#the court has been eyeing ending gay marriage for some time

[melishade]

People forget or refuse to accept that politics is about strategy and numbers, not morals. It’s unfortunate, but it’s the truth.

kamala harris is electable. more so than joe biden. yes this country is racist and sexist. and kamala harris IS still very fucking electable. "she's a cop" yeah! everyone who serves as president of the united states fucking sucks lmao. but yk what?? she can beat trump. she doesnt wholly embrace fascist policy. she generally aligns with a lot of important issues-- abortion, the green new deal, lgbtq+ rights, fact-based public education-- and that buys us time to organize our communities, to improve safeguards and community care and uproot the fascism taking hold without a fully fascist president breathing down our necks. "the democrats suck too" yup they really do!! and yet i still prefer that to the gop's wholehearted embrace of true fascism, of overturning free and fair elections and shifting power to unelected federal judges. so!! enough of the hand wringing please!! we need to buy some fucking time so yes kamala harris will need to win and yes she is very capable of winning there is strategy there, there is money there, and the american people above all rn want someone who isnt decaying into the literal ground thank you that is all.

[first-edition]

Fox and the Hound

Sum-Joffrey wants to send a message to your family after your brother embarrasses him, so he marries you off to his most unwanted man in his court, the hound. But will this marriage truly be a statement for an eyesore, or will it grow into something more. 

Cw for chapter- 18+ words and themes overall, cussing, graphic deptiction of killing, mention of death, mention of sandors death, Family reunion, joss and Podrick being little gay cutie pies, y/n being a gay ally (HAPPY PRIDE MONTH)

// A/N: just wanted to apologize for the broken links at the beginning of the book since i changed my username they haven’t been working but i assure you I’ll get to fixing them. I will also end up making a goggle docs with the entire book for downloading when this series ends//

Previous chapter here

CHAPTER 23

A blood curdling scream can be heard from sandors plot in the forest as he chops up bits of wood. The scream comes from the same pathway he just headed through. 

“Shit.” he huffs before running  as fast as he can back to the village. The sight is gruesome, as the premade homes are engulfed in flames and some even already burnt out. The bodies amongst the mud, horse slaughtered and food supply turned over. But the sight that holds Sandor in his clutches is brother Ray, hanging from the structure that was supposed to be the church once finished. His skin purplish gray his black dark red his eyes bulging. 

Sandor grumbles looking around at everyone dead on the ground before he sees the horse hoof markings that lead into the side path of the forest. With an anger filled rage he picks up the ax he’d dropped and speeds after the men that did this. The only thought was to get back at them and do much worse than what they did. 

It's not long before Sandor comes up to them, easily hacking one down. The man's head rolling in the leaves and mud going to the next cutting his chest open as he swings the ax. He ducks and takes the third swinging the ax up as it slices into the man's crotch pushing up before Sandor pulls it out and back. The man falls to his knees begging for mercy. 

“Where the fuck is the other one? The one with the yellow cloak?” Sandor asks, holding the ax to his neck. 

“FUCK YOU!” the man yells. Sandor angrily grunts before taking the man's head off.

—-----

You watch as Sansa plays with your son. She holds him in her lap and makes babbling noises with silly expressions. It's been six months since everything and you and your others have become virtually one with a cold. Being able to stay out longer, your fingertips and ear no longer freezing on impact. 

This winter will be long and hard and with all the preparations for fighting the night king and asking the dragon queen for her help it is too much for some to handle. Sana has unfortunately left most of the work to you so she can spend time with you son although joss takes him away from her to bring him back to his rightful mother she will always whine a bit before understanding. 

The sound of metal clinking horse hooves pounding and people chatting is a lively sound you could only hear outside the gates of king's landing, as people work on sorting supplies and gathering for the possible fight to occur. 

“How much food does winterfell have?” you ask the head supplier. 

“Enough for a year your grace, with the wool, and steel there should be enough possibly over than that.. A-at least for those who are in the castle now” he says 

“Hmm. you're telling me there isn't enough food, especially not when the armies from the dragon queen will be brought back to winterfell.” you say as you begin your walk down the steps to your son who begins to fuss in Sansa’s arms. 

“N-no my lady.” he answers “Most likely not.” he ends 

“I’ll have my share of militia head out in a cart to bring back more supplies as we cannot have the other guests starve now can we.” you say he shakes his head. 

“Come here. I've got you” you say picking up your son from her arms holding him close to you fixing his furs so he's warm against you. He snuggles into your chest holding onto you before popping his thumb in his mouth. 

“The little prince is growing fast, your grace.” lord baelish says as he approaches. 

“Thank you.” You reluctantly want nothing more to do with him as you find him to be a weasel that could manipulate those for his pleasure. 

“M-my lady!” joss comes running up to you and sansa taking a few puffs of breath before standing straight and speaking. 

“Y-your sister has arrived..lady arya..st-stark.” he huffs which makes you giggle a bit at how out of breath he is.

“Where..” Sansa says standing up. 

“I dont i want to come and get you but when I turned around she was gone and said s-somthing about your mother and father and v-visiting them.” he sighs nodding. 

“Come with me.” sansa sansa says taking your hand leading you to the entrance of the castle. Joss follows. She leads you to the entrance of the catacombs where all the Stark family are buried. You've visited as Sansa has an honorary burriel for Sandor down there despite not being a member of the family. 

He basically pulls you anxious to see her sister. But she soon lets up as she sees Arya standing there looking up at Sandors statue. Sansa looks at her for a few seconds before ayra takes notice and smiles a bit. 

“Do i have to call you lady stark now? I never really wanted to.” she says. Sansa smiles and hurries to her sister giving her a much deserved hug. The hug is broken by your son's babbling. 

“Your grace.” ayra says giving you a small bow. 

“No need for formality.” you say walking twords them both joss following behind you. 

She gives you a hug as well. Even though you've spent the least amount of time together she still feels ecstatic you have you around. 

“Whos this?” she asks about the child in your arms. 

“This is Joss Dortain Clegane.” you say turning him slightly to face her. She holds her hand out and extends a finger he grips it and begins to bring it to his mouth. 

“oh..no no.” you both laugh as she pulls her hand away. 

“The little prince.” she smiles. You nod. 

“His last name, clegane. Like Sandor or Gregor clegane?” she asks. You take a breath before nodding. Your eyes divert to the statue they all stand under. 

“His father, sandor. Brienne told me what she did, fought him for you, she pushed him.” you say looking up at the stone carving still. 

“If it's any consolation, he fought hard, like...extremely hard. I've never had someone fight that hard for my protection, ransom or not.” she says. You look at her and nod.

“Thank you. For keeping him company. I know he's not the best to hang about with but-” you begin. 

“He was fun. He talked about you. Last he mentioned you was of your pregnancy, he hated traveling in the opposite direction made him ancy, angry, he would always mutter thing about volantis. I asked him if he loved you, and he said yes with no hesitation, then I teased him that he was technically a prince." Arya laughs, making you laugh as well. 

“I remember on our wedding night I said the same thing to him; he didn't like it.” you say

“He didn't like it when I mentioned it...from my time with him. He adored you; he killed a man for speaking ill of your likeness. He really did love you.” she says a twinge in your heart forces a lump to hit your throat that your force back down. You nod in compliance for fear if you speak you'll start crying. 

“You must be hungry, I'll have the cook prepare you a proper meal.” Sansa breaks the sadness before you all gather and exit the crypts. 

—-----

Podrick and Brienne spar. They play swords clinging against each other as he's gotten…somewhat better at his sword play. He lunges forward at Brienne allowing her to kick his ankle tripping him into the mudded ground and walks around him smacking his butt with the side of the sword. 

“Don't lunge.'' She sighs, turning around as Podrick bets up and grabs the sword he drops before raging at her and begging again. But as per the round he makes a wrong move and she rides him backwards. Granted she did it on purpose. 

“Don't go where your enemy leads you.” she says walking around him chuckling at his failure. 

He gets up once again wiping the mud from his cheek about to go to attack once more but is stopped by familiar words. 

“Don't fight someone like her in the first place, it’ll get you nowhere.” joss speaks his hands behind his back as he walks up the two dueling. 

“Joss.” Brienne. 

“My lady.” he replies, bowing a bit before holding out his hand for the sword. 

“Be my guest.” she chuckles. Handing it to him before nodding to podrick and walking off the inside to get a drink. 

“You have to keep your knees bent, your eyes at half looks, and your free arm tucked for fear you might get cut off if you are not careful.” joss says podrick scoffs and rolls his eyes before taking his stance brienne taught him. 

“When did you learn so much about the sword?” podrick asks. 

“Unlike you who knows of fine things, I was a king's guard squire fighting in the description.” 

Joss huffs in a laugh at the way he stands. But nonetheless begin the fight. Easily joss maneuvered the sword around as podrick is slightly confused as he follows the sword with his eyes. This leads to joss bopping him on the backside like brienne. 

“Eyes at half look doesn't mean follow the entire sword, you have to watch your opponents moves as well, predict them.” joss replies. Podrick nods before they both begin again, sparing this time it lasts a bit longer than a few seconds. But ultimately a hit on the ass is what seals the deal. 

“That was good. Could be better,” joss says, running his fingers through his own hair pushing it back and out of his face. To their surprise they last much longer now join for a minute or two and podrick even takes down his first opponent leaving him to straddle joss with the sword held to his neck. Joss chuckles, smiling at podrick both proud and enthralled. 

Joss pushes Podrick off of him and switches positions holding his dagger to his other neck before leaning close to him. 

“Don't let your guard down..no matter who you're fighting.” joss speaks. Podrick chuckles back before the space between them closes, their lips connecting. It consumes the moment for a brief time only for joss’s name to be put to air as you call him. 

He pulls off his partner and stands up looking toward the sound to see you at the side. A smirk on your face. 

“The others need your help in unloading the carts. You can speak to your boyfriend later tonight.” you say looking down to podrick who quickly gets up and bows to you. 

“Yes, your grace.” joss says, sheathing his dagger before handing the sword back to podrick their fingers brushing against each other before the other man hurries off the the carts you turn to podrick, 

“This is for you. John has requested your presence at castle black he needs you to meet him by the shore of the wall.” you say handing him a raven scroll. 

John was supposed to be back only a few weeks after the last scroll he sent about getting Daenerys' approval. But under certain circumstances he had to stay and collect the resources before returning which has taken longer than expected. Podrick nods. You turn to follow joss to oversee the cart supplies but you stop and turn back to podrick. 

“Please, come back alive, you're good to joss, he needs you.” you smile at him before turning around and going to the carts. 

Next Chapter here

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[sdaomine]

'til death do us part... or 'til i kill you first

Things take a sharp turn when Marius and Vyn discover each other's secret identities. Filing a divorce is on the table, but Vyn takes matters into his own hands—after all, he'd rather end the marriage here than in court.

A/N: Finally, FINALLY done with this fic that has long been rotting in my drafts! I've been wanting to write a Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU for my favorite gay ship but lacked the time to actually finish it (but here we are!). I wrote this in 2022 but only concluded it today, AMIDST my many, many university backlogs <3 Anyway, I know some stuff here won't make sense but this is a self-indulgent fic so... yeah.

wc: 13.8k words.

==

Six years in.

Six years of a wonderful marriage. Six years of black tea and chocolate drink during early mornings. Six years of intoxicating kisses, sweet and zealous; six years of what the youngest von Hagen called the best fuck he’d ever get in his lifetime.

You see, when you marry the love of your life and spend wild, beautiful years with them, you start to think you are building your relationship’s mighty foundation—that sooner or later, the two of you would be able to finally lower those invisible walls which had always separated you, because admit it or not, there is no marriage built without deep, dark secrets.

But six years in and Marius von Hagen finds himself holding tightly onto his gun—a pretty sleek silencer he so cherished, a gift from his brother—his back pressed hard against the wall just beside the stairs, waiting.

“Hah—shit. Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his chest heavy, almost suffocating. Marius pressed one hand against his heart, feeling its erratic pace and, at this very moment, he was all but trying to calm his rapid breathing.

But then there was a quiet creak on the wooden stairs.

Marius’ eyes screwed shut. Fuck fuck fuck—

Marius threw himself to the side, hiding further beneath the wall, just in time—just in time before a series of raining bullets holed through the wooden wall and the staircase banister, which was soon followed by another round of rapid firing. Marius shook his head as he waited for it to stop.

With one arm protecting his head, Marius leaned slightly against the safer side of the house. Deep down he cursed and cursed the sheer agony of having to prop himself like that against the wall, right after he had dived into the floor like it was some massive pool of water. “Goddamn,” he cursed quietly, and however could he not? His once neatly painted Victorian walls that probably cost some other person’s soul were now ripped into shreds, the wood falling off, their deadly splinters scattered around. There were holes all over, both small and wide, and Marius took a little peek.

There he is.

Vyn Richter, Stellis’ most esteemed psychiatrist: well-mannered, elegant, so fucking pretty. Marius was in awe even when the doctor, who still wore his pearl, white coat, carried two massive rifles in both of his hands. Fucking assault rifles. Just where the fuck did you keep those in our fucking house, Vyn?

A sly smirk curved the doctor’s lips. Vyn caught a glimpse of his husband peeking through the small holes and asked, a little too seductively for Marius’ taste, “Darling, you are still alive?”

Dammit!

Vyn held back a scowl when he heard nothing. Marius used to surprise Vyn whenever he came home from work, so it was not impossible the young CEO had already switched hiding places. And so Vyn, as silently as he could, made his way down the stairs—

“Still am, baby.”

Vyn dived down the stairs instinctively,  hissing out small, foreign curses as he landed—crashed—on the floor. He helped himself up with animalistic speed and grabbed his weapons, dashing towards the room opposite the wall where Marius continued to fire his silencer gun.

The doctor clutched his side and winced. Two minutes in and he already got himself a bruise.

“Stupid brat,” he muttered sharply as he reloaded his rifle. “Whatever crossed my mind? I should have killed him that fucking night.”

==

Two nights ago.

Vyn—in his white Mercedes—took a sharp turn round the bend of his English garden, leading out of the mansion gates. He was running, no, driving away from Marius. Why? Nothing much, really. Just that after six years of marriage Marius found out that aside from being a psychiatrist, his dear husband actually worked as an assassin. Learned that Vyn was a killer from another agency, which unfortunately for Marius was PAX’s worst rival with… well, dirty work.

But that wasn’t the worst part. Marius was an experienced killer, too, a secret even the best psychiatrist in the country must have somehow missed.

So… shit.

It was supposed to be a romantic dinner date. Vyn came home earlier than usual (he had to call off his assassination schedule that night) so he could cook his husband’s favorite dinner. The ever-so-loving Vyn Richter even lit candles on the table, did some last-minute flower arrangements, all so they’d have a good time (He even had half a mind to light candles and scatter rose petals across their bedroom, for a change). It had been a while since the last time he’d eaten a proper meal with Marius, anyway.

But there was something amiss, and Vyn was upset. Upset with the fact that he couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Or what could possibly go wrong.

Although he was quite certain it involved his husband. And involved he was indeed because Marius was all but suspicious that whole evening, asking this and that, inquiries Vyn himself often utilized whenever he questioned a target or a client. And he wouldn’t have been a renowned psychiatrist if his husband’s dubious actions went unnoticed. Marius. I did not know he would be this daft.

Until the bottle of wine Marius was holding suddenly slipped from his grasp, and Vyn—who was seated, his back turned away, his attention wholly fixated on anything other than Marius and his wine—caught the bottle swiftly with one hand.

It was then he realized he’d made a grave mistake, because if anything his husband’s grip was always firm, and not in this life would Marius von Hagen let a million-stellin wine slip from his hands.

Marius let it slip on purpose.

And now Vyn drove his Mercedes the way a lunatic would their car, ramming on the trash bins and fences and even some of the patches of roses from his beloved garden, all to escape from his husband. Because apparently, his dirty secret’s out, and Marius is out to get him (perhaps).

The car screeched as he took a sharp turn, finally out from their mansion. Was he a free man, now? Not exactly—Marius von Hagen suddenly appeared in the middle of the road, running. Vyn muttered under his breath. Goddammit. He took the shortcut. I forgot about the shortcut—

A bang sounded, and the next thing Vyn knew, there was a crack on the windshield. The car halted abruptly.

Vyn scrutinized the crack. A bullet.

“Did…” he mused—hissed, rather—as his eyes trailed to where Marius was knelt on the ground, slowly helping himself up. “Did this bastard just try to shoot me?”

Marius almost flinched when Vyn, just a meter or two from him, slammed his hands on the car horn repeatedly. If it wasn’t his pretty little husband Marius would’ve just shot the car until the tires go off and the driver dead; but then again it was Vyn inside that car, and—

And the windshield… has a crack. And I have a gun. And I…

Marius swallowed. And he must’ve accidentally pulled the trigger when he hopped out of the bushes from the sidewalk and tripped. And now Vyn thinks he tried to shoot him.

“Baby, accident.” Marius now stood in front of the car, and the sight of his husband—who looked angry as hell—could be seen clearly from his line of vision. He hoisted both arms, the way a cornered, guilty criminal would, and repeated his words gently, “Baby, accident. Accident.”

Marius gestured to his gun. “I tripped. Accident,” he shouted. Marius didn’t really give a damn anymore whether or not the neighbors would hear him. “Baby, accident—no, stop!”

Marius inhaled sharply as he heard the engine rev—and it revved loud, as if a warning, more than enough to tell Marius if he didn’t step out of the way at that very moment Vyn would drag him to death by way of a hit and run.

And he did not hesitate.

“No, stop! Wait!” Marius waved his arms frantically, almost throwing away his gun just so he could show Vyn he wouldn’t dare hurt him. However it was his mistake that he pondered it at all, because Vyn Richter was the pettiest man alive, petty enough to actually hit the gas and hurl the vehicle towards Marius.

Oh, shit. Is this my end?

The car steered forward, its speed almost inescapable (for anyone in Marius’ situation). Marius gathered all his weight and lunged at the car, and Vyn then piloted the steering wheel in a rapid pace, left and right, in an attempt to haul his husband—probably ex-husband soon—out of the car, but to no avail. “Get off my fucking car!” he yelled irritably. “Marius von Hagen!”

Marius even managed to smirk as he held onto the side of the car (for dear life). “Stop the car—” he shouted back, his face almost hitting the windshield. “Vilhelm von Hagen!”

“Fuck you.”

“When?”

“Saturday, if I have not killed you yet by then.”

“Sweet.” Marius took advantage of Vyn getting carried away by their banter—Vyn could only hiss out in frustration as Marius broke the passenger seat window with the handle of his gun. It didn’t take long before he was halfway inside the vehicle, and Vyn was fumbling with his seatbelt.

But Marius was a second too late. The moment he’d gotten inside entirely, Vyn had already thrown himself out of the vehicle, and the Mercedes, along with Marius, was heading straight to the dark woods.

“Fuck you,” Vyn spat, still lying on the asphalt, catching his breath. He had wounds and scratches all over his skin—so much for all his skin routines—but that did not matter at the time. He fished out his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

“Good evening,” he greeted rather blandly. “Yes. Please fetch me, and bring something sweet. I need my sugar levels to spiral.”

==

Present times.

And so they are here, trying to shoot one another’s head. Marius had initially come to gather his hidden weapons, only to find them gone. Vyn must’ve found out. The psychiatrist, on the other hand, returned home and got his guns ready. Heck, Marius even considered the great possibility of his husband setting up traps within the house.

Now we can tell who loves who more.

Yeah. That would be me, Marius would say. I love this sick fuck more than he loves me.

He peeked at the stairs. Marius caught Vyn claiming the opposite wall as his barricade, swore to god heard his muse wince at what could’ve been new bruises. He chewed on his lower lip as he crouched and stalked along the hallway with confident precision—he moved the way shadows would devour the night, utterly soundless as he coursed towards their dining area, which was also a connecting room to their massive kitchen.

To Vyn’s kitchen, his mind noted, almost like an instinct. His beloved had always been the one to cook all their meals, bake mouthwatering desserts and mix their cocktails and most times they’d end up hot that Vyn would find himself bent over the counter with Marius railing him from behind. Sometimes atop that long table, where Marius would feast on his husband the way he would his favorite meal; in return, Vyn knelt on the carpet under the table and sucked Marius’ hard cock until he moaned and screamed his name and squirted his cum on Vyn’s crystalline smooth face.

Marius was never in the kitchen, that sacred place. Sacred to his husband, at least, but when he did go there, it was always to admire Vyn while he prepped their meals.

He let out a bitter chuckle as he entered the dimmed space. Good old days.

Marius scanned the room, one he was most familiar with, before he proceeded to check under the table and chairs, ran his hands along the wall, removed the exquisitely-framed portraits hanging on them as a precaution. He knew Vyn couldn’t have been here for long; he wouldn’t have ample enough time to set up his baits within the house, but just in case.

He’d learned well not to underestimate Vyn. Vyn Richter, of all people.

Keeping his steady stance, Marius trod towards the high archway that led to the kitchen hall. He moved with a spy’s practiced grace and quiet, walking about the area as he quickly drafted a plan in his head. It was safer here, he thought, for almost little to no lights were switched on, and none of them would dare, since the lights could only be opened with two claps or a snap. Even without Marius’ careful movements, Vyn won’t be able to locate him that quickly. Especially since their house was a goddamn mansion.

No, screw that. A goddamn castle. If Vyn had not declined his husband’s initial offer with regard to housing, their residence would have looked like Buckingham Palace, except it was in Stellis.

Well great. How nice would it be to reminisce while your husband’s lurking in the same house, trying to kill you? Marius blew a sigh through his nose, frustrated. Couldn’t this be resolved with yet another delftware imported from France—

Marius went cold. “Fuck.”

He went cold because somehow, he’d forgotten that he didn’t really own this kitchen. That even though he’d been here a lot of times to fuck his husband on that table and over that counter, he wasn’t there enough to fully know and memorize each tile, each wall, each delftware that perched on display. Because somehow, Marius had focused on the possible threats that he’d missed the most unsuspecting yet lethal ones: Vyn’s decorative collection of teacups and teapots and plates.

And perhaps the odds were not in his favor tonight, because Marius accidentally bumped into one, and the teapot—even though he had caught it with his hand at first—proceeded to take its fall and break itself into hundreds of tiny shards. Marius stilled, his blood thrumming in alarm.

