#the things she had to DO. and she did them impeccably! PERFORMANCE OF A LIFETIME!!!!

[pulsingvoid]

"She's been possessed by the devil." Again? "Oh, for fuck's sake."

#the things she had to DO. and she did them impeccably! PERFORMANCE OF A LIFETIME!!!! #apparently it was incredibly taxing and honestly it makes sense that after this she was like virginia woolf? no thank u. im doing. Dumbo #eva green #vanessa ives #penny dreadful #pennydreadfuledit #mine #horror #can you tell ive been on a steady diet of silent films for a month straight lol

[fortysevenswrites]

📓📔📒📕📗📘📙📚📖!!!!!!!!!

Okay. 9 books, 9 fics. You're welcome.

1. Kastle/The West Wing Crossover Every time I watch TWW, I think about Karen and Donna Moss being friends, and once I thought of a fic where during the early seasons of TWW, the President and staff go to New York and Karen is moderating one of the series of town halls they're there for (specifically one where Josh Lyman is speaking). And of course that one, because reasons I had not yet come up with, gets attacked by The Hand, and Karen, Donna and Josh (who gets injured, because Josh ALWAYS gets injured) get rescued by Frank and it basically ends with the President demanding to meet Frank to thank him for saving Josh's life and everyone is like, "Mr. President do you not understand that Frank Castle is technically a MURDERER and the Secret Service will n e v e r let you in the same room with him and it's bad enough that you're currently on the same ISLAND?" So, yeah.

Here's something I wrote for it:

“Josh, did you hear?”

“I have impeccable hearing, Donna,” Josh says without looking up from the memo in his hand. “What is it that I am supposed to have heard?”

“Carol told me that she heard from Lindsay in credentialing that Karen Page has been assigned to cover the President’s town halls in New York for the New York Bulletin!”

He waits for her to keep going, but she doesn’t so, he looks up and sees her waiting expectantly, “And?”

“Karen Page? What It Means To Be A Hero Karen Page. She’s connected to half the vigilante-superheroes in Lower Manhattan. She was held hostage by ninjas. She interviewed Tony Stark about the Sokovia Accords. Last year, The Punisher himself may or may not have held her hostage after saving her from that terrorist Lewis Wilson.”

“And?”

“And, would it be inappropriate, as a member of the White House Staff, to ask her for her autograph?”

Kastle: The Big Indulgence

This is one of the first long fics I came up with for Kastle (and come hell or high water I WILL write it one day). Basically, it puts the NMCU actually IN the MCU. Post TPS1, Sarah tracks Karen down and they become friends, and at the same time, Frank becomes friends with Bucky Barnes (yes Emily, I know he's not your fav) by way of Curtis' group (Curt, of course, regrets ever letting them interact ever). Karen gets nominated for an award for her journalism work by the Maria Stark Foundation, where she meets Pepper, Natasha, and Darcy, and befriends them as well. Everything comes to a head and Karen and Frank reunite after the discovery that Sarah Lieberman is related to one of Bucky's surviving family members (the Liebermans are Jewish, Bucky's family is Jewish, it works!). Then, things related to Billy and Hydra happen, there's an incident where a few people disappear into an alternate universe for...an... amount of time, the Avengers meet the X-Men to help get them back, and Frank may or may not be a little psychic. Someone ends up coming from that alternate universe who doesn't belong here, but it's okay because she's [redacted] and also Leo's [redacted].

Leo-Centric, Kastle

Leo gets an internship as Darcy Lewis' assistant (well, technically she's working for Jane Foster, but it's basically working for Darcy), where she meets Karen, matchmakes her with Frank, and also gets a girlfriend. I think the summary says it best:

Summer 2021.

In which Leo Lieberman gets the internship of a lifetime—working for Jane!Freaking!Foster’s soon-to-be former personal assistant, Darcy Lewis—both comes out of the closet AND gets the girl, and helps her long-lost murder-uncle finally reconcile with the ace reporter of his dreams.

If Frank was actually bulletproof, it would totally be just like Superman and Lois Lane.

5 Times Seth Tells Kate He Loves Her

A five-times fic where Seth is just ass over tea kettle in love with Kate, and makes sure she knows it and doesn't care what other people (read: Richie and Scott) think about it. The first one takes place the night they get back from Matanzas, and I just love the little bit I've written so far. I know 2 that I'm going to write so far, so...3 to go.

Kate Meets Vanessa Post S3

So I started writing this around Valentine's Day this year, and I might keep it as a Valentine's Day fic no matter what, but basically, in a grand universal coincidence, Vanessa strolls into Jed's just because she's stopping for lunch on her way to...somewhere. She meets Kate, who is covering the bar for Kalinda and Greer (a culebra OC that I will one day actually formally introduce in my fics, I promise), who are downstairs "checking on inventory" read: screwing in a maintenance closet because it's Valentine's Day, and then Seth comes out and there's a little, very awkward reunion, and basically Vanessa is the MOST amused, Seth is the MOST uncomfortable and Kate's just like...okay? And? Also, Seth is still bitter about Vanessa taking the tire iron to his car back in early S1.

The SK/Detroit 187 Fusion

Seth is a detective in Houston PD, who comes into the office one day to discover they...hired an intern? Said intern is Kate Fuller, a grad student at the University of Houston, who is working on her master's thesis by studying something related to crime (duh). Seth thinks she's a Disney princess in human form and they're very antagonistic with one another, but also he likes her way more than he thinks he should (but feels a LOT better about it when he finds out she's 23, not like...barely legal to drink or anything. Angst happens when a gang (Malvado's, but Carlos' branch of it) attacks Kate's family and kills her parents, and Seth takes her to Eddie and Richie for protection while he and his partner, Ximena, and the rest of the department solve the case and put Carlos' crew away.

SK Post 2x02 AU

After Kate and Seth part ways in 2x02, Kate goes back to Bethel, but Scott isn't there (so Jessica lives). She ends up in Houston for two years, working at a gym and keeping her to the ground looking for word about her brother, until one night, she's attacked by a bunch of Culebras, and is saved by Seth, Richie, and Kisa. She finds out that Carlos and Malvado are after her because she's the key to the way to the Blood Well, and Carlos and Malvado's henchwoman, the one and only Sonja, draws them all back to Bethel by putting Jessica in danger, and...it's all going to come to a head in some way that involves them saving Jessica from Sonja and killing Malvado and stopping the events of S3 from ever having to happen.

SK Season 1 AU

I don't know if i'm ever going to go anywhere with this, but I had this thought of...what is Carlos as Kyle wasn't a dick to Kate, and he took her to Mexico instead of Kate going back with Jacob and Scott. She ends up at the Twister before Seth and Richie do, and spends time with Kisa before she goes out to perform, and somehow it ends up with Kate going through the labyrinth with the brothers? I don't know. Something like that.

