering who he’s up against.  It’s the fact that the spotlight is so firmly on him.  It’s the fact that there are much better places he’d rather be.  

He should go mingle; should go say hi to the dozens of people he knows, and attempt to make a connection with those he doesn’t.  But he’s not as cut out for this one might think.  The first time he went to one of these things it had been awe-inspiring.  Surreal.  Kind of amazing.  Now that he’s been to them enough times, the shine has somewhat worn off, and it feels like another part he has to perform.  

“Drink too many of those, and you’ll be slurring your way through your presenting duties.”  Blaine comes to his side, leaning against the bar with a charming grin on his face.  

“Is it over yet?” Kurt laments. 

“This is the fun part, Kurt.”  

“You are having fun, I am surviving,” Kurt says.  He contemplates another glass, and looks over to the bartender, signaling him over.  Blaine puts a hand over his, and shakes the bartender off, knowing better.  Kurt lets out a heavy sigh.  “Do you think we should have come together?” 

Blaine gives him an odd look.  “It was your idea not to.” 

“I know.” 

“You wish we had?” 

Kurt contemplates.  It’s such a loaded question.  One that they’ve both mulled over countless number of times.  Weighed pros and cons.  Sought outside help.  There are no easy answers to such questions.  “You’re the one thing I don’t want to share with the rest of the world,” Kurt says.  He doesn’t meet Blaine’s eye, but keeps it firmly on the bar.  “And yet, I’m bursting on the inside to do just that.”  

Blaine’s face softens, and he squeezes Kurt’s hand.  “That’s sweet, Kurt.  You already know how I feel about it.”

“I do…” He does.  Kurt looks over to Blaine to see his shining eyes looking adoringly at him.  There are hundreds of people in the room and yet it’s just the two of them, an allowed moment of privacy among the crowd. “You know, the fans think we broke up.” 

Blaine tilts his head at him, shaking it.  “Since when have you ever cared what they think?” 

“I don’t,” a smirk crosses Kurt’s face.  “I just thought it was funny.”  

“Social media detectives will be the death of us all.” 

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to like some of my cat videos and Liza Minnelli memes,” Kurt jokes.  

“We should get Tina to work with you on your social media presence,” Blaine says, as if they hadn’t argued about this a thousand times.  

“And she should really lay off yours,” Kurt counters.  “I mean, the noodle incident…” 

Blaine rolls his eyes and ignores him.  “Maybe it is time to talk about being more public.  As a couple.” 

Kurt winces.  “We are not letting Tina…” 

“That’s not what I mean,” Blaine says.  He’s serious, very serious.  “Maybe it’s finally time, all things considered.” 

“Or… we could release an official statement and let it be?” Kurt says.  They’ve managed to be just the two of them for so long.  He doesn’t want that to change.  “I don’t want to be featured on the cover of People magazine.”

“Being featured on the cover of People magazine isn’t so bad you know,” Blaine says.  His charm returns as they both think of the framed cover in Blaine’s bathroom.  

Kurt lets out a playful, annoyed groan.  “Any chance you have to bring up how officially sexy you are…” 

“It wouldn’t hurt you to indulge me every once in a while.” 

“I already suck your dick, Blaine, you don’t need me to kiss your ass, too.”  

Blaine lets out a hearty laugh.  “I have it on good authority that you are actually very good at kissing my ass.”  

Kurt gives him a sharp glance.  “Fuck you.”  

Blaine gives him a dark look, as if challenging him to do just that.  Kurt wishes he could lean over and kiss him.  Fuck all the people and the cameras and the undoubted mess it would create.  He wants to kiss Blaine so badly, and has enough alcohol in him that it might be worth it.  

Blaine’s sober enough for the both of them.  “C’mon, we have a ceremony to attend.”  

****

Kurt bounces on the balls of his feet.  He and Blaine are waiting backstage, just the two of them, as the ceremony rolls on beyond the curtain.  He can hear the presenters for the award for musical score doing their bit.  There’s audience laughter, and some applause, and someone said something that struck a chord.  He suddenly doesn’t feel all that well.  

Blaine looks at him, concerned.  “Are you nervous?” 

“No.” 

“You’re nervous.” A sweet grin climbs on Blaine’s face, as he judges his shoulder against Kurt’s.  

Kurt holds himself tightly.  “Do you know how many people will be out there watching us?” 

“We’re delivering an award, Kurt.  It’s not like we’re performing,” Blaine says.  He almost sounds disappointed about it.  “It’s not like anyone is going to be paying any attention to us.  All we have to do is make sure we get the name right.”  

“We have to do witty banter,” Kurt argues.  “They’ll all be paying attention.  What if they really don’t like what we’re wearing? What if they miss that we have amazing on stage chemistry? My god, what if they don’t find us funny?” 

Blaine shakes his head dismissively.  “I’ve never known you to not be funny.” 

Kurt holds up one finger.  “I have a sophisticated, dry wit that not everyone gets.”  

“You do remember that this witty banter was pre-written and all we have to do is say the lines, right?” Blaine says.  “I can’t believe you’re nervous.  You’ve performed on stage naked before.”  

“Yeah, for like five people,” Kurt hisses.  “There are at least five million people watching this.”  

Blaine narrows his eyes, looking troubled.  “You’re really having an issue with this.” 

Kurt bites his bottom lip.  He is, and he doesn’t like it.  It’s not really because of the sheer amount of people.  He doesn’t mind performing in front of them.  It’s not like he’s never been in front of large crowds before.  It’s the fact that it’s he and Blaine.  Together.  With everyone having their eyes on them. Everyone watching every interaction they’ll make, and how it’ll be scrutinized and torn apart and he wishes that not every public interaction they have needs to be put under a microscope.  He wishes they didn’t have to endure that type of pressure.  

He breathes heavily.  “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”  

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have done all those shots.” Blaine actually gets him to laugh.  

He looks at Blaine in wonder, always wondering how he lets it all roll off his back.  “How is it nothing phases you?” 

“Things phase me.”

“Really?” 

Blaine tilts his head at him.  “You have seen me at my worst, Kurt, you know that.  They just aren’t the same things as you.  It evens us out.  It’s why we work.”  Blaine comes in close, rubbing Kurt’s arms.  “Going on stage with out an audience - that’s something that phases me.  Jesse St. James’s dog, which might actually be a demon in a dog costume, phases me.  And seeing you like this.  I don’t like seeing you like this.”  

A warmth spreads through Kurt’s chest.  Suddenly, his fears begin to melt away.  He loves this man.  He loves him so deeply.  Kurt has tried so hard never to care what other people think of him, he isn’t sure why it bothers him so much now.  Only that Blaine means the world to him, and he wants nothing more to protect that.  Wants to protect the person who makes him feel grounded and loved and safe.  

“I’ll be okay,” Kurt says, though he turns his head away.  

Blaine knows him better than that.  He says nothing, but watches him carefully.  

A production assistant rounds the corner, shouting that they have two minutes to get into place.  

Kurt stands up, straightens, puts his more professional face on.  He can do this.  They can do this.  

“You ready to see who’s going to win best costuming?” Blaine asks.  He sneaks a hand down to Kurt’s giving it a squeeze before they start heading out.  

“I really hope it’s April Rhodes.” 

“Kurt, she’s not nominated in this category.”  

“I know, but did you see what she was wearing? It’s this insane fuchsia, ‘80s inspired dress, which I think you could totally pull off something like that if you wanted to go outside your comfort zone and try.”  

The color drains from Blaine’s face.  “Oh god no, Kurt.  No.”  

****

Their category is close to the end of the night.  The hosting portion of the evening flew by in a blur, and Kurt hardly remembers being on stage nearly an hour before.  He’s been sitting, bouncing a knee anxiously, during the rest of the ceremony.  

He had been asked if he wanted to bring a plus one.  He had turned it down, not sure who he should ask.  His dad and stepmom would have come, but Carole’s sister is in the hospital and they just wouldn’t be able to make it out to New York.  All the rest of his friends and colleagues seemed to have found dates or family members that would attend.  

Blaine had asked if they wanted to go together.  Kurt had said no.  

They hadn’t talked it through enough.  Hadn’t consulted their teams. Hadn’t worked it out with Tina -- god, Tina would have a fucking field day showing off their relationship.  It had seemed like too much of a hassle.  And at the time, Kurt hadn’t felt ready.  

And then this morning happened.  It still feels like a hazy dream -- wrapped up in bed together, not even awake enough to get the coffee.  The way Blaine held him so comfortably in his arms.  Every morning should be like this one.  Every morning should be absolutely perfect.  

He can see Blaine’s eyes - so perfectly bright and loving.  

Marry me.  

What? 

Be my husband, Kurt. 

He had always expected it at some point.  Kurt knew almost the day they met that their lives would be intertwined.  But he had always expected Blaine had bigger plans.  He’s not sure what he had expected.  It’s not like Blaine was going to hire every large ensemble in New York to sing on the stage where they met as rose petals fluttered down from the sky.  That’s just insane. 

But off the cuff? Unplanned? They hadn’t even had sex that morning (yet).  They hadn’t even had coffee.  

And Blaine just asks him.  Takes his breath away without even trying.  

How could he possibly have said no? 

He could be sitting next to his fiance right now.  Instead, he’s sitting next to an elderly woman, the mother of a nominated set designer.  The other side is the aisle.  Up a few rows and over a few seats is Blaine, smiling happily as the actress on stage reads through the list of names.  

He’s not nervous for himself.  All the articles he read (more than he should have) listed him near the bottom of possibilities.  And that is fine.  As Blaine often says, they’re both still young, and have plenty of time to do more amazing things in their careers.  Kurt did not write up a list of people to thank, nor tried to memorize any speeches.  He didn’t let himself get too caught up in the idea of winning.  

But Blaine has a real chance.  He’s been a buzz in the community.  Everyone wants to work with him.  He’s had more job offers than he can even handle lately.  And he looks so adoringly hopeful as they wait for the actress to open the envelope.  

“And the winner is…” she says.  Kurt holds his breath.  “Jonathan Bailey as Oscar Pennington in Penny For Your Thoughts .” 

Kurt lets out a sigh that feels like relief.  He smiles kindly and claps, unsurprised that the frontrunner of the race actually won.  He looks over to Blaine and despite the grin plastered on his face, Kurt knows him enough to see disappointment there as well.  

After a moment, when Blaine knows there aren’t any cameras on him, he throws a look back to Kurt.  Kurt gives a kind shrug.  

Hey, at least we have each other. 