At first, there was silence. The eerie kind.

And then rained a series of bullets from the dining room entrance.

“Fuck fuck fuck—”

Marius dived into floor, clutching his silencer. He crawled swiftly under the long table until he reached the archway to the kitchen. He stood on his feet and snatched his other pistol from its belt holster, scanning the kitchen—a fucking enormous kitchen—for efficient shields, weapons, or if the heavens somehow favored him again, a possible way out. An escape from his deranged husband.

He’s too beautiful for someone demented, though.

He heard footsteps. Slow and steady, its familiar, elegant cadence enough a warning for Marius to keep his guard, his guns hoisted and at the ready. In one stride, he took refuge beside the fridge, the opposite side of it facing the entrance.

And then there was a distant, honeyed voice. “You dare break my delftware.”

“You fired because of a fucking teapot?” Marius sneered, but cackled all the same. “You’re crazy.”

“Your fault for marrying me.”

“A horrible decision, really.”

Vyn pulled the trigger and fired, the bullet merely grazing past the fridge. A warning. “I gathered. Seeing how you are out almost every other night, only to a foolish spouse will that go unnoticed,” Vyn uttered, his voice laced with venom—bitterness. “Tell me, darling. How many ladies have you fucked while you were gone?”

Marius resisted the urge to step out of his hiding spot and confront his husband head-on. “Fucking stop it, Vyn. Are you serious? This again?” he complained, the grip around his silencer tightening in his simmering anger. “I never cheated on you, godammit. I told you—I was out for business. How many times do I have to drill that into your head?”

“Ah, yes. Business. And what exactly is your business, Marius?”

Marius chuckled. “I could ask you the same, baby,” he said in his smoothest, sweetest voice, then strode out from his refuge, aiming his silencer at Vyn. In those few, shared seconds of conversation he’d noted where his husband stood, where he was facing, the appliances which surrounded them—Vyn won’t be able to duck anywhere, and could not possibly sprint too fast to shield himself from Marius’ attack.

But then again—he shouldn’t have underestimated.

Because when he’d stepped out, Vyn was not there.

He was already behind him.

“Shit—”

He did the most possible, most horrible thing he could think of: as he swiveled round to Vyn’s direction, Marius hooked his fingers under the fridge’s recessed handle, pulled it open, then slammed its massive steal door against Vyn.

“Scheisse.” The fridge door rammed against him face-first—Vyn’s nose throbbed with a nasty pain, and he sensed hot liquid leaking from it, tasted the coppery tang of blood when it drifted further into his mouth. “Fucking. Swine.”

He knew the fridge door would be a serviceable shield, knew the bullets he’d fire would protect Marius no matter what and doing so would only be a disadvantage. However Vyn blasted back that instinct, that knowledge, and proceeded to rain yet another series of bullets towards Marius (or the fridge, actually), all because of sheer aggravation. How dare he slam that door into his face—was he not his muse, his darling? Was he not this ethereal man Marius had always drawn and sketched and painted on his canvases for he wished to preserve his beauty?

Goddammit—the curse looped inside Vyn’s head, his nose flaring with rage. His nose fucking hurt.

And Vyn screamed along his firing, both weapons aimed toward the fridge. The kitchen was dimmed, with no lights on and so all he could see were the blazing yellows and oranges and reds, could only hear the all-too-familiar bangs and booms as the shots blasted through the metal.

He stopped attacking. Vyn wept the blood from his face with the sleeve of his once immaculate, white coat, wincing as he did. His nose stung so much and it rendered him so very, very furious. “Marius von Hagen,” he said. Hissed.

A low chuckle. “Vilhelm von Hagen. Or would your surname be back to Richter now?”

And there was silence, utter silence, before Vyn’s life flashed before his eyes.

The psychiatrist could only slide back as the fridge—which was a whole lot bigger than him in all aspects possible, completely towering over him—started slanting from above and down to crush him. It was too swift that he could only clumsily stumble back, almost slipping on the tiles and making a fool out of himself.

Marius heard Vyn curse in a vague, foreign language—German, no, Svartian, probably—as he scurried to save himself and dodge his husband’s pretty little trick. Actually, screw that, Marius thought. Pushing this goddamn fridge might very well be his disadvantage: one, it was too heavy it took a lot of effort and energy, and two—the kitchen was a spacious room and he threw his only barricade away.

No matter. He will just have to remedy that, in whatever way he can.

Like taking advantage of his disoriented, recuperating rose by means of taking their electric stove and throwing it in Vyn’s direction.

He’d turned away before that stove hit his husband.

No. He didn’t want to see that.

Didn’t want to see his husband hurt.

He released a sharp breath and looked skyward, then blinked his eyes repeatedly, well-aware of the stinging tears threatening to flow. He ran to the exit all the same, his only goal to escape—he didn’t wish a violent shoot-out with his love, inside their home, no less, but he needed to return the act lest he got killed.

All this—the thought of killing Vyn would kill Marius just the same, anyway.

Heh. He didn’t seem to hesitate shooting me, was what roved in his mind as he made his quick escape. God. That hurt. That fucking hurts.

And he was now well on his way out, finally, with only a step before the archway when Marius peered over his shoulder—then regretted it shortly after.

A kitchen knife had grazed past his ear, the tip of its blade hitting the wall with a dull, slicing thud.

Marius stood there for a while, utterly shocked. Vyn hurled the blade too skillfully that blood trickled down his ear—only a slight brush with the knife, truly, and there was only a minor sting—and Marius recalled it again and again, the way that knife went past him so swiftly, almost like a soft winter’s breeze.

Maybe he deserved it. He’d broken not only Vyn’s delftware but his nose, too.

“Just to remind you, my darling.” Vyn stood steady far across him, his gun hanging by his side, his other arm still held forth after throwing the knife like a sports dart. He was bleeding, his nose and his arm, yet his poise was much like a prince’s, still, as if he hadn’t partaken in this chaos of an indoor shoot-out.

Oh and despite himself, Marius swooned when Vyn had addressed him darling.

“That you destroyed my fridge.” He leveled his gun, his aim at Marius’ direction. “And inside that fridge were all the pastries I had worked so hard for this goddamn week—more particularly that matcha cake.”

Ah, Marius thought, almost nodding unconsciously. I’m thoroughly fucked, then.

The psychiatrist fired another time, only once, but close enough to shoot off Marius’ ear.

Thoroughly, completely, perfectly fucked.

If that bullet blasted a few inches down Marius was sure he’d only have one serviceable ear left. Fuck it. Vyn’s aim was as good as his so thank the heavens the odds somehow favored him tonight because if they didn’t, his head would be pounding with a static burn at this very moment for he got his ear blown off to oblivion.

Marius sprinted. Not out, because the hallway was narrow and with how accurate Vyn’s aim is, he was certain he’d get shot at some point. So instead he darted to the side at lightspeed. “Goddammit, Vyn!” he shouted as Vyn fired constantly, following his every stride; thank goodness there were no kitchen lights and Vyn couldn’t see clearly even with those ugly glasses. “You’re really going to blow off my ear? How am I to hear your needy moans then?”

“You will not hear them again.”

“Not of pleasure,” said Marius as he slid behind the mid counter, hiding away from Vyn. He tugged open the small cabinet and swiftly made a slice on the gas hose before he slithered away like a madman and out to the archway. It would be nasty with that leaking gas and Vyn’s shotgun.

Wow, thank god we weren’t all into electric shit.

When Vyn fired, the kitchen exploded in flames.

Vyn threw himself back, and he crashed into the wooden floor, breaking his glasses in the process. Every part of him ached, and his head pounded; his vision was obscured without his glasses, the narrow hallway a distant horizon he was not sure he’d reach because he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe—

His thighs burned, a hot, searing pain pulsating within his loins, and it was only then that he realized he was on fire. Like it was his second nature the doctor halted thrashing and crawled to the nearest open space, that area near the archway, and rolled himself across, exhausting the flames on his person.

He wouldn’t dare glance at his burns. He couldn’t stomach them for sure.

Not because they were gruesome, no, but because he cared greatly for his vanity, and now his efforts had been all in vain. So much for face and body value.

He snatched his gun, then, and hastened out of the burning kitchen and into the dining area.

Vyn didn’t mind the burn, the throbbing, the pain that wished to devour him. Not when his adrenaline was spiraling and begging to be put to fucking use. His instinct—an assassin’s or a husband’s, he couldn’t discern—led him out and around the lobby, up the stairs, to that one, distinctive chamber his husband treasured most.

The Atelier.

The memories rushed in with each step, every soundless stride. He’d designed that room with Marius, had decorated it day and night with him. Had baked cookies and delivered them there, so Marius would have something to eat as he worked on his new opuses; had stayed by his side as he recounted stories with his paint.

Had taken off his silken robe as he perched on the chaise, naked, looking so ethereal as Marius painted him, brought his beauty to canvas.

The reward? Marius had fucked him silly all through the night, on that very same couch.

Vyn took deep breaths. He acknowledged those memories, accepted them. Then locked them all away.

He hoisted his gun, and tiptoed close, closer. No signs told him Marius was inside, but Vyn steered forward, trusting his gut as it churned at his intuition—he is here. I do not know why, but I know he is here.

He ticked that box with a check.

As he entered the room a silencer shot, hitting just behind him. Marius stood by the opened windows, his weapon in hand; a thick cable wrapped around the atelier’s metal handle and it fell outside, down to Vyn’s precious garden. He was escaping.

“Heh.” Vyn aimed his gun at Marius, the smirk on his face menacing. “Planning for escape?”

Marius threw him an annoyed glance. “You put the house on a fucking lockdown.”

Vyn shrugged his shoulders. “You were able to open that window,” he said. “Whatever happened to the alarms?”

“Switched them off first.”

“And the window?” No one was supposed to open any part of the house when it is on lockdown.

“I know shit on this house that you don’t know of.”

“Ah. Well, that does not matter.” Vyn trod forward, careful. The weapons were still aimed at one another as he neared a small, circular table where Marius’ rarest pigments sat in glass bell jars. “What matters is… oh, look. These are your pigments.”

“Vyn.”

“Such rare pigments,” mused Vyn, eyeing the expensive, imported, rare set of paints atop the table.

Marius took a cautionary step forward. His hand reached towards his husband, the gesture as if attempting to halt whatever deranged thing Vyn framed out to do. “Vyn—”

“Imported from Italy, yes?” The older man trailed, his finger brushing against the glass. “Ah. And this one was from our Grand Tour—France, if I remember correctly. From Louvre.”

“Don’t shoot it.” Marius’ voice shook. “Don’t fucking shoot it.”

Vyn stopped. He chuckled—then looked up at Marius. “All right,” he said with an innocent smile, “I won’t.”

Then struck the table’s legs so it tumbled down, onto the floor, the special paints now mere, vibrant stains that tarnished the wooden tiles.

Vyn sneered at Marius. “Screw you.”

And proceeded to fire not to his husband, but everything inside the atelier: the canvases, both empty and brimming with colors, the vases and the chairs and stools, the portraits on the wall, the unfinished sketches and all the works in progress—the Seti Falls among other brilliant landscapes of their travels in Skadi, in and around Stellis, all the way to Europe.

Marius seethed, and one may even argue he was about to breathe out flames. “You fucking fiend—”

Vyn halted his advances when his aim pointed to an unfinished portrait of him.

Gods, he looked beautiful in it. Like the image of a prince, one of which a hopeful maiden would see only in the fairytales she reads, wondering if she’d ever snag a man as handsome as him. His lips were curved into a half-smile, all so lucious, and Vyn felt that familiar, rancid guilt tug at him—only a little, he wanted to deny it—as he wondered the many hours Marius had worked to capture him as beautifully as he could. Not that it was a hard task, for Vyn had always been a most spectacular muse, but still…

He lowered his gun and spared that portrait from his rage—saved himself from his own, unfettered violence.

But soon enough, Dr. Richter would realize that only portrait Vyn had been granted salvation.

Vyn nonchalantly aimed at his husband another time, did not hesitate, even a sliver, as he pulled the trigger toward Marius. But Marius dodged and rolled to his back, deftly until he tumbled against the wall under the window, and with a terrifyingly calm expression poised himself to kneel on the tiles.

Vyn reloaded his gun. “What are you doing, kneeling there?” he seethed. “Have you given up, darling?”

“No,” said Marius, a chuckle rumbling down his body. His amethyst eyes had darkened, and Vyn tensed, feeling gooseflesh all over his skin as Marius took something out of his person—a hand grenade.

“You know what,” the young von Hagen began, his voice low and cold, “I shouldn’t have tended your garden during the days you weren’t here.”

“You are to stop this instant.”

“What do you say? Fuck off and say adiós to your precious little garden.” It only took a split of a second as Marius pulled the pin with his mouth, and tossed it behind him, the grenade hurtling over his husband’s precious sanctuary of roses and lilies.

Only a split second before Vyn Richter’s garden exploded into a thousand, splendid fireworks.

And if it weren’t for his unmitigated, passionate fury thrumming with each breath, each step, and every thunder of his heart transcending over the harrowing, golden flames burning in the dead of night, of which singed the beloved flowers he’d tended to for years, Vyn would’ve fallen to his knees onto the wooden tiles, and cried his heart out in heavy grief.

But Vyn stood there, not moving an inch, as he watched the scorching fire. The flares flickered in his eyes, round and round the deepest trenches of those golden hues, until all he could see and feel was…

Well, nothing. As if unbothered.

However his mind, his brilliant mind toiled clearly—too vivid, the thoughts smooth-sailing in his ocean of schemes.

“Dieser verdammte Marius,” he muttered—that goddamn Marius—as he strode near the doorway, opened an emergency cabinet, and pulled the heavy, metal handle, activating the manor’s fire sprinklers.

Wet chemicals erupted from the ceilings, all over the house. Vyn navigated the halls and the rooms with precision, checking the bedroom, the lounge, the bar, in a search for a certain von Hagen.

He hoisted his gun as he trod to each chamber, each corridor. Vyn went down the stairs and proceeded, with much caution, to the main living room—

When a click sounded behind him.

“Let’s stop this now, Vyn,” Marius said quietly as he drew closer, his silencer only a meter or two away from his husband’s back.

“Unlock the house, and we can separate in peace—”

Vyn swung around, pivoting on his heel, and knocked Marius’ weapon out of his grasp.

Marius stumbled to the side, but maintained his balance almost as instantly. “What the—”

“You are naive to think that after all this, I would let you out.” Now it was his time to brandish his gun, leveling the weapon slowly to Marius, who now had both hands raised in surrender. He was on the farthest corner of the room, trapped; his only escape was the very path Vyn stood on, getting in his way out, deliberately so. “Well, well. What do we have here?”

“Your loving husband.”

Vyn’s brow raised, and his features scrunched into disdain. “I would not say that—”

He was cut off by Marius pouncing onto him with all his weight, Marius’ hands wrapped around his own, restricting him and the gun. And before Vyn could even try to get away Marius sent him to the ground—Marius had forcefully slid his leg against Vyn’s, and when his husband lost his balance, the two of them plunged into the floor.

At the impact, Vyn’s grip loosened, and Marius kicked the gun away from them as he helped himself up.

Oh, zounds. Why did I kick it away? I should’ve taken it—

A flower vase came hurtling toward him, and Marius shielded his face from the glass, letting it break into tiny shards as it fell to the floor. And his jaw might’ve been broken, too, for Vyn had suddenly appeared in front of him, and threw Marius the best jaw-breaking punch he had ever received.

“Fuck—”

It was painful, to be sure, but he had no time for such. He caught Vyn rushing to the doorway.

What’s he doing?

Marius’ face scrunched and he winced, the pain in his jaw utterly excruciating.

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

He’s going for the gun.

“No way in hell.”

Marius the nearest object he could find—a mini coffee table—and hurled it in Vyn’s direction.

He stood on his feet and sprinted to the doorway. The table had hit Vyn’s torso, the impact heavy on his waist, and he dropped to the floor, groaning in pain.

But before Marius could reach for the gun himself, Vyn held him by the leg.

He landed face-forward. His arms, thank goodness, saved him from rendering his handsome face wretched. Marius rolled onto his back, only for Vyn to lunge at him.

Vyn first threw a punch to his jaw yet again, but Marius caught his wrists. With a mighty force Marius was able to toss Vyn to the side—he was the stronger one, after all—and Vyn ended up with his back against the couch.

Vyn was still recuperating when Marius came to wrap his hands around Vyn’s neck, restricting his breathing. His hands went instinctively around Marius’, punching and pulling and desperate to get away. At last Vyn gathered enough strength to move away from the chaise and to the side, bringing Marius with him; Marius who, despite his strength, admitted to struggling with Vyn’s futile attempts to escape.

But the next thing Marius knew, he was throwing his husband across the room.

Vyn flew directly to the massive grandfather’s clock, the glass shattering and raining over him.

Blood now stained the doctor’s face, his body. But at that very minute he wouldn’t feel any wound, any injury. Just the unfaltering will to fight to death with his husband.

He felt betrayed.

He was scared. He was so scared he would lose him—to a woman, to PAX, to this. Add the five consecutive nights he’d prepared dinner for them and Marius never came home.

He’d rather end the marriage here than in court.

Marius dashed towards him, ready to pounce. Vyn caught sight of the expensive wine bottles on the table beside him.

And so he snatched two of the wine bottles and smashed them on either side of Marius’ head. The bottles crashed, and Marius bellowed in pain. Crimson leaked in his skin, his clothes—was it the wine? His blood? Vyn swallowed as took in the sight of his husband, hands on his head, moaning in deep pain; he looked away immediately and strode out from Marius’ reach.

Marius chuckled. “Of course you’ll go for the gun.”

“Do you not think it the easiest way out?” Vyn merely said, his voice higher, obviously vexed. Yet the way he spat those words was honeyed, still. “I shoot you, I win.”

“Is that what this is all about?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” Marius staggered, but pressed onward. “Then you’re not getting that gun.”

In quick strides Marius threw himself at Vyn, but the older man rolled himself easily over the couch. Marius pushed the chaise to the side with one swift move, and only the oval glass-lined coffee table separated them.

Like that table’s gonna do shit.

And it all began with footwork. In his fighting stance, Marius assessed his husband, the two of them circling around the table slowly, vigilantly. Waiting for the other to hint at their weakness, to give away their hidden cards—neither knew the other’s tricks, having only found out their secret careers this evening.

But goddammit, Marius cursed inwardly as he observed his muse with that perfect sparring form, however his bearing elegant, still. The lock of his shoulders, the way his forearms were bent to his elbows, his knees curved just right; that determined face, his brimming confidence—goddammit, goddammit, goddammit.

Perfect.

He’s perfect.

I love him.

“Well fuck me. You always made me carry your heavy stuff, but now you look like you’re ready to carry me to my grave.”

Vyn smirked—then pushed the table with his foot.

The force was too strong that Marius knew he wouldn’t be able to stop it on his own, and that he’d only hurt whatever part of him that met the table’s edge. The table slid forward, launching straight at Marius, and all he could do was leap on top of the table.

It was small, that table. Marius lost his balance and fell face-forward to the marble tiles.

“Fuck it,” he groaned, his elbows stinging. “I fucking hate you—”

Vyn gripped his shoulder and swung him around, his back now on the floor. ��Hello, my love,” he purred as he pinned both Marius’ hands atop his head, then straddled him. “Do you like this?”

Marius smirked. “You on top? Hell yeah.”

Vyn’s fist went flying to his face.

“FUCK—” Marius groaned, his nose stinging. He could almost taste the metallic tang of blood. “I can’t believe you ordered me to carry your shit around when you can punch this hard.”

“You betrayed me.” Vyn landed another punch. “You are a liar! You lied to me!”

“Look who’s fucking talking!”

“Go to hell.”

With his weakening grip on Marius, the young von Hagen was able to snatch his arms and finally turn the goddamn tables. He wrapped his legs around Vyn’s torso and flung themselves to the side.

Vyn gasped. Marius now sat on top of him, towering over him. His grip on Vyn’s wrists was too tight they could’ve been red with the mark of his fingers, or a nasty purple because of bruising—god, they could’ve been a pale blue for that grip might as well halt the blood from coursing through.

“Now, now, sweetheart.” Marius pinned his lover’s wrists on the floor. He noted the slightly frantic tussling, Vyn’s… sexy labored breathing. “I think I like this better,” he whispered. “Me on top of you.”

And Vyn could only gasp as Marius grappled his throat. Not to kill him—to weaken him, somehow. To make him lose consciousness. And then he’ll decide from there.

“Hck—” Vyn’s choking filled his ears and, even when he wanted to, he couldn’t look away. “M-Marius—”

Stop it. You’re hurting him.

His grip did not weaken.

“Hck… P-Please—”

Don’t say it. Don’t.

Say it. Vyn hurt you. You’re just returning the favor.

I can’t...

“Look at you. I love choking you like this,” Marius spat, his eyes dark and wicked. I’m going to hell for this—I’m sure of it. “If only this were a different circumstance.”

He caught Vyn’s arm flailing to his sides, and Marius wondered why he’d suddenly stopped grasping the hands that throttled him—until Vyn seized something and smashed it to his head, sending him backward.

A lampshade this time. From yet another small desk drawer just beside them.

Well, Marius thought. I should’ve seen that coming.

Vyn was, however, still frail from Marius’ attempt to strangle him. His breathing was strained, his face breaking out in cold sweat.

And hot tears rolled down his pale, bloodied cheeks.

However his adrenaline pumped again, and again, and even when his head pounded a fire burned from within, and he tried to go on all fours, a futile attempt to stand.

Marius now stood, albeit unsteadily due to the impact of the lampshade on his temple. “Come on, honey,” he managed to say despite himself, imitating a sparring stance, “come to daddy.”

Vyn inhaled a sharp breath.

He turned on his back, then, and used all his remaining strength to kick his husband’s groin.

“Fucking fiend—” Marius moaned in agony as he fell to his knees.

“Heh,” Vyn chuckled darkly. “Who’s your daddy now?”

“Ahahaha,” Marius managed a laugh. For some reason, it did not sound even the least sarcastic. In fact, it sounded so… genuine. “That’d still be me, Vyn,” he breathed, “still me.”

Then he rolled to the side, Vyn the other way around.