The FDTD/The Punisher Crossover That Starts Off In New York

So this is one of 2 crossovers I have for SK-meets-Kastle, but I love it. This is post 2x02, and Kate ends up in New York after not being able to find Scott back in Bethel. She ends up going to work as NM&P's assistant, and befriends Karen. To get to know one another better, Karen takes Kate to Josie's, where Kate discovers that Josie is a culebra, and Josie promises to keep Kate's secret. One day, this...guy shows up at the office, asking to talk to Karen, and Karen kicks Kate out of the office while they talk, and when she comes back, the guy is gone and Karen doesn't want to talk about it. (It's Frank, of course it's Frank). Also featuring one day where Frank is on the roof, Matt gets wind of it and goes up there to confront him about seeing Karen again and comes back with a black eye, and Kate is V confused whereas Karen is 10000000% pissed off at them both. Not long after, Kate and Karen are out one night, and they're attacked by a bunch of culebras. Frank helps intervene while Kate really is the one to save the day...and then she has to explain culebras to them. Of course, Karen saw aliens fall out of a portal above Stark Tower, so...snake vampires? Whatever. Kate calls Freddie to figure out why she was attacked and it turns out Carlos and Malvado are after her (and, later found out Karen too). Kate, Karen and Frank end up in Texas and things all come to a head at the blood well, as it does, and while Carlos shoots Kate in front of Seth, Richie, and Scott (which, BAD IDEA), Kate falls into the blood well, and when she's pulled out, she's healed. But...she also has something inside her that wants to destroy the world, and everyone has to race against time to figure out how to get Amaru out of Kate before she takes over completely and destroys them all. They figure out a way, but it has an...interesting side effect for Kate and Seth. Also, this is the one where Maggie takes one look at Freddie and Ximena and shrugs and says, "You know what? Porque no los dos?"

So yeah, there you go!

(Also, I thought about also including the Amaru isn't evil, she's just cranky and wants to go home, S3 AU, but we just talked about it yesterday, so I figured it doesn't count hahaaha.)

send me a book emoji of any kind and i will tell you about a fic idea i have

#asked and answered #story ideas that i will write eventually i promise

[hedonisthierophant]

Unveiled eyes and bloodless lips -A skarsgard multiverse thing.

A universe of many Bills, a couple AHAs, and a few others.

@grandpa-sweaters You asked for fic with The Kid and instead I somehow came up with this monstrosity. I’m not sure if you’ve ever read my writing before but I’m sorry.

Dedicated to my literary soulmate @ill-skillsgard I hope you don’t hate it.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth, gore, spit kink, cuckoldry, degradation, injury, death.

   Unveiled eyes and bloodless lips

The witch had lost this game long before she even started playing, the final result such a foregone conclusion that it might be more accurate in fact to say she had lost before she had even been born. Forces much larger than her, to call them even titanic in scope would be an understatement, had been attending to the moves of the board since time immemorial. To say her fate such as it was had been decided back then is to grievously misstate the situation. Her exact destiny was fiercely contested on the board of play, it could’ve turned out completely differently, unfolding along anyone of the infinite myriad of paths of kismet. But her doom? That became inevitable she drew the attention of the game’s players. Naturally she remained unaware of the inescapable quality of her demise, she fought against it until the very last moment, her ferocious zeal, her skill and talent, all of it amounted to naught, For what hope does in an insect have against flood? Through no fault of her own, her perspective on this eons-long contest she had the misfortune of being prescribed to enter was…limited. In actuality the word “limited” doesn’t begin to convey the magnitude of her ignorance, imagine if you will placing your eye at a keyhole and attempting to catch a glimpse of a room darkened to pitch black. Some less astute souls might say that her involvement in the affair was rather like bringing a deaf person to the symphony but you dear reader know better, I should hope. Someone who cannot hear will have a different experience with music to be sure, but an experience they will have, the concepts on display remain within the realm of understanding. In our case a young woman became the toy of forces so far beyond her ken that she was to them as an amoeba might be to one of us beneath the prying lens of a microscope. As you may have surmised the tragedy that brings my voyeuristic audience to me unfolded slowly, spanning two lifetimes. Of course, this is only slow from the mortal point of view, to the beings that brought this about such a timeframe was less than the blink of an eye might be to us, for their machinations make glaciers seem to move with haste. Oh yes, they lack celerity but in exchange their actions carry the gravity of unquestionable certainty. However, I have indulged myself long enough. It is time that I recount, to the best of my ability the story which is brought you here today…whilst I remain able to do so.

           Her mother was possessed of a nearly singular lack of the talent that had been at the disposal to members of her family as far back as records would go. She did retain the gift of foresight. In the hands of anyone else this boon guaranteed an interesting life, if not necessarily a good one. The ability to see the future meant that so much of the world could be bent to your whim, fortunes raised, mistakes avoided, enemies destroyed before they even had the opportunity to transgress. For her mother though the only thing her visions brought was infinite sadness. She was many months pregnant you see. The result of an impetuous liaison with an excitable and impassioned thief several years who junior who quite literally stumbled into her lap, betrayed by his gangly limbs at a luxurious hotel bar he happened to be casing. He must have absconded with a waiter’s uniform for nothing about his outfit fit his exquisitely lanky form properly. Remembering the bowtie that hung limply and sideways from his collar still brings a smile to her face. The knave proclaimed she was the love of his life, his goddess and that he would devote his life to securing her happiness. It was quite a scene the tableau made certainly more…unconventional due to the fact that she was celebrating her first wedding anniversary at and sitting directly across from her husband at the time. Their marriage had been mostly a business arrangement, not entirely loveless but more cordial than intimate, but she thinks she could have grown to love him for the smirk that wound its way across his face after the blubbering young would be waiter realized his presence. She recalls watching the scene like a member of the audience at the theater, her face impassive, one brow raised. Her husband had a reputation for an incredibly violent temper, if you ever witnessed it though but she could never convince herself to entirely discredit the rumors. Both she and the scoundrel were frozen, he in fear, she in surprise. Her husband stood up, declare that their food had been awful and they were taking the waiter as recompense. Her husband, she couldn’t stand the pain that thinking his name brought even all these years later. He had made his fortune as proprietor of the “last heir to the great circuses of old, the man was a showman to his core and could have sold sin to the most pious of people. Sitting in the stands watching that man bewitch everyone around her, she certain she could’ve learned to love him had she been given more time with him. Her brother-in-law put a stop to any happy fantasies she might’ve entertained though, fratricide had a way of casting a pall over such things. Death took him from her, but that night he had been so very alive. He threw the reprobate onto their sumptuous marriage bed and ordered her in a voice that was equal parts chilling and gleeful to fuck him within an inch of his life. She did, hips canting madly as she struggled to match the thief’s exuberance for all he was worth, she was the only thing that grounded him as he shuddered through orgasm after improbable orgasm. His soulful eyes stared up at her as though she had hung the stars. After one particularly fierce climax she turned to look at her husband across the darkened room for all the while he had been orchestrating the performance as though being its sole audience member also burdened him with the role of conductor, she may have been having extraordinary sex but for all that the two of them were just  toys for her husband. He controlled them with such precision a note here,  a whisper there, advice for the two of them ghosting across the room. He was a master puppeteer, they may have lacked physical strings but that did not stop him. He ruled over them with the same exactness he employed with his beloved elephants, compelling them through routines to astound and amaze basking in the dazzled worship of the onlookers. That night though, he was taking full advantage of being the only onlooker. She still remembers the manic smile on his face and how his hair looked like flame in the moonlight spilling through the window as hysterical (euphoric) laughter echoed off the walls of their manor, as though her husband were the only one in on some wonderfully hilarious joke of cosmic proportions. Looking back on it, he may well have been. Following their final crescendo as her husband’s euphoria slowly waned into giggling, the criminal professed his love for her for the umpteenth time and begged her to come away with him to Florida, promising to dedicate the rest of his days to making her happy. His stirring gaze brimmed with imploring tears he unabashedly let fall from his eyes, his voice quavering beneath the immense wait of his need to keep her in his life. The scales she used to weigh her options were suddenly dashed as her husband took a great gasping breath, sprang up from his seated position in the sumptuous armchair he’d been occupying and began to flit around the room gathering things to him, mania rolling off him in waves. He’d hoisted the nude crook off her with little apparent effort despite being smaller than the rangy younger man. He spun him around and  slapped the sex drunk visitor’s bare ass as the man squawked in surprise and indignation, pale globes of flesh flushing an angry shade of red and leaving a print in the form of her husband’s hand at the sting. Her husband crouched for on his haunches for a moment to admire his impromptu work of art. She couldn’t see him but she could clearly picture his eyes growing wide with fascination as the mark took shape, his hands twitched with restrained desire, she could practically feel him warring with the impulse to throw him onto their marriage bed yet again, but this time for the purpose of sowing sharper and deeper blossoms of suffering across the entirety of the canvas that was the other man’s body. Disturbed smile still in place as he ground his teeth he muttered to himself in hushed tones. “No Jer, be a good boy. Almost done now, you can do it. Just gotta ape him. He straightened the conflict within him tucked away beneath the impeccable veneer of the consummate showman’s mask. “Would that I could have joined you crazy kids. I’d have loved to use all my fun little tricks on a tall glass of water like you. I’d have driven you crazy, stark raving mad really, shown you just how wild gingers can get, I’m talking showing you where the animals go.” He said with a grin that was only matched in lascivious by it’s lunacy and air of danger. She was certain the young man with the innocence and coordination of a newborn fawn would not have survived such an encounter He clapped the sex drunk young man on the back, sensually garbed him in a ludicrously expensive silken kimono, handed him a duffel bag of cash as though he had one standing by for just this occasion. That torn expression came over his face yet again, this time he surrendered to his urges. Quite suddenly he brought their lips together with the force of a devouring hunger, grinding his crotch against the other man’s leg. Judging by the surprised sound that issued from their visitor, her husband’s tongue had embarked on an enthusiastic exploration of the other man’s mouth. Then as suddenly as the whirlwind of passion had come, it stilled. He stepped back, a deranged smile lighting up his face. A single thin and determined cord of saliva still bound them together in remembrance of their embrace, her husband broke it with his middle finger, and then brought the digit to the other man’s lips. He sucked on it with a dazed expression for a moment before her husband withdrew with out warning. He clapped him on his back, said in perhaps the most jovial tone a cuckold has ever used with his competitor “I’ve always loved a good fireworks show.” and sent the befuddled young paramour on his way with a wink. The next day her husband left on “family business” to some crime on the east coast submerged seven layers deep in corruption and crime, this business ended in his demise. She remembers looking at him in the casket, smirk fixed in place as though even in death he had gotten the last laugh after all.