A genuine grin crosses Blaine’s face.  We do.  

*****

The rest of the ceremony passes by without much incident.  During one of the performances, the mics cut out but the entire cast belted out their song anyway and the winner of best writing for a show thanked their writing partner but not their famous wife which will be slightly scandalous in the morning but other than that, there aren’t any upsets or unpredictabilities, which makes for a rather boring time.  

Just as it’s ending, Kurt gets a text from Blaine : Wait for me . 

It’s like herding cattle to get out, but eventually Kurt is able to, and waits off in a corridor for Blaine.  Blaine, of course, is the social butterfly, and has to talk with everyone as he makes his way out.  Kurt could join him.  Maybe he should join him.  But he stands on the sidelines and waits.  Waits until Blaine finally catches his eye, and there’s a certain type of thrill that comes when Blaine’s entire face lights up.  It’s a face that’s saved solely for Kurt, and there’s always a tiny pang of relief when it’s there.  

“So, get this,” Blaine says as he walks over.  There’s a giddiness all over his face. “So, I managed to run into Jonathan Bailey, as one does. We chatted for a little bit and he said we should come to his afterparty.  I mean, he said to me, but told me to bring whoever I liked.  You are never going to believe who’s else is going to show up, I--”

“I promised Rachel and Jesse we’d attend their party,” Kurt replies quickly.  There’s something about a major party, with lots of famous people, lots of people in general, that gives Kurt pause.  

Blaine gives him a bewildered look.  “Kurt, they throw the same, boring party every year.  They didn’t even come tonight.”

“Well, to be fair, Rachel asked me, but she never mentioned you, so technically, you’re free to do as you like.” It comes off a little more dismissive than he intends it.  They never did talk about after the show, but the plan had always been Rachel and Jesse’s.  

Blaine gives him a somewhat confused stare.  

“What?” Kurt asks.  

Blaine takes him a little further down the corridor, so they aren’t seen as people continue to file out of the theater.  “Why are you being like this?” 

“Being like what?” 

“You don’t care about Rachel and Jesse’s party - nor would they notice if you’re even there.”

“Oh, Rachel will notice…” 

Blaine clenches his jaw but holds back on whatever he’s thinking.  “Okay, why don’t we stop by Rach and Jesse’s for a second, then head over to the other party.  Kurt, it might be a good opportunity to make some good new connections.” 

Kurt considers, but he doesn’t love the idea.  “Maybe…” 

“Would you rather just go home?”

He is tired.  It has been a long day, and his bed does feel enticing.  Besides, there’s all the rest of it to consider.  Does he have the energy for it? “You should go.  I don’t want to ruin your night.” 

“Kurt, you never ruin my night,” Blaine says.  He reaches for Kurt’s hand, and gives it a squeeze, only to drop it quickly, as a couple of men in tuxes turn down the corridor and walk past.  “What is this about? Are you upset about how the night went? Hit your limit with people? Or… is it me?”  

The look of devastation on Blaine’s face breaks his heart.  It’s not Blaine.  It’s never been Blaine.  “No, of course not.  I don’t know, Blaine, I just don’t want to argue with you.” 

“We can’t argue if you won’t talk to me.” 

Kurt takes a moment as Blaine waits for some kind of explanation.  “When I’m with you - I don’t want to think about being with you.  I just want to be with you.”  

Blaine narrows his eyes, confused.  “I don’t know that I follow.” 

“I just want us, together , and if we go to that party…” 

“Everyone will know that we’re together?” 

“That’s not what I mean.”  

“Kurt, we’re getting married,” Blaine says. He looks as tired as Kurt feels.  “We have to figure this out at some point unless… this isn’t something you really want.”  

“You are always what I want,” Kurt responds quickly, to assuage Blaine’s fears.  

Blaine lets out a little sigh and crosses his arms.  “Kurt… I really doubt this one celebrity party is going to be an issue.  Even if someone does see us.  Or notices.  Or we let ourselves be ourselves.  Who cares, Kurt? When have you ever let anyone else dictate how you live your life?”  

Blaine is right.  When has he ever let anyone tell him what to do? But it’s about more than just him.  It’s about them .  “I can’t lose you,” Kurt says quietly.  

“What?” It’s not what Blaine expects to hear.  

“I can’t lose you.” Kurt looks up and into Blaine’s eyes.  “You are etched into my very soul and I don’t know if I can function anymore without you in it.  And the idea that some outside factor might come along and take you from me…”  

Blaine softens.  “I’m not going anywhere, you know that.  And when things get fucked up, as they always seem to get fucked up, I’ll be right there with you - saying ‘fuck you’ to the world.  We’re a team, remember?  But, if you just want to go to Rach’s or just go home, that’s what we’ll do, okay?” 

“No,” Kurt says.  Just the idea of this party makes him nervous, but Blaine doesn’t.  He’s right.  It’s about time they start taking the world by storm.  “No, you’re right.  I think we should go to this party.  Rachel’s going to want to play tacky karaoke games anyway.”  

Blaine lets out a laugh, then reaches out for Kurt’s hands and takes them.  “Are you sure?”  

Kurt does something then that surprises even himself.  He leans in and gives Blaine a hard kiss.  Because he can.  Because Blaine is going to be his husband.  Because he wants to spend the rest of his life kissing his husband.  And maybe it doesn’t matter who sees it anymore.  “Yeah, I’m sure.”  

Blaine’s eyes twinkle.  “...okay.” 

“So, who is it that’s going to be at this party? Is it one of the Bridgerton cast? Please tell me it’s one of the Bridgrton cast…”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

***

When Kurt finds Blaine, he’s seated on a lounge chair at the back of the club, scrolling through his phone.  Kurt gives a smirk, and takes another sip from his champagne glass as he walks over.  Blaine doesn’t look up.  Kurt slides onto his lap anyway.  Blaine smirks as he finishes reading whatever is on his phone, then opens his arms to cradle Kurt.  Kurt lays head on Blaine’s shoulder, and giggles into his champagne.  

The club is hopping, there are a ton of famous people everywhere.  Some people he knows personally.  Most people he doesn’t.  Kurt doesn’t really care.  There’s so much going on that he and Blaine can be in their own secluded little bubble, and no one will really notice. 

“Hey you,” Blaine says, leaning his head against Kurt’s.  

“Hey.” 

“Did you get a chance to talk to-”

“...Yeah.” 

“Yeah? Good?” 

“So good,” Kurt coos. He snuggles closer into Blaine.  “I can’t wait to tell Rach.  She’s been blowing up my phone, by the way.  I’m ignoring her for now, but you know she’s going to be a beast when she sees us next.  And I know what you’re thinking - you’re right, we should have stopped by and we didn’t stop by and god this means we’re going to have to attend one of her murder mystery dinners and good lord there isn’t enough alcohol to get me through one of those things…” he stops short when he notices Blaine’s a bit dazed and not really listening.  “You’re being quiet.”  

Blaine waits a beat and tries to shake it off.  “Just thinking.”  

Kurt brushes a stray hair off Blaine’s forehead.  “About what?  Are you feeling it -- that you, that we lost?”  

“Maybe a little,” Blaine says.  He looks tired more than disappointed though.  “It’s fine, though.  Next time, and I know there will be a next time, it’ll happen.  And then next time, I’ll be able to thank my husband.”  He gives Kurt’s nose a little bop.  “You.”  

“Mmm, I like that,” Kurt hums.  He brushes his nose against Blaine’s.  “I get to marry you.”  

“You do.” 

“And move in with you.”  

This gets a smile out of Blaine.  “Kurt, we practically live together now.  Your apartment is more like a storage space.”  

“Oohh, we should keep it,” Kurt says.  “It’ll be like a secret hideaway.”  

Blaine adoringly shakes his head at him.  Yes, he’s had maybe too much to drink, but it’s still endearing to Blaine.  “Or, a giant closet to keep all of your clothes.”

“That is a smart idea,” Kurt says.  “A very smart idea.  It’s a good thing I’m keeping you.”  

Blaine looks down at their hands. He takes the champagne glass from Kurt, finishes it, then places it on the table next to him.  Then takes Kurt’s hand and laces his fingers with Kurt’s.  “You know, Kurt, I think you may be right.  There’s a part of me that’s not ready to give this up.  Or share it.”  

“See…” Kurt snuggles, again, against Blaine’s shoulder.  Feeling slightly vindicated.  But then a heaviness falls between them.  “Do you think things are going to be different tomorrow?” 

“Yes.” 

The happy little bubble they were in begins to evaporate.  “We should probably call Tina then.”  

“Well, if we’re going to do this, might as well do it right,” Blaine agrees. 

Kurt gives him a little, suggestive smirk.  “Yeah… do it right.”  

Kurt looks deeply into his eyes.  It’s scary how much he feels for this man.  It’s everything. 

Blaine leans forward and kisses him.  It’s hard and sure and reaffirming.  It doesn’t matter that they’re in public, in a place where everyone has a cellphone out.  It doesn’t matter that there are always repercussions to their actions.  He just wants to be with Blaine and Blaine wants to be with him.  For always.  

“Hey, Blaine?” Kurt says, dazed as they break apart.  

“Yeah?” 

“I wanna go home now.”  

***

Back home, they’re making out on the bed.  They’re both half undressed, clothes haphazardly thrown around the room.  Kurt’s on his back as Blaine hovers over him.  The kisses are slow and measured and easy.  Normally kissing has a means to an end.  But Kurt’s happy to be in the moment, to just enjoy Blaine’s touch.  He’s in no hurry to chase other, more driving feelings.  

“Mmmm, Blaine?”  

Blaine gives him an extra long kiss before responding.  “Yes?” 

Kurt grins.  “I think I may have had too much to drink.”  

Blaine stops, then rolls off him and onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow.  “Somehow, I���m not surprised.” 

Kurt stays on his back, staring at the ceiling.  “I dunno if we can fool around tonight.”  

“That’s fine,” Blaine says gently.  “We have tomorrow completely open to fool around.”  

Kurt lets out an amused laugh and turns his head towards Blaine, singing a little.  “Mmm, I love that idea.” 

Blaine is about to say something else when his phone lets out a little ping.  He reaches behind him and grabs it to investigate.  “Oh, it’s Tina answering our message.  She said she’s happy to meet us tomorrow, just to let her know what time.”  

“Make it Tuesday,” Kurt says, wiggling his eyebrows.  “I am very booked tomorrow.”  

Blaine lets out an easy laugh, and texts back Tina.  There’s another ping.  “Tina is fine with that.”  He’s about to set his phone back down when another notification comes through. “Oh, and she sent us a notice.  We made a best dressed list.”  