When they got up to their feet, nimble as men who were yet to be injured and beaten up, Vyn and Marius found themselves in a rather precarious situation:

Their guns on each other’s heads.

Blood coated their faces. Some trickled down, some already dried from earlier’s violence, the crimson-brown marking their skin as if pinpointing just where they had tried to inflict pain on one another. Desperate breaths filled the thrashed room, heaving in attempts to ease the thumping hearts, seemingly beating for something other than the desire to kill—perhaps beating for love, still.

The room had now quieted. No more crashing and shattering and heavy thuds brought about by relentless kicking and punching and hurling. The once catastrophic space was now but a peaceful one, at least in terms of sound and every other external force of nature.

“Let us end this here.”

Vyn’s tone never wavered. It was still as honeyed, elegant. But neither had the strength to actually ask, is that what you really want?

“Baby.”

“Stop,” he said, or rather breathed, as if Vyn had drained all capacity to speak, and Marius almost didn’t hear it, but he did. He always did. “Don’t you dare call me that.”

“Okay.” Marius nodded. His gaze remained fixated on Vyn, who so determinedly held out his gun, although Marius wondered why his finger was a little far off from the trigger. He took that as a good sign—something to hold onto. “So,” he began, his silencer still aimed towards his husband, “what now?”

I do not know, he had the urge to say. But he wouldn’t say it. Not in this life.

“Are we to stay like this the entire night, Vyn?”

“No, of course not.”

“Should I worry now?”

“As you should.”

“You’re going to kill me?”

Vyn’s eyes snapped to him, meeting those eyes of dark amethyst, and Vyn realized he hadn’t been looking at Marius this whole time, only to a random part of his face so it would seem like he was strong enough to take this head-on. But when their eyes met he felt his breath catch, and gods did Vyn want to whip everything back in time just so this didn’t happen. Just so he would have him back.

It is still him, he told himself. This youthful man, so willingly returning his gaze even though Vyn bore some brutal promise, always the man who could see him, who chooses to see through him and accepts what sought refuge beneath the facade—still Marius.

My Marius.

Vyn gasped, more loudly than he’d intended, when the silencer dropped to the floor.

His line of sight panned up to Marius. “What are you doing?” he hissed with unmistakable, rising fury. “Pick it up.”

Marius raised his arms, slowly, in surrender. “I don’t want to.”

“Pick up the gun.”

“I can’t.”

He inhaled sharply that the air could cut his throat, which was painfully drying, his heartbeat starting to race another time as he attempted to persuade him, “Pick it up, Marius! Pick the fucking gun—”

“No,” Marius said, shaking his head in regret.

“FIGHT. FAIR. THIS IS NOT FAIR.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Believe me.”

He was pleading, and Vyn knew that. Not pleading for his life, but pleading his love.

Until Vyn asked, “Why did you do it?”

His eyes lit up. It didn’t matter whether Vyn would accept his answer, he didn’t even care if he would believe him, but he was so damn happy Vyn was at least interested to know. And he deserved the truth—he ought to grant his husband that.

“I’m…” He breathed in, his line of sight entirely on the floor, trying to find the perfect explanation. “I don’t know. I guess I just love—”

“Killing other people?”

He looked up at Vyn. “Bloodlust—that’s it, yeah?”

Vyn scoffed. “Bloodlust. Are you kidding me?”

“I had killed someone for Giann. Accidentally,” he began, “an act of self-defense, to save myself and him. He was drugged and unconscious and we were alone, and we were kids.

“And I felt like a different person, you know? Stabbing that man to death. Torturing him until he begged that I end his suffering. Instead I got a blunt knife…” He trailed, his voice now dripping with that familiar longing, that familiar tone of satisfaction Vyn so knew about him, “started carving the family insignia deep into his skin while I listened to his pleas, his screaming, and watched the way his blood leaked from his cuts…

“It was, to say the least, a feast to my senses.” Marius chuckled, his voice dark, almost evil. As if Vyn’s kind, youthful husband had gone, had turned into someone unspeakable, someone he didn’t know. Or perhaps, a Marius he has yet to meet. “That was when I realized I let another me live within. He’s someone who loved drawing blood, someone who craved for violence. All of this, Vyn—I do it all for fun. I couldn’t get it out of my system. So, yeah.”

“You could have told me,” whispered Vyn. Marius wanted to believe he saw those golden irises soften, even only for a passing beat. “You could have trusted me.”

“I trust you, baby. But no,” he said resolutely, “I love you, so damn much, and I wanted to be perfect for you.”

Marius took a step forward. Vyn’s grasp tightened around the gun.

But Marius pressed forth. Arms falling heavy on either side he took yet another step, his mouth curving on a slight, sad smile as he walked closer, and closer, dangerously closer to the beautiful man who carried such a hideous promise.

“I want to be the perfect man…” Marius halted, just a few breaths away from the gun aimed directly at him. He crouched a little, leaned forward—

Vyn gasped. His whole body tremored, a sudden chill running all over his skin.

Marius wrapped his long fingers around the gun’s barrel, tugging it towards himself, pressing his chest against the hot muzzle. “The perfect husband for you.”

He observed as Vyn continued to nibble on his lower lip, biting it hard that it reddened with the threat of blood, and Marius’ chest tightened as he saw those golden hues now glossy with emerging tears. Vyn’s breathing had gone from composed to ragged, and soon the hand which held the gun started to shake.

“Vyn,” his husband called softly, “I love you, okay?”

He was surprised to feel hot tears filling his eyes, a stray of it rolling past his bloodied cheek. “Marius…”

“Vyn?”

“I…” he paused, grasping for words, suddenly losing all the vigor to fight. His heart shattered at this, at everything—at himself for being such a petty husband who never truly gave Marius the chance to prove himself, all because of some missed dinners. Who never gave Marius the benefit of the doubt even when Vyn saw in his eyes a flicker of hope.

He was so lost swimming in his ocean of thoughts that he never noticed Marius, who started easing away the gun ever so calmly, and Vyn—exhausted and drained out of his wits—allowed him his weapon to make its descent, down until he himself decided to drop it to the floor.

And he seemed to be in a daze indeed as Marius pressing closer to him went unnoticed, until Vyn realized, only after almost a minute, that Marius had gotten their bodies closer, almost skin to skin…

Marius knew he was quite awake now—from all his little reveries—and while he expected Vyn to land another blow or finish him once and for all, he was surprised when his husband’s gaze flitted from his lips before it settled up to his eyes, his pale, slender hands sliding to his chest as he whispered, “I love you too, Marius.”

Then Vyn was pushed onto the couch.

The doctor gasped, too surprised that it was a pitch higher than usual, and for a moment he was afraid that Marius had gotten the upper hand with his trick and now he ought to strangle him, but his gut believed otherwise, and his gut turned out to be right because Marius leaned down to kiss him—rough and wet, hungry as his tongue lapped in his mouth, a quiet sentiment of how Marius would rather kiss and touch and fuck him instead of sending blazing bullets all over their house.

“Mm—oh, Marius…” he whined as Marius pressed against him, almost straddling him, his hands relishing the softness of Vyn’s face and disregarding the feel of dried blood there, and now making their way towards the back of Vyn’s head, fingers brushing, tangling, pulling on those silver locks.

He felt his pants tighten at the sound of Vyn’s moans, and he grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged his head back, suddenly feeling the lust of tasting Vyn’s exposed neck. Marius leaned down, his mouth pressed against his neck, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along soft skin, tasting blood and hot sweat. He bit lightly at the hollow of his shoulder—

“Ah!” Vyn cried in perhaps both pleasure and pain, his fingers clutching desperately on Marius’ sleeves—sleeves that were rolled all the way up near his elbows and it was so sexy Vyn almost wanted to wave the white flag, in the middle of their shoot-out, just so he could fuck him. So he could kiss him, kneel in front of him, fulfilling his husbandly duty of sucking his cock. “Marius…”

“We literally just started,” Marius said as he looked up to meet Vyn’s eyes, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips.

“Fuck you.”

“Darling, I’m about to.”

“Well why don’t you get on with it? Or would you rather waste my—oh, fuck—Marius!”

Vyn could only screw his eyes shut, and Marius could only let out a satisfied groan as he ground his hips against Vyn’s, biting his lip as he felt that hard erection, the proof of his husband’s growing need and oh, how he’d love to satisfy him. “What was that?”

“Will you ever stop talking—”

Marius shut him up with another kiss on the mouth. Vyn tasted sweet, as usual, however Marius made out the metallic flavor of blood, but it’s not like he would mind. It’s his husband’s blood, anyway, and he’d be most willing to take a sip of it, drink it, chug it until it sank down his throat the way he would his chocolate drink.

Ah, but Marius loved it more when it was Vyn who did that with his cum.

As he kissed Vyn he continued moving, grinding his hips until all he could hear were the melodies of Vyn’s whines and sighs, and gods was he so distracted Marius failed to notice Vyn already taking the matter into his own hands unbuttoning Marius’ shirt, and with fervent speed at that.

He suppressed a laugh as he bowed his head, watching in awe as Vyn fumbled with the buttons of his black shirt, breathing so hard and sensually as if he could wait no longer. In fact it felt like Vyn would be very much happy to just tear his shirt apart—not that his husband would mind, either.

“You were so determined to kill me earlier,” Marius said as Vyn unbuttoned the very last one, “but now you’re so hot and horny for me. I told you I did like your mood swings—hmph!”

He was cut off by Vyn’s mouth claiming his own—much to his delight—and soon he found himself hooking his arms under Vyn’s spine and the back of his legs, his feet then making way to their bedroom on the second floor. Vyn wrapped his arms around Marius’ neck instinctively, even pulling him closer as if he needed more, plenty more of him, and Marius loved the way his husband craved for his kisses that it must have given him some omniscient power to navigate the halls and the stairs in the dark so precisely.

In a minute a heavy thud reverberated, echoing across the massive bedroom as Marius opened the door—or rather twisted the knob then kicked the door—and went towards the bed with much haste. He’d licked, bitten, lapped at Vyn’s mouth one last time before he dropped him to the king-sized bed, covered in midnight-lacquered sheets, and proceeded to take off his shirt—

“Wait,” Vyn protested, but before his husband could respond he hooked his two fingers round the belt loop of Marius’ pants, and tugged him closer. It was so damn hot Marius’ cock twitched.

Suddenly he wanted to grab a fistful of Vyn’s hair and make him suck his dick. He’d fuck Vyn’s mouth so well with his hard cock the man would be a beautiful, crying mess the moment he swallowed his cum.

“I…” Vyn turned a little red. “I want to suck you.”

Marius swallowed as he hurried to comply, feeling a certain heat within him intensify. Vyn was already kneeling on the bed, making quick work unbuckling Marius’ belt and letting his cock spring free and fuck, Marius’ cock was heavy and warm and slick with precum, and Vyn felt his own twitch against the fabric of his pants.

He did not waste time. Vyn wrapped his long, slender fingers around his husband’s cock, feeling Marius throb against his palm, his cold fingers. He had sucked Marius dry since god knows when, but suddenly he felt like this was all new, that he was nervous and shy again, and it was as if he was taken back to their first night as two married men. That first night after Vyn said Yes, I do, I shall marry you, and Marius beamed and Vyn thought his husband could rival the sun. Funny what some husband quarrel and house violence could do to you—

“Just so you know, Vyn.” A low, impatient voice pulled him away from his thoughts. “I’m this close to shoving your face down my cock, if you don’t mind.”

Vyn bit his lip as he saw yet again that massive, hard cock staring right in front of him, waiting to be devoured. God, his husband’s cock was so beautiful, thick and velvety soft that his breath caught. And realizing once again that someone was getting impatient, Vyn leaned in and licked gently under the crown of Marius’ dick.

“Fuck.” Marius’ head dipped back, feeling his cock twitch against Vyn’s tongue. “Please—”

He rasped as Vyn complied, letting his mouth close around the head of his husband’s rock-hard cock—

“Fffuck,” Marius breathed, panting as Vyn made swirling motions with his tongue as he slid halfway down his length, “Fuck, Vyn!”

His eyes screwed shut, his hands clutching onto Vyn’s silver locks, and moaned out a broken cry as Vyn sucked his whole length, deep throating him, his wet, warm lips touching his Marius’ hot skin. “Fuck, Jesus.”

Vyn moaned around his cock, and as Marius felt it vibrate around him he dipped his head back again, seeing the goddamn stars. Vyn’s moaning didn’t stop even as he sucked his husband’s dick, Marius’ cock moving in and out of his mouth. Marius tasted so good. Every time Vyn sucked him it seemed he tasted even better and better, as if there were new flavours to his taste of clean sweat, of salty skin, and god even his precum seemed heavenly to Vyn’s tongue, melting like chocolate. His eyes fluttered shut as he sucked. God, he would suck this man’s cock forever.

Until Marius tugged Vyn’s head back, “Fuck, wait.” He panted heavily, and as he saw Vyn lick his lips—still glistening wet from his own saliva and Marius’ precum—Marius wanted to plug that pretty little mouth with his dick again. But he held himself together and said, “Wait. I’m… I was about to…”

“I’d swallow everything, Marius.”

“Fuck, stop it. Stop it or you’ll have to choke on my dick the rest of the evening.”

“What is the matter?”

Marius’ cheeks tinged a bit pink. He looked much like a teenager who wanted to try sex with his crush. “I want to… I—”

“Too good?” Vyn smirked.

“Fuck you.” A smile tugged at the edge of his lips. Marius caressed Vyn’s hair, as softly as he could. “I want to come inside you.”

Vyn swallowed, his mind once again drawn to their little memories of fucking every night until both their legs had given in, and Marius thought the same. God, he  couldn’t stop staring at his husband. Vyn looked ethereal bathed in the bedroom’s soft orange glow…

However this time it was Marius who was stripped—so quickly—from his reveries as he was pulled, thrown to the bed, with Vyn taking off his shirt, leaving his necktie around. His shirt was hauled off to the floor in a second, and now Vyn looked like some fallen angel as he straddled Marius, untying the silken tie with deft fingers, his wet lips parted in awe…

“What are you gonna do with that, huh?” Marius’ hand slipped round his husband’s waist. We’ve been married for years but goddammit, your waist is so fucking small.

“You’re gonna use that on me?” he added, whispering against the shell of Vyn’s ear, making his husband shudder. God, he loved it when Vyn did that. Loved it when his ministrations, even the smallest ones, had a great effect on him. “And look at you, don’t you think you’re a bit overdressed for the occasion?”

“I—ah—”

His cock twitched again that it almost hurt, as if begging to be hilted inside Vyn’s ass. Vyn had the sexy habit of whining and making those kinds of sounds whenever he’s surprised or caught unawares, like that very moment when Marius stripped him off his vest with one go, the buttons clinking on the floor in unison. Marius didn’t waste a second and gripped the sleeves of his doctor’s coat, tugging it off him.

Until Vyn caught his wrists and said, “Let me.”

The muse started taking off his vest—slowly, tantalizingly. He knew all too well this act was a feast for his husband’s eyes, for his cock. The slutty bottom that he was, Vyn removed his clothing alongside his heavy, sexy breathing, his mouth slightly ajar, with some stray, silver strands falling over his eyes.

The vest went abandoned. Thrown to the floor just like all else. The shirt followed, Vyn making sure the sounds he made were heard, acknowledged—oh acknowledged indeed, what with his husband’s erection poking against his leg—and he couldn’t help but suppress a smile knowing Marius was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself.

When everything was unbuttoned, Vyn let the right sleeve slide down his arm, revealing some skin on his chest, his collarbone, his shoulder. Marius had seen it all, but still he thought he looked so ethereal, and so hot all the same that he was torn between treating him right—sweetly, gently—and fucking him so rough and so hard he won’t be able to walk the next day.

By instinct, Marius looked away. He bit his lip as he did, setting his sights away as he was suddenly so overwhelmed, so doubtful—do I even deserve this, he asked himself, realizing that it had been his fault why the shoot-out occurred in the first place: he missed a lot of dinners with Vyn. He was always out for his business of killing other people. He hurt him in all ways possible, especially tonight.

But then, “Marius.”

His gaze returned to Vyn. “Darling?”

“Do not look away.” Vyn’s hands, soft and cold, reached to caress his face. “Just look at me,” he said, his voice like that of an angel’s, “this is all yours—all of me. I am yours.”

Marius made sure that shirt was off his husband immediately.

He’d kissed him again, a mix of love and dominance, of lust and longing. Arms tight around Vyn’s waist he pulled his muse close to him, skin to skin, but he wanted them to be closer. He wanted to be inside him—to own him, body and soul.

He loved Vyn. Marius wouldn’t know who he is without him.

“I love you,” he grunted as Vyn ground against his erection, “I love you.” His hands wandered up his spine and down his ass, squeezing it, eliciting a moan from Vyn. “I love you.”

But it wasn’t long until Marius took his black, silken tie, staring intently, lustfully at Vyn before he hoisted it in between them, “May I?”

Vyn raised his wrists in answer. “And my tie?”

“For your eyes,” Marius said, his eyes darkening. “I was thinking your mouth, but I love hearing your noises.

“I love hearing your moans. Your whines. I love it when you scream my name.”

Marius licked his lips, and his chest swelled with triumph as he saw Vyn shiver again, turned on by a few words. Vyn gasped in surprise as Marius finished tying his wrists, pulling on the knot a bit harshly than he’d intended.

“Now,” Marius said as he worked on Vyn’s red tie, “you love the dark, don’t you darling?”

A whine escaped his lips as he was pushed to the bed. He couldn’t even recall how Marius looped and that red, silken tie around his eyes. All he knew now was he’s on the bed, on his back, his hands tied in front of him. “Ah, Marius…”

“What was that?”

Vyn could only nibble on his lower lip. “Please… oh!”

He moaned as he felt his husband’s mouth, warm and wet, close around his nipple. His toes curled at the sensation, especially at how Marius knew just how to kiss, lick, and suck his nipple and make him cry and moan so loud. His body moved frantically, the pleasure almost maddening now that his vision was obscured, and not knowing what Marius was gonna do next was killing him.

However soon he felt large hands grip his thighs, hoisting them, and Vyn most willingly submitted by wrapping his legs around Marius’ hips. He was now on top of him, could feel his hot, ragged breaths against his skin.

“You’re so hot,” Marius whispered as he kissed Vyn’s beauty mark, that one on his collarbone, “I just love fucking you so much,” he said, before unbuttoning Vyn’s pants and sliding his hand down under, wrapping his fingers around Vyn’s length.

“Oh! Marius, ah—”

“Yes, just like that…”

“Please!”

“You like that? Damn, you’re actually making this harder for me… let me just…”

Marius stopped, his hurrying hands fumbling on Vyn’s pants, in much haste to get inside him. Oh how badly he wanted to fuck his husband when he all but looked like a willing captive, writhing underneath him—he let his fingers travel down under, lingering on Vyn’s back, then trailing further south, massaging his arse, lifting Vyn a little in the process.

Marius did not waste any more time and took the head of his own cock, moving his hard-on closer until it rubbed softly, carefully over Vyn’s hole. He rasped as he did a little push inside. “Shit.”

“M-Marius…”

Marius took that as his signal to push further, letting out a small grunt as he moved another inch, then another, and he took satisfaction witnessing Vyn’s mouth parting as he whined, silver brows furrowed in pleasure. “Ohh, Marius—”

Marius gripped on his husband’s waist and hilted his entire cock inside him.

Vyn whined again, so loud Marius wondered if his voice reached the outside, even with their windows closed. Vyn cried as Marius moved inside him, his thick, warm cock fitting perfectly in his ass, hilting deeper and deeper with each thrust that Vyn couldn’t stop muttering curses and Marius, Marius didn’t have any words for it—just sounds, low and needy. Just grunts, and moans, and whines and cries.

Marius thrust again. Harder, deeper—

“Ohh, just like that!”

“Yeah?”

“Mm—ohh, f-faster please—!”

Marius nodded frantically, and he thought how much Vyn had an effect on him that, despite Vyn being the one tied up and writhing underneath him, Marius was actually the one in his mercy.

Good. Deservedly so. Vyn Richter was his Saving Grace and he’d worship the man forever.

“Ah—fuck! Marius…!” moaned the older man, biting his lip as he welcomed the familiar pain—and pleasure—down his nether part. It was only then Marius realized he had been too excited to claim Vyn that the thought of using a lubricant or even covering his dick with saliva never crossed his mind.

“Fuck, Vyn. Does it hurt?” he asked, but never stopped moving, pulling and pushing back in.

“N-no! It feels good. You feel good…” he moaned as he shook his head, “I’d rather you—ah!—fucked me hard.”

And it was enough to make Marius pin his husband’s hands atop his head, cursing as he thrust in, and out, so hard and so deep tears started rolling down Vyn’s pale cheeks. “Faster?”

“Y-yes!”

Marius gripped hard around Vyn’s wrists, railing the man as hard as he could, making Vyn cry with each powerful thrust. The sounds of wet, forceful squelching echoed across the room and, partnered with Vyn Richter’s needy moans, Marius thought damn, I should’ve brought a recorder.

Well, it’s not like he couldn’t do that soon. Pretty sure Vyn would be most willing to film all their blasphemous activities together. “I’m close.”

“M-me too…” Vyn bit his lip, his back arching in ecstasy brought about by their bodies, skin to skin. Marius pounded faster. It felt like fire, really, and he felt his stomach surging and ebbing and surging again and again with pleasure. They moved in sync now, Vyn’s hips thrusting to match his husband’s pace, and he knew he was close when he felt that electric sensation zipping through his veins, his loins, his cock. “M-Marius…!”

His balls drew up tight as Marius slammed into him, again and again. Vyn could only let out a broken cry as he sensed Marius’ hand grasping his cock, jerking it as fast and as hard, perfectly matched with the way Marius pumped his dick inside him in a relentless rhythm.

Vyn came. Loud, majestic, his hot cum spurting on Marius’ stomach and making a beautiful mess there, much like the way he was one. His head was fucking spinning and he thanked Marius for it. And he kept on crying out even as Marius came, his fresh seed filling Vyn up like he was always meant to.

He kept on going. Grinding in him so deep, so sensual, thrusting again and again and letting his very hard cock feel inside Vyn, helping both of them through the very last of their orgasms. Again, then again. One last time, until Vyn croaked weakly, and Marius grunted as he fell on the empty space on the bed, beside his husband.