That had all been eight months ago exactly. Now here she was at a comfortable cruising altitude of 30,000 feet returning from a sojourn to the place where so many of her sisters had famously died along with innocents and hapless victims of circumstance. She buried her husband in the cesspool city and then communed with nature and the spirits of the sisters who came before her in Salem, now all that was left for her to do was return to her family’s modest estate in Canada and continue puzzling over the odd provision in her husband’s will for any child of hers regardless of whether that child was part of their union or not. The trouble began in earnest on that flight which should’ve been an entirely unremarkable trip from Salem to Halifax.  The first unusual occurrence was that her water broke and quite suddenly she was in the process of bringing a life into the world some 2000 stories off the ground suspended in what she’d always considered to be fragile contraptions held aloft by little more than a prayer. Her situation was odd and certainly less than ideal but not unheard of. The flight attendants rushed her to the back of the plane and by what many would like to think was a happy accident there were several members of an obstetrics team present aboard that very flight. The delivery was much more difficult than expected for the culmination of what had been by every reckoning a model pregnancy, with nary an over-enthusiastic kick. Whatever creature was inside of her head suddenly gained the claws of the most wicked of fairytale crones, and the weight of a giant every movement brought only piercing agony and precious little relief. Her screams echoed through the craft that was a dedication to mankind’s hubris as her pain intensified so too did an incredibly unforeseen bout of bad weather, the radar which just hours ago prior to takeoff had promised skies wonderful for flying was now proving itself to be a liar. It was as though passing above some insignificant little town in Maine that caused the storm spring up around them. Their vehicle was buffeted from every direction by winds and frost that were unseasonable even for harsh winter in upper North America. Around her people cursed and prayed, screamed and shouted as the pilots fought to deliver their charges to the ground in the same amount of pieces as they left it, rather than in so many more as was becoming increasingly likely. The town against all sense did have its own infinitesimally small airstrip, it wasn’t until many years later that she would begin to understand just how long ago the pieces had been set in play. As they began their harried descent people were struck by falling luggage and other debris that comes when you compress the lives of hundred people into the space of an aircraft and then turn it into a topsy-turvy. Some were killed, she even took a piece of glass to the jaw but any object that got within striking distance of the newborn child swaddled in a washcloth suddenly lost all momentum and dropped to the floor, this sort of power was most definitely beyond her she had no gift for telekinetics but she was simply too alarmed at the gravity of their situation as Earth’s own gravity began to make its power and its displeasure at having been flaunted known to the passengers. Someone with much more than was at her disposal was looking out for her daughter. And so, their airplane limped down from the sky thoroughly chastened by Zeus and his ilk for its trespass into their domain and Moira and her mother crashed into Castle Rock.

Moira and her mother had always been considered oddities by the town. Two outsiders literally cast out of the heavens and dropped into the midst of unwelcoming townsfolk. Her mother had made the best of the situation, for she had tried, made a very valiant attempt to leave this town but the moment that she crossed the boundaries she was wrapped in agony which would not abate until she took a step back into the town, this phenomenon persisted whether she tried by car or on foot and she refused to give air travel another attempt. She was no fool, she knew well that some incredible force was bent on keeping her and her daughter entrapped in this little nothing of a hamlet. She may not have had the gifts that her family had taken for granted but anyone could make rituals work with enough determination, she used her dead husband’s well to secure a small cottage on the outskirts of town for her daughter and set about turning it into a mystic fortress brimming with occult defenses. Oh the villagers looked at her askance when she went asking strange herbs or when rumors, true in this case, swirled about that she desecrated graves looking for bones or danced in the moonlight bared skin flashing as she circled her home and chanted in forgotten tongues. Castle Rock had a history with which is in their neighbor town of Salem’s Lot you see, they knew the signs even if many had forgotten precisely what they meant. When her mother realized she was potentially in the territory of other practitioners her theory became that a powerful coven existed here and they wanted her for as of yet unknown reasons, but the more she doubt the more it seemed that any true coven had long since died out or moved on to more fitting pastures. The occult in community the town consisted of one or two charlatans, and a few like herself with barely an iota of true power between them, capable of little more than the simplest cantrips, certainly not the massive feats of magic required to both down and trap her here. The first night she performed a ritual of crying beseeching a cracked bowl she’d stolen from the motel to connect her with her mother. Her family had always been a nest of vipers they were immune to their own poison but that did not stop the backstabbing that took place as soon as one was no longer able to defend oneself. Her mother made it clear imperious tones bringing out into the forest and stirring the leaves although in truth she was many miles away, that by allowing herself to be brought low and trapped in a backwater with even a lesser one of her families grimoires by unknown parties she had shamed the family and would be forgotten. They would not come to her aid. Cast out of the one coven she had known since birth she went about forming a tighter knit one as its replacement. She had asked the two charlatans out of town and gathered those with inklings of true power to her, she lacked her family’s innate command of the mystic arts, but her deficit had made her a master ritualist. And so she doled out their precious secrets to a few peasants in this town and made herself a new family. With helpers at her disposal she was able to enact more complex magic and had soon carved out a niche for herself and her followers as the area’s sole authority on matters of the arcane. People flocked to see her from all corners of the continent and a few from even further. She didn’t doubt that her mother, the rest of her family and their retainers were trying their best to end her life but as the years went by it occurred to her that whatever was keeping her here was also keeping her alive, the town seemed to repel anything more than passing outside influences and her family feared to enter its boundaries and become trapped themselves, better to let whatever invisible enemy had brought her there finish her off eventually. Their judgment proved correct.