Kurt whips the phone out of Blaine’s hand.  “Hell yeah, we did.”  He scrolls through the article.  He’s a bit too tired to read what they’re saying, but there’s a photo of them on the red carpet, doing the interview, looking very classy and best dressed indeed.  He starts to scroll through, looking at the other celebrities.  

“Ooooh, it’s April Rhodes.  See, I told you what she was wearing is to die for.  You could totally--”

“No,” Blaine says firmly, knowing exactly what Kurt’s thinking.  

“Yes,” Kurt whines a little.  “What if I promise to give you a blowjob underneath it…” 

“Tempting, but still a hard no, Kurt.”  

There’s another ping from the phone.  Kurt gets irrationally annoyed by it.  “What does Tina want now? If she doesn’t stop, I’m going to make her watch our sex tape.”  

Blaine gives him a look.  There isn’t a sex tape (yet) but he’d still punish Tina with it if there was.  Blaine takes his phone back.  “You know, she’d probably enjoy that.”  

Kurt grumbles.  “True.”  

“No, hey, it’s Rachel,” Blaine sits up a little.  “Oh no.  There’s some buzz online. Some people saw us getting into the car together.”  

“Well, that’s annoying.” Kurt takes the phone again and reads through the website Rachel sent.  It’s nothing more than speculation and gossip, but the invasion of it feels more personal than it should.  He isn’t about to let it ruin his good evening.  “You know what? I have an idea. We control our own narrative.”  He opens the camera app.  “Okay, kiss me.” 

Blaine looks at him in shock.  “What?”  

“Kiss me.  Anywhere.  We’re taking a photo.”  

Blaine’s eyes open wide.  He understands exactly what Kurt’s doing.  It’s insane.  It’s crazy.  It’s a bit ridiculous.  And he thinks in that moment, Blaine loves him just a little bit more.  Blaine scooches closer, and kisses Kurt’s cheek.  Kurt makes a cute face and snaps the photo.  

It’s not really the best photo they’ve ever taken, but it’s cute.  It’s candid.  It’s very them.  

“Are you okay if I do this?” Kurt asks.  

He probably should be more sober before doing this.  But he knows he won’t regret it in the morning.  Blaine, a very sober Blaine, gives him a nod.  Kurt feels a swell of pride as he opens up Blaine’s Instagram app.  He uploads the photo and adds a simple caption : still won tonight.   

He looks at Blaine and takes a deep breath before he hits upload.  A shiver runs through him.  He can’t believe he just did that.  But my god did it feel good.  

“You are amazing, Kurt Hummel,” Blaine says.  He comes in close, giving Kurt a real kiss this time.  “You always continue to surprise me.” 

“Well, I just have to show you that you aren’t the only impulsive one in this relationship,” Kurt says, throwing the phone to the end of the bed.  He turns completely, giving Blaine a harder kiss.  God, does he love this man.  He will always love this man, no matter what happens.  

“The internet is going to roar tonight,” Blaine says.  He caresses Kurt’s cheek, cups his chin and draws in for another kiss.  “You know that, right?” 

Kurt looks deeply into Blaine’s eyes, and sees forever.  They are a team.  They’re in this together.  And no matter what tough road lies before them, at the end of the day, they’ve got each other.  Kurt pulls Blaine close, and lovingly looks at the man who takes his breath away.  

“Let them.” 

[apomaro-mellow]

King and Prince 31

Part 30

The crowd was filled to the brim. Eddie’s inner circle was seated in the royal viewing box. Eddie wasn’t there yet though. Because of course he had to make an entrance. As a great black bird, he flew over the venue, his cry echoing through the field. He landed in the center of the arena in an explosion of black shadows as he took his human form to the cheers of his subjects. 

“Dearest people of the land!”, he addressed. “We have gathered to settle the dispute between two men. But before I introduce them, let me settle the rumors. I am indeed courting Steven of the house Harrington.”

There was a hushed murmur among the audience. So it was true. Their king was trying to gain the favor of a prince from a country that had until recently been challenging their borders. The people had chalked up the lull in activity to the usual break when the demobeasts went into hibernation. But could it have been because of this? Eddie wouldn’t reveal that Steve had been taken hostage and had turned into a ward of his castle. That was Steve’s story to tell should he wish it. Eddie would only say what his people deserved to know.

“That brings us to today. For one man has sullied the names of us both and my intended requires satisfaction.” He was beaming, happy to have someone who burned with a righteous fury for him.”Without further ado! Our combatants!” He gave a sweeping bow to applause as Jason and Steve entered from opposite sides of the arena.

“Jason Carver has laid down words that he refuses to take back. Steven Harrington has thrown down the challenge. What are the terms?”

“Apologize to your sovereign and swear fealty, or meet your end at my hand”, Steve said, expression hard and unforgiving.

“I will do no such thing. And when you yield to me, your only path will be banishment”, Jason replied, face just as stern.

The clasped arms and then turned to go back to opposite ends of the arena. Eddie floated over to the viewing box and waited for both of them to grab their weapons of choice. Jason picked up a sword and shield, a classic decision. When he turned to meet Steve’s gaze, he could see that the prince’s choice wasn’t quite as common.

Steve went without a shield. And grasped tightly in both hands instead was a war hammer. The staff stopped just short of his shoulder, the head about twice as large as his own. The rod ended with an iron counterweight. Eddie looked to Lucas.

“Has he been training with that this whole time?”

“He’s a pro”, Lucas praised.

Dustin’s whole mouth showed with his smile. “Carver is about to get tenderized like a steak.”

“A brutish weapon befitting a barbarian”, Jason said, more to the crowd than to Steve.

Steve’s expression didn’t change as he got in his stance and waited for Eddie to officially start the bout. Eddie stood from his seat, his voice reverberating through all in attendance as he shouted.

“BEGIN!”

Jason did catch Steve a little off guard when he lunged first, closing the distance between them. With the kind of weapon Steve was wielding, most would keep away. But he could guess as to why Jason wanted the first blow. He wanted this to be quick and decisive. Anyone would fold with a few well placed cuts and stabs.

He was probably also hoping to tire Steve out. Steve would make sure it wasn’t so easy for him. When Jason lunged, he stepped out of the way and swung his hammer. Jason raised his shield to take the blow and blocked it well, but his eyes popping said he hadn’t been expecting the power behind it.

Jason re-evaluated, taking a step back. And where he retreated, Steve would advance, making wide swings that had Jason backing up even more.

Eddie’s hands were clenched into fists in his lap. He had caught Steve training Lucas a couple times and sure he took things seriously, but it was a master putting a student through his trials. Eddie hadn’t been allowed to view Steve’s personal training this week. But he’d seen knight after knight tending to their bruises. If he’d been able to watch Steve then, was this the sight he would’ve seen? Steve moving like both a dancer and a predator, his hammer his loyal partner.

The hollers of the kids told him that even this was different than what they had seen. He imagined Steve wouldn’t attack his knights with the ferocity he was meeting Jason with. At one point, Steve slammed it down and Jason just barely jumped out of the way. When Steve pulled it back up, Eddie could see the dent in the ground. A hit in the right place and broken bones would be the least of Jason’s worries.

Then Steve stopped his onslaught, taking a breath as he circled Jason. When he started again, Jason raised his shield to each attempt, seemingly blocking them all. 

“He’s gonna turn Carver’s arm to paste”, Nancy commented.

Part of the crowd was raising their voices in cheer for Jason, unable to see what Nancy’s eyes did. Steve kept going for Jason’s left side, wanting him to use his shield. Because while it stopped him from hitting Jason’s entire body, it still took the brunt force of the hammer coming down on it. And that was evident as each time his arm was slower and slower to rise.

Tired of being on the defensive, Jason lowered his shield to jab at Steve. He managed to get a few knicks in, going for Steve’s head each time and giving him cuts on his neck and face. Eddie’s leg bobbed anxiously. He didn’t think Steve would lose. The only question was how much damage would he take before claiming victory.

The crowd wasn’t sure what to make of Steve, many recognizing him from dominating the spring games but not knowing his true identity then. In a shocking move, Jason dropped his shield and threw his sword at Steve. He dodged and it lodged itself into the ground, but that confusion was enough of a distraction for Jason to tackle him to the ground. The staff of the hammer stood between them, both men pushing on it.

“Forfeit and all will be forgiven”, Jason said. “We will wed and this can all be forgotten. I’ll make an honest man out of you.”

“What?”

“You know I’m the right choice.”

With a roar, Steve pushed Jason off and rose up to his knees. “You’re vile and I’m going to end you.” he set his hammer, head side down and grabbed the sword Jason had been using. He tossed it back to him, waiting for him to pick it up.

When Jason did, Steve picked up his hammer again. This time he didn’t hold back. He advanced, forcing Jason to make fruitless slashes. Steve used the end of his hammer to knock Jason’s wrist, forcing him to drop the sword. He could see the fear in Jason’s eyes but didn’t let up. His next strike was with the head of the hammer, getting Jason right in the leg and making him fall to the ground. 

Steve stood over him, hammer poised to strike. But he paused to look at Eddie, his shoulders rising and falling as he panted. 

Eddie’s eyes had been glued to Steve’s form. As had everyone else’s. But at this pause, the crowd hushed, waiting for their king’s decision. Would he smile with grace on the Carver boy? Or would he approve his execution?

Eddie stood up. “He is at your mercy, Your Highness.”

It had been so long since anyone had referred to Steve like that. With any sort of respect or reverence for his title. He looked down at Jason, imagined his head cracking like a melon and the crowd cheering for him. The rightful order restored. He slammed his hammer down, splitting the ground under it, but not Jason’s head.

“You live by the grace of me”, Steve said, picking his hammer up and raising it above his head to thunderous cheers.

Jason was stationary on the ground until people came to gather him and check over his wrist and leg. 

Eddie jumped out of the box and ran right to Steve, grabbing his free hand and lifting it up. “Our champion!”

Steve was able to deposit the hammer with one of those employed by the castle’s armory and Eddie walked him out of the arena. Once out of sight from most of the crowd, Eddie scooped Steve up and Steve let him, exhausted from the fight.

“You were magnificent, a vision, unstoppable. Like a divine spirit of justice incarnate. Poets could spend ages trying to capture your excellence in words and would fail to do so.”

“Oh but I’m certain you’ll try”, Steve teased as Eddie carried him back to his tent to be tended to and freshen up. There were games scheduled for the small folk and for children as well. No need to let this good weather and arena only see one bout today.