Despite the exhaustion, he shifted to his side. Took the blindfold off his husband. Vyn’s eyes fluttered open immediately, albeit blearily, the fringe of his long, silver lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. He gave Marius a weak smile. “That was…”

Marius let out a soft laugh, feeling the last bits of his energy dripping away. “I want to fuck you again.” He relaxed, but felt himself stiffen at the sight of his husband: ethereal. Beautiful with his cheeks flushed and mouth parted, his neck and chest gleaming in sweat. Vyn Richter, once again, in the afterglow of mindblowing sex.

“I love you,” he whispered, though he was not sure if Vyn heard. His eyes were already closed, and he looked like he was fast asleep. Marius smiled and snuggled close to him, with Vyn’s soft breathing lulling him to slumber.

==

Sometime around his dream, if he ever truly dreamed, he heard a silken voice say, “I love you, too.” Felt a gentle kiss on his forehead once, twice. Then another, “I will love you forever.”

When he awoke in the middle of the night, the quiet surrounding them, he saw Vyn was sound asleep. He rested his head against the hollow of Vyn’s neck, inhaling his sweet scent, and wrapped his arms around him. “Vyn,” he whispered, “I’ll love you forever, too,” before he kissed him on the cheek.

Somehow, Marius knew he hadn’t dreamt it.

==

Vyn awoke three hours earlier than usual, his eyes bleary, almost blind as he stared at the digital clock which blinked 5:58 AM. He wouldn’t be up this early, but his phone rang so alarmingly in the distance—atop that couch beside their bed where Marius fucked him the whole night—and with a ringtone he wouldn’t dare not pick up, lest he received yet another lecture. An hour or two of it, even if that lecture came from his, well… not his superior, because he was the superior.

He sighed—it was his junior calling. “Good morning, my rose.”

“DON’T ‘MY ROSE’ ME, RICHTER-VON HAGEN!” came his beloved junior’s rather sweet response, and Vyn instinctively pulled his phone away from his ear, unless he wanted his hearing damaged forever. “WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED TO YOU?”

“Language, beloved.”

“VYN!” Ah, there it was. He knew she was suppressing those sobs. It was conspicuous she had been pulling back tears the moment Vyn answered the call, the moment she’d heard his voice and confirmed he was alive, although not much well. “I was so, so worried about you… I thought… I thought you were—” she paused to take a light sniff, “dead. The squad is on their way. What happened?”

“I… I cannot tell you right now. I am sorry, dear,” he said, his gaze drifting to his husband who was still snoring in his sleep, and gods did Vyn thought Marius looked ethereal even during his most vulnerable moments. He fucked me so well last night…

“And please, Rosa,” he said, “tell the squad to halt their mission. I am all right—harmed, but I am faring well. And so is my husband.”

“Oh, my god. Mr. von Hagen was a witness?”

“Sort of. I shall tell you all about it when we meet.”

“Which is when, exactly?”

“Tomorrow,” he replied, his fingers running across the bare skin of his chest, wincing at the hurt from where Marius bit him. “You are in charge for now. Make certain the HQ is still up and about,” he said, “you are my second-in-command, so do what you must in my stead. Meet me tomorrow, same place.”

“Oh, uh—tomorrow, you said?”

“Yes. Is something the matter, dear?”

“Er, well…” she trailed, and Vyn’s brow arched in curiosity. He tried to rewind their past conversations, see if she’d mentioned anything she ought to accomplish tomorrow. There was nothing in particular, and Vyn was about to tell her twice until she cleared her throat and answered, “I actually… have a date tomorrow, Vyn.”

Ah. Understandable.

However, “I have taught you of the risks which comes along with our line of work. I hope you do keep your emotions out of your job—”

“What a hypocrite,” Marius muttered beside him. Was this idiot fake-sleeping the whole time?

“Never you mind. I am not against your relationships. I will meet you in two days, then,” Vyn continued—not without glaring at his husband first and foremost in the morning—and added, “but of course, what is this lucky lad’s name? Age, hair colour—”

“Luke Pearce, thirty years old. Coral eyes, chestnut blonde, and very cute.”

“Make certain you put up his records in the office. That aside—please enjoy your date, Rosa.”

Vyn pressed on the end button. He was thinking whether to check up on his husband or do a background check on Luke Pearce first, but he heard another phone call—this time from Marius’ phone—and even though he never truly meant to listen… well, however could he not?

“Hey, Luke?”

Vyn’s ears perked at the sound of his name. Luke.

“Yeah, sure. Wait, you can’t tomorrow?” Marius asked through the phone, his voice getting inaudible as he yawned, “oh, man. Congrats on bagging your first date—oh, wait a minute. Is this girl Rosa you’re going out with?”

“Who is that?” Vyn mouthed to him with those piercing golden eyes. My junior, his husband mouthed back, shrugging his shoulders. It’s not like I can hide it anymore from you.

Well, Luke was not his junior since Luke was older by a few years, but Marius had been an assassin earlier than him. And, well… he was Luke’s boss.

Vyn didn’t need to do a background check. He’d have to pester Marius for it. Just great, what are the odds that their juniors were going on a date?

The first thing Marius did when he ended the phone call was tackle Vyn into a hug, which the older man reciprocated much lovingly (despite his grumpy morning face). He was still scowling, but it was a contrast to the warmth which he gave Marius in return, and the eagerness emanating from him as he pressed closer against Marius’ exposed chest. It wasn’t very soon that Vyn had started nuzzling his face against his husband’s cheeks, like a cat trying to be sweet.

“Vyn.”

“I thought you addressed me as darling or love or baby, but I suppose we—”

“Really, Vyn? This early in the morning?” Marius laughed as he cuddled him more. “You know, I was just gonna ask you something…”

“You want to fuck me again?”

And there it was, that familiar pout and puppy eyes, all too powerful even for Vyn that he knew immediately he wouldn’t be able to deny him. Well, it’s not like he’d decline some more good fucking. “Don’t you want me to?” Marius said, his pout much guilt-enducing now.

But not until Vyn pushed the sheets down until it reached his thighs, revealing his now bulging erection, his sudden craving for Marius. “Whatever are you waiting for?”

“Fuck. You sure know how to—”

Another phone call.

Vyn sighed and took the phone. His eyes widened, only for a fraction of a second, upon seeing the caller ID.

“Please tell me you’ll ignore that.”

“Unfortunately for us—” he slid a finger down the green button, “we cannot decline this one.

“Good morning, Captain Morgan.”

“This is Artem,” came that deep, familiar baritone, and Vyn felt himself shiver from the way Artem sounded in the mornings. The senior lawyer had always been a morning person, but there were times too wherein he was too lazy to get up for work—can you actually believe that?—so Vyn had to do all sorts of things to get him moving. His voice during those moments hadn’t changed at all: deep and husky, almost seductive.

“Artem,” he repeated, and the name seemed to capture Marius’ attention, too. “Good morning. Why are you calling this early in the morning? And why are you using Captain Morgan’s phone?”

There was a sigh at the other end of the line. “Darius forgot to bring his phone,” he answered. “I called to let you know he’s coming, along with his squad. Too many noise complaints last night. They’re going to investigate.”

“Just so you know, Wing—my house is an estate. I am quite certain no one was bound to hear us…” Oh, shit. Marius threw a grenade in my garden.

He shot Marius a glare before he returned, “Tell Captain Morgan to go home.”

“I kept telling him that,” he replied, quite vexed now. “It was supposed to be our day off, Vyn. Our only day off, and you just had to ruin it.”

“It is not my fault you cannot persuade your boyfriend to stay in bed with you.”

“Are we—”

“Hello there, Artem.” Marius had snagged the phone away from Vyn, having felt that impending argument that would probably last hours—he wouldn’t admit that he was only jealous because Artem was Vyn’s only ex-boyfriend, almost husband—and had taken matters into his own hands. “We’ll meet Captain Morgan when he gets here, all right? I’ll tell him to go home, so let’s have peace, yeah? Bye!”

“I could have handled that, Marius,” Vyn spat, but not before Marius hopped out of bed and went to browse through his cabinet. He got himself a clean set of sleepwear in pastel green, Vyn’s most adored colour, and threw the shirt in Vyn’s direction. “Give me the pants as well.”

“No,” said Marius, already in the process of wearing it, “you take the shirt, I take the pants. It’s too long for you, anyway.”

Vyn crossed his legs, folded his arms. “What are you planning?”

“We’re gonna give ‘em a show.”

==

When Vyn opened the front door to their house, he was met with the rather hot welcome of flashing lights, towering video cameras, fully-dressed reporters and papparazzis in all black. He could make out the faint sirens coming from the police cars parked outside the estate, and he only hoped no one was able to round the bend leading to his recently-bombed garden.

“Vyn Richter, is it true there was a shoot-out here last night?”

“Vyn, did you have a quarrel with Mr. von Hagen?”

“Vyn, the people are curious—is divorce on the table yet?”

“Are you and Mr. von Hagen are going to be available in the marriage market again?”

“Vyn, rumors say that you and Mr. von Hagen are involved in matters of Mafia and secret services. Is that true?”

“Vyn, are you pregnant?”

His eyed widened. “I beg your pardon?”

“VYN!”

If he really ought to be true to his role of being a… babygirl who would pretend to be lightheaded or unwell after coming across crazy reporters with no sense of privacy, he would’ve done it after a few more moments or so. However Vyn truly was made unwell by said blinding lights and mad interviewers, and by instinct he pressed a palm against his temple and leaned against the doorframe, suddenly dizzy at the commotion. “Please…”

“Give him space, everyone. Move, move!”

Oh, dear. Thank goodness for Captain Morgan, he thought as Darius practically shoved the reporters out of the way as he reached for Vyn. A strong hand gripped him by the arm, enough to steady his slowly unstable body. “You okay, Richter?”

“von Hagen,” he corrected. “And not quite, Captain.”

“You can hold onto me,” he said, then faced the crowd of reporters again, “stop it with the cameras. If I see another shot I’ll have you all arrested—”

“You better listen to him.” Marius stepped beside Vyn, and in a heartbeat slipped his arm around his huband’s slender waist. Vyn felt his cheeks grow warm at the feeling of Marius’ hand holding him around the waist, in front of all these people—not to mention he was only wearing a green button top and Marius only in his pajamas. Thank god the cameras had stopped—courtesy by Darius who threatened an arrest—because those dark red hickeys and bite marks were clearer than the clearest of blue skies.

This man, Vyn thought as he leaned against Marius’ chest, he really likes to show off, doesn’t he?

He tried to hide a chuckle. It was true Marius loved to show off, but he loved it most when Marius showed him off for everyone to see, for everyone to know who owned him. At this moment, the message was pretty clear. Even the most senseless person would make sense what Marius wanted to say—that Vyn was his, and Marius was Vyn’s. It was written all over the young von Hagen: from the smirk on his lips, the red marks on his exposed chest. The top which covered Vyn’s probably hickey-filled body.

And so Vyn acted the part, pretending to be nauseous as he rested his head against his husband’s shoulder this time, and hooking his arm around Marius’. “I am not feeling very well…”

Marius squeezed his waist gently. “I’ll get you inside,” he said, and Vyn nodded faintly. Marius then turned to Captain Morgan, who was staring at them rather incredulously. It was conspicuous he never wanted to be here, to witness all this—he’d rather spend the day fucking Artem. “Sorry, Cap. I’ll give you a call and help you fix our mess. For now…” he paused and gestured to an exhausted Vyn, “my husband needs rest. You’ll handle this for now, yeah?”

Darius sighed, massaging his temples. “Yes. I’ll also let Artem know.”

“You better go home to him. He was pretty pissed with us this morning.”

“And whose fault is that, Mr. von Hagen?”

“Ehh ~” Marius pouted, but before he could say another word Darius asked, “What am I going to report? There were a lot of noise complaints. Some said it sounded like a grenade.”

“The answer is right in front of you.” Marius winked. “You see, this is what happens when you’re away for work too long. You tend to really, really miss your husband…”

Darius wanted to roll his eyes—no, he wanted to punch Marius. Does this brat really expect me to write ‘very loud, earth-shattering sex’ as the reason for those noise complaints?

Whatever could he do, though? He couldn’t possibly deny the Marius von Hagen of all people. Besides, he was not anointed as the newest NXX member for him to report Marius and Vyn just like that. Fine—he was going to write that unreasonable reason.

Marius seemed to know Darius was not going to deny him, and so the captain was met with the von Hagen’s signature, youthful grin that seemed to say: Hehe, you can’t deny me, can you?

Darius eyed Vyn one more time. He didn’t seem as sick as he appeared, but Darius knew he was indeed exhausted. However he wondered, as he waved the couple goodbye and ordered the reporters and paparazzis to keep out lest they get arrested, how can Richter—er, von Hagen—be this radiant after that violent shoot-out?

The moment Marius closed the door, Vyn muttered:

“Tell Vincent to arrange you an appointment with me,” he said, almost half-moaned, “based on my findings last evening, you need psychiatric help.”

… This hypocrite!

[transporttoanotherplace]

I just finished Husband Material by Alexis Hall and the ending has me in deep thought about marriage. A lot of the discussion centered around the emotional health of marriage but I was actually surprised that there was no mention of the economic health. And now I want to know if it's because I am from the USA (the book is set in London).

Is marriage not as powerful as an institution in other nations as it is in the USA? I know in some it is even more powerful and in my view in a negative way as marriage is used as power over women (Yeah, I know that's how it started out in most nations too. Not here to argue that). I am talking marriage here where two consenting adults go into it deciding they want to be with each other til death do them part.

Here are some benefits in the states for married couples:

Insurance-I could be added to my spouse's health insurance for an extra cost if I didn't have it or no cost (depends on how great your company is). This one I am sure is very US-centric as many other nations have universal healthcare. Anyway, you can imagine why this would be such a big bonus in our eyes.

Tax benefits- If my spouse were to die all estate, property, and assets given to me are tax-free. Joint filing is really helpful when there's a large income disparity (for example when I was in school and my spouse was working full time).

Benefits in general-Disability, social security income (income we receive after age 62 that we've paid over time while working), Veteran's benefits, Medicare (health insurance for the elderly). Basically, any money given to my spouse for a benefit they qualify for I could tap into.

Family leave- Don't get me wrong, I don't know of many companies that would deny you taking leave or calling out sick for a friend or boyfriend/girlfriend/partner. But that's sick hours. I get bereavement leave if it's my spouse (not much but hey it's a benefit).

Medical rights- I can visit my spouse in the hospital. I get say over their medical care if they're incapacitated. I can decide how they are buried.

Consumer stuff- there's a lot of discounted stuff for families

School- This isn't one many people think of but it's why my wedding was a small civil court marriage vs a grand wedding. I could not qualify for financial aid because my parents refused to provide tax documents for aid. Even if they had I think it would have been too high of income but my parents never wanted to help me with school financially (it's a very privileged person who has a family that will pay). To remove my dependent status we decided to get married and that is how I was finally able to obtain my dream of going to college in my twenties without taking out 50K+ in private loans.

Court- conversations between my spouse and I are confidential and I will not be charged with a crime for refusing to share it (exceptions apply)

These are just a few I know about. I am sure there is more but I think you get the gist. Marriage is extremely powerful in the USA and it's a big reason why the LGBTQ+ community fought so hard. I remember reading stories about gay couples adopting one another before it was legal as a workaround to get the inheritance and medical benefits married couples do

There are a lot of workarounds to some of these, especially with wills. However, I can't count how many times someone has been screwed over for not being married to someone and the person dies. So I am really curious to hear from people all over if it's similar or really different?

[bloodreplay]

matteo martari . cis man . he/him . wasn’t that dante valen wandering the city of fallbore ? it’s nice to see the hand to the king/queen out and about on such a fine day as this. i’ve heard from the court spies that they notoriously conniving , whilst also managing to be quite strategic . the three hundred year old is most recently associated with house of the autumn , and holds the powers of rowanna . it’s funny, whenever i think of them, i think of seeing the world through the eyes of a sculptor, a politician always prepared to mislead, wheels always turning behind solemn gaze. great to see the machiavellian  around, isn’t it ?

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬

full  name.   dante valen.    nicknames.    none.    gender.  cis  man,  he/him.     birthday/zodiac.   december 5  /  capricorn. age.    three hundred.    birthplace.   fallbore.   class.    high eternal.   occupation.   hand to the king & queen of the autumn court. sexuality.   gay.   spouse.   none

height.  6'2.   build.    lean.    hair.    black, mid length, often worn loose.    eye  color.  black.    dominant  hand.    right.   scars.    he has a couple from his childhood as well as a number of others over the years.    other. he always wears a signet ring of his house.

character  parallels.   literally can’t think of a single character. his character in medici??.   skillset.    possesses the power of rowanna and has a good deal of mastery and control over them. he is also very strategic    demeanor.   very cutting and sarcastic at times. he chooses his words carefully and he often wields them like a weapon. is also quite charismatic at times. capable of a great deal of affection, something very few people know.  strengths.   very sharp and remarkably loyal    weaknesses.   will do anything for power. extremely prideful

𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲 ( implied abuse cw )

your house is an ancient one, a noble one. its history is written in the pages of abileina itself. it is a house of warriors and of advisors; of kingmakers and peace brokers and you are a credit to it. second born so you are never meant to inherit the titles but you set your eyes on something higher. you set your eyes on a kingdom and then on the entire world.

your father is a tyrant and your mother is little more than a ghost. your brother is not your companion as much as the child in you wants him to be. you learn cruelty from your father – you are taught its nuances and you witness the reckoning it brings. you learn soon enough that your father’s anger is dangerous but his silence is far more deadly. those are your first battle scars and you wear them with pride. you do not cower in front of anyone; not then and not now.

your father did not want sons; he wanted warriors and your first rival has always been your brother. you kill off the part that hopes for affection from him. you do it once and then you do it over and over again – as many times as hope flares up. love is a weakness is a lesson that has been well taught to you but there are times you forget yourself.

yours is a loveless house but you find it elsewhere. amar and indira are your constant companions for as far as memory stretches. you have always known that your place is by the side of the king and when you are appointed the hand, no one is surprised. war is something you play well at and you will not hesitate to burn this world to the ground if only to reshape it in your name.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

ex husband. i want divorce babey 🥰 could’ve been from any court but def a noble. could have been a marriage of convenience or love. we can discuss why their marriage ended. it could be anything from infidelity or them leaving him bcos theyre tired of his shit?? literally anything as long as its messy and there’s angst

enemies to lovers. daggers to throats or i don’t want it

others. people he has schemed with that he has respect for! people that he has hurt in some way or another who hate him and are out to get him! i can’t imagine him having too many real friends rip but perhaps someone he is manipulating for personal gain. literally anything else we can think of.

[shades-of-stony]

Royalty Stony AUs

A King for Christmas by iam93percentstardust

Summary: In 1867, Tony Stark flees New York after refusing to marry the alpha his parents chose for him. His money runs out in the small kingdom of Dacia, ruled over by King Steven of the Rogers line. Somehow, and he’s not entirely sure how, he ends up accepting the position of nanny to the king’s four children: Harley, Peter, Sarah, and Morgan.

Tony bonds with the children easily but their father is harder to get to know. Steve is still grieving his wife’s death four years earlier. His continued mourning has turned the once bright halls into dark and somber shadows of their former glory. Tony isn’t entirely certain what he can do but he knows that he has to do something or else the whole country, so attuned to their leader, will sink into despair. He begins by reconciling the king with his young children.

Meanwhile, the children have decided that it’s high time their father fall in love again—and Tony is the obvious choice. They concoct elaborate plans to force the two together, hardly realizing that Steve and Tony are falling in love, not through their shenanigans but through the quiet moments they share bonding over the love they have for the children.

A Higher Form of War by sabremc

Summary: Tony is a King with a surprising number of people out to kill him. Steve and the rest of the Avengers are fighting for Pierce's rebellion and end up with Tony as their prisoner. Oops.

Basically one of those bodice-ripping romance novels I don't read (ahem) but with far more gay.

rearrange my heart (to fit your smile) by starklystar

Summary: "You dare," Howard's chair makes an ugly noise as it scrapes against the stone floors, the chatter of the room shifting into hushed whispers and stolen glances. "I am your father and your King!"

"My King is my husband," Tony tips his chin up, defiant. "And I refuse to hear you suggest that my husband has been anything other than good to me."

Next to him, he feels Steve's shoulders stiffen in surprise.

Howard's fist slams loud on the table. "Your husband does not even love you!"

Tony jerks back, burned. He knows that. Knows that Steve did not marry him for love – does not need any reminder of the cold truth, of what he desperately yearns for and can't even hope to have – but the harshness of Howard's words was scalding, and Tony can't afford for this to go any further.

----------

Or, King Steven marries Prince Tony, Tony is pretty sure he shouldn't panic when he falls in love with his own husband, and Steve tries his very best not to cause diplomatic crises.

Keyword: try

Fealty by  Lasenby_Heathcote and Robin_tCJ

Summary: Steve Rogers is Lord of America, and was gifted his corner of the kingdom of Starkland after amazing acts of heroism in the war against Hydra. A long, brutal winter forces Steve to go to King Howard for aid, and Howard agrees – under the condition that Steve bond with his Omega son, Tony. Steve agrees, of course, for the good of his people. Prince Tony is a trained Omega Consort – an Omega of status sent to a prestigious academy to become the perfect Consort Mate to high-status Alphas throughout the kingdom. At this academy they learn diplomacy, negotiation, proper manners, and, of course, the various ways to pleasure their Alphas.

I will wait by Shellhead616

Summary: Prince Stark was to marry a Prince he never met, for money he never wanted, to reign over a realm his father didn’t care for. But the Prince did care for his people. So he ran away, accidentally joined a group of misfits calling themselves the “Avengers”, with their fierce leader “The Captain". Although, when he discovers the secret the Captain has been keeping, everything changes.

one day by mvrcredi

Summary: One day.

One day Prince Steven would be king. One day he would have all the qualities to be an even better king than his father.

And maybe, one day, Tony would be his husband.

(But maybe, before that one day, Steven should reveal his secret to the man.)