Moira was an unusual soul, daughter of the town witch and perpetually mistrusted. Despite all that she had a sunny demeanor and those that matter couldn’t help but be charmed by her. For as long as she could remember her mother had forced her, even as a barely aware child to partake in odd rituals, from filling purple gossamer bags of strange herbs sends unknown objects and placing them in various spots throughout the house to keeping a bowl of water by the door and flicking a drop against the wood once it was shut to bathing in oils and strange concoctions by the light of the moon. She did all this because as she told Moira “Something was out to get them.” Moira always found it odd that her mother chose to say something as opposed to someone. Moira had always dreamed of being a doctor but her mother forbid her to leave town for any reason and although she could not explain why to herself even after all these years she’d never even thought of disobeying that particular rule. Her few friends in town and her mother concurred that she would’ve made a brilliant doctor but in a town like Castle Rock the closest she could manage was to be a nursing assistant at the local prison. Some days she bemoaned her life stuck in this little town, so small that it did not even merit a dot on most maps of the area. But she would gather up her natural cheer, take her sketchpad and pencil, sit in the park and draw on those days. Since Moira began drawing she’d been a prodigy, but even from earliest childhood when one has no attention span to speak of after she would dally with the subject and that she would return always to her first. A pair of haunting blue-green eyes, a slightly upturned nose, and your whispering pair of lips, cracked and dry, parched even to the drawings one got the impression that no words passed between them for a long time. The drawings of course worried her mother but try as she might she could puzzle out no theories as to their significance, the last time she’d tried describing ritual on the mysterious subject her bowl had been gripped by a powerful kinetic force shattered from the inside out embedding pieces of cheap ceramic into the wall around her and a few into her body as water that had been cool and tranquil moments earlier became scalding and improbably rose up to splash her in the face. It was then she decided that the drawings were out of her power.

Whenever she was outside of her house Moira always felt the faintest buzzing against her skull, the local doctor had considered it a prodromal symptom of a migraine, but the element never progressed beyond an irritating sound. Until the day she disobeyed one of her mother’s rules. She always looked forward to Fridays, it meant that she have the weekend to draw, but more importantly she would get to see Adrian. Adrian she suspected, that been an enigma from the moment he was born. A Scandinavian street rat with far too much charm and intelligence for his own good and somehow grifted his way across the Atlantic and ended up in her life riding a steed of criminal charges for allegedly attempting to traffic young women across the border. Adrian claimed he had been trying to rescue them and the promised jury of his “peers” such as it was appeared to have bought that story, but Adrian could sell water to a drowning man. Even Moira was unsure what the truth of the matter was. Still Adrian was a charmer, and incorrigible flirt and she had fun bantering with him, although when she asked about his plans his thoughts always turned to getting out and making enough money to support his little boy. About a month ago, Adrian had complained of awful whispering noises splitting his skull during the day while Moira was not on shift. She walked into his cell the later at the start of the graveyard shift and found him sitting as though he were a wounded lion whose legs had been caught in a trap, through his quick pained breaths he greeted her in a melodious accent that was related to but unlike Adrian’s own. She saw that his legs were twisted, broken and fractured at various intervals as though someone had taken a chisel up and down the length of bone within his limbs. No one at the prison could explain the origin of his injuries and beyond a cursory visit from the institution’s uncaring physician no one tried to. As long as word did not escape these walls no one cared, Moira had thought about telling but who was there to tell? How did one even begin to do that? She’d never even left this town once in her twenty-something years. He been an able-bodied, athletic young man at lights out, and had awoken as…

“A cripple! I am but a poor humble cripple and I throw myself on your mercy, my dear sweet Moria. How must I abase myself before you to obtain another of these wonderful puddings? I am willing to do quite a lot, to serve…no that’s not quite the right word, oh your language is so silly…Service! I am willing to service you in oh so many ways!” He said in his singsong voice, appearing quite proud of himself for hunting down his lexical quarry. He he had used the provided spoon merely  an implement to tear the thin film of plastic keeping him from his prize, flung it away and for lack of a better descriptor… began preforming cunnilingus on the pudding pouch in his hand, his performance was complete with moans and groans and little contented sighs. All the while never breaking eye contact with her, blue orbs burning into her own filled with indecent proposals. Unwilling to tolerate his antics anymore she snatched the offending pudding cup from his grasp, for the shadow of an instant she could have sworn a terrible look of feral rage had flashed across his countenance but it was gone before Moira could register whether or not it ever truly been there. “I am so terribly sorry dear Moira for my offense, it is just that in my day, we did not have such…culinary delights. He’d slowed to get the word “culinary” out properly but hadn’t stumbled and looked satisfied. In his day, that was the other thing, in the month since Adrian awoken the entire prison wailing about whispering in his cell, according to the doctors he developed a dis-associative identity. The young man that now occupied the cell which officially belonged to Adrian, called himself Ivar Lothbrok. He had been doing his best to convince Moira that he was the spirit of a long dead Viking who had for reasons unknown even to himself woken up in a body that was so similar to his own that it had frightened even him. The prison psychiatrist couldn’t have cared less about the situation in that cell, but to Moira it was quite the engaging mystery.

Today Moira decided to challenge him. “If you really aren’t Adrian, prove it if you’re not him then your innocent of the crimes that got him put in here and you should be angry, you should want out.” The smile that split the face in front of her should have been a warning. “I may be innocent of his petty crime dealing in flesh and weird…potions,” Moira decided to let the odd word choice go to spare his pride. “But I have killed and maimed, and lied,  and stolen, and coveted many times over. You’re correct though, I do want out of the cell but for the moment I’m right where I want to be.” Moira, ever quizzical couldn’t stop herself from asking “Why do you want to be here?” “Because here is where you are.” he said as if he were speaking to the dullest child in all the world. “I will indulge you however, I am not Adrian, Adrian had pure wholesome thoughts about you, he was going to be free, tell you that he wanted you to be his little boy’s mother, beg you to start a family and run away with him to whatever little speck of a town he found someone foolish enough to care for the child while he was here. He’d have trafficked poison and flesh slaves or slaughtered swine for the rest of his days for you. He used to touch himself here in the dark fantasize about reaching through the bars of the cage and touching your skin, used to dream of having pure loving sex with you on a blanket by fjords illuminated only by the stars and the moon, lest he seemed to greedy to want to see you in all your glory. He wanted to fill your cunt with his seed over any over until the two of you made a brother or sister for precious little Patrick. One big happy family.” He spat out the infant’s name like a curse most vile, and treated the world family as though it was unconscionable poison on his tongue. She took a breath intending to halt whatever sick game he was playing, but the moment she drew breath and opened her mouth his eyes blazed with danger. “Keep your tongue behind your teeth if you wish to keep it all wench!” He roared. “You asked for this, now you will listen. I am not Adrian because never in his wildest dreams would he have contemplated the fantasy of using your uniform to tie you down and spitting on your face over and over forcing you to swallow what you could, and what you couldn’t would slide down between those perfect breasts of yours and they would glisten as I played with them, sucked and bit until they were raw, then I would have kept spitting until your cunt was drenched from the inside out, I would have laid siege to it like it was my traitor brother’s last stronghold. Oh, the sounds and squeals I would have pulled from you. I would have lavished you with my tongue and fingers, bit and sucked and twisted and slapped and pulled and made you come over and over again until you understood what it is to be ravished by a god!” He broke off into a fit of chuckling then capped with a wistful sigh. “But alas all that is denied to me, and indeed you, for you belong to someone else, and as sweet as you would be, you are not worth the effort of challenging his claim.” He stated this with such nonchalance that it broke the terrible spell that she had been under and she fled the prison with eyes burning and tears streaming.