When Steve rejoined the public, it was on the arm of the king and to his viewing box where all who could see observed their lord and ruler feed this mighty warrior by hand. And Steve had been right about Eddie trying his damndest to capture his feats in writing. Because just the next day, he awoke to about half a dozen love letters all about the previous day’s fight.

Part 32

Taglist CLOSED

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@lil-gremlin-things @littlebluejane @puppy-steve

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hey have you seen the latest Mufasa trailer? It shows us Scar or Taka as he is called in the film in a positive light. He saves Mufasa, who is an orphan, and accepts him as his true brother even though the other lions in the pride reject Mufasa. I wonder if this is the history that is taught in Twisted Wonderland because the King of Beasts is also seen as a noble figure.

[Referencing this trailer!]

Yes, I took a look at it! I believe D23 happened like… yesterday? That’s the annual convention where Disney drops a ton of news about upcoming projects, and the new Mufasa trailer was one of the announcements made.

I was really skeptical about Mufasa when I first heard about it, and that snowballed into dread when I saw the previous trailer. The wording of that one basically yells us that Mufasa is an orphan with no real claim to the throne, which only serves to justify Scar’s outrage when he was overlooked for the position of king. Not only that, but it nullifies Simba’s claim to the throne since the implication is that blood apparently doesn’t guarantee that you’re next in line. The new trailer makes this issue all the more apparent, because now it seems to be completely redeeming Scar…? I think they’re trying to explain his downfall and his turn to “evil”, but from the looks of it, it instead feels like unintentionally give grounds for Scar’s hurt and rage in The Lion King. It’s definitely… a choice… and I’m not sure how much I like them adding that to the animated TLK lore.

Thar being said, I do think this poses considerations for Twisted Wonderland. I had very similar thoughts as you did, Anon! It has already been suggested that the version of history being told in their universe is “twisted” or altered from the versions Yuu/we, the audience, are familiar with. So… what we see in the new Mufasa trailer (up to a certain point) could very well be the “real” version of what is taught in Trein’s Magic History class. It fits SO well with the canon narrative we already have on hand. The King of Beasts is described as a hard worker and someone who accepted animals of all kinds, including hyenas that had once been excluded from the Pridelands. What better way to exemplify that virtue than a story of the King of Beasts himself accepting a no-name orphan cub as his own brother when all the other lions claimed the cub would never be accepted as part of the royal family???

I wonder how the story of Mufasa (if incorporated into TWST in the future) is interpreted by the characters too?? For example, Leona doesn’t think too highly about the concept of the great kings of the past in the sky, nor does he like “Hakuna Matata” (deeming it self-serving rather than as something positive). These are both things introduced in the original TLK. However, I’d imagine that Leona would actually admire the King of Beasts for his act of selflessness. (“He didn’t just talk the talk, he walked the talk too. They weren’t just pretty words, the King of Beasts lived by his ideals. The world he envisioned is one where beasts of all kinds could come together in harmony. Heh, what a guy.”) BUT AT THE SAME TIME Leona might be cynical about himself living to the legacy of the King of Beasts. He still bears resentment toward Falena and he refuses to cooperate with his older brother (despite Falena, their dad, and Kifaji all asking him) to govern Sunset Savanna. The King of Beasts wasn’t nearly so narrow-minded—he accepted a peasant and orphan as his equal. Leona in this hypothetical is, of course, tunnel visioning on his shortcomings and not paying attention to what he has accomplished: many younger students who look up to him, a dorm of students (many of which are beastmen of different varieties) that unite under his rule, and his own acceptance of “lowly” beastmen like Ruggie. I would love to see how he grapples and deals with these kinds of stories and how he reflects on his own life through them.

Anyway, the new Mufasa trailer sure sucks for Scar’s character but this has so much interesting potential for TWST 😭

[bitumz]

Title: A withered Rose still has its thorns

Pairing: Cooper Howard / Lucy MacLean

Word count: 4k+

Rated: T [angst, depictions of past violence, hurt/comfort, mentions of death and loss, happy ending]