My Loyalty to You by Hazein, Shi_Toyu

Summary: The Israelite nation has gone to war, Howard is acting erratic, and it’s everything Tony can do to argue with the war council to find the most advantageous strategies for their men. Then Thanos strides out of the enemy ranks and issues a challenge unlike any Tony has ever heard. If an Israelite can defeat him in one-on-one combat, their entire army will surrender. Too bad Thanos is twice the size of any man they have. Enter Steve Rogers, local sheppard and the king’s newest harp player, who claims he can fell this giant with nothing but a sling and a stone.

Whether he can manage it or not, Tony is just trying to figure out how you get to looking like that by tending sheep...

Arranged by NotEvenCloseToStraight

Summary: Royalty AU-- Howard arranges a match between Tony and Steve, but when Tony tries to run away with Tiberius instead, Steve goes after his betrothed and brings him home. Things are difficult between the couple at first, but an impulsive kiss leads to softer moments, and finally the arranged pair find happiness together.

Knight of Wands by  Sineala

Summary: Steve has reigned as king for ten years, and in a few days peace will finally come to his kingdom. Representatives of the Kree Empire are soon to arrive for the negotiations that will end the war between them once and for all. Steve is looking forward to settling down, with his hand-picked Avengers at his side -- led, of course, by the masked knight Iron Man -- and also his trusted advisors, the most beloved of whom is Tony, his court magician, the most powerful mage in all the land.

But when Steve's life is endangered, Tony makes the greatest sacrifice of all to protect his king, a sacrifice far greater than his life. And when Tony disappears under mysterious circumstances, Steve learns that even his closest friends keep secrets that he could never have suspected.

Chasing Daydreams by comecatchmeifyoucan

Summary: “Promise you’ll be there?” He mumbled into Steve’s chest.

“Of course.”

“Good.” Tony separated from Steve but his hand was still gently gripping the blond’s wrist. “Because the party only starts when I arrive, and I’m obviously not going if you won’t be there.”

Steve felt the brunet’s hand slip down to graze his, and he let it linger there for a second before it was suddenly pulled away from him. He could only hope that he had hidden his disappointment well.

Fortunately, Tony didn’t seem to notice Steve’s abrupt drop in mood.

✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧

After years of pining for the brunet, Steve was finally going to get his chance to confess his feelings for Tony. If only he could find him in the crowd of masked-people first...

Luckily, when his hopeless crush is nowhere to be found, Steve meets a beautiful stranger to keep him company throughout the night.

heavy is the crown by theappleppielifestyle

Summary: “Why did you pick me? As a match. Howard forced you to marry, but you had - there were other options. Many of them.”

“Maybe I wanted to help you,” Tony says. “To help - anyone, for once. Your people needed it.”

Oh, Steve thinks dully. So it wasn’t about him at all. It’s - a comfort, in some ways. In others, it’s… less so.

“And-” Tony hesitates. "Everyone said you were kind. I thought… if I had to marry, I’d prefer to marry someone kind.”

(Or, Arranged Marriage AU.)

WIP:

The Crown- the stony au nobody asked for by Jo_StClaire

Summary: Tony is the sole Omega prince of Angsold, who falls in love with the Alpha Army Captain of a neighboring nation. When his father, King Howard, suddenly falls ill and passes, Tony's life is thrown out of wack when he becomes a reigning monarch at 25. Follow Tony through the struggles of being a newly-wedded Omega as well as a leader of a nation. He must learn to balance his love for his people with his love for his husband Steve. (Loosely Based off of the Netflix series The Crown)

No More, No Less by ABrighterDarkness

Summary: His father had been discussing it again, amongst his advisers. He was barely eighteen , what did he need of a wife at eighteen? Frankly, he was already tired of hearing about it. Tired of meeting the daughters of the various men that were deemed important enough. None of them had caught his attention in the least and he suspected that they never would. Not when his daydreams already consisted of intelligent brown eyes, rich brown curls and a wickedly charming grin.

Protea by Anonymous

Summary: After witnessing the injustice done onto his parents, Steve Rogers sneaks into the Ferrite Royal Palace to try and find answers. Fate decides to saddle him with solving shady scandals while unknowingly becoming involved with the nation’s omegan king, Anthony.

And deal with all the baggage and drama that comes along with it.

Or…

A Concubine!Steve AU

they're both princes in this one by vapaad

Summary: Steve Rogers is the first son of the United States The entire nation sees him as America’s golden boy. Handsome, smart, charming, and overall perfection– Steve is an icon to the youths of America. But Steve, well he has one little issue. He thinks Prince Anthony, yes the british prince, is a big jerk. Arrogant and an overall asshole.

So when an encounter between the two results in chaos, Steve and Anthony “call me Tony” are thrusted into a PR stint of being best friends. But soon enough, they both come to the realization that they want more, and there, bloomed a secret relationship between the first son of the united states, and the prince of England.

tell me i'm your national anthem by oopshidaisy for chasingconstellations

Summary: Red, White & Royal Blue AU. Tony Stark is the unwilling First Son of the United States, whose rivalry with beloved Prince Steve threatens UK/US relations. After an international incident involving a wedding cake, Steve and Tony are forced to fake a friendship for the public eye - a fake friendship that evolves into something real, and dangerous.

[wisteriabookss]

An Extensive Analysis of Eris

The recent excerpt from ACOSF has got this fandom spinning on it’s head because it includes a feral-smiling Eris waltzing with Nesta. As a result, people have now delved deeper into his character and whether or not he deserves a redemption arc (or an arc of any kind). 

So naturally, he has been compared to Rhys, because Rhys also appeared to us in the beginning as a cruel, cunning person, who was eventually revealed to have a bigger heart, and a valid excuse (at least amongst the IC) for his behavior.

I made this post to mainly catalogue all that Eris has done, analyze his actions, see if he indeed can be compared to Rhys, and to determine whether or not he should have a redemption arc. 

What We Know So Far

Our first mention of Eris is in ACOMAF, when Rhysand is explaining to Feyre what happened to Mor. I could put the quotes here, but just to save some time I’m gonna make a long story short.

Mor’s father, Keir, declared that she was to be sold in marriage to Eris. Eris is known for being cruel, and Mor begged Rhys to stop it. Rhys brought her to the Illyrian camp for a few days, and she decided to sleep with Cassian in order to ruin her “pure” image. Because she slept with Cassian, Eris refused to marry her. Said, “she’d been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie, and he’d now sooner fuck a sow.” Her family, although it’s not said explicitly, basically beat her, and then dumped her body on the Autumn court border with a note nailed to her body that said she was Eris’s problem now. Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods.

Now, we’re going to look at what he exactly said during this event, given to us from Mor’s POV in ACOFAS:

“Don’t touch her.” Those steps stopped. It was not a warning to protect her. Defend her.

“No one touches her,” he said. Eris. “The moment we do, she’s our responsibility.” 

Cold, unfeeling words. “But—but they nailed a—” 

“No one touches her.”

A pale, beautiful face appeared above her, blocking out the jewel-like leaves above. Unmoved. Impassive. “I take it you do not wish to live here, Morrigan.”

He must have read it in her eyes. A small smile curved his lips. “I thought so.”

Eris took a step away. Someone behind him blurted, “We can’t just leave her to—” 

“We can, and we will,” Eris said simply, his pace unfaltering as he strode away. 

“She chose to sully herself; her family chose to deal with her like garbage. I have already told them my decision in this matter.” A long pause, crueler than the rest. “And I am not in the habit of fucking Illyrian leftovers.”

Now that we have Mor’s side of the story, we’re going to look at what Eris has said about that fateful day during a discussion with the IC in ACOWAR:

Mor snarled, rattling the glasses. “You never gave any evidence to the contrary. Certainly not when you left me in those woods.”

“There were forces at work that you have never considered,” Eris said coldly. “And I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. Believe what you want about me.”

. . . .

A frown at Mor as he drained his wine and set down the goblet. “I’m surprised you still can’t control yourself around him. You had every emotion written right on that pretty face of yours.”

“Watch it,” Azriel warned.

Eris looked between them, smiling faintly. Secretly. As if he knew something that Azriel didn’t. “I wouldn’t have touched you,” he said to Mor, who blanched again. “But when you fucked that other bastard—” A snarl ripped from Rhys’s throat at that. And my own. “I knew why you did it.” Again that secret smile that had Mor shrinking. Shrinking. “So I gave you your freedom, ending the betrothal in no uncertain terms.”

“And what happened next,” Azriel growled.

A shadow crossed Eris’s face. “There are few things I regret. That is one of them. But … perhaps one day, now that we are allies, I shall tell you why. What it cost me.”

A main takeaway from this is that there seems to be much more to story of what happened between Eris and Mor.

Does that mean him leaving her in the woods is excusable? No. Absolutely not. He didn’t try to take the nail out of her (which would’ve been the bare minimum), he didn’t alert Rhys that she was there, he didn’t do anything to help her. He started to make the situation even more traumatic by saying vile things to her. Whatever reason he gives for not helping her will be just that: a reason. But not an excuse. Those are two very different things.

Eris say’s that leaving her there is one of the few things he regrets. There’s something in that. I’m not saying under any circumstance that he should be forgiven because he feels guilty, thats stupid as hell, but it is showing that he’s not some apathetic, other-worldy evil person. There’s some semblance of a conscious in him. 

He also say’s that one day he’ll tell them why he did it and what it cost him. By what it cost him, I’m guessing he’s talking about the cost of ending his betrothal to Mor, because I can’t think of what he lost by leaving her there. 

I don’t think there’s been any mention of someone getting revenge on Eris because A.) Rhys told Feyre that, “Azriel found her a day later. It was all I could do to keep him from going to either court and slaughtering them all.” and B) her family was obviously going to do nothing cause they’re the ones who hurt her.

I’m not going to try and theorize what cost Eris had to pay. It obviously is something (or someone) important to him.

But to me, one of the biggest things we got from this discussion is that it seems Eris knows Mor is gay. That secret smile of his that had Mor shrinking, the way he says he knows why she slept with Cassian, and that he gave Mor her freedom by ending the betrothal without giving a reason . . . he knows.

He knew she was gay, so he ended their engagement, no questions asked. And then Mor was dumped in his woods, and he did nothing to help. 

Morally grey, indeed.

(P.S. To the person that posted something along the lines of, “I can’t wait to see Mor’s face when she see’s Eris dancing with Nesta,” . . . get help)

Another excerpt I wanna look at also happens during the recent discussion we’ve just seen, but it has to do with Feyre and Lucien.

“You hunted me down like an animal,” I cut in. “I think we’ll choose to believe the worst.”

Eris’s pale face flushed. “I was given an order. And sent to do it with two of my … brothers.”

That little hesitation before he says ‘brothers’. . . sus. That’s all imma say. (maybe there’s more than one illegitimate son in that family . . .)

“And what of the brother you hunted down alongside me? The one whose lover you helped to execute before his eyes?”

Eris laid a hand flat on the table. “You know nothing about what happened that day. Nothing.”

Silence.

“Indulge me,” was all I said.

Eris stared me down. I stared right back.

“How do you think he made it to the Spring border,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t there— when they did it. Ask him. I refused. It was the first and only time I have denied my father anything. He punished me. And by the time I got free … They were going to kill him, too. I made sure they didn’t. Made sure Tamlin got word—anonymously—to get the hell over to his own border.”

Where two of Eris’s brothers had been killed. By Lucien and Tamlin.

Eris picked at a stray thread on his jacket. “Not all of us were so lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”

We see another semblance of conscious here when Eris refuses to take part in the slaughtering of Jesminda. To even be in the same room as it. He then made sure that Lucien wasn’t going to die by making sure Tamlin was at his border. 

I’m not putting these quotes here to say, “Look, he cares about stuff , so let’s excuse everything he’s done.” No. There is no excusing any of his actions. Just like we can’t excuse Rhysand’s behavior in the first two books, or Cassian’s, or Nesta’s, or even Feyre’s, etc. But what we can do is see the reasons for their actions, and try and understand why they acted the way they did. They have their reasons, and Eris has his. (P.S. I’m not trying to compare what they’ve done, I’m just noting that they all had reasons to do what they’ve done, and they all deserve to be heard out.)

Comparison To Rhys

As I said earlier, Eris has drawn a lot of comparisons to Rhys. I agree with most of them.

This fandom has catalogued all of Rhys’s questionable actions like . . .

*TRIGGER WARNING: words like sexually assaulted*

Rhys sexually assaulting Feyre three times in the first book by drugging her, and then compelling her to give him lap dances in front of the folks Under The Mountain. He then displayed Feyre again in a sexual manner in the second book in front of The Court of Nightmares as, and I quote, “The High Lords Whore.” 

In both situations he could’ve done things so much differently. In the first book, he could’ve just, oh I don’t know, kept her in her cell? Or maybe brought her upstairs as a normal person?

And in the second one she literally could have been ANYTHING else. Everyone thinks she’s his prisoner, so why didn’t they go with that? Why couldn’t he have just dressed her in some raggedy-ass clothing, messed up her hair, and then tell her to act super stoic or frightened? Really Rhys, she just had to be your whore? (I know it was consensual but that doesn’t make her persona okay. He could’ve picked literally anything else)

Did he have his reasons for doing this? Yes. Does his reasons excuse what he did? No. You don’t have to make everyone else around you act a part just because you do.

So while we may not excuse Rhys’s actions, we can understand his reasons even if we don’t agree with them. Same with Eris. We know Eris has his reasons, and I doubt we’ll all agree with them, but he still has them.

Let’s also not forget that Rhysand made a deal with Eris and Keir that he would support Eris’s claim to the Autumn Court throne when Eris decides to kill his father for it. He also allowed Keir and his court to come into Velaris, and even though they’ll be turned away by every vendor, he still allowed them in. While he had his reasons for doing this (the Darkling army for ACOWAR) he still did it. It still hurt Mor.

Redemption Arc 

My biggest hesitation in thinking Eris will get a redemption arc is wondering where it would fit in the books for him to have one. We don’t know how if his waltz with Nesta is just a one-time thing or if it’s a result of a friendship between the two. The second book is supposed to be centered around Elain, Azriel, and Lucien, so that could also be a spot where he get’s an arc, maybe through a relationship with Lucian or Azriel. 

Either way, I’m not gonna bring down the hammer and say that he shouldn’t get a redemption arc. Tbh, the term ‘redemption arc’ kinda annoys me because it shouldn’t be about redeeming what was done in the past, but more about learning from past mistakes and taking the initiative to grow into a better person. That’s what I want for Eris. He’s not going to magically be revealed to be this super sweet fun-loving guy like Rhys. I don’t want him to be revealed like that either. 

I just want to see more of his character, see why he is the way he is, and, like i’ve said a million times in this post, know his reasons for acting the way he does. 

One last thing before I go. I’m not interested in seeing any relationship blossom between Eris and the IC, or Nesta, and I think it’s unlikely anyways. There’s a possibility for them to have an understanding, sure, but no friendship. I know there are some people who automatically adore Eris because they hate Mor and that’s just stupid. Mor isn’t my fav either, but I won’t cheer Eris on just because he hurt her. 

That’s all I’ve got. If you’ve made it this far, I appreciate you. Really.

[marbleheavy]

married solangelo has been living rent free in my head the past few days because i’ve a fic i’m writing on ao3 and a post i saw from @didnt-want-to-be-a-halfblood so here are some headcanons i have:

(this is kinda long lol sorry folks)

- they get married young, partially because of how fleeting life seems to them and partially because they’re just like “yeah, this makes sense”

-(will was always been a life plan person, or as much as he could be as a demigod, but nico comes into the picture and his flow chart for the next ten to fifteen years that includes marriage between the ages of 27 and 30, that’s out)

- nico was raised catholic (i will die on this hill) and also in the 30’s so i firmly believe he has some pretty conservative views on marriage

- besides the whole internalized homophobia thing, he also def believes in asking for blessings and waiting until marriage and all that jazz

- will occasionally questions him (not in a pressuring way) because like, their parents are greek gods? they’re gay? it’s the 21st century?

- but nico says that it reminds him of his mom (as much as he can remember, like feelings and flashes of stained glass windows) and that he’s a ‘respectable young man, william’

- and will doesn’t really get it but he respects it and they keep it very old-school, dating but also kinda courting

- and that helps nico because that keeps things slow and low pressure so he can work through stuff as it comes without fear of will getting scared off or frustrated

- anyways, at age 18 or so, will realizes that he definitely (like, definitely) wants to marry nico and that’s t e r r i f y i n g and not because of commitment (he’s been head over heels since the battle of manhattan) or what nico will say but because that means he has to get blessings

- hades is scary but oh gods, hazel and reyna

- so he makes his rounds and asks for blessings (contacting hades was unnecessarily difficult and after a while of trying, he just prayed about it during offerings at the dining hall and that got hades’s attention pretty fast)

- talking to reyna was terrifying and she was straight faced the entire time and he was certain she was going to say no but then she just said “i was wondering when you were gonna do this”

- hazel is giddy as he talks to her and she threatens him so sweetly he barely even recognizes it as a threat at all

- anyways so he’s got the blessings, the ring is next, and he gets a silver one that looks cool but, after giving it to the hephaestus cabin, can become a small knife for nico to stab people with and he can see the exact face nico will make when he realizes

- also just a note, they def have their own apartment in the city

- he intends to propose on nico’s 18th birthday but that doesn’t happen and it ends up happening three months later (he’s had the ring in him at all times “just in case”) when nico calls him an idiot during breakfast and instead of saying “your idiot” like he always does, it comes out as “i want to marry you”

- and nico just kinda blinks at him and is like “huh?”

- and will fumbles in his pockets and eventually pulls out the ring and is all wide, blue eyes and shaky hands when he whispers “marry me?” while holding out the ring

- obviously it’s a yes

- nobody is surprised when they say they’re getting married and everyone is like “yeah and? we been knew this was gonna happen” but jason cries

- so it’s wedding planning now and nico wants to get married in a catholic church (see aforementioned note about stained glass windows) and will is just like “what?”

- nico says something along the lines of “we have to get married in a church, i’m not a fucking sinner, william”

- and will is like “neeks, darling, sweetheart, honey, love of my life, we’re gay and your dad is literally hades, we cannot avoid catholic sin”

- but nico is taking none of that and will doesn’t really care all that much where it ends up happening so they get married in a church

- will ends up getting really into the flower arrangements though (and i’d like to think persephone helps him) and they’re super elaborate and all the flowers have specific meanings and he arranges them all by hand

- they let other people plan a lot of it though, annabeth and mitchell and hazel mostly

- on the Big Day, both of them are weirdly calm and everyone else is frantic

- cecil asks will why he isn’t nervous and he just says “why would i be? even if everything else goes wrong, i’m still going to marry the love of my life today and i’m not nervous about that. i’ve been waiting my whole life to do it”

- will wants to walk down the aisle, he loves the drama of it, and he is so overwhelmed with love and adoration when nico laughs at him basically strutting down the aisle that he almost has to stop and stare because ‘holy shit, that’s gonna be his husband’

- their vows make people s o b and question if they ever knew what love was at all

- some highlights from nico: “you made me feel like i was wanted when i wasn’t even sure if i wanted myself” and “you didn’t try to fix me or make me whole, you showed me that i wasn’t broken in the first place and that just me is enough. a thousand lifetimes of loving you won’t be enough to thank you for that, but i will love you for all of them and all of the ones that follow anyway”

some highlights from will: “you’re my person and i thank the gods for that everyday. seriously, you can ask them, i’m sure they’re fed up with it by now” (cue apollo shouting “it’s true! i have to listen to it all the time!” from the pews and laughter) and “i don’t think i’ll ever be able to express how much i love you but i will try because that’s what you deserve. you are a reminder that love is not finite, i drown in it every time you laugh or smile or even look at me. it is abundant with every word you say and every time you touch me. i adore you, i love you with every fiber of my being, and i will prove it to you everyday”

- the kiss after they’re pronounced as husbands is chaste and the real intimacy is in the way they intertwine their fingers and the way nico’s fingers lay gently against the curve of will’s jaw

- the ceremony is at camp half blood

- it’s just a giant fucking party and it gets very weird very fast because there are gods and demigods and satyrs and all of it

- nico and will dance and stuff and have fun but mostly they sit at a table, practically on top of each other, and whisper to each other the whole time and it’s sickeningly sweet

- they end up staying at camp half blood in the hades cabin that night and not going back to their apartment

- will carries nico over the threshold and nico has his arms wrapped around will’s neck and he’s laughing so hard that will can’t breathe because of how happy and totally, completely in love he is

- they’re cute and married

[leupagus]

On being a boss

Piggybacking off my earlier comment about how politicians are employees; I don’t think enough people realize that that means we are their bosses. And while I know many folks who are reading this have never thought of themselves has being in a position of authority over anyone, the minute you become an eligible voter, that’s literally what you are. There are different names for it—voter, constituent, stakeholder—but it all means the same thing. You’re a boss, baby.

And that means you need to be an effective boss.

Think about how authority figures in your life have influenced you, either well or badly. Did the PTA meeting between your parents and your teachers always fill you with dread? That’s how politicians feel about polls. Do you hate getting summoned into a boss’s office to get reamed over something you did wrong? That’s how politicians feel about town halls. Did you get absolutely devastated over losing a job or not getting a job you really wanted? That’s how politicians feel when they get beaten in elections.

I’m not saying this to encourage you to have empathy for politicians—although honestly maybe remembering that they’re human beings once in a while wouldn’t kill some of you—but rather to show you how to be effective at getting your employee to do what you want.

Now, obviously there are some big differences in terms of scale; you are, please remember, not this politician’s only boss and almost certainly not their most influential. And politicians also listen to people who aren’t their bosses, like their donors or their family or their friends or their party leaders or the companies they came from pre-political career or the ones they want to join post-political career (they call it the revolving door for a reason). Those people aren’t their bosses, but they have pull all the same. So there’s that.

But even though the scale is different, all of us, no matter how young (including the 12-year-old who’s stumbled on this post) have had to deal with the pressures of multiple authority figures wanting us to do completely different things RIGHT NOW. So think back on those situations and consider what choices you made in those moments. Whose “orders” did you follow: was it the boss who would be most upset if you disappointed them, was it the boss who would retaliate the most harshly if you crossed them, was it the boss who would reward you if you pleased them, was it the boss who wanted you to do something that you yourself already wanted to do/planned to do anyway?