Ivar smiled as she fled, finally, finally. he was one step closer to being free of this accursed in-between place, he was getting home to his beloved Eira and their little girl. Or perhaps another sojourn through life with his healer who had the body of a tower. Or maybe he’d meet that lippy little puppy of an entitled young man in Pennsylvania again who secretly craved discipline. Whatever happened he would be home again, nothing would stop him.

In her haste, she entered her home, ran to her bedroom and threw herself down on the bed without observing her mother’s rules. Had she been paying more attention she would’ve noticed that the water in the bowl she was supposed to flick at the door suddenly evaporated and the gossamer bags filled with protective elements suddenly caught flame and turned to ash in moments. It was then that she heard his voice. “Please don’t cry. I’m here now, it’ll be alright.” His tone was nearly plaintive. She didn’t bother setting up she knew that the voice came from no place within her home. “I’ve been waiting…eternities for you Moria,” He whispered inside her skull. “Let me make you feel better.” There was a hand stroking her face. Her eyes shot open and she beheld a figure that was both present and absent, there was wait to him but light seemed to pass through him through him as though he was merely a projection. Even trapped in the in between as he was, he was gorgeous. Her angel. A completely bare towering figure with the chest and leg and back and ass seemingly having been sculpted from the highest quality marble by da Vinci himself, with cheekbones that could reduce adamantine diamonds to dust, with lustrous hair and sinfully plump and pillowy lips. His eyes, so soulful that she believed he had lived a thousand lifetimes, she realized she’d been drawing this face for as long as she could remember. To feel his touch was to experience euphoria. He kissed her and all her senses were expanded beyond human potential, she saw a kaleidoscope of colors behind her eyes, he smelled and tasted of every single enticing thing at once but instead of a riotous discord of scents and flavors, they were balanced in perfect harmony. His voice alone could reduce her bones to jelly in a way that would make Ivar fear she intended to stake a claim to his epithet. He worshiped her with his entire being, fingers and hands and tongue and colossal endowment yes, but in the midst of their lovemaking she was certain that their spirits were melding even more intensely than their bodies. He spat upon her face one and she felt as though she were being anointed in holy oil by a deity. He scored her flesh with his sharp straight teeth the color of shining bone, drew blood, and she was happy to give it. His enormous hand encircled her throat closed her airway and if she hadn’t already been experiencing what she thought might be Nirvana, the oxygen deprivation would’ve taken her there. After fucking her through more than 20 orgasms and claiming all her orifices for his own each first with the gentle fervor of a virginal lover at the end of an idyllic courtship and then with a harsh brutality as though fucking her two within an inch of her life was the only way he could properly express the hatred for her that filled his entire alien being. He finally unburdened himself of his seed deep inside her and sighed contentedly .

When she awoke after their tryst, he was seated in a chair opposite her bed dressed in a suit and other finery looking for all the world like a high-powered professional instead of some cosmic entity to take an interest in her. He then told her of the tragedy of Henry Deaver, how a Titanic battle with his wife over his infidelity with a young woman he had met at a business engagement led to him driving fueled by rage and sadness while rain pounded the car and obscured his vision, he’d crashed into the lake and been thrown into a myriad of alternate realities, “other heres and nows where the dominos fell in different patterns. His stories of lives spent with Charlotte, Oliver, Westly, as a professor, a soldier from West Virginia, a bounty hunter who fought for his life in a dystopia, the life he’d almost lived of a Viking, a philanderer with a beer-based pick-up strategy, a gangster, the searching for true love based on a scientific assessment ,they all brought tears to her eyes. He entreated her with every fiber of his being to free him from his cage and put an end to his cycle of loneliness, to save him and others trapped in this limbo. She swore to do it.

That was the day the matriarch without a clan descended on the prison, her chariot of choice, a limousine flanked by a motorcade of four SUVs each bearing the insignia of an elite private security firm denigrated the world over for unsavory activities, their detractors though couldn’t question their effectiveness. She and the battalion she paid for advanced through the prison like a storm, the guards normally employed were deferential and out of their depth. The only sounds echoing through the prison with a click of her heels and the thuds of the jackboots that accompanied her for she had brought silence to the prison with her mere presence. Moira had heard of her, the interim controller of a ludicrously wealthy and secretive biotech firm following the scandalous disappearance of her son and heir. Allegedly, the young man whom the newspapers referred to as the Brat Prince had somehow veered off the course of normally accepted philandering ways among the ultrarich and powerful and become involved with someone his mother deemed unacceptable. The matriarch had come because the vast network of informants that she plied with riches and sharp promises had imparted to her knowledge of a prisoner found here who almost matched her son’s description. The only thing he had left behind was a wheelchair covered in the blood of its owner, a crippled faggot whom he had dared to take for a lover. He would pay for his insolence, for the damage down to her reputation and company, she would break this mysterious prisoner and learn all that he knew, she swore it. When she reached his unusual cell a young woman in scrubs was fumbling with the keys, her son’s face taken on a different path through destiny than the one she knew stared back at her. He spoke to her in an antiquated dialect of that language from the Balkans she had left behind so many mortal lifetimes ago, she was not that frightened, trusting girl from Wallachia anymore, she nearly charged the cage to make him pay for daring to address her this way, but the meaning of his words stilled her. “Madame Olivia, I believe we can be of help to one another once this insect has served its purpose.” Moria broke the lock.

He nuzzled into her touch aching a contented sound as she ran her hands through his hair, it had been eons since he felt the touch of another, his eyelashes fluttered and tears swam in his eyes, he would allow himself this one indulgence. “Loyal Moria, you have played your part well and in appreciation I give you the greatest of gifts, the fulfillment of your destiny.” When he spoke it was with the voice of 100 different people at once both cacophonous and whisper quiet. She screamed as his lips brushed her forehead, for this feather-light touch broke everything inside of her all at once. She fell as her skin froze and burned all at once, her muscles liquefied and her bones turned to jelly, her ears, nose, and eyes ran with blood, then her eyes began to boil in their sockets fluids running down into her still shrieking mouth as her body contorted it this way and that trying desperately to contend with suffering that was beyond human comprehension.

The last thing she saw before death mercifully claimed her were a pair of unveiled eyes atop bloodless lips, her final sight was one she had been drawing her entire life.

As the wretch finally had the good sense to expire Olivia Godfrey watched as the death seemed to fill out the prisoner’s gaunt and wan features until she could almost confuse him for an older version of her son. He drew in a deep breath, stooped to kiss her hand and issued a request, eyes glittering with dark promise: “Take me to Derry.”

#Bill Skarsgård #fic #roman godfrey #ivar the boneless #henry deaver #Mickey #axel cluney

[sarcastic-space-gal]

The Dancer with Golden Earrings

Summary: At Pavetta’s betrothal feast, Jaskier meets a famous dancer. Little they know, destiny has plans not only for the princess and her knight.