A/N: this was written for the incredible @valeriarts for this beautiful fanart they made me, and was heavily inspired by this insane Beauty and the Beast Ghoulcy Fanart they entered into the Ghoulcy Atomic Blast Event! As such, this responding work is absolutely riddled with BatB references, but is lovingly set in the Fallout canon world because I am an absolute goon for the old music and wasteland setting. A tale as old as time... Ao3 link

~~~~~

One year has passed since Lucy pulled the trigger on her own decayed mother, withered away and rotted from the inside out by the inevitable cruelty of the wasteland. A necessary evil she still tries to console herself with on such a gruesome anniversary, though these days the grizzly voice chiding her in her mind doesn’t sound like her own anymore. And Lucy thinks she's starting to realize exactly how decay feels.

One year of failed leads. Shattered expectations. The growing pains of being remade into a woman more familiar than she should be, even well beyond the reflection of a mirror. 

The old shopping center she and Cooper find themselves in that evening is almost painfully similar to the Super Duper Mart, old clothing and clocks, and half burnt candles and varying arrays of other decorative knick-knacks scattered about like hastily flung debris across the rotting floors. But unlike the mart, high walls divided large sections of the space, reminding her even harsher of the vault rooms back home, centered just so by a long, splaying hallway that seemed to go on for miles into the shadowed corridor. An old mall Cooper had called it, but to Lucy that meant nothing. 

She'd done what she could to keep her distance from him that day, him never being one to appreciate her foul moods, and instead of calling out the blood curdling hypocrisy of that whole idea (and the inevitable fight that would follow), she bit her tongue and did her best to sulk alone, in only the company of a few blessedly silent clothing displays and dusty bedroom furniture. 

One of the former caught Lucy’s attention more than the others, a headless mannequin donned in a flowing silk gown, royal blue cut through the middle with a bright yellow sash that drew in the curves of the waist and cascaded floor length at the rear with the rest of the flowing hemline to trail like a river of molten gold across the moldy tile. 

Her mother had always disliked her in dresses. And Lucy can't help but remember the hazy bits and pieces of her fifth birthday. Of her father presenting her with a beautifully boxed up gift. Her mother's disbelieving scowl over at the man as Lucy held the soft floral material up against her chest and beamed at her own reflection in the vault bathroom mirror. They way her father twirled her around the room in it for many a birthday after that, with only Norm, a few aging Cooper Howard movie posters, and blinding fluorescents overhead as audience, pride already flashing even brighter in her father’s eyes as every year she grew more and more into the perfect daughter she was expected to be. And though Lucy had been too young to consider yet just where that gift could have come from, those memories now scathed in the shadows, somewhere deep beneath her bones like a bustling city of thousands of people being blown to nothing more than ruin and ash. 

And at this point, after fighting through all the many foul factions of the wasteland for just over a year and searching for a sense of fairness and freedom for so long before, she was so so far beyond sick of monsters masquerading as man. 

It was why slipping from the confines of her vaultsuit and stepping into the rolling blue and gold layers of silk felt something like lying. Like putting on that ill-fitting wedding dress again and continuing to do as she was told. Adding her name to the list and filling the role set upon her from the very moment she came out screaming like a wild beast into her mother's arms and a carefully crafted existence. 

She tugged her own suit up the slender plastic hips of the mannequin in trade. Zipped it securely closed with the final brush of her hands tenderly across the shoulders.

The worn leather slacked too big around the petite figure, and Lucy felt her own muscles clench the slightest bit in her newly exposed chest and upper arms. Her time away from the vault had made her only stronger. She could feel it in the easing of their long days trudging through the sand and restless nights with Cooper beneath the stars. In his harsh lessons and even harsher truths. But looking back at her mother’s last little hand-me-down gift as it sat wrong on the headless figure before her made her feel a bit like a child again; lost and alone in a world that was still so very much too big.

So she did just as she would when she was little. Turned the oldies station on low on her Pip Boy. Sat cross legged upon the cold dingy floor. Sought out her mother’s advice.

“I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to do here.” Lucy said, eyes falling to her mismatched fingers in her lap. She curled them loose into the soft pile of golden fabric. “I wasn’t so sure I was going to make it through mourning you the first time around…” she admitted soft, swallowing at the pain rising heavy in her throat. “But this… now… knowing everything I do… I- I understand why you left. And I’m sorry I couldn’t help sooner… I’m so sorry…” And Lucy had long run out of water to waste on tears so she only clenched her fists tighter over her thighs. Waited quietly for a reassurance that would never come again, receiving only silence in answer apart from the lilting voice of Skeeter Davis softly reminding her from her wrist that the end of the world had already long since passed. 

Lucy could only blame her time above for being able to sense him well before she heard Cooper’s spurs clanging softly up the hall. And had it been even just a few months ago, she would have moved. Rose from the ground and stuck on a fake sunshine smile to avoid his prodding. Stood tall and still in the shadows like a predator in wait. But if he was going to continue to track her down every time she sought out solace, he was going to get what he got. Real and raw and just so very tired. 

“There ain’t shit for supplies,” his rumbling voice started before rounding the corner, “but I did find somethin’ interestin’ you may wanna have a look at wh…” Cooper stilled like the dead in the shattered frame of the once glass door. Rendered entirely silent, though she could feel the burn of his eyes across her newly bared arms, the curves of her shoulders, her dark hair falling loose and wild down her back. “What the fuck are you doin’?” He finally managed, sounding much farther away than he actually stood.

“Oh you know, just talking to my mom.” Lucy spoke flat to the mannequin, unmoving. “You’re interrupting.” She added in dismissal after a long dead-silent moment, but she only heard his boots close in closer behind her. 

So she held her breath and waited for the snide response to drawl from his lips. Something like ‘radaway’s losin’ its touch huh?’ she imagined first, or ‘Rose musta not took all the crazy with her when she left that fuckin’ vault...’

But as the pair of taunts grew hotter in her temples, nothing of the sort actually came from him... Which was odd enough in itself to make her finally look back over her shoulder. 

What she found was a world weary man who looked as lost as she felt. The darkness of the decaying building clinging to the protective cloak of his duster like a long drawn curse that was pained to let go. He carried the weight of his own deep in the lines of his scalded face, wearing his own many anniversaries of suffering in scattered jagged scars, jaw tense as if he fought not to set free a rising snarl at the sight before him, browline drawn beneath the shadow of his hat like she’d spoken a foreign language he couldn’t quite grasp. 

He eyed her hallowed vaultsuit as if personally affronted… Looked back down right at her, dark eyes sparking with something near that impenetrable mask of anger he so easily slipped on as they trailed slow down across the gathered yellow silk she fidgeted with at her waist, to the elegant tendrils of blue haloing in a wide puddle around her on the floor, shielding nearly as much of her body as the suit had, but still leaving her feeling so incredibly exposed to his studiously searching eyes. 

“What is it?” Lucy asked after a moment, unable to take the scrutiny any longer, heart rate rising as she shifted where she sat.

And Cooper blinked as if hearing her for the first. “What’s with the getup?”

Lucy forced the breath from her nose, long and heavy. Tugged a bit of the fabric up in a false curtsy. “Oh this old thing?” She tried to tease but fell flat. “I've never had a dress of my own, you know? Always something borrowed… and Mom used to say blue was my color.” Lucy smoothed the silk back down over her hips, missing the way the claim struck Cooper’s expression like the hail Mary of a well aimed brick. “My eyes, I guess.” She shrugged away.

“No.” Cooper disagreed low after a long beat. “It ain't your eyes.” Then he took the two last steps to stand near her side. Reached down a hand. “C’mon I wanna show you somethin’.” And for a moment Lucy sat unmoving, glancing away from Cooper’s gloved offering up to the plastic shell of her mother one last time. “She ain't goin’ anywhere.” Cooper promised soft after a while of watching her struggle, in a way Lucy now knew that only he had every right to vow. And it's what finally drew her hand out slowly into his. 

“Alright,” she breathed. And she rose.

—

The shop Cooper led her into was stacked floor to ceiling with disheveled shelves of books. Old wooden tables and chairs lined the front walls. Rows of cabinets had once cut lines through the center, now tipped and scattered by previous scavengers who must not have appreciated the incredibility of the rare bounty before her. But Lucy, however, was already mentally sorting through the contents of her pack and deciding what could be left behind to make more space.

It was the candlelight that eventually distracted her from the task. Lit aglow and sparsely set across the floor and on a few of the sturdier looking bookshelves all around the room, burning just bright enough to clear the murky darkness from the space…and it was the consideration of such a thing that emptied her chest, had Lucy steepling her hands over her mouth and gaping wide eyed all around her at the beautiful sight, the sheer number of books alone putting the vault’s ample collection to shame. But it was the man stood behind her in the darkened doorway that stopped her eyes. Silhouette framed in the soft glow of fire, features hidden almost entirely from view, but like the constant pull of the moon on the tide she could feel the weight of every ounce of his attention on only her. 

“Cooper,” Lucy called low, letting her hands fall slow to her sides. “This is incredible. I've never seen so many books in my life.”

And he ambled forward at his name like a bloodbug drawn to the life pumping quick through her veins, sharp features softened by the warm glow.

“Really?” He drawled in that way that preambled the rudeness she'd so long been awaiting. Downplaying the situation every time it got too close to - something. And he was never one to disappoint. “I thought all that Vault Tec propaganda down there would at least rival a two bit bookshop.” 

Lucy raised her eyes and turned away. Took another look about the room. Made her way to the closest shelf of books and let her fingertips brush lovingly across the dusted spines. Stacked a few aside that she had every intention of not leaving without. 

“It wasn't just propaganda,” Lucy informed, his jab unable to reach her properly through the soft flickering of flame. “Vault distributed media was delegated and traded by the overseers.” She sought him out again with the turn of her neck. “And as you know, ours was particularly fond of fairytales and cowboys. Villeneuve and Wister. That sort of thing. Not to mention the movies…” her smile was mean, a brazen curve of her lips.

And Cooper said nothing in riposte, instead simply closing the space between them with slow, lazy steps. Rested a hand against the shelf on either side of her head as she turned to face him, closing in and casting his shadow across her in a way that once would have made her feel small. 

Lucy only raised her chin, held his eyes above with the fire flickering hot in her own.

“Is that really what you wanna be doin’ today?” He asked her, a near growl as it rolled so close from his chest. “Defendin’ your daddy?” 

And the reminder twisted in her ribs like a spike, aimed and true; memories of laughter and life and being twirled around in loving arms slowly, agonizingly morphing into something more fowl in her gut like her father's guiltless eyes as he'd finally confessed aloud his many many sins down the barrel of a gun… Her mother's meatless corpse sagging gaunt in a chair nearby…

“Dance with me.” Lucy blinked, only truly registering the words as they settled skewed into her own ears. The violins dipped and drew out the start of Billie Holiday's, Crazy He Calls Me from her Pip Boy between them like a taunt and there was no better title for the way Cooper’s sharp eyes searched her face.

“Do what now?” 

“Dance with me.” Lucy repeated, just as unshaken. “You're right.” She nodded in truce. “I'd rather make new memories today than dwell on the old ones and my options are you or the mannequin.”

Cooper gauged her expression from mere inches above. Looked as if he awaited the splintering of her sanity beneath his glare. For the flinching call of her bluff as he raised his chin and thinned his eyes in a move she’d watched him use on countless others to sweeten a deal or seal a sentence. But Lucy only popped open the latch of her Pip Boy. Sat it nearby on the shelf. Held her hands out to him palms up in the dwindling space between them…

And Cooper took a step back and away. Squared his shoulders as if she had thrown a fist instead of anything near the beginnings of a dance. 

“Mannequin would suit better.” He said in faint protest, stilling only a moment longer to meet her unyielding eyes before sighing, shrugging his duster from his shoulders and draping it over the back of a nearby chair. Pulling his gloves off and dropping them unceremoniously into the splintering seat. 

And Lucy felt an altogether new sort of apprehension as he neared this time, sturdy arms straining against the worn fabric of his rarely seen sun-bleached undershirt. His bandolier of hastily crafted bullets glistened like sharp teeth across the visible rise and fall of his chest. He held a single bared hand out to her in offering, allowing her to take either that last fateful step forward or a silent final out…