That’s not a trick question, I promise; chances are that your answer changes based on a shitton of variables. And because politicians are human beings, they also have different answers to that question. Sometimes they go with the people who gave them the most money in the last election (although that happens less often than you think, and way less often the more powerful a politician gets, for obvious reasons). Sometimes they go with the people who agree with them. Sometimes they go with the people who voted for them. Sometimes they even go with what they sincerely believe is right (anybody rolling their eyes at this wasn’t paying attention during the political massacre that took place after Dems rammed through the ACA in 2009; there are a dozen or so people whose political careers ended because they voted for it).

So as your politician’s boss, you have to figure out what tactic is most effective to get your employee to do what you want, because as nice as it sounds, you can’t just fire them every time they piss you off. So think about a politician whose mind you want to change—your Congressman doesn’t want to support climate legislation, let’s say. Look at her record and her interviews and past elections: what’s influenced her over the years and what’s changed her mind. Then you know where the pressure points are.

Of course you, by yourself, can’t make your politicians do whatever you want every time; not even whatever boogeyman people conjure up like the Koch brothers or Bill Gates or George Soros can do that (and believe me, a lot of them have tried). But, you do have more power than you think: you can attend a town hall and confront your wayward politician, you can volunteer for promising opponents, you can call her office and find out if her staff take in-person meetings (less common these days but my mayor does do zoom calls, lol). You can even run for something yourself; it’s really not as stupid as it sounds, especially if you’re not the only one in the field, because more people running is always a good thing. These are all time-consuming and energy-consuming options, and I know we’re all exhausted. But we’re also bosses, and we’ve got to do what we can to ensure our employees do the best job they can.

Besides, politicians change their minds based on their voters’ influence all the time—Bernie Sanders, for example, is a principled opponent of the US’s foreign policy and believes we should withdraw from the “forever wars” that we’ve been embroiled in for decades. But he also championed the construction of the... uh, not-exactly-practical F-35 fighter jet, which over the years has cost almost as much as the entire COVID relief bill that just passed. Sanders didn’t support it because he’s a hypocrite or a warmonger in disguise; he supported it because it brought crucial, desperately-needed jobs to Vermont, and he genuinely cares about his constituents. Sanders has also credited the influence of his constituents on his championing of queer rights and gay marriage, before most other politicians were sticking their necks out in support, because the people who spoke with him changed his mind. And while you can argue that Sanders is unique amongst politicians, he really isn’t; Biden himself came out in support of gay marriage just a couple years afterward—in an election year, no less, and I remember the absolute panic that set in about whether or not his radical notions would cost Obama reelection. (It’s weird thinking that it’s been a little under six years since Obergefell, isn’t it???)

Every day we’re seeing politicians getting pushed one way or another by their voters; the mayor of Austin had to go to court to defend his city’s mask mandate, for example, and Florida cities are fighting to keep their own mandates going despite their shitty governor doing everything he can to undermine them. (There are other examples but it’s Saturday morning, what do you want from me.) They can be pushed, and they should be.

To write politicians off as evil monsters who are doing a bad job because they’re just amoral is to ignore your job as their boss; if you want your employee to work for you, you’ve got to figure out why they aren’t (or if they aren’t, which: I could go into that whole thing but this is already longer than my dick). And then you can decide whether to push your influence, which you do in fact have, to either change them or replace them. It’s up to you. Go be a boss, baby.

[help-im-a-gay-fish]

OK! THIS IS PROBABLY MY FAVOURITE FLUFFYNIGHTKILLER HEADCANNON I'VE COME UP WITH.

My people, I love this and I hope you do. Its a long one, but I promise its worth it.

So ever since I read this head cannon from @yuriyuruandyuraart I've had one nagging thought.

Polygamous marriage is illegal.

So as much as I loved this story of them getting engaged, they couldn't ever get married, but I didn't wanna rain on everyone's parade so I kept it to myself. Until now!

While talking with @jann-the-bean I came up with this and Jan loved it! So I hope you guys do to.

So imagine that the 3 of them are going around telling their friends and family about their engagement, in the classic happy kind of way. It's all well and good, Dream is thrilled to find out his brother is so happy. However, then he realises the law and Dream pulls his brother aside.

Dream "Uhh Night...Can I talk to you?"

Nightmare "yeah?"

Dream "I'm so happy that you got engaged brother.."

Nightmare "........."

Nightmare "but?"

Dream "but..... But isn't Polygamous marriage illegal?"

Nightmare "......."

And that was the glass shattering moment. Dream wasn't trying to be cruel or anything like that. He was just generally concerned that Nightmare hadn't thought of that.

So later that night, Nightmare brought it up to his partners and of course both of them where upset when they remembered that law. So began a long talk about what they could do. In the end Ccino mostly just said that it didn't matter to him if they were married, so long as they were together. Since he's still just a small city boy, he didn't really see that there was to much they could do, he was content to just maybe have a ceremony where they promise to be life partners, but not marry.

Nightmare and Killer on the other hand were not satisfied with that.

That Night, when Ccino was asleep the two got to talking. I like to think that over the years that Nightmare and Killer have become icons for the poly community, much like Elton Jon is one for the gay community. The two of them decided that they were going to use this to fight for the right to marry each other.

It started small. Posts on social media, comments in interviews. They started speaking out that they should be allowed to be wed. Because they loved each other and the law shouldn't stop them. There where online polls and campaigns as their fan base who had been a huge fan of the throuple started to back them up.

This is when Ccino became alerted to what they were doing. He was scared that they could damage their reputations and careers over this. He told them that he wasn't worth everything they were risking. That if they really wanted to get married, the two of them could and he'd just keep being their boyfriend.

They told him no and then lovingly told him to shut up and they would take care of it.

So began the start of a long legal battle, which all together spanned about 2 years. From when they first started talking about it online, to when the find judgment was made. They were denied.

In the end the court ruled that if polygamy was legalised, it would cause alot of issues. Its a taboo for a reason, and some people would just abuse it for their own gain.

Both Killer and Nightmare were heart broken. Ccino told them that he was so proud of them for trying and that he loved them more then ever. But Killer and Nightmare were still really upset.

This upset Ccino, because he'd seen how hard they had worked and as he thought over everything, he realised that he was actually irritated himself. In fact, he was a little angry. So now it was his turn to say No.

Ccino "you know what? No!"

Killer "what?"

Ccino "they said they couldn't legalise it because people would abuse the system"

Nightmare "yeah?"

Ccino "well I say No! That doesn't apply to us. You aren't some guy who wants a bunch of wives. We are 3 people who all love each other equally. We should have the right to marry"

Killer and nightmare "........"

Killer "we thought you said that you were ok with it"

Ccino "I'm not. Of course I'm not! I want to marry you both! "

So this prompted them to start a new campaign. If Polygamy couldn't be legalised for everyone, then they was campaign for the court to give the 3 of them legal right to marry. If a man could get the rights to marry himself (true story) and a women could be granted the right to marry a building (again, true story) then the 3 of them should be granted permission to marry.

So they took it back to court and this time Ccino took a more active roll in it, though Nightmare and Killer were more dominant. Ccino appeared with Nightmare and Killer in some interviews, but even if his mental health was much better at this point, he still couldn't fully handle all the pressure. But he put in a lot of work behind the scenes to help his partners in the case.

They Luckily still had the support of the public. They argued that they didn't want to abuse the system, they didn't want to have the bunch or wives or a bunch of husbands. They were 3 people who all loved each other deeply and just wanted to be married to each other.

Imagine the judge in court asking them why they wanted to make it legal to marry Ccino and why they couldn't just date him. And Killer just stands up like.

"dude have you seen him!? Who wouldn't want to make that fluffy marshmallow their husband?"

Then as Jan said this leaves poor Ccino (who is sat next to him) just a blushing mess and he says “Killer, don’t be so loud it’s embarrassing..”

Meanwhile, nightmare staring the judge dead in the eyes.

“I agree he’s to adorable not to marry, I mean if we don’t marry him someone else may try to steal him. And I refuse to let that happen”

(thanks for these ideas Jan)

After another 2 years or so of fighting for it. After all the public backing and the long process. Killer, Nightmare and Ccino are finally granted the right to marry.

Just imagine Nightmare trying to keep composed in court, though his having a little party in his head, and Killer on the other hand just stand on his table in court like.

"yes! Ha!"

Then he points at Ccino "guess what fluffy buns! We are marrying you!"

Ccino is so shocked, but he's also so happy. He truly never would have dreamt of this happening.

The moment that Nightmare, Killer are handed over the legal documents, they don't waste a moment, they grab Ccino and jump straight into their car. Then they drive straight to Las Vegas to elope not stopping to change or pack any clothes or anything, because they don't want to wait a second longer.

Of course Ccino gets super flustered at their suggestion to elope.

Ccino "get m-married right now!? But don't you want to wait? And have some big celebrity wedding? You mentioned it before"

Nightmare "nope"

Killer "we've been engaged for over 4 years, we want to put a ring on it right now!"

Nightmare "we don't need a big wedding, or all that stuff. We just need you to say I do"

Nightmare and Killer "so... Will you?"

Ccino "......"

Ccino "YES!"

(though maybe they stopped to pick up dream on the way. Nightmare probably knows that Dream would kill him if he missed his wedding.)

So the 3 were married in a small Chapel. Nothing fancy, but for them it was perfect. They all agreed that they would probably host a proper reception and ceremony for their friends and family to attend later. But for now, they didn't need that, they just needed to be married. It was a very small simple thing.

They probably stayed in a Vegas hotel that night. Probably had some time to celebrate. I just imagine Killer waking the two of them up the next morning with breakfast he'd ordered like:

"Good morning Husbands"

And he just can't keep the smile off his face.

About a year later they have a more formal ceremony. Which of course is super fun. But for them it doesn't change that fact that their actual wedding was truly perfect.

And dam I just love those 3. Jan was the one who wanted me to share this with you guys and I really hope you like it as much as me.

Dam it Dream XD

BTW, I know this most likely isn't fully realistic to what the legal system is like, but give me a break. I’m not a lawyer, I’m a shipper. Its fiction, just let me have it.

studio verse by @zu-is-here

original nightmare by jokublog

original killer by rahafwabas

original ccino by black-nyanko 

Oh and @kotikaleo I'm sorry I forgot to tag you! You always as to be tagged in this stuff. Sorry idk if you saw it

[black-rose-writings]

Reading Siege and Storm because I hate myself

To begin, I’d like to state that this is my first read-through and I only have vague idea of the plot I’ve gathered from fanfics and tumblr posts.

Long post ahead

Chapter 1

So... at first I was like - huh, this isn’t as bad as I thought, but the moment Alina gets introspective, it all goes to hell.

Like, she’s being physically made sick by not using her powers, which is making her feel useless - like, she says, pretty much verbatim: “The only thing I was ever good at was being a Sun Summoner and I’m not that anymore.”

I’m gonna beat those paragraphs over the head of anyone, who says Alina got a good ending.

I’ve also noticed just how often the like “I pushed that thought away” is used and more often than not, it’s used on thoughts that should probably not be pushed away.

Ah, yes, here he comes, my boy Darkles, being the dramatic bitch he always is. We get it, you’re the hot villain, tempting the good and pure heroine away from being good and pure.

And I’m just now realizing how many times in this chapter has Alina lamented their lack of privacy. We have to ensure the reader doesn’t hink she’s *gasp* sleeping with Mal.

Chapter 2

What?

Alina is tripping balls while being put under by a Heartrender, got it.

Darkling is being the voice of reason, but I’m getting the distinct feeling it won’t last.

Ivan gets one point, because Alina is in fact a traitor, but he’s also being a cunt, so it doesn’t really count.

Alina at Sturmhond: Do you even care about Ravka?

Me at Alina: Do you?

Chapter 3

“Mermaids are not real”. I’m pretty sure they are in the Grishaverse.

My boy Darkles is still making sense, but Alina is dedicated to being against him just for the hell of it, it seems.

Did this bitch just throw a tantrum, because he told her, what we can assume is the truth? Okay. Like, I get that she’s at best 18, but still. Not exactly the type of protagonist whose head I like being in.

And in that moment, dozens of smut fics were born.

Chapter 4

Wow, that was quick.

Aaand. What had just happened?

Chapter 5

Sturmhond is a funny bitch, I’ll give him that.

And this entire conversation, it seems like Mal’s entire purpose is to stand behind Alina threateningly and repeat what she said, lol.

I’d like to remind Alina (and LB) that a king in an absolutist monarchy (which is what Ravka appears to be) is very much a tyrant. Don’t make it sound like Ravka didn’t have a tyrant before. And at the very least, my boy Darkles seems pretty competent.

A man calling himself a Storm Dog likes dogs. No shit.

Chapter 6

I hate Mal. Dude, this is your girlfriend, maybe like... listen to her? Don’t bludgeon her with the one other guy she was kinda-sorta with, when you are a well known manwhore?

I don’t know man, I don’t like him.

Everyone: You can’t have more than one amplifier, it’s dangerous.

Alina: Haha, sparkles go brrrr

Chapter 7

In other news, pirates are funny.

Holy shit, they have a plane.

That was... a lot. And we’re crossing the Fold again, yay.

Chapter 8

You feel bad for the Volcra but not for the people you’ve left for dead in the Fold last time? Okay.

Baby Volcra. Am I supposed to say “ew” or “aww”? If I tried doing both at the same time, it would probably sound like one.

Jesus fucking Christ this book is a ride.

Did Alina really just have an “oh no, he’s hot?” moment? *sighs*

Puppy boy has a title longer than Daenerys, jesus.

Alina, my dear, you could have waited for a bit before doing that. There’s like thirty soldier with guns around you and you’ve just punched a prince.

Then again, you’ve never been smart, have you?

Chapter 9

For once, I completely agree with him. I know you two have lost your one shared braincell on that first crossing of the Fold but still, that was very dumb of you, Alina.

I’m starting to get why people were calling Nikolai “Darkling light”. Definitelly seems appropriate.

Mal, calm the fuck down, that was the least romantic proposal I’ve ever heard and you know it.

You two didn’t even let Alina get a word in for the last page. What right do you have to her, Mal, huh? Nikolai is making sense and you’re being an idiot.

What’s your deal Mal? What the fuck do you want?

And why in the hell are you the endgame love interest?

That’s an awful lot of guilt-tripping you’re doing there, Mal. No need to be pissy about it.

Chapter 10

The bones thing is definitelly yikes.

Saints, Mal, are you on your period or something? Alina doesn’t belong to you. Alina can make her own choices. Get a grip.

“You think I’m like the Darkling?” Yes. The Darkling isn’t all bad. You’re at war. No need to get your panties in a twist over a few fingers.

Oh, look, Alina has a cult now, nice.

Chapter 11

Your “dad” is a rapist, Nikolai. Quite possibly a pedo. He got exactly what he deserved.

I’d go for the second option. Especially after that stunt. Jesus, you could have asked her beforehand.

At least Darkles had the decency to make out with her in private.

Also like... why is every single person in this series so far an asshole?

Chapter 12

We meet the King again, unfortunately.

Alina gets Darkles’s old job.

This should be a total disaster, but let’s see where it goes anyway.

Chapter 13

Alina’s nuts, yay.

(I know they have a Force-bond-thingy. I also know they did it before Reylo did.)

Chapter 14

Oh boy, Alina’s not doing as bad as I thought.

For the 100th time in this book, I wish I had Nikolai’s confidence. Though it is getting a bit too much.

Puppy boy is dropping some truth bombs. Nice.

But he doesn’t realize that my boy Darkles has very good reasons to not align with Fjerdans - a) they think he’s a demon and b) they want Grisha dead.

I’m not gonna say she was, but like... the monarchy is very much corrupt.

Oh, boy, Baghra. This one’s gonna go well.

Yep, Baghra’s as pleasant as ever.

So... Baghra’s plan in book 1 really had been to just have Alina run away and hope for the best? Jesus Christ, lady. I’m not saying she deserved to have her eyes taken away, but she is definitelly a trash person and I’m not surprised her son turned out the way he did.

Also, I’m fairly certain that Baghra is literally slowly killing herself - that the reason she looks so old and frail is because she’s started to supress her power and it’s literally killing her, because, you know, she’s bonkers old.

Chapter 15

Nerd Alina > Self-pitying Alina

Also, I’m just saying, Alina comments on Zoya being attractive a whole lot - I get that she’s meant to be insecure, but I’m interpreting it as her being gay, because I need some happiness in my life, okay?

Just kill the sleazy old Rasputin-wanna-be. There’s plenty of them to go around in this series.

Chapter 16

Vasily takes after his father in creep factor.

Why not the Darkling being courted by a horny prince? Be a bit creative.

Chapter 17

Nikolai has big ADHD energy and I love him for it. Fits right in with the heavily autism-coded Fabricators.

*sighs at heteronormativity again*

*sighs at improper gendering of titles*

Date night with Mal. This is gonna be a disaster, isn’t it?

Chapter 18

Fun night of cultural appropriation, yay.

I hate cultists.

LET. ALINA. GO. FERAL. Please.

You two are going to give me a headache, I swear.

Darkles cockblocking Alina. And Malice threw a tantrum. Nice.

Chapter 19

You’re way too harsh on Genya, Alina.

Horny Alina rights.

They have a laser, now. Cool. Or, well, enormously hot.

Mal is being a drunk a-hole. Great. When does he become likable? Does he ever?

Banter between Mal and Alina? Kinda weird, always somehow comes back to either of them being insecure.

Banter between Alina and Nikolai? I’m all for it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a Darklina trash, but like... Nikolai is fun. I could see him and Alina having an arranged political marriage and ending up falling in love years into it, that’s all I’m saying.

Chapter 20

Just let this one go, Alina, please. You two are not working out. Please, end it with him. You’ll both probably be happier. (I’m saying this with the full knowledge that Malina is endgame).

Jesus Alina, get your shit together. You have every right to be mad, because you two didn’t actually break up, you didn’t kiss Nikolai and also, I don’t like Mal.

Sooo... when is Alina going to realize her manchild of a boyfriend is an amplifier?

Chapter 21

Alina has the horny sickness, lol.

Jesus Christ, girl, I don’t want to read your vaguely suicidal thoughts.

Mal, you fucking idiot.

Alina, stop defending Mal.

Chapter 22

Alina has a logical thought? Impossible.

Finally, some action.

Chapter 23

Oh, boi, this is going great.

Oh, boi, Alina’s having another martyr moment.

And, we’re done.

Finally.

That was a ride. Nothing really happens for like ten chapters and then everything happens in one and a half.

[missmentelle]

Just some small ways that the system keeps people down

When we think about social justice, we often think about it in terms of huge, sweeping reforms that happen on a national level: the nation-wide legalization of gay marriage. The end of segregation. Loving v Virginia. Roe v Wade. Many people only vote in federal elections and only keep up with federal politics, thinking that the federal government is what “really matters” when it comes to progress and human rights. 

Federal-level politics and landmark court rulings are important, but oppression often happens in much smaller, less obvious ways. It’s in the fine print of the eligibility criteria for disability benefits. It’s in municipal zoning laws. It’s in bank mortgage eligibility policies. It’s in the enforcement of public park bylaws. The things that make life difficult for marginalized communities often come from local bureaucracy, and look something like this: Disabled people effectively do not have the right to marry. 

In the United States, when a disabled person marries a non-disabled person, they gain a spouse, but they risk losing something immensely important - namely, all of their benefits. Currently, the government assumes that a non-disabled spouse takes full responsibility for all of their disabled spouse’s needs; it becomes their job to provide the disabled spouse with healthcare, housing, basic needs and assistive devices that they require, regardless of their ability to actually afford any of these things. Obviously, this is completely out of the question for most couples. Medical costs for a person with complex needs can be exorbitant, and the average person just cannot provide things like private home health services and out-of-pocket medical expenses for their spouse. 

Unless a disabled person is marrying someone who is independently wealthy, marriage is often out of the question. 

As a result, many disabled people simply have no meaningful access to marriage or the legal benefits and protections it provides. Without a wedding certificate, your partner cannot stay with you in the hospital, access your medical information or make decisions for you while you are incapacitated - something that people with complex medical issues may desperately need their partner to be able to do. International couples may have no means of being able to live in the same country. It may not even be possible for couples to live together at all, as the state may decide that that’s a “common-law” situation and strip away disability benefits even without a formal certificate. The people who are most in need of companionship and legal protection are denied access to it because of cruel and outdated laws that were designed with the false assumption that disabled people cannot desirable partners for non-disabled spouses. 

Domestic violence victims can be evicted for being abused. 

Some cities across America have implemented “nuisance laws” - these are laws originally designed to punish “slum landlords” who don’t try to stop criminal activity or loud parties in their buildings. In cities with nuisance laws, the city tracks how many 911 calls are made to (or about) each address in the city; if an address goes over their yearly limit of 911 calls, the city goes after the property’s landlord, fining them or even threatening them with criminal charges if they don’t make the calls stop. The point of the law is to encourage landlords to keep an eye on their tenants and evict “problem” tenants that disrupt the neighbourhood, and these policies have definitely resulted in a lot of 911-related evictions. And that’s a problem. Because you know who calls 911 a lot? Domestic violence victims. 

These laws have made it so that many people experiencing domestic violence have to choose between “help” and “housing”. If your partner is violently attacking you but your landlord has told you “one more 911 call and you’re out on the streets”, what do you do? How do you navigate such an impossible situation? Many victims simply hold off calling for help unless they’re reasonably certain that their partner is going to kill them, which is incredibly and almost indescribably dangerous, and still results in threats of eviction. Even victims who never call for help themselves can still find themselves out in the cold because of these policies - nuisance laws count any 911 calls made about an address, which means that a well-meaning neighbour calling the cops because they hear screams can cost you your housing. The end result is that an already-vulnerable population are either losing their housing or losing access to lifesaving emergency services, and everyone is worse for it. 

It’s worth noting that these policies also disproportionately affect disabled, elderly and chronically ill people. When you are medically fragile, you tend to have increased medical emergencies and a decreased ability to safely transport yourself to the hospital without an ambulance. So if 80-year-old diabetic woman uses her LifeAlert bracelet to call 911 three times in a year because she’s fallen down or having a hypoglycemic episode, she could face eviction for going over her 911 limit and being a “nuisance” to the city. 