Pairing: Jaskier x Reader;

Word Count: 2k;

Warning: None;

A/N: Here is my first Witcher fic ‘cause I’m obsessed and with Jaskier ‘cause he his my favorite. I’ll probably write a part 2 so stay tuned! I hope you’ll like it and feedback is always appreciated! Love you all xoxo.

Adjusting the fabric of your dress for the umpteenth time you looked again at your reflection in the mirror. The room you stayed in wasn’t quite warm, yet you could feel your palms sweat with nervousness. It was unusual for you to feel tense before a performance, especially because you felt confident most of the time, but that night was different. Completely different.

Being a dancer could be stressful sometimes, mostly because of the expectations put on you: everything had to be perfect, your look, your performance, the audience had to be pleased. Your life was a constant wandering around the cities to find a place where you could perform and where they could also pay you.

Fortunately, you built your reputation quite easily and quickly became one of the most skilled and appreciated dancer around the Continent.

Surely you had worked with important and illustrious people in different cities but you never ended up in a castle. That was until one morning. You could never forget the moment when you received an invitation letter, held in a neat, creamy envelope, sent directly from Cintra. Your name was spelled with a beautiful, sophisticated handwriting, you had never received something like that before. With excitement sparkling in your eyes, you carefully but urgently opened the package and read the content.

Apparently Queen Calanthe’s daughter, Pavetta, was already old enough to tie the knot with some young, and probably inexperienced, prince who would assure a powerful and convenient alliance between the two kingdoms. Nevertheless, that was none of your business. What was really important, and what almost made you gasp in astonishment, was that you were personally requested to perform to Princess Pavetta’s betrothal feast. You felt beyond grateful and honored to say the least.

Few days later, there you were, in Cintra’s palace, ready to perform in front of many noble men and women, and of course, in front of the royal family: that’s something that happens once in a lifetime, hence you forgave yourself for being a little nervous after all.

Taking a look at the mirror again you frowned. Something is missing, you thought, when suddenly you remembered: your earrings. Your old, thick, golden hoops. They were out-dated, a little ruined and probably old-fashioned, but you couldn’t care less: they were gifted to you many years ago, it was a dear memory of your past and you’d never let go of them. They became a sort of lucky charm. Glaring at your nightstand you quickly grabbed them and put them on.

“Let’s do this” you said before exhaling sharply.

“Geraaaalt”

The witcher had lost count of how many times he had rolled his eyes that day, or how many times that bard had called him out.

“What is it now?” he grumbled.

“I think another jealous boyfriend, husband, or whatever, is coming for me” said the bard with a hectic tone, trying to hide behind the witcher.

Unable to suppress a smirk, Geralt turned his head behind his shoulders were Jaskier now stood. “I thought the ‘eunuch’ story was quite fun”

“Maybe for you Geralt!”

The man who quickly marched towards the bard with an inscrutable glare on his face finally reached his destination but it was firstly faced with the witcher, who folded his arms over his chest.

“Excuse me I need to talk to the man behind you” he said, with a surprisingly calm tone. His features seemed pretty relaxed for someone who was going to rant about his unfaithful wife and his lover.

“You are probably mistaken sir, as you probably should already know I had an accident many years ago, I don’t know anything about your wife-”

The witcher chuckled at the man’s puzzled expression.

“Master Jaskier, I was only trying to inform you that if you were ready you could start perform”

Jaskier’s lips curled into an “o”, in both embarrassment and relief “Oh- I- Yes, yes of course” he stuttered while grabbing his lute really quickly, earning another chuckle from Geralt.

Undoubtedly, Jaskier was a highly acclaimed musician: his ballads were famous all around the different kingdoms, in fact, it was hardly surprising that as soon as he reached the center of the room, all the noble drunk guests started cheering, ready to sing their hearts out.

The bard started playing the lute with ease, his fingers gracefully but steadily moved up and down the strings creating a beautiful melody. Then his voice, which was soon accompanied by the guests’ voice and by their feet stomping under the tables, following the rhythm.

When Jaskier performance eventually came to an end, he humbly bowed several times toward the audience, who started applauding cheerfully.

Heading toward Geralt, Jaskier sighed with a proud smile on his face.

“I think they liked it” the witcher said with his baritone voice. He would never admitted but Jaskier noticed an expression of contentment on the witcher’s face.

“Of course they did!” he exclaimed with a bright smile “And you did too, I can see it”

“Shut up, Jaskier”

“Come on, be honest”

“Don’t even start this”

“I can see it in your face Gera-” Jaskier voice stopped when he heard a voice announcing the next performance.

A dancer. And not just any dancer.

“Y/n?” Geralt suddenly asked “Do you know her?”

“I’ve heard her name before, but I never meet her in person.” he responded, his curiosity growing as time went by.

“Oh bard prepare yourself” an old man beside them suddenly spoke, earning both the bard and the witcher’s attention “She is also known as ‘The dancer with golden earrings’. I’ve seen her before, performing and she’s one of a kind.”

Jaskier and Geralt attentively listened to him until their attention was caught by a figure entering the room, followed by a big round of applause.

The dancer firstly bowed respectfully to Queen Calanthe and the other royal family members, before giving a small nod toward the musicians, letting them know she were ready to start.

The feast was pretty noisy for most of the time during the night, voices, drunk shouts and singing would fill the room, whether it was for gossiping or to take advantage of the noise and talk about political stuff. However when the dancer appeared, all voices suddenly quieted and the music slowly started playing.

Initially Jaskier could only see her back, her hair, the voluminous floor-length dress, fabulously tight around her waist, her exposed arms, but couldn’t see her face. Everyone in the room had eyes only for her and when she finally turned around during her performance, Jaskier knew why.

Geralt looked out of the corner of his eye and saw the bard completely captivated by her and he couldn’t hold back a silent chuckle. Jaskier, however, didn’t even notice the witcher’s reaction: he had eyes only for her. Every movement she made was controlled but at the same time soft and elegant, showing impeccable discipline and mastery. The bard watched, almost hypnotized, as she approached the tables and moved around the room following the music’s rhythm. On her face was drawn the brightest smile he had ever seen, the candles’ light reflected on her golden earrings making her shine even more. If it’s even possible, Jaskier thought.

He was far too captivated by the swirl of colors made by her dress while she danced to notice how close she was. The driving rhythm of the drums and instruments made everyone start clapping cheerfully while she moved around. Jaskier’s heart almost came to a stop when she passed in front of him. Your eyes locked on each other’s for an instant.

Reaching the center of the room again, you took the hem of the dress in one hand, exposing a little of your right leg under hundred pleased glances. The music eventually came to an end and as soon as you finished, all the guests in the room and even Queen Calanthe started applauding.

Your heart was pounding in your chest for the excitement: the audience was thrilled by your dance and you couldn’t be happier.

“What did I tell you boys?” the old man beside the bard and the witcher commented snickering.

Jaskier simply nodded slowly, his features relaxed in awe.

Geralt turned his head to him, expecting a comment or a rant from the bard, who instead kept looking at the dancer.

“You are uncharacteristically silent Jaskier, I’m starting to worry” Geralt commented.

“Shut up Geralt” grumbled the bard.

After her performance, the voices of the guests started resonating again around the room along with glass clinking and plates being emptied.

Jaskier and Geralt were bickering again when out of the corner of their eyes they saw you approaching and instantly turned toward you.

“Master Jaskier?” you asked with a bright smile.

“Y-yes, Y/n? Right?” Jaskier stuttered.

You nodded “And your companion?”