And the thrill of it all was the best distraction she could ever ask for.

The fine hairs at the back of her neck rose in warning as she took this newest challenge in stride, just as she had the many before. “I don’t doubt it.” Lucy returned, resting a ruined-fingered hand over the solid curve of his shoulder. Cooper slipped her left into his and she couldn’t help but stare at that way her own something borrowed still looked pale and small against the rest of Cooper’s hand, wrapping warm and rough around her own. His other burned like a brand against her waist just as Billie sang of her own willingness to walk through fire and with it they were moving.

Cooper was a startlingly natural lead, sure in step and direction, guiding her along in soft curves of motion as if on instinct alone, whereas she stepped between his boots in thought absorbed angles, and it was a pre-war skill Lucy would not have imagined he cared to retain until that very moment. He’d always spoken so little of that time of his life, apart from Janey. And even if they weren’t spending an evening attempting to forget, she at very least knew better than to outright ask why. 

The thought brought her foot down hard on his for what she guessed was the second or third time judging by his growl.

“That supposed to be a two step?” Cooper rumbled over her instead. “‘Cause you’re movin’ like a goddamn sheet of plywood down there.”

And Lucy laughed a breathy thing at the very real exasperation in his tone.

“I’m distracted is all.” She forced herself to meet his eyes, so close and scalding in the candlelight. Reminding her even more of the last time she’d seen him display such a talent. The same way her father had taught her so many years ago… and she just couldn't help herself. “I remember this from the scene right after you killed Joey… Where you went back to town and danced with the widow in -”

“Deadhorse ya,” Cooper scathed in answer, spinning her silent in an almost violent twirl out to arms reach before snapping her back, her spine pressing flush against the buttons lining down his vest so that the “don’t start,” was hissed directly into her ear. It effectively scattered her thoughts and sent gooseflesh rising down the exposed skin of her arms for a much different reason than she knew was intended. But then he stilled them. Kept a forearm wrapped firm across the front of her waist. “Kick them boots off so you don’t take my fuckin’ toes too.” He nodded down over her shoulder, the brim of his hat brushing against her scattered hair. 

And she continued to follow his lead, shaking off one and then the other. Turned around again with minimal restraint as he took notice of her intention to face him once more. Lucy filled her lungs with the faint scent of old leather and smoke as his coarse fingers dragged slow patterns across the soft silk gathered at her hips. This time she brought both hands up to his shoulders. Felt his own slide home in a near perfect fit into the soft curves beneath her ribs. 

Then they were moving again, easier, a more natural sway that brought him the slightest bit closer. Allowed her to truly see his features painted warm beneath his hat in the firelight. Those most others would deem ugly, the proof heard often enough in wretched slurs and slithered curses from near every small bit of civilization they passed. But here in the safety of their solitude, the candles flickered deep against the rugged hollows of his face and brought somehow more life to his hazel eyes. And though they had always been so incredible to her, those eyes, something about the way the glow sparked in them now, subdued and scorching back at her in equal measure, was almost another distraction worthy of misstep. 

And she’d been doing so well until her eyes dropped to the side. Focused on the scattered splotches across his shoulders that proved his threadbare shirt had once been blue…

The music built and curled around them unimpeded by the realization, trumpets joining in with the strings to round out the repeated claims of being insane for all a number of reasons and Lucy couldn’t help but look down at her own feet again, strained and self deprecating as she focused on not stepping down onto his with the way her heart sped and cheeks flushed. His hands flexed at her waist.

“Relax.” Cooper bid low, undoubtedly sensing her struggle in her missteps and the growing tension of her muscles. “I ain’t in the mood for sparrin’ today and my drawin’ hand’s otherwise occupied, so you’re only fightin’ ya self.” 

The upward curve of his bowed lips and drawl of his words spoke only truths, something almost sad touching his eyes, and Lucy found trusting in him still came all too easy. She watched as the rise of his browline painted a told ya so look across his face while she focused only on her own breaths and the warmth of his tender hold about her waist, her movements growing more and more fluid between those very same hands that she’d seen reap death and destruction with ease for just over a year now in search of her father and the answers they were owed. Coming up just short on near every lead and tumbling almost as violently into each other's arms in one way or another so often now that it seemed only necessary for survival. 

“Perceptive.” She said finally. 

But this was something else… It was just so…

It was simply different, Lucy decided, rising up onto her bare toes to press her lips against Cooper’s just because she wanted to. Taking unapologetically in a way that he had been forcefully tearing into her from the beginning. And she softly parted her lips over his unmoving ones. Waited for the beast to surface and rear its fangs or draw its claws. To push her away with a shove or back her forcefully against the nearest surface in a deliciously dizzying coin toss of chance. Because, yes the beast was in there somewhere she knew well enough, but it was Cooper who had pulled her up from the floor of her vigil. Cooper who’d lit the candles that warmed the air around them; of a bookshop of all places. Cooper who still distracted her from her woes now in dance… 

And it was Cooper who kissed her back. Took her face into the sanctity of his hands to tilt and deepen it, his lips a hot brand across her own as he held her steady and tasted her slow in languid shallow swipes of his tongue along her lower lip. He parted from her just long enough for Lucy to draw a greedy breath from the shared air between them. Then he kissed her again, another sweet short press of his mouth over hers before he whispered “I gotcha somethin’ else,” near voiceless into the corner of her moony grin. 

Then he leaned back just enough to meet her eyes, his own expression sobering like he stood on the precipice of some great divide, and Lucy dared him to jump with the slight tilt of her head in question. 

Then he pulled out a drooping flower from the pocket of his slacks. A sun-bleached plastic rose that must have once been red before the end of the world and the crushing hands of time; petals welting and half melted... And her heart did a funny painful pair of skips in her chest at the sight of it held out to her in his own repeatedly scarred and sewn together hand. 

“What? It ain't enchanted or some shit.” Cooper said harsh, shifting an inch on his own two feet. A first misstep since they started this new dance. “I just know what it's like to not have a grave to mourn is all.” He tried again. “Don’t read too much into it.”

And what a feint it was to reach for in a room set aglow, filled to the brim with warmth and music; bound leather and parchment... 

Lucy’s smile was all straight white teeth.

“Of course not,” she succumbed, taking the rose from him carefully and tucking the stem safely away into the sash of her dress so that her hands were free to reach back out for what she really wanted. “I never really liked reading anyway,” she soothed, wrapping her wrists loose about the back of his neck and looking past him at a few new titles that would be soon added to her pile. “Though my bag has been feeling awful light lately.”

And Cooper chuckled soft, a deep rumble from his throat. 

“Fuck the books,” he said, breath ghosting warm against the sensitive skin at the side of her neck. Then his hands slid heavy through the silk pooled low at her back, drew her in close against his chest. “Pack the dress.” 

And for a long long while they danced together and forgot. 

[coldfanbou]

Proof

Pure smut, no real story, just smut. Enjoy

Length 1.2K

Lisa x Mreader

Having been told she's not as sexy constantly, Lisa made sure she would prove it to her staff, her members, and the fans. She called the staff into a waiting room in the morning. Though the concert they were supposed to hold was much later in the day, Lisa didn’t want any of them to intrude. They would get to find out from word of mouth later. "Everyone listen up!" She yells from her small stage, making sure everyone could hear her. "You all think I don't hear what you say about me. About how I'm not as sexy or slutty as Jennie. Well, I'll show you all!" She looks around the crowd for a moment. "Who wants to be first?" She says as she throws off her t-shirt. Her small breasts bounce slightly as she does so. Lisa quickly worked on her bottoms, occasionally looking up to see who would step up first. She lets her baggy pants fall to the floor, leaving her in a pair of purple panties. As she steps out of her pants, she repeats herself, "Who wants to go first?" The crowd is silently watching Lisa stand there nearly naked. "No one? Fine!" She yells before grabbing your shirt and pulling you onstage.  

Lisa immediately takes off your pants and pulls out your cock. Seeing that it was still soft, Lisa stroked it with fervor wanting you to get hard quickly. In a quiet whisper, she says, "This'll get everyone to understand." As you get hard in Lisa's hand, she looks at the crowd and squats down. Her lips press against the tip of your cock before spreading open to swallow your shaft. Lisa's tongue immediately gets to work, swirling around your shaft and going to the tip, taking long licks across it. Her hand makes its way down her body into her panties as she starts to finger herself. Her long fingers slide in and out as her pussy covers them in nectar. Lisa forces your cock into the back of her throat; you feel her tongue lap at your balls as it rests along the underside of your cock. Lisa suckles on your cock while she continues to play with herself. Her panties are soaked as she continues to finger herself; having a crowd of people watch her is arousing her to no end. Lisa places her hand on your thigh as she bobs her head. Her warm tongue slides along your cock, wrapping around it as you hit the back of her throat. You groan from the pleasure. 

Placing your hand on the back of her head, you push Lisa into your crotch, forcing her to take your entire cock. Her fingers move faster as you do that, ramming themselves as deeply as possible. Saliva coats your cock and runs down Lisa's chin as you start thrusting. She moans, enjoying the feeling of you using her body. "Oh fuck, your mouth is so tight, Lisa." You moan. Lisa's lips have been tightly wrapped around your shaft as you stretch them. You watch Lisa rock her hips back and forth as she nears her orgasm. Feeling yourself reach that point, too, you bury your cock in Lisa's mouth and begin to fill it with cum. Lisa looks up at you, eyes wide open as she cums too. She squirts on her little stage as her nectar passes through her panties. Lisa drinks your cum with little trouble, relishing the salty taste as it flows down her throat. 

Pulling out of Lisa's mouth, she remains in her squatting position to lick her lips before standing up and removing her panties. She faces her audience, now thoroughly aroused, and spreads her cheeks for them. A royal blue gem sticks out, letting everyone know Lisa had a butt plug inside her. Seeing that you were still hard, Lisa makes an announcement, "Because none of you wanted to volunteer, you'll have to wait until I'm down with him to get your turn." Lisa stands in front of you and bends over. "Take whatever hole you want." She says with a confident smile. You debate taking out the butt plug and fucking her ass, but Lisa's wet cunt is too tempting for you.  You slide your cock along her lips, hearing Lisa coo as she waits for you to take her. You back up and press your cock against the entrance; as soon as the tip is inside, you ram your cock into her. "Fuck, yes!" Lisa screams as she feels you drive your cock deep into her.  You hold onto her waist as you start thrusting. Her walls clamp down on your cock, making it feel as if she was sucking you in. Your right-hand leaves Lisa's waist, snaking its way up to her tit. You tweak her nipple, playing it between your index finger and thumb. Lisa's moans fill the room as she gets a good look at the lust-filled faces of the others. She grabs your thigh, trying to push herself further onto your cock. "Fuck me harder!" Lisa moans as she throws her head back. You hook Lisa's arms and start slamming your body into hers. Splitting her apart with every thrust, Lisa sticks her tongue out in the air, panting like a dog. Her walls grow tighter with every thrust as she nears her orgasm. You slow down enough to keep her from cumming. As she turns her head to ask you why you kiss her. She immediately accepts it, letting you explore her mouth as you speed up again. The kiss muffles Lisa's moans, but they grow louder as she gets closer to her climax. Wanting to make it more intense, you start playing with her clit. Flicking it back and forth, you feel Lisa's body shake, and her voice grows into a high whimper as she cums. Her walls tighten as she goes through her orgasm; the profound tightness makes you blow your load inside her pussy. Your cum floods her used cunt, painting her walls white.

"Fuck!" Lisa yells as she feels your warm cum spill into her womb. Minutes pass before anyone makes a noise. Your cock still buried inside her, Lisa says, "I feel so full." As you pull out, your cum drips onto the floor. Lisa gets on all fours and crawls to the end of her small stage. "Who wants to go next?" The crowd erupts as many want to go next. Lisa laughs at the response. "Don't worry; you'll all get your turn. In fact…" Lisa reaches back and pulls out her butt plug, the loud pop followed by the blue gem being held up in the air silences everyone. "I want to really show who's the sexiest, the sluttiest. I want every tight little hole of mine filled with all your cocks." As everyone drops their pants, ready to get their turn with Lisa, you walk off stage, satisfied you didn't have to deal with that. Hours would go by where Lisa fucked every staff member; at some point, you wondered if she would be ready for the concert itself. She did make it though she wasn't the cleanest, with her cum staining whatever outfit she wore and making an utter mess of the dressing room.