Redlining has shut black people out of wealth-building for decades. How do you build wealth in America? You need credit. If you want to achieve real financial security, you need to convince someone to loan you large amounts of money at a low interest rate so you can use that money to purchase something that will build wealth for you. Let’s say you only have a little bit of money - you go to the bank and convince them to give you a mortgage (which is effectively just a large low-interest loan) so you can purchase a house for yourself. Once you’ve paid off the mortgage and showed the bank how reliable you are, you can go back and ask them for another loan against your house, and use that loan to buy a business, or a second house to rent out for income, or just save your money while your paid-off first house continues to increase in value. When you eventually die, your kids get all the property you amassed with those loans, and they start life in an even better financial position than you did - they can use that property to get even more credit and invest in even more businesses and property. This is how most American families clawed their way into the middle class after the Great Depression - your great-grandfather buying a house in the 1940s is the reason your parents could afford to pay for your college today. 

But there is one group that have been systemically left out of that process for decades, thanks to a practice called “redlining”. 

Banks decide whether or not they are going to loan you money by deciding how much of a “risk” you are. In the 1930s, bankers determined risk by looking at maps of their cities and drawing lines around particular neighbourhoods to determine how much of a risk they were. Bankers would draw red lines around predominantly-black neighbourhoods to signal that people who lived in those neighbourhoods were not eligible for credit - this was done regardless of their income. Poor white neighbourhoods could get loans, but middle-class black neighbourhoods could not. This meant that black people could not improve their situations - they could not afford to move out of cramped black neighbourhoods, they could not get the money to start a business, and they could not afford to renovate their houses to sell them at a profit. They were effectively shut out of opportunities that their white peers were granted. 

Redlining has been illegal for decades, but the cumulative impact of generations of redlining persist to this day. Experts estimate that an average black homeowner today has missed out on $212,023 in personal wealth because of the impacts of redlining.   “Zero-tolerance” policies have harmed marginalized and neurodivergent children without making schools safer. 

If you’ve attended or worked in a grade school in the last 20 years, you’re probably familiar with so-called “zero tolerance” policies. These policies emerged as a result of the 1999 Columbine school shooting, and are pretty much exactly what they sound like - in the wake of Columbine, schools began taking an extremely hardline stance against violence and bullying, assuring worried parents that they would not tolerate even the smallest hint of violence. In schools with zero-tolerance policies in place, punishments are extremely harsh - just about everything will get you suspended at a minimum. Get in a fistfight at school? Doesn’t even matter who started it, everyone involved is suspended. Throwing food? Suspended. Shouting at someone? Suspended. It doesn’t tend to matter if you were joking around or if you'd been pushed to the brink by a student who has bullied you for months - “zero tolerance” means absolutely zero tolerance, and you are suspended. 

But if you ever actually attended a zero-tolerance school, you probably won’t be surprised to learn that these policies don’t actually have any impact on school safety. What they do accomplish is higher rates of school failure and worse overall student outcomes, especially for marginalized students. 

And it makes sense. Which students are the most likely to be acting out in school? Students with ADHD, autism and learning disorders. Students with turbulent home lives. Students in foster care. Students dealing with abuse or trauma. These are the students who need to be in school the most, and need extra support from staff and teachers - instead of getting that support, though, zero-tolerance policies send them away from school for several days at a time, where they are unable to access support and fall further behind their peers. School quickly turns into a vicious cycle; students act out because they’re frustrated, they get suspended, they fall behind in class, which leads to more frustration, which leads to more acting out, which means more suspensions, which puts them further behind, etc, etc. Eventually they become so disillusioned that many of them leave school altogether, putting them at a permanent increased risk of unemployment, poverty, and incarceration.

Parking requirements are making cities unaffordable and unlivable for the poor.

Many cities - like Toronto and Vancouver - have mandatory minimum parking requirements written into their city zoning laws. These policies usually require that all residential buildings have at least one parking space available for every unit of residential housing - if you build a 60-unit apartment building, you need to make sure that you also buy enough land for a 60-stall parking lot or build a 60-space underground parking structure. 

When you think about the reasons that housing is unaffordable, “parking” might not be one of the first things you think of, but these laws have huge impacts on the cost of housing, and they negatively impact both the city itself and the working-class people who live there. Parking spaces are not free, especially in major cities like Toronto where land is at a premium - an above-ground parking space in a city costs an average of $24,000, while a below-ground space costs $34,000. Every unit of residential housing has $24-34k in parking costs tacked onto it - whether the tenant needs a parking space or not - and you can bet that landlords and developers are passing every penny of that cost onto their tenants. 

Parking requirements also decrease the number of units available, which is a problem, because the best way to keep housing affordable is to make sure that you have a lot of it available. A developer who might want to build a 300-unit apartment complex has to factor in the cost of creating at least 300 parking spaces.... so they might scale back to a 100-unit complex instead. Downtown areas that have huge demand for housing and low demand for residential parking are being underutilized because of zoning laws that were created decades ago and no longer reflect today’s reality. Young people, elderly people and urban poor people are increasingly unlikely to own a car, but they are being priced out of walkable neighbourhoods with good public transit for the sake of unwanted parking spaces.

Food safety laws and public property usage laws are making it illegal to feed the homeless. 

“Feeding the homeless” should be one of the most uncontroversial things you can do. Giving food to a person who is hungry is one of the most basic ways that humans care for one another. Everything from cheesy Hallmark movies to the Bible reinforces the importance of giving to others in need. But in dozens of cities across America, you can be fined, arrested or even jailed for giving out food to the homeless. 

Cities use different justifications to shut down or even arrest community service workers for trying to feed the homeless. Some pass increasingly restrictive “food safety laws”, stating that charities are only allowed to give away hot food, or that they are only allowed to give away sealed and individually-packed meals, or that they are only allowed to feed homeless people indoors (something that community organizations like mine do not always have the resources to do). Restrictions continue to get tighter every year in some places, despite the fact that there are virtually zero recorded cases of a homeless person being harmed by food they received from a registered charity. Food safety laws can also force restaurants and stores to destroy their unsold food instead of passing it out; some have to go as far as pouring bleach over the food they throw out in their dumpsters. 

Other cities have used public property bylaws to ban food-sharing on public property, forcing charities to apply for permits to hand out food (which are rarely granted). Justifications for these bylaws vary - some cities give vague excuses about “safety” while others admit that they’re trying to drive homeless people out of their cities - but the end result is the same. Cities are so desperate to be rid of their homeless populations that they’ll criminalize trying to help the homeless, rather than offering stable, affordable housing solutions. 

[unbridgeabledistances]

final part of valentine’s day fic is here!! this is maximum fluff, i hope u enjoy:’)

--

Mickey sauntered into the Gallagher house, rubbing his hands together to warm them as he quickly slammed the front door shut to block out the bitter cold. He shuffled his coat off his shoulders, trying to go through the same mental checklist he’d been that had been running through his mind all week. Okay. 7 o’clock. He was right on time— now he just needed to shower, and put on a clean fucking shirt before he tried to get Ian to come with him…

Mickey turned the corner into the living room— and was met with Ian standing there, leaning against the back of the couch with his hands behind his back. The lights in the living room were dim, and the house was surprisingly silent for a Saturday evening; if Mickey didn’t know any better, it seemed like someone had coordinated having all the Gallaghers out of the house at the same time this evening.

His eyes flickered to meet Ian’s, who was watching him carefully and steadily from across the room, his gaze soft but piercing.

Mickey’s heart instantly started to thud, and he wasn’t really sure why— maybe it was the intensity of Ian’s gaze, or maybe it was the fact that all of a sudden, all his scheming from the past week had finally caught up with him. What if what he was planning for tonight was too much, what if Ian fucking hated it? Mickey tried to swallow down the anxiety gnawing at his insides, willing his heartbeat to settle back down to an even tempo. Be cool.

“Hey. Where is everybody?” Mickey asked, feigning nonchalance as he pulled off his shoes.

Ian gave a sheepish smile. “Might’ve suggested that they find other places to be tonight.”

Mickey smirked. Fucking sap. “Oh yeah?”

Ian’s gentle, closed-lip smile grew a little wider, and then he pulled a bouquet from behind his back, his gaze still hesitant but piercing, a laser beam burning a hole into Mickey’s chest.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mick,” he breathed.

At first, something deep inside Mickey made him want to squirm out of his skin, made him immediately feel the need to open his mouth to make some quick retort how gay and sappy it was to even think about getting Mickey a goddamn bouquet of flowers for Valentine’s Day, like he was some fucking girl— but before that sentence traveled from his brain to his mouth, Mickey noticed what type of flowers they were and the words got caught in his throat. These weren’t just some cheap fucking flowers Ian got him to try to fulfill a convention, or because he thought that that was what he was supposed to do— these were blue stargazer lilies, the flowers that Mickey had picked out for their wedding before everything went to shit, and all of Mickey’s towering expectations for the day had been forced to crash down and crumble to the wayside. These were flowers for Mickey— these were Ian showing that he listened, that he remembered, that he cared how important this shit had been to him. These weren’t flowers for anyone else.

Mickey realized he was standing frozen in the middle of the living room with his mouth gaping open for a millisecond too long. He quickly snapped it shut, and put his hand up to his brow like he always did when he was trying to keep his shit together. Ian just kept staring him down, his eyes gleaming as they caught the low light.

“Got these fuckers special ordered on some sketchy website yesterday,” Ian admitted in a low, throaty voice as he held the lilies out in front of him, rustling the cellophane and paper they were wrapped in. “I was pretty desperate. Cost a shit ton.”

Mickey cleared his throat. “For someone who didn’t care about all the wedding bullshit, you’ve got a good fucking memory.”

Ian smirked. “Yeah, well, listening is what marriage is all about, right?” He suddenly slouched slightly, like a weight had appeared on his shoulders. “Listen, Mick— I know you don’t really care about Valentine’s Day or whatever, but the other day with Franny just got me thinking about how I wanted to do something for you, just to say I’m sorry for how tough shit has been lately. M’sorry if you think it’s too… I don’t know, too fucking gay or whatever.”

Mickey smirked. Fucking Gallagher. He immediately took a long step towards Ian, bridging the gap between them, invading his personal space and tangling their fingers together. Ian’s eyes widened, his lips almost imperceptibly parting in surprise. Their faces were millimeters apart; Mickey could feel the warmth radiating off of Ian’s skin, the space between their lips hanging heavy with tension.

“Thank you for the goddamn flowers,” Mickey murmured, holding Ian’s heavy-lidded gaze.

“Welcome,” Ian exhaled, his breath tingling on Mickey’s lips.

And then Ian’s hands were digging into Mickey’s hipbones, and wrapping around his lower back to pull him in closer, and their lips were meeting with a searing tenderness that almost made Mickey’s chest ache. Their lips crashed together again and again— not like they were building towards anything, or scrambling to get their clothes off and rush into the bedroom like usual— but like everything was wrapped up in this kiss, like everything was pouring out in every press of their lips and every tug of Ian’s teeth at Mickey’s bottom lip. It was a kiss Mickey could lose himself in, with Ian’s hands cradling his neck and pulling on the back of his waist, holding him upright. And he almost would have— if he didn’t suddenly remember all the shit he had planned tonight.

Ian kept his eyes on Mickey as he pulled away, his pupils blown out and his hands still pinning Mickey into place.

“What d’you want to do now?” Ian asked in a low voice.

Mickey tried to hold back the grin threatening to burst across his face. “Well, I’ve got some fucking tricks up my sleeve too, Gallagher, so why don’t you go change into something nice and follow me?”

**

“Mickey, where the fuck are we going? It’s freezing, we should’ve asked Debbie to just drive us instead of taking the L.”

Mickey was briskly walking a couple of paces ahead of Ian like a man on a mission. He turned to Ian and flashed a mysterious smile over his shoulder— without slowing down, much to Ian’s irritation. “Quit your fucking whining. We’re almost there.”

Ian rolled his eyes, but jogged to catch up with Mickey and intertwined their gloved hands. “Better be,” he mumbled in a voice that was supposed to be annoyed but he knew came out overly fond.

Mickey just smirked, squeezing Ian’s hand and leaning into the touch.

Ian didn’t know what the fuck they were doing on this side of town— he and Mickey had never really been over here together, except during that whole shitshow with Byron and the engagement. Mickey definitely had something up his sleeve, but this was… definitely not where Ian had expected Mickey to drag him off to.

And weirder than that, Mickey seemed nervous— like, genuinely sweaty-palms nervous, which was not a state Mickey was in very often. Whatever the fuck Mickey had planned for them, Ian knew it was a big fucking deal for him; hell, Mickey even acknowledging that today was Valentine’s Day for Ian’s sake felt like a big deal in his book.

Finally, they turned the corner and Mickey’s pace slowed. They had reached a block of the city known for having a lot of fancy high-end restaurants, but tonight the street was dim— even though it was Valentine’s Day, indoor dining was still banned and all the restaurants on the block were closed, their dark front windows looming and reflecting the streetlights.

All the restaurants on the block, that was, except one— and it was the place that Mickey was towing Ian towards, to under a classy, warmly-lit sign reading “Sizzler’s Dining.”

Ian felt something rise in his throat, flushed heat flooding his face.

“Holy shit, I just realized something. We’ve never actually been on a real date.”

“Bullshit!”

“I’m serious— like, a date where you sit down, and you go to a nice restaurant, and you put on a nice shirt and you, like, eat with utensils.”

“You wanna do that?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“What, like at Sizzler’s?”

In an instant, that cool autumn night came flowing back to him— his scrawny, bloodied body hanging off of Mickey’s solid presence beside him, the fuzzy sensation of alcohol warming him from the inside out, making him feel normal for the first time in weeks before everything had split open and gotten messy again. Those were the days when things felt the darkest they had ever been, when all he and Mickey had to cling to was each other— until eventually even that got ripped away too, when Ian was shoved into the backseat of an unfamiliar car with tinted windows, and they settled for the fact that they would never get to have this.

They’d never had the chance to go on a real date, a date like Ian talked about that night, between then and now— Ian had been locked up, and then Mickey had been, and they’d barely gotten married or been together for long before COVID had hit and everything shut down. Sure, they’d gone to the mall food court a couple of times between Mickey getting released and all the shit with Paula and the engagement and the wedding—but never like this, never here.

For years the ground had been shifting beneath them, threatening to open up and swallow them whole— but now, they’d finally made it somewhere solid.

The glowing sign cast shadows onto Mickey’s face—Mickey, who was biting his lips and casting his eyes downward in trepidation, like he was waiting for Ian to say something, to pull something out of him.

“Mickey, are you fucking kidding me?”

Ian cupped his hand under Mickey’s chin before Mickey got the chance to respond, shifting his gaze up from the concrete.

“You said I had a good memory, but I was nothing compared to this. Fucking Sizzler’s?”

Mickey finally smirked, meeting Ian’s eyes with relief. “Why don’t we go inside.”

Ian shook his head with disbelief, smiling a crooked smile and playfully shoving his upper arm. “You’re softer than I am, Milkovich.” Mickey just rolled his eyes and reached out to grab Ian’s hand.

Ian fully expected them to go inside the door and grab some sort of take-out, then head back home to eat and spend the rest of the night in bed— but what Ian couldn’t have imagined, what absolutely no amount of knowing Mickey Milkovich could have prepared him for, was what met Ian’s eyes when they entered the restaurant. The entirety of the main room had been cleared— all the tables and chairs were pushed to the side, except for one single table in the middle of the room covered with a red tablecloth. The lighting was dim, jazz music was playing low, and there were candles flickering around the room; just like the hotel room they’d stayed in for their honeymoon, with the heart-shaped bed and the satin sheets, the whole thing was extravagant and kitschy and tacky beyond belief.

It was fucking cheesy and over-the-top and ridiculous, like a set straight out of a rom-com; and in spite of it all, Ian felt something welling in his chest. Mickey wanted to give me a normal Valentine’s Day.

Mickey walked towards the table, gesturing to the table halfheartedly.

“S’what you wanted, right? Romantic dinner and a box of chocolates and some sappy fucking note?”

“Mick…” Ian breathed out. He didn’t have the right words to describe what was welling in his lungs, in his throat, on his tongue. He couldn’t imagine how much coordination this must have taken— Mickey had rented the entire fucking restaurant, had made someone set all of this up— and had done it all when Ian didn’t have a goddamn clue. He hoped that his awestruck silence communicated to Mickey what words couldn’t.

His eyes flickered to the table—there were two place settings laid out, along with two wine glasses and way too many utensils than Ian knew what to do with. On the place setting opposite where Mickey was standing there was a tacky, red heart-shaped chocolate box that almost blended in with the tablecloth—and on top of that, a sealed white envelope.

Mickey noticed Ian’s eyes lingering. “You, uh. You can open it if you want. I fucking tried my best, but it’s not much.”

Ian reached deep into his pocket, pulling out a heavy cream-colored envelope.

“I got you a note too.” He took in a breath, trying to gather his thoughts. “I figured… I don’t know, you were so into the wedding and all that traditional bullshit, and I saw something online that said your first year together you’re supposed to get each other something paper. So, I, uh, I wrote you this.”

He held the envelope out in front of him—Mickey reached and took it from his hands like it was something delicate. They stood there for a moment.

“Wanna read them on three?”

Mickey smirked, breaking heaviness hanging in the air. “What is it with you and countdowns, Gallagher?”

Ian rolled his eyes, then pulled the chair out from the table and sat down, lifting the envelope from where it was nestled.

“One… two… three.”

Ian peeled the seal of the envelope, ripping it open. Inside was a plain white piece of paper, folded in half and clearly worn, like it had been creased and crumpled repeatedly. He unfolded it to a page of chunky handwriting, the ink smudged and blotched in places where Mickey had run his hand over the paper.

ian,

i’m bad with words, and you fucking know that, but you wanted a valentine’s card or some shit so. here it is. not sure what i’m supposed to write, either.

i always thought i was fucked for life, ever since i was a kid. but for some reason, i couldn’t shake your ginger ass off and it turns out that you were the best thing to happen to me. which you already know, but in case i don’t say it enough- you fucking saved me, gallagher. you’re everything i’ve got, and the happiest fucking days of my life have been spent near your crazy ass. so here’s to lots more years of doing crazy shit together, and making the south side our bitch for the rest of our lives.

i love you. for better or worse, in sickness and in health, im yours.

mickey

Ian swallowed down whatever he was feeling, and turned his gaze upwards to where Mickey was seated across from him, reading his note that was scribbled on a simple card he’d found at the dollar store:

Dear Mr. Gallavich,

Happy Valentine’s Day. If you’re reading this, this means that I’ve either forced you to, or you’re half as much of a soft motherfucker as I am. There’s nothing that I can put down in paper here that I haven’t said already- that I’ve been in love with you since the first time I saw you, that I always want to be where you are (and I always have). I guess the best way to put it is that no matter how much shit we’ve both been through, for some reason I still trust the universe, because the universe gave me you- whatever it throws at me, it gave me the thing that I needed the most to get through it. You’re everything, Mick- you’re the center of it all, and I feel so lucky every day that we made it here.  

So happy fucking Valentine’s day. I love you.

Ian

Ian rose from his seat—he knew his eyes were shiny, but he really didn’t care—and crossed to where Mickey was sitting, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Mickey stood too, wordlessly wrapping his arms to fold around Ian’s middle. They stood there, in the flickering candlelight, that yes, was nauseatingly corny, but also cast a soft glow across the space, letting Ian sink into the feeling of holding Mickey pressed tightly against him.

“Mick, we both gave each other the stuff we wanted, but never got,” Ian whispered into Mickey’s hair.

Ian felt Mickey’s lips curve into a smile against his collarbone. “Yeah, I guess we fucking did.”

part 1 of this fic here, part 2 here!

[marvelslut16]

Footloose and confessions

Prompt number: 30 “Just say it”

Fandom: Stranger Things

Paring: Robin Buckley x reader

Rating: T

Word count: 863 (This queen deserves a longer story)

Warnings: mentions of anti-lesbianism (I don’t know how else to phrase that lmao). alludes to some sexy times, but never explicitly said.

A/N: I was planning on doing a Ransom Drysdale fic today, but after hearing that two justices on the Supreme Court are trying to overturn Obergefell, which legalized gay marriage, my bisexual heart was crushed and I was angry. So I decided to finally write for Robin Buckley, my love, because she’s an inspiring character- especially right now. Yes I know the name sucks, but I couldn’t come up with anything.

Robin Buckley; sassy, sarcastic, quirky, and as far as your concerned the love of your life. You’ve been friends with Robin since the beginning of freshman year, and while she had neve been outright with her sexuality you could tell. From the longing looks she’d give Tammy Thompson in class, to the way her eyes would linger on Phoebe Cates in her red bikini when you saw fast times at Ridgemont high with her in theaters. Feeling a little hurt that Robin never told you something as big as her sexuality when you two were supposedly best friends with no secrets, you never told her yours. You weren’t as obvious as Robin was, because to you every woman paled in comparison to your best friend. 

Over the summer you would visit her at Scoops Ahoy at least once a week, where she would give you free ice cream and complain about Steve Harrington’s poor flirting with the female customers or she’d complain about Erica Sinclair always sampling every flavor but never buying anything. Robin would always stop in at JC Penny’s when you were working, either asking you for assistance so you could chat, or she’d be making use of your employee discount you let her use. 

You were at your cousins birthday party when Robin and the others found their way into the Russian bunker that was underneath the mall, but Robin immediately told you about it the following day. Ever since then Steve has been giving you odd looks, not that you befriended him this summer while visiting Robin or anything, but the looks were awkward considering the three of you now work at the video store together. 

A perk of the job is that your boss lets each of you rent a movie for free once a month. So three weeks out of every month you’re having a movie night with Robin and Steve, depending on the movie sometimes the kids join too. Tonight, however, it’s just you and Robin. Steve made up some dumb excuse that he had to be somewhere with his parents tonight, even though he told you guys last week you could do movie night there since his parents would be out of town. Steve gave you that funny look again as he was finishing 

So that’s how you ended up on Robin’s couch, bowl of popcorn on your lap and a thing of twizzlers in hers. The two of you share a blanket, your feet tangled together on the ottoman in front of you sometime during the movie. You rest your head on her shoulder as the high schoolers in footloose dance at their prom, you’re thankful her parents are out of town this weekend so the movie went interruption free. 