“Geralt of Rivia” he introduced himself.

“It’s a pleasure” you smiled and turned your attention to the bard again “I’ve heard many of your ballads before but never had the chance to meet you in person. Your works are incredible”

“You are flattering me, Y/n. Actually I-” he didn’t had the time to finish because you were reluctantly taken away by some noble men who wanted to have a chat with you.

Jaskier watched as you were taken away, sighing sadly “Oh come on!”

“Here have a drink” Geralt handed him a cup full of wine, which the bard gladly took.

If you thought being at Queen Calanthe’s castle to perform was the only unusual thing that night, you were surely mistaken. Firstly, from nowhere appeared Urcheon of Erlenwald, who demanded Pavetta’s hand through the Law of Surprise. Calanthe obviously refused and in an escalation of violence Geralt, the witcher, saved him but what happened next left anyone speechless. Pavetta activated some kind of power, unleashing a maelstrom upon the castle, and now there you were trying to not get hit by some flying pitcher, or worse. The wind storm was strong enough to not let you stand up so you had to cover yourself on a wing and a prayer.

The wind was getting stronger and stronger as you felt debris hitting your skin, when suddenly you felt two hands on your shoulders.

“Follow me” the voice said. You lifted your head up to meet two deep blue eyes looking down at you.

Dodging debris coming from everywhere you noticed the princess and the knight floating mid-air completely clueless about what was happening down.

The man took your hand and placed you behind a large table which was knocked over on the floor. Without the wind in your eyes you could finally see him.

The bard, Jaskier.

The castle began to tremble under your feet, you didn’t know how much it would resist anymore, when suddenly the wind dissipated and the couple who was floating met the ground.

“Geralt!” Jaskier murmured. Geralt and Mousesack stopped her. The bard then turned to you and grabbed one of your shoulders and scanned your face.

“Are you ok?” he asked glaring down at you.

“Yes, I think. Thanks for helping me Jaskier” you said trying to find scratches or little wounds.

“I hope to have earned a minute of your time to introduce myself properly” he smiled.

You laughed “Of course”

Everyone was safe. Princess Pavetta was betrothed to Urcheon of Erlenwald as she wished and Calanthe accepted what destiny had chosen. You spent the rest of the night talking with Jaskier on a balcony, away from the feast. Both of you immediately find yourselves having so much in common, first thing first, music. He talked about his ballads and you described what was the perfect dance to go with them, according to you. You wished dawn would never come, you wished you could stay there again and again, just talking about your passions, and even if you didn’t know, Jaskier wished for the same things.

However the next morning you would have left. Another city, another audience to find. But destiny had another plan for you. Destiny in that case, wore a pastel blue doublet and played the lute.

“So what is your next stop Y/n?”

“I don’t know. I’ll probably head east.�� you said looking right in front of you in the pitch black forest that surrounded the palace, a hint of sadness in your voice.

Jaskier stared at you, unsure to ask the next question.

“Come with us” Come with me, he thought.

You turned your head toward him, surprised by his question.

“You know, it’s said there are monsters that inhabit these parts of the kingdom, so you won’t travel alone”

You kept looking at him with surprise written all over your face. Jaskier thought he had gone to far by now.

“I mean, if it’s what you wan-” he stuttered.

“Jaskier, it would be a pleasure for me” you smiled.

Sighing in relief he reciprocated the smile as his heart started pounding in his chest, and even if he didn’t know, yours did the same.

Part 2

TAG LIST: @alyxkbrl​

#jaskier x reader #the witcher #the witcher imagine #jaskier imagine #jaskier #joey batey #henry cavill #geralt of rivia #dandelion #jaskier reader insert

[heyitsani]

I Keep My Eyes Wide Open All the Time Chapter 2

Word Count: 6507

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major character death (eventually), Mentions of past rape/non-con (eventually)

Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne/Jon Kent (mentioned)

Summary: With the potion to restore his memories, Damian is given the choice. Remember or remain ignorant.

Notes: We are now delving into Damian’s memories that fall in line with the timeline of the previous story!  There are some scenes that will be direct parallels to the other story, but these are Damian’s memories.  And it’s the experiences that mold him into the man he becomes in this particular lifetime.

This was hardly edited, just warning you.  My brain is fried from having to care for my two sick gremlins.  Which is also why it’s so late.  Next chapter still coming Friday!

Hopefully.

If you have not read the other story, this one won’t really make much sense.  So you can read that here: WYMIM

You can also read it on AO3 here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frowning at the cloaks the tailor slipped over his shoulders, Damian wondered why exactly he had to wear all these uncomfortable garments for his uncle’s wedding.  He had been to banquets and fancy parties before, but he had never had to wear all these heavy layers that were stiff and thick. 

“Honestly, Your Highness, they cannot be that unfortunate,” the tailor teased as he adjusted some of the gold edging on the outer cloak.  “Your father made much the same face when he attended his first wedding as the Crowned Prince.  So much of him in you.”  Damian looked at the man through the looking glass and considered him. 

“Stu, these look perfect,” Damian looked up to see his father walking into the room, dressed in his own ceremonial garbs.  “Are they the same design as the ones you made me for my first?”  The king walked over to stand in front of Damian, smiling down at the younger before looking at the tailor.

Stu waved a hand but bowed his head in the expected respectful manner as he continued to work on a piece.  “They are actually your old garments.  Your father brought them to me and said you would like that particular sentimentality.”  Watching his father’s smile turn from friendly to something the five-year-old wasn’t quite sure how to label, Damian frowned.

“He’s not wrong,” his father said softly, looking back to Damian.  “But something tells me that you are enjoying them about as much as I did at your age.”  His father chuckled as he brushed a hand through the raven locks on his head before resting the hand on his shoulder.

“Yes well, he is his father’s son.”  The king laughed but kept his eyes on Damian.  “I am almost finished.  The Queen was quite insistent that I work as quickly as possible.  But these old bones can only move so quickly these days.”  The smile on his father’s face faltered slightly at the mention of his mother but was quickly put back into place.

“She is a particular woman.”

The old tailor simply hummed and continued to work, but Damian kept a close eye on his father.  Though he was only five, he could tell when there were things being unsaid.  Ser Jason had started showing him how to watch people to read more than just what their words told them.  And his father always said much more with his expression and body then he did with his words, he was coming to find.  But that didn’t mean he understood any of it yet.

“Do you understand your role today, son?”  His father turned his full attention back to Damian, and the younger nodded.  His mother had drilled it into her, demanding nothing but perfection in his memory of what he was supposed to do.

Straightening his spine and lifting his chin, he looked up at his father.  “Mother made sure I knew what to do.  She…impressed upon me the importance of my role.”

“Did she?”  His father’s voice sounded odd.  “And what did your mother have to say about the possibility of making a mistake?”

“To not to.”

“Of course she did,” his father said, but Damian just furrowed his brows.  He didn’t understand why his father suddenly looked angry.  Had he done something wrong?  Said something wrong?  The hand that had been resting on his shoulder fell away and his father took a step back, smoothing down the front of his robes while taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly.

“Father?”

His father watched him for a moment before answering, his tone controlled but it didn’t match the look in his eyes.  “Your uncle is glad to have you carry his hand fasting box for him.  He will be happy with your performance no matter what mistakes might be made.  Anyone who tells you differently will have to deal with me.”

“Those sound like fighting words, My King,” an amused voice sounded from the door and Damian’s frown turned to a smile at the sight of Ser Jason leaning against the wall, arms crossed over the rich red of his cloaks.  “Should you be teaching a five-year-old such things?”

“Oh please,” Stu sounded, drawing Damian’s gaze.  “I have been around long enough to know he is this way because of you.”  Ser Jason let out a laugh and Damian could hear his father chuckling, but Damian’s attention was on the man at his feet.  “Now, I believe I am done.  Does it have your approval, Your Majesty?”

“Impeccable as always.  But Stu honestly, when will you just call me Richard?  You’re practically family.”  The older man stood and brushed himself off before looking over at the king.  “Don’t give me that look.  You have never stood upon propriety before.  Least of all with me.”

“Yes well, you have always been your own force.  Perhaps His Highness will feel differently.”

“You mean perhaps he’s being influenced differently than his father.”

“Jason.” 

“Sorry, My King.”  Damian looked between the three men and tried to figure out what exactly they were talking about, but none of it made any sense to him.  He felt like these kinds of conversations happened a lot around him.  About him.  “I did come here with a purpose.  His former Majesty is gathering everyone for the ceremony and requested I collect the two of you.  Appears you finished just in the nick of time, Stu.”

The older man chuckled as he went about packing his tools away.  Damian looked at his father and waited for his approval before he moved.  “You can step down, my son.  Stu, you have done a marvelous job as always.  You will be at the ceremony and banquet, yes?”

“I will.  I will never miss an opportunity to see my hard work being admired.”

“Cheeky old man,” Ser Jason joked as he moved further into the room and over to the king.  Damian noticed Stu didn’t bat an eye at the kiss the two men shared as he gathered his things.  But he also knew his father and Ser Jason only ever did this around certain people.  Never anyone who wasn’t close to the family.  And never his mother.  “We should get you both to the carriages.  I am sure Hood is there waiting for me as well.”

“And Mother?”

He didn’t notice the flinch in his father or the tightened grip on Ser Jason’s waist.  “Yes, I am certain your mother is there waiting for us as well.”  His father stepped away from Ser Jason and picked up an object on the table where Stu had been keeping his tools.  He made his way over to where Damian still stood on the stool, holding up the crown that was specifically for the Heir Apparent and Damian scrunched his nose at it.  He hated the crown, but he knew at certain occasions he was required to wear it.  The royal wedding between his uncle and the Brother of the King of Kent was one of those.

“It’s so heavy,” he muttered, standing still as his father placed it upon his head and adjusted it so it sat properly.

“Just wait until you have to wear the one your father has to wear,” Ser Jason teased, holding out the Sovereign’s crown to his father, who rolled his eyes as he bowed his head so the other man could place it on his head.  Damian could only remember a handful of moments when his father wore anything more than a simple crown.  “But if it doesn’t suite the two of you perfectly.”

Damian watched the two men stare at each other for a moment before he carefully got down from the stool and looked up at them.  “Why do you not have a crown, Ser Jason?  All the high-ranking Knights have them.”

“I am not a knight, Little Prince.  I am my own entity and we do not have to subject ourselves to the frivolity of a crown.”  Ser Jason looked down at Damian and held his hand out for the boy to take, which he did immediately.  “Now, let us away before His former Majesty comes looking for you both.”

“Yes, what a shame it would be to stress Father more than he already has been.  You’d think he was still king and having to make sure all the details were in place,” Damian listened to his father speak as they walked out of the room even though it made little sense to him, his hand still gripped in Ser Jason’s.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I may be a king, but he is my son.  And I will not ignore him for my duties.  I will not have him think I care for others more than I care for my own child.”  Damian frowned as he hid just around the corner from where his father was speaking to a high-ranking member of the Council.  He didn’t need to hear the start of the conversation to know that this was about the appearance he had made earlier when the Council had been in session.  He hadn’t known and wouldn’t have barged in if he had, but once he had come in his father had insisted on hearing what he had come in for.

Like he always did, and Damian never gave much thought to.

“What are you doing, Little Prince?”  Damian flinched when a voice sounded behind him.  Turning, he found Ser Jason standing with a knowing smile on his lips and an amused glint in his eyes.  “We should work on your awareness regarding your surroundings.”

Sighing, the seven-year-old turned his back completely to what he had been watching and looked up at the man who was, for all intents and purposes, a second father to him.  “I made a mistake today,” he admitted, looking down at the ground.  Ser Jason said nothing, and Damian peeked up at the man through his lashes.  The frown that was present confused him.

“Did your father say you made a mistake?”  Damian shook his head and looked back down.  “Did he tell you that you did anything wrong?  Treat you as though you had?”

He thought back to the moment he had rushed into the room and how his father had looked at him.  He hadn’t looked thrilled, but he had looked happy at the very least.  He remembered how he had heard muttering coming from the men and women at the table but how his father had ignored them and let Damian climb into his lap and tell him about the jump he had made on his horse earlier.

“No,” Damian admitted, scuffing his boot on the ground.  “But…”  Glancing over his shoulder, he frowned at the corner that hid his father and the Councilmember.

“But nothing, Little Prince,” Ser Jason said, kneeling to get eyelevel with him.  Damian looked at the older man, still feeling ashamed for upsetting the Council and forcing his father to have to speak up.  “Come with me, I’ll tell you a story.”  Ser Jason stood and held his hand out for Damian to take while they walked.

Hesitating just a moment, with one last backward glance, Damian slipped his smaller hand into the much larger one.  He remained silent as they walked away from where his father had been and toward the kitchens.

“When you were born your father was concerned,” Ser Jason started as they got far enough away from his father, so they would not be overheard.  “Your grandmother, Talia, was not the warmest of mothers.  She was strict and enforced many rules on your father and uncle.  She wanted them to be the very best and she thought that meant not treating them as her children, but as her pupils.  Even though Prince Timothy was just a toddler and your father not much older.  Your grandfather, though kinder and more understanding, took his duty as king very seriously when he was crowned after your father was born.”

Having heard stories about his grandmother from his father, what Ser Jason was telling him made sense.  And he knew his grandfather well enough to know how important duty was to him.  But he didn’t understand what this had to do with what had happened today.  Or why his father had been concerned when he had been born.

“He told me he was worried you would not know just how loved you were.  That you might grow up the way he had because your mother was not going to be…very attentive.  He worried he would be like his own father.”  Damian looked up at the man and stopped walking, furrowing his brows at that revelation.  Ser Jason laughed and gave his hand a tug so they could resume walking.  “That face you’re making just supports what I had told him.  There was no way that your father would do anything other than love you openly.”

Damian considered this information as he was led into the kitchens and then lifted onto one of the stools he and Ser Jason always sat on while indulging in a snack.  He missed the way the cook rolled her eyes as Ser Jason gave her his bright smile.  He didn’t see the other kitchen workers chuckling as the head cook went to get them a snack.  All he could focus on was the fact that his father, the one person he had never doubted cared deeply for him, had worried Damian wouldn’t know love.

“Ser Jason?”  Damian looked over at the man as he took his usual seat.  The man raised a dark brow and waited for Damian to continue.  “Did I get Father in trouble today?”  Ser Jason looked startled for a moment before laughing loudly.  Glancing around, Damian noticed the entire kitchen staff stopped to watch the pair fondly for a moment before going back to their tasks.

“Little Prince,” Ser Jason gasped, still chuckling, “your father gets himself in trouble with the Council all the time, and he will always admit when he is wrong.  But on this?  On this he will never admit any faults.  Because loving you?  Being your father first and foremost?  That is not a fault.”  Relaxing a little onto his stool, Damian sighed.  He was glad to hear his father was not in trouble because of him. 

Smiling at the cook who