[the-owl-tree]

what are your thoughts on lion king as xenofiction? it's obviously one of the most accessible and largest media that's xenofiction and i think it shares similarities w warriors with it's more rightwing undertones esp regarding divine right of kings/rulers and an honor code system that leans fascist when u think about it.

(None of this disclaimer is directed at you anon) Before I get any yelling at me for reading too deeply into this, (1) you are on the Reading Too Deeply Into Things blog and (2) watch this podcast episode about nazi furries where the Lion King was used as intro material and had the Circle of Life rewritten to be about being proud of being white (skip to 29:47 if you just want that bit).

"But Deer, that's not the Lion King's fault that they rewrote the song!" Okay but why did they use the Lion King? What themes, unintentionally presented, could people in this community pick up on that they use this movie as recruitment material? What choices in the casting of the hyenas and ideas about some species being destined to rule might appeal to a certain demographic? No, I am not trying to ""cancel"" the Lion King, I am trying to make people think why the Lion King has (unintentional) right wing themes and who that attracts.

"But that's not the writer's intention!" Meaning is made through the act of reading as well, there is no such thing as one true interpretation. You can read something and have a wholly different takeaway than what the author intended. Animals as an allegory for human relationships and structures are going to take that weight regardless. Analysis and making meaning is not an indictment on the writer, it is a part of engaging with art. Right-wing voices already shit themselves at the Washington Post's article trying to talk about this, please do not make me relive that era or I'll make fun of you.

Sorry for the hefty disclaimer, people get really mad about topics like this, especially when it comes to something so beloved.

The Lion King is decidedly not about lions lol the lions are a shorthand to signify royalty, it is Hamlet with animals! They are visual shorthands for the audience to understand the character's relationships with one another with the lions, lead by a king, as our royal family and utilizing hyenas, lions enemies in nature, as an antagonistic force. It's similar to how Disney's Robin Hood is also not about animals, it is using animals as visual shorthands for the audience to understand these characters (Robin is the sly and clever fox, Prince John is a scrawny lion signifying his royal status but the lack of mane implies shortcomings, and so on; also not without its shortcomings, man I wonder why Lady Marian is a fox and not a lion in this, what sort of implications were you trying to avoid, Disney?).

The Lion King is uninterested in the perspective of an actual lion, of a creature that does not share human morality and concepts of death and yada yada. Which is fine! It's pretty straightforward about this, but that doesn't erase that animal allegories still come with loads of baggage, especially with the voice direction of the hyenas and how that reflects with the overwhelmingly white cast of the original (there's like four major black voice actors in the cast with james early jones as mufasa, robert gullaume as rafiki, madge sinclair as sarabi, and whoopi goldberg as shenzi. minor roles that include black actors are jason weaver as young simba's singing voice and niketa calame as young nala's singing voice.)

So while I don't think the Lion King in itself is as intentional as Warriors can be about their right-wing themes, I do think that it's not an invalid or even that big of a stretch to read said themes in the Lion King. I actually quite like this video that discusses themes of Judaism in Lion King 1/2, it touches on the unfortunate implications and undertones that the Lion King 1/2 builds up from the basis that the Lion King set down.

I actually find it really interesting how the Lion Guard, a school for preschoolers, tried to engage with a lot of these criticisms. Whether or not they succeeded, up to you, but something about them engaging with "lion supremacy" and even the unfortunate subtext of the hyenas later on is really fascinating to me.

Okay, I've rambled a lot, hopefully I've made some sort of point here lmao but yeah! I agree, I can absolutely read a lot of the unintentional themes and subtext the films have when it comes how they utilize animals in relation to power dynamics. There is a concrete analysis to be made here, even if that's not the intention. I'd say as a piece of xenofiction, the Lion King is not actually that interested in animals, they are merely actors for a human drama. Which, you know, is what a lot of people seem to think xenofiction is unfortunately.

[ri-writes-if]

hi there, i'm just dropping by to say i loved the update!! aaa so many thoughts, not enough words in the english language. for now, let me just be down bad because my brain's been hijacked. i love Ashmedai. i wanna squish them like a marshmallow <333 their vibes are so healing (hah) and cozy, like, flower shop date?? buying a plant and agreeing to raise it together?? (<- that's a metaphor right there.) but then they're also so 🙃. very much "yay, MC thinks i'm flawless and stunning, and they hold me in such high regards <33 (*blushes*)" then two seconds later, with dawning dread: "oh no." also not them immediately assuming despite everything that their feelings are one-sided T--T seriously? are MC and Ash going be the two pining dummies of this story? because if so, then don't mind me while i sit here very patiently because I Eat That Up. i just have so many thoughts about this particular royal healer. Ash owns a plot of land in my mind, and i'm only a liiittle annoyed because whenever i want to read the others' route Ash goes "nuh-uh" and won't let my MC go. well, i guess that's fate for them.

thank you for always working so hard to provide us with more brainrot material; it's much appreciated! <33

Lmaooo your honor, they’re stupid! 😔 Yeah, there will be some mutual pining hehe but not for very long. I have to make them face the reality sooner rather than later because there are only so much chapters in one book, lol

I’m happy you love them so 🥹 I worried they’d be the least loved character because of their personality, but it’s great they’ve found their audience

Thank you for your kind words!! 💛

[cha-melodius]

AO3 Fic Meme

Is this a meme? Has the word 'meme' lost all meaning at this point? Does it matter? Anyway, thanks to @onthewaytosomewhere for the tag! 😂

Rules: go to your AO3 account and find the following:

1. What ratings do you write most of your fics under?

Teen And Up Audiences (57)

Mature (25)

Explicit (24)

General Audiences (18)

2. What are your top three fandoms?

The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015) (45)

Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston (34)

The Mandalorian (TV) (22)

3. What is the top character you write about? (Got some ties here)

Napoleon Solo (45)

Illya Kuryakin (45)

Alex Claremont-Diaz (34)

Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor (34)

4. What are your top three pairings? (Surprise surprise, this list is the same as the fandom one lmao)

Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo (45)

Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor (34)

Din Djarin/Cara Dune (22)

5. What are the top three additional tags

Getting Together (63)

First Kiss (35)

Angst with a Happy Ending (30)

6. Does any of this surprise you?

Not a single bit. Actually I didn't necessarily expect the T vs. E disparity to be quite so large, but it also makes sense because I'm more likely to write long fics as E and one shots as T, and there's gonna be a lot more one shots than long fics.

Mae already tagged a large percentage of my rwrb mutuals, so for efficiency's sake I'm tagging @justabigoldnerd, @loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @mirilyawrites, @pippinoftheshire, @too-young-to-fall-in-love

@faketrex, @iboatedhere, @read-and-write-, @ninzied, @firenati0n

@indestructibleheart, @sherryvalli, @welcometololaland, @rmd-writes, @liminalmemories21

@leaves-of-laurelin, @14carrotghoul, @nicijones, @three-drink-amy, @heytheredeann

[aziraphales-library]

hi guys! just want to start off by saying you are incredible and i am so grateful for this library.

do you know if any frenemies to lovers fics at all? i’ve recently read Camping with your Frenemy: It's F***ing Intense by IneffableMcMuffin and it was so good

thanks again!

You can check our #enemies to lovers, #enemies to friends to lovers and #friends to lovers tags for fics you may enjoy. Here are some more along the lines of rivals to lovers...

The Golden Lion by CrentTrimm (E)

Aziraphale, a privateer in the King's Navy, meets an old rival in Port Royal, and their exchange ends in a hasty tussle in a back alley.

Gods in the Gaslight by Anti_kate & rfsmiley (T)

A mysterious rival and a ghost from the past threaten Fell's magical career.

The Devil's in the Flowers by jjgremlinson (M)

For the last eleven years, A.Z. Fell’s Fantastic Flowers has provided quality bouquets and services to the people of London. Whether it’s weddings or funerals, lovesickness or heartbreak, Aziraphale can find the perfect flower for you. But when Crowley’s Flowers, Houseplants, and Other Assorted Leafy Green Things opens up across the street, everything starts to change—and Aziraphale will be damned if he’s going to let this no-good, profit-hungry Crowley steal all his business. (Or, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley are rival florists working in the same neighborhood).

Would I Lie to You? by FeralTuxedo & TawnyOwl95 (E)

Anthony Crowley and Aziraphale Fell are rival team captains on popular comedy panel show Don't Lie To Me, where they exchange insults and banter to an audience of millions. But behind the scenes, a whole other game of truth and lies is being played. A comedy panel show AU

Angel Face with a Taste for Suicidal by Lor_Lupin (E)

When Crowley spots his replacement on his former band for the first time, he doesn't expect the man to push him against a wall but he's not complaining. The Fallen and Flaming Swords, two rival struggling punk bands, hold a grudge against each other and spend more time fighting and performing crass pranks than actually composing songs. Crowley is hurt, Aziraphale is new, a lot of flirting ensues. INEFFABLE HUSBANDS AS HUMAN PUNK BASS PLAYERS. Inspired by the looks of Peter Vincent in Fright Night and Thorne in Laws of Attraction.

Actuarial Risk by doomed_spectacles (M)

A. Z. Fell, principle salesman for Silver City Financial, never paid much attention to his company's main competition, Fourth Circle, LLC. That is, until he met Anthony Crowley. When the rivalry between their respective head offices heats up, they make an arrangement both know is unsustainable. A rival salesman AU with hijinks, fluff, misunderstandings, and a happy ending.

And the one you mentioned...

Camping with your Frenemy: It's F***ing Intense by IneffableMcMuffin (E)

Silly little romp featuring bitchy Aziraphale and Crowley's hips which are incapable of being untruthful.

- Mod D

[minas27]

HotD - S2E2: Aemond Thought

I want to discuss the scene where Aemond is in the brothel with the madam. So, of course, somewhat of a content warning and spoilers below the cut. I’ll also make a separate post on the topic of grief because I think there’s a lot to talk about. Also it goes without saying this will be a long post so bear with me.

I want to talk about Aemond actually being in the brothel in the first place. We know based on the conversation he has with the madam that this is at least the second time he was there with her. Timeline wise I think this is right because the death of Viserys takes place maybe a week or two max before the events of the beginning of season two. So, Aemond must have started to visit the brothel and the madam shortly after he saw her again for the first time after their initial meeting when he was about thirteen.

We see Aemond put on the facade of a stoic and competent swordsman and display the epitome of what a royal Targaryen prince should be. However, here in the brothel he’s so vulnerable. Not only because he is fully naked and in the arms of a woman in a kind of cradle position, but also because he’s removed his eye patch. I struggle sometimes to understand Aemond’s relationship with said eyepatch. Part of me thinks he might be embarrassed by it and would prefer to keep it on at all times. But another part of me thinks he is somewhat proud of it. For example, when Aemond was at Storm’s End and he removes his eyepatch in front of Luke, the Baratheon family, and their guard this tells the audience a few things. The most important thing, to me at least, is that he doesn’t care who sees him without the eyepatch. He doesn’t care that people can see the sapphire he placed in his eye socket. He doesn’t know the people in the hall aside from Luke. And yet he’s willing to remove the one thing that covered a part of him that brought him and his mother such pain. And then, to remove it in the brothel where servants and perhaps other patrons might see him also tells me he doesn’t care.

Aemond, like the rest of his family, does not grieve in a healthy way. After not only discovering that his nephew was murdered in such a gruesome way but also learning that he was the initial target, Aemond seeks solace in a very toxic way. He returns to the woman who took his virginity at such a young age. To me, Aemond never received much comfort from his mother because I think she viewed him as the most ‘mature’ and ‘well-adjusted’ of her children. Even after Aemond had lost his eye and his mother attacked and cut Rhaenyra, it was Aemond who was comforting her. A child who just lost his eye and has become somewhat disabled has to comfort his mother and reassure that he’s alright. “Do not mourn me, mother. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon” are his exact words to her. It’s no wonder that Aemond would rather seek the comfort of someone else rather than his own mother, even if that someone is paid because at least she does a good job at pretending she cares about him. It’s incredibly tragic and heartbreaking that Aemond feels more comfortable seeking solace in a prostitute than any member of his immediate family. He’s able to tell the madam things that he wouldn’t dare tell anyone else. For example, he tells her that he regrets what he did to Luke and that he’s sorry for it. He’s sorry. And he would rather let people like his mother believe he did it on purpose. I’m reminded of what Ewan said once during a podcast that Aemond believes he can achieve more if people hate and fear him.