“I have something I need to tell you,” Robin takes in a deep shaky breath, clicking off the tv.

“You know you can tell me anything,” you snuggle further into her side, relishing in her warmth- the air conditioning set too low for your liking. 

“We’ve been best friends for years,” you pull away slightly so you can look Robin in the eye, scared she’s going to tell you she doesn’t want to be friends anymore. “I’m- I can’t believe I told Steve this before I told you- but I think I’m in love with you. No- I know I’m in love with you, (Y/N).”

“W-what?” you pull back completely, shocked that your best friend loves you. The same girl you’ve been in love with since you met her is in love with you too! 

“Just say it,” Robin sounds defeated, staring dejected at her socked feet- a pair of fuzzy socks you had gotten her because they had little robins all over them. 

“Say what?” you’re still in a state of shock. 

“That you’re disgusted by me! That you want nothing to do with me now that you know I’m a lesbian!” she shoots up from her spot beside you on the couch and starts pacing the length of the living room. “That you don’t love me too.”

“But I do love you!” you hop up from your seat, standing directly in her path so she has to look at you. 

“You don’t have to pity me and say it back,” she looks at your forehead now, refusing to meet your gaze. 

“Robin, look at me,” the sternness in your voice causes her to finally look you in the eye. “Why would I say it if I didn’t mean it? Why would I be willing to endure a lifetime of discrimination and hatred just to be with you if I didn’t love you too?”

Robin sees the sincerity in your eyes and starts to tear up. She can’t believe that you're willing to suffer for the rest of your life just to be with her. But she can’t help grin as the words really sink in- you love her too. She pulls you in for a kiss, it starts soft and sweet, but soon turns hungry and needy. And now you have another reason to be glad her parents are away- no interruptions and you can be as loud as you want.

Permanent tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen​ @rexorangecouny​

[neverendingstories00]

a winnix! found family au with easy company as kids part one out of a million!!

hi, hello! i’m back on my bullshit again. the creativity train had once stopped at my brain. I may have a thousand wip’s but tonight I’ve decided to focus solely on this one. also a ton of credit to @apairofwingsforme for rambling with me about this idea, thanks buddy! anyways, my mind is literally a terrifying place 😁 please send help. i’m literally at my breaking point

Also this is part one out of..a lot! I wanna write a fic of this, but school is a bitch. This is just winnix at the moment, but I promise I’ll start talking about easy company as kids and how chaotic it is. Literally. Child! Luz is going to be a little monster. But hey, only seven more weeks!!

It's a modern au. Both dick and Lew have been married for seven years and are happier than ever.

Okay! But before the found family part, time for the backstory!

dick and lew both met in college when there were in the same intro to marketing class. dick was struggling in the class and absolutely despised Lew, who he stereotyped as a “typical New Yorker '' as Dick donned his bean boots and flannel shirts. However, Dick learned not to make assumptions about people. Their study sessions would turn into long conversations about the newest episode of Mad Men, their families in Lancaster and Manhattan, etc. Dick and Lew grew to be best friends.

Dick felt strange around Lew. He wanted to hate him, but he couldn't. He would catch himself staring at Lew for too long and a strange feeling in his stomach. Lew caught onto this, but said nothing. He was overthinking it. Dick was the poster catholic boy with his outfits head to toe from LL Bean, carried a tiny bible in his backpack, etc. Lew knew Dick was too good for him. Besides, there was no way he would be gay.

One thing led to another and the complicated relationship between Dick and Lew changed. Dick had sworn off alcohol, but had no idea that the orange juice was a screwdriver. Dick got intoxicated and Lew dragged him back to his dorm. Next thing he knew, Lew woke up, cuddled with Dick in his neat dorm room.

After that little incident, things became awkward. They were in their senior year; friends for four years and the awkward tension was high between them. After they graduated, there was an afterparty held at their old farneity. Dick, of course, had won vladicictroain and Lew won salutadorian (shockingly). Dick knew that if it wasn’t for Lew three years ago, he wouldn’t be where he is.

So in a little corner, Dick walked up to Nixon and gifted him an apple pie, fresh from The Winter’s farm in Lancaster, thanking him for all he’s done for him. Nixon smirked and knew that Dick would give him some pie, but he was still nice about it. He took Dick to his room and gave him cufflinks that he bought especially for Dick from Nordstrom because during their freshman year, Dick was in charge of planning events in their fraternity. It was movie night and in 2007, Casino Royale was all the hype. Nobody came to the movie night since there was a huge football game and party after. Dick sat there, popcorn all made and even pushed the coaches together, and nobody showed up. He considered just packing up and calling it a night until he heard the door slam open. As he was cleaning up, Dick ran right into Lew.

“Hi, hello. Sorry I’m late, I was busy doing...stuff.”

“Oh,” Dick would reply, “I was just packing up.”

“What movie?”

“Casino Royale. Nobody’s coming though.”

“Well, is the popcorn still hot?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, consider me your customer.”

Dick and Lew watched the movie. Lew never shuts up during the film. Dick talks ethier to tell Lew to be quiet or that he loves Daniel Craig’s cufflinks. Lew made a mental note of that.

The night of graduation, stuffed in Dick’s little dorm room, was the last time Dick and Lew ever saw each other. For a while, atleast. They had a heated makeuout session that followed with awkward but passionate sex. The next morning, it was a screaming match between Lew and Dick. Dick didn’t even remember what it was about-he was too upset. He simply finished packing, threw the stuff into the back of his subaru outback, and drove back to Lancaster.

Seven years flew by, and Dick and Lew hadn’t spoken a word. Both of them were no longer twenty two year old’s who had no idea what they were doing with their life-they were now twenty nine, both trying to figure out their lives.

Dick worked as an accountant in Philadelphia, Boston, Hartford, and jumped around the east coast. He didn’t really enjoy his job so he went back to Franklin and Marshall to become a History Teacher. He had been looking for work for some time and eventually found a teaching job at a boy’s school in Bronxville. It was a job, after all.

So Dick arrives in Bronoxville and gets an email. He recognizes the last time-it’s Lew. He heard about Dick moving and wanted to catch up. Dick was new to Bronoxville and as reluctant as he was, he agreed to meet with Lew.

Lew and Dick meet at Rosie’s, a nice little Italian restaurant in the middle of Bronoxville. Lew surprises Dick, and greets him with a “going my way?”. Lew looks different; he’s gotten more handsome with age, his hair is shorter but still unruly with a tint of gray, and there’s a good amount of stubble. He hasn’t changed one bit.

Their first meeting went well. Just like Dick, Lew had a rocky start after college. Lew had foolishly gotten married to some girl he had gone to boarding school with. They barely lasted a year, and Lew left the marriage with a child he had no custody with and a large penthouse in Tribeca. Life had been lonely. He worked as an economist for a while, but hated the job and quit. With no job and a failing marriage, Lew turned to one resort; alcohol. He had nobody and nothing left in life.

Dick could see the fire that was once in Lew slowly dying out. The once sarcastic and dry Lew became a self--deprecating and lonely man with too much money and time on his hands. Naturally, Dick pitied him. He could see that Lew still loved him-if he didn’t, then how did he find out about Dick moving to Bronxville? How did he find out about Dick’s new job? Why did Lew take Dick to the nicest restaurant in Bronxville. And still, even though seven years had gone by, Dick was still in love with Lew. He’d come up in his thoughts once and while, but now, when faced with him-it was hard to resist those old feelings.

Dick was worried about Lew. So being the Architect he is (mbti type wise, he’s an INTJ), he creates a plan. Lew comes down from the city to Bronxivlle on Fridays and they meet at Rosies. They catch up on their week. From court cases to annoying students, the little things that they share each make their day a little better.

Dick was well aware of Lew’s alcoholism. It was noticeable in college, but it seemed to have worsened as Lew got older. Dick encouraged Lewis to go to therapy. When things had gotten to the worst, Lew enrolled in rehab (all thanks to Dick). He saw the stubbornness in Dick and the clear frustration. Dick wasn’t one for emotions, but when he saw Lewis with a bloody forehead because he fell down the stairs, barely able to speak, Dick sobbed in the waiting room at the hospital. Lewis had never seen Dick ever be that emotional. He was hurt.

That’s when Lewis realized two things. One, he needed to fix himself. If he kept living this deductive lifestyle, he could end up dead. He didn’t want that. And Two, as much as he repressed it-he was still in love with Dick.

Lew finally deals with his issues, ranging from alcohol to his childhood trauma and abuse. It was all with the help of Dick. Dick was there for him every step on the way, playing the role as that supportive friend. Here they were, two thirty year olds. Lew would’ve never imagined being friends with a Quaker that was too good for him, but there he was.

One night, after they had dinner at Rosies, Dick and Lew go back to Dick’s tiny little colonial house. It’s not his house, but a shared apartment. It’s small, but it’s something. Lew is shocked by the living conditions, and Dick simply finds the place charming. They laugh, lock eyes, and next thing they know their lips are clashing together, rushing to take off their clothes as they fit onto Dick’s small bed.

Seven years later, they finally realize they're in love with each other and officially start dating. Dick moves to Lew’s apartment and they live there together for a while. Both getting sick of their lives in the city, Lew decides they need a break from the city and the states.

A year later, Lew proposes to Dick at Rosies, all thanks to the help of Anne Winters, Blanche, Kitty Gorgan, and Harry Welsh. Dick happily accepts, and yes; he sheds a tear. And so does Lew. Everybody sheds a solid tear; it’s a beautiful moment.

Three days before their wedding, Dick and Lew elope on the rooftop of their apartment complex. They invite the same people who helped Lewis propose to Dick. It’s a small and intimate ceremony. Their dance song is “Flightless Bird, American Mouth”. They wanted to get married without the big crowd and Lewis’s “rich jerk friends'' and “daddy’s money”.

For the next seven years, Dick and Lew travel the world. They live all over Europe. From London, To Austria, to Tokyo-they do it all. Dick always ends up sunburnt and Lew is always wearing his classic aviators, wanting to take a photo of Dick. Whenever they go to a new location, Lew always forces Dick to pose next to something, whether that be the La Fontana Dei Quattro Fiumi or the Tokyo tower, and then he sets the photo as his lock screen. Now THAT is romance right there.

Seven years of travel is a lot. Dick and Lew traveled back to the states once in a while for Holidays, but spent most of their time overseas. They are both now in their late thirties and a little exhausted from travel.

Whenever they go to a forgien country, Lew has a tendency to buy shot glasses from each country even though he’s sworn off drinking. I just want to imagine Lew, dragging Dick into a little chaka shop and being like “Oh look darling! Aren’t these adorable” and Dick would just sigh.

So after their final destination, Greece, Dick and Lew decide to retreat back to the states. They don’t wanna live in the city, so they choose to move to the quaint Lancaster. Dick mentioned that he and his friends used to go explore this abandoned farmhouse that wasn’t too far from where he used to live (about 20 mins). Lew wants to be a romantic so he decides to pay a whole lotta money to revinate the barn into a modern mansion. Here’s a picture for reference. Lew goes the extra mile and Dick is like “ *insert eye roll emoji* lew, were two people. Lew would give him a little kiss on the cheek, “and? I’m making room for the dogs.

Oh I should add that Lew officially retires (he has loads of money, it’s called inheritance baby!) while Dick considers it, but chooses not too. He chooses to live the peaceful life of a farmer.

OKAY, but here is the very juicy part

Reminder that there house is like...fucking huge. Like ridiculously big. Like there are so many rooms, and they are furnished. Like what is the point of having furnished rooms if you only have two people living in the house??

Also Lew and Dick adopt a whole armanda of dogs. If you want specifics, they have a collie named Lassie, two westie named Lovey and Duffer, A carin named Toto, Beethoven the St.Bernard, and Copper the hound dog. Oh-and that’s the start. So. Many. BUNNIES.

Dick knows Lew. He already has a child that he’s unfortunately not been able to raise since he barely has custody over his child. He seems to like his own dogs over his children. Dick doesn’t mind. Sure, he’s worked with kids, but he’s okay not having them. He does like his dogs, after all.

Harry, Dick and Lew’s best friend from college, doesn’t live far from them. He’s been married to his college sweetheart, Kitty, for five years. Together, they have a little son named Louie. Harry comes over a lot with Louie, and Louie plays with the dogs in the backyard. Dick’s a very observant person; he sees the relationship between Louie, the dogs, Lewis, and Harry. Lewis doesn’t mind Louie. Actually, he likes the kid. He’ll run around the backyard with Louie and their dog.

So Dick starts thinking about children. Maybe he’s changed his mind; maybe he wants a kid. One or two would be fine. It could be through adoption, help a family out or a kid who’s stuck in the system. Dick is like a mother when he wants to help others around him.

One night, Dick and Lew are sitting in bed. Did I mention all the dogs sleep in their bed. When shopping for furniture, Lew wanted to pick out a bed to fit all of the animals they were gonna have. Dick didn’t like the idea and made the dogs all sleep in their crates. But one night, Lew walked in on Dick snoring, lovey and dovey tucked right next to his stomach and feet. Lew once again, takes a photo, and shows it to Dick, who’s as red as a tomato.

Dick does a little sigh and Lew looks up from his book, his reading glasses slipping down his nose. He’d be like “oh, what is it now sweetheart?”

“We have such a big house, Lew. Twenty rooms and only two people live in the house-”

“Actually Six dogs and three rabbits. The dogs sleep with us and the rabbits...wherever they sleep.”

“Lew, I know you don’t like children but-”

Lew holds up Toto, who tilts her head. “But look at her! Yeah, you’re a good girl aren’t you? Daddy's little girl!”

“You love Louie-”

“Yeah, cause he’s not mine. He’s a nice kid. But children, especially teenagers, are the devils of this earth. You need to fear them, pay for them, do all kinds of stuff. With dog’s it’s easier.”

“I love our animals, but just one or two. We have so much space in the house. Help out a child who needs it. I know you don’t wanna admit it, but your great with kids-”

“Not my own. I don’t even know my own daughter. Kathy got married to some damn twink. How the hell do you think I’d be a good father?”

Dick gives him that *insert pouty emoji* look. “Just think about, Lew.”

So Lew actually thinks about. He walks around the house, feeling and seeing the quietness. They do have thousands of empty rooms and a little too much freetime on their hands. Plus, Lew hates the puppy eye stare Dick gives him.

[princesssarisa]

“Beauty and the Beast”: Belle’s beautiful discontentment (warning: long)

In my Feminist Defense of the Animated Belle, I addressed most of the issues I’ve heard people complain about regarding Belle’s character. But there was one I didn’t touch on, because it has very little to do with gender roles: the common complaint that Belle is a “snob.” I’d like to discuss that topic now. I’d also like to use it as a springboard to discuss a valuable aspect of Belle’s character that sets her apart both from certain Disney princesses who came before her and from depictions of Beauty in other Beauty and the Beast retellings: her willingness to own her discontentment.

I do understand the “snob” accusations. After all, Belle’s neighbors are poor peasants working hard to eke out a living. It’s only natural that they have little time for books or dreams of adventure and think Belle’s passion for those things is impractical. It’s reasonable to sympathize with their perspective more than the movie seems to want us to. It’s fair to argue that the movie has a (probably unintentional) classist undertone by portraying the villagers as small-minded and bigoted and by having Belle only find a kindred spirit in a prince, albeit an enchanted outcast prince, and find her ultimate happiness by leaving the town in favor of a royal castle. I’m grateful that other BatB retellings exist (e.g. Megan Kearney’s webcomic, or Robin McKinley’s Rose Daughter) that portray Beauty’s peasant world in a more positive light, depict the historic cruelty of royal court life in the Beast/Prince’s backstory, and have him leave the castle in the end to become a peasant rather than Beauty becoming a princess.

But none of the above is any reason to criticize Belle.

I don’t think she looks down on her neighbors. She most certainly doesn’t shun them, as some critics claim she does. Just look at her meeting with the baker during the opening song: she tries to have a friendly conversation with him and tell him about the wonderful story she’s read, only for him to rudely brush her aside with “That’s nice... Marie! The baguettes!” I don’t interpret her subsequent shrug and eye-roll as showing disdain for his “low-class” disinterest in books – just as “Oh well, as usual, no one shares my interest.”

Nor do I buy the claim that she shows disdain for the “I need six eggs!” woman (and by extension for all struggling mothers) when she rides past her. It’s true that she does seem to be smiling, which might imply amused contempt, but she might also just be enjoying her ride on the wagon while at the same time wistfully yearning for a new life, with her expression having nothing to do with the woman. I don’t know what the animators meant to convey. And even if that overwhelmed mother does represent the life Belle doesn’t want for herself, and if Belle sings “There must be more than this provincial life!” in response to seeing her, what’s wrong with that? I don’t think it’s an insult to women who choose to have big families. Even a woman who chooses to have five kids shouldn’t be expected to wrangle them all by herself while also doing her grocery shopping, with no help from her husband or from anyone else. That’s the kind of unpaid labor women have too often been forced into and it’s not “insulting other women” for Belle to yearn for something different.

Belle has the right to be bored by her small town life and want something more. She’s not some rich girl looking down on the poor peasants; she’s a poor peasant too. A person trapped in a dull, stifling lower-class existence has every right to long for a different life. Would we accuse Cinderella of being a “snob” and “ignoring the value of domestic work” because she dreams of escaping from her enslavement by her stepfamily? Of course Belle’s life in the village is more comfortable than that, but it’s still reasonable that she should want to break free from its limits.

“But Belle is clearly richer and more privileged than her neighbors!” some critics argue again and again. “Most peasants in those days were illiterate, so the fact that Belle can read shows she’s had a higher-class education, and in the stage musical, Maurice tells her she’s ‘class’ while their neighbors are ‘the common herd’!” I don’t buy that argument. I’ve never bought it. Not one bit. The movie’s setting isn’t the real late 18th/early 19th century France – it’s the Disney version of it. The village has a bookshop in the animated version and a church library and schoolhouse in the live-action remake. There’s no indication whatsoever that Belle's neighbors can’t read. (Gaston holding her book askance as he looks for pictures in it and Le Fou’s inability to spell Gaston’s name don’t count; the first is a “parental bonus” gag implying that Gaston is looking for a centerfold, while the second is a “Le Fou is stupid” gag. Gaston quotes Shakespeare in “The Mob Song,” so he’s clearly had some education.) Belle just stands out because she has a passion for books, instead of only reading now and then during breaks from “more important” things, and because she would rather read than engage in smalltalk about practical everyday matters. Belle is shown borrowing her books, not buying them, which I presume implies she can’t afford to buy them, and Maurice builds his invention out of ordinary household items (e.g. a wood stove, an axe, a teapot), so he presumably hasn’t spent much money on it either. Nor are they any better dressed than their neighbors, nor does their house look any fancier. They certainly don’t seem richer than Gaston, who apparently owns the village tavern and can afford to arrange a wedding party on short notice and bribe Monsieur d’Arque with a bag of gold to help him blackmail Belle. As for Maurice’s remarks in the stage version, they’re clearly about her personality, not about social class.

Belle also has the right to be an individualist and a misfit. That’s part of the whole point of her storyline. It seems to me that critics who complain that she “looks down on normalcy” are doing the same thing the villagers do, which is supposed to be wrong: saying “It’s a pity and a sin she doesn’t quite fit in.”

It’s no surprise that people should complain about Belle’s complaining, though. Traditional fairy-tale heroines aren’t supposed to complain. As much as we can joke about the cliché that the “I want more” heroine became during the Disney Renaissance, we shouldn’t forget how innovative that kind of heroine was in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s. Just think back to Snow White: at the beginning she’s dressed in rags and forced to work as a scullery maid by her stepmother, but we find her smiling and cheerfully humming as she scrubs the castle steps. Then there’s Cinderella: a bit more complex and openly discontented than Snow White, but in general she still goes cheerfully about her chores. The heroine who lives in unhappy circumstances but “bears it cheerfully and without complaint” is a mainstay of classic, old-fashioned fairy-tales (and other stories too). The early versions of Beauty and the Beast are no exception. After Beauty’s family falls into poverty, we’re told that her sisters constantly wail and cry over their lost wealth and status, but Beauty swallows her grief, resolves to be cheerful, patiently shoulders all the household chores, and devotes her days to consoling her father and siblings. For this she’s held up as a role model, in contrast to her complaining sisters, who despise her and insult her for it, but whom she always loves and forgives.

Of course there’s value in that kind of character. Resilience in the face of adversity and finding happiness where others find none is a strength in its own right. But it can be overdone. The more that women, poor people and outcasts are encouraged to be cheerful, patient and uncomplaining, the more they’re expected to “stay in their place.” Any righteous desire or demand for a better life or better treatment is labeled “rude,” whiny,” “petulant” and “selfish.” It doesn’t always cross that line, but it can.

Linda Woolverton, the head screenwriter of Disney’s BatB, knew that she wanted Belle to be different both from the traditional Beauty and from the likes of Snow White and Cinderella. So did lyricist Howard Ashman, whose experience as a gay man did much to influence the outcast heroes and heroines of the three Disney movies he wrote for. As noted in this Time Magazine article, they resolved to create a heroine for “the next century,” who wasn’t “based on being kind and taking the hits but smiling all the way through it.”

They definitely succeeded.

As far as I’m concerned, it’s wonderful that Belle owns her discontentment. It’s beautiful that she doesn’t try to fit in or put on a patient, cheerful mask, but unabashedly yearns to escape from her dull, small-minded village and find adventure in the great wide somewhere. It’s wonderful that she has no patience for Gaston’s rudeness and arrogance and that she loathes the thought of having to give up her reading and intellect in favor of a mundane marriage and raising a gaggle of children. It all leads beautifully into her friendship and romance arc with the Beast, where she refuses to tolerate his bullying, refuses to let him control her even though he’s the master of the castle, only forgives him when he earns her forgiveness, and inspires him to change for the better. The happy ending comes about precisely because Belle was willing to be discontented and shamelessly wanted more than she was given at first. This makes her almost the opposite of the original tale’s Beauty, whose story was written as an allegory for arranged marriage and whose purpose was in part to convince girls to submit to unwanted circumstances for their families’ sake. I love that instead, Belle refuses to submit to what she doesn’t want, and her refusal becomes the catalyst for all the positive growth and transformation in the story.

Let’s hear it for heroines who want more!