I want to discuss the madam in this post as well. I understand the sentiment that many people in the fandom hold regarding this woman’s incredibly inappropriate relationship with Aemond. A lot of people think that she is a predator/groomer and that she took advantage of Aemond when he was thirteen. And while I understand why some would think that, I believe you guys are looking at this the wrong way. Yes, Aemond was too young to be engaging in sexual relations with a woman who was most likely old enough to be his own mother. That I think we can all agree upon. However, there are a few things to keep in mind. The first is that it was Aegon that brought his younger brother to the brothel and paid for the madam to have sex with him. She did not go seeking out Aemond in order to sleep with him. Second, she is a prostitute and this is her job. As uncomfortable as that might make many people, we have to understand that this woman likely grew up in Flea Bottom to parents that couldn’t offer her anything and so, like many women in her position, she did what she had to do to survive. Third, can any of you explain to me how on earth she would have been able to refuse the request of a prince? I highly doubt it. She is expected to bring in recurring clients and she can’t really do that if she’s refusing the services of someone like Aegon. And when Aemond grew up, it was him that sought her out. It is Aemond that is paying for her services. This isn’t to say that it makes any of what is happening here okay. Let me make that perfectly clear. There’s just a lot more nuance to this dynamic that we need to dissect. Aemond seeks out the madam and pays her to tell him things he wants to hear. Things like Daemon should be afraid of him, that he has grown from a boy into a man worthy of holding the name Targaryen, and that he is good to feel sorry about the business with Luke. 

There’s so much more that can be said about this scene and I might make another shorter post but this is what I thought was most important to discuss. Let me know what your guys’ thoughts are because I’d love to discuss this topic further. I’d also like to remind everyone that my blog is not a safe space for body shaming. I will block the fuck out of you if you bring that bullshit here. I don’t know where some of you get off making comments on another person’s body. Seek psychiatric help immediately.

[olderthannetfic]

When m/m writers say "women DNI / don't read" on a platform like here or AO3 that's majority female, what's the thinking behind this? Are they insecure in their masculinity and trying to preemptively block fujo cooties from getting on their fiction? Are they trying to meet people for RP or dating through engagement with their fics? That I can maybe understand. But if it's the former, there's a culture mismatch. "Women DNI" writers mostly aren't writing stuff that's popular on Space Battles, Sufficient Velocity, Royal Road or even ff.net, which gets more of the "malebrained" (sorry) game nerd stuff with sexless shonen-like characters levelling up or solving problems with "hard magic." Those spaces also have a concrit culture where you can be a little mean and mocking, and the "women DNIs" only want praise and clout. It always makes me think of Married with Children and Al Bundy's NO MA'AM (National Organization of Men Against Amazonian Masterhood) club.

Anyway, it's extra odd when I see this kind of clout goblinry in a market context where most of the sales are to women. I've seen gay dudes (cis and trans) lightly threaten that a big conversation about what gets popular in paying m/m space was coming soon (spoiler: it never came). And it's always someone who doesn't have the kind of career they want despite doing lots of marketing. I think it's OK to vent, but the gay men who are doing numbers in m/m space don't threaten women's careers or disparage their own readership.

--

Are they insecure in their masculinity and trying to preemptively block fujo cooties from getting on their fiction?

Yes.

No, really. That's it.

Ask any trans man who's been on T for a few years and has supportive friends and family what he thinks about this dumb behavior vs. a scared trans boy who just figured it out in his own head and whose entire experience of living openly as a man is being rude to strangers on twitter.

The pro version is just professional jealousy.

If Jordan L. Hawk can come out and stay at the top of the heap (despite, sorry not sorry, a bit of a career slump lately due to Life), so can other trans dudes, and there are plenty of cis dudes who write in a BLy style and sell just fine to BL/slash fandom type readers.

Dudes who are secure don't need to pull this shit, and good marketers know not to insult their paying customers in public because it's bad for business.

TBH, when I find out a m/m author is a guy, I'll usually try one of his books. I don't think fujoshi culture is ~appropriation~, but i guess I do think it's nice to give a guy a shot. I have pretty universally been underwhelmed (in the Sturgeon's Law way, not the men can't write way). But I doubt I'm alone in this behavior. A dude who's not a whiny little bitch about having a chick audience can use this to his marketing advantage. Instead, a lot of losers want to shoot themselves in the foot.

[bluedalahorse]

I think I’ll say this once, since I need to say it before I can move on to more excited posting about promos and things:

Obviously Young Royals means a lot to me. It’s become another way for me to connect with my hyphenated-American heritage and to start teaching myself Swedish again. It helped me survive a pretty brutal year of bullying at work. It made me confident enough to start the process of getting formally evaluated for autism and ADHD. I’ve been writing a 200k+ historical AU fanfic for YR—the kind of fic I always read and adored back in fandoms when I was younger, the kind of fic I wanted to write myself. I’m proud of the way that Heart and Homeland has made me a better writer, and I’m glad for the way it’s deepened my friendship with @heliza24. It is Young Royals in part that inspired by thesis on restorative justice in YA literature. When I was in the hospital last fall because I almost had a literal stroke from stress, I was comforted and kept calm by the fact that I was wearing a YR t-shirt and had a plush doll of a YR character sitting in my lap. And all of that is the short list.

As we come close to the release date, I hope that every single member of the fandom gets something they enjoy in the new season. I don’t think every person is going to get everything they want, but I genuinely hope there’s a moment, a scene, a line that brings them joy. We’ve all stuck with this series for a while, and I want us all to have something we can take with us. A little bit of sparkle for the road, if you will.

There’s of course the possibility that some of us get a lot of what we want, and others of us are let down. I know this was the case for season 2, and it feels naive to imagine that everyone in the fandom will be equally satisfied by season 3. I’ve got my fingers crossed that I’ll enjoy the hell out of it, but I’m also trying to prepare my heart in case it’s not what I wanted. I’m trying to gently talk to myself right now and say that even if the third season leaves me upset and unsatisfied—even if the writing takes a nosedive or it’s good writing but it’s just not what I wanted—that I still learned a lot about crafting stories and being myself and surviving hardship and thinking about systems and whatever else, from this show. That my experience with the first two seasons still matters, that my work on my fic is something to be proud of. If season 3 is a disappointment, Heart and Homeland will be my new canon. I’m sure there are other people out there talking themselves up in this way too. I know we’re all pushing through the pre-season jitters.

The other thing I’m trying to reconcile right now is how I feel about the promotional material that’s come out, and the conversations around that. Like on my own, I actually feel pretty great? It’s fun to see the new stuff come in? But then I think about the ratio of Wilmon to other things and some of the responses I’m seeing to that. And I see people say like “oh the show is back to focusing on what’s actually good about it” and “it’s great that they’re doing this because the audience doesn’t really care about characters who aren’t Wilmon.” And… hello? Aren’t I the audience? Tumblr isn’t too bad (most of the time) but then there’s like, Instagram, where the Netflix Nordic posted whole set of photos of different pairs and friendships from a whole bunch of shows, and there was one (1) picture of Sara and Rousseau and I saw enough comments where people were like “ew! Vomit! Give us Wilmon instead!” that like… y’all. Frida Argento is a human being and a damn good actress, and Lisa is a good writer of female characters, and like. We can celebrate that, once in a while. We can create space for her too. It’s not Frida OR Omar and Edvin. It’s Frida AND Omar AND Edvin AND Nikita AND Malte AND Nathalie AND Mimmi AND Fabian AND Samuel AND… look I could keep on listing but I’m going to get distracted if I do.

Like, man. I love Wilmon. Don’t get me wrong. I love the complexity their relationship can run with. There are lines heliza has written for them in fic that make me swoon and I am giddy about the part where I get to read them first. I love the glowsticks. I love Wilmon’s sense of humor and the part where they cheated at Vincent’s rowing race thing and their utmost commitment to being dumbass teenage boys against the world. The first week I saw the show and came into work (where we have an athletic field) I went and took a selfie on the field after covering my hands in those gross fake dots. Look. I am all in.

And also… I came to the show for Wilmon but I stayed for so much more. I would have watched Young Royals once or twice and said “that was pleasant” without ever getting back into fanfic after a decade away, if the show was only Wilmon. I do like Wilmon, but it wasn’t Wilmon who inspired my thesis on restorative justice or made me a better writer overall. I survived that year of bullying at work because I could come home and write my ensemble fanfic, especially the parts where I focused on the non-Wilmon pairing I was in charge of writing. I finally felt confident enough to be evaluated for AuDHD because of a connection I felt to a character who wasn’t Simon or Wilhelm. It was a plush doll of a non-Wilmon character who sat in my lap and kept me calm while I was hooked up to those scary machines in the hospital this past October.

I guess my one humble request is that people be thoughtful about how they use phrases like “everyone thinks” or “no one wants.” Not every member of the fandom has the same opinion, and not every member wants the same things out of season 3, and there are some of us who are happy about the new Wilmon content but who are still feeling a little hungry for more of our most beloved characters, and hope they’ll get meaningful storylines (and not get ignored) in season 3. I do know we probably won’t all get what we want, and that some of us will probably get more of what we want than others. I hope that whatever happens, we’ll all get something we want, and we can all be gracious about it, and continue to find meaning in the canon.

For the people here on tumblr who are already including me in their everyone… thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope you know who you are and I hope you know how much I appreciate you. And I do hope this Little Fandom That Could can keep going into all sorts of new creative places.

[katedrakeohd]

Yet another Work in Progress that popped into my mind today... the tentative story title is:

The Royal Affair

..

Drake Walker was on his way to an audience with the Queen, but he needed to make a stop at his room to shower and change his clothes first. After spending hours working in the stables, he knew he smelled bad, and wouldn't dare smell like horse shit in the Queen's presence.

As he approached the servants entrance he scuffed his boots on the gravel, trying to scrape off as much of the muck as possible. He also wiped the lower pant legs of his jeans to brush off as much of the sawdust he could. When the Page had rung the bell on the stable door to get his attention, he had been knee deep in the sawdust shed filling a wheelbarrow.

He had been dumbfounded by the summons. He rarely spent any time with Queen Regina, outside of the occasional royal event, or unless she made an appearance in the stables to inspect her Royal Steeds. He usually had warning in advance that she was on her way, so that he could make himself scarce. King Constantine never entered the Royal Stables anymore, because his poor health made the dust and dampness of the place deadly for him.

Wedging the door of the servant's entrance open with his body, he tugged off one boot and then the other. Leaving them on the gravel outside, he stepped onto the cool tiled floor in his sweat dampened socks. He tugged off his plaid shirt as he walked down the hall, and tucked it under his arm. As he passed the laundry room facilities he tossed it into a dirty clothes hamper in the hallway.

He sniffed his t-shirt, but he was so used to the smell of the barn being on him that he didn't know how bad it was. He stripped that off too and then tossed it in with his plaid shirt. That was as far down as he was comfortable stripping, considering he still had to make it through the servant's wing, and then into the guest wing of the Palace so he could make it to his room to shower and change.

==

Queen Regina Amaranth Rhys sat at her husband's bedside. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic, and the oxygen machine hissed as it delivered life sustaining assistance to the ailing King. The most recent blood transfusion, and cancer treatment had done little to improve his condition. He was existing only on borrowed time.

Prince Liam was still months away from his scheduled Coronation, and she was bracing herself for the looming certainty that a funeral would be coming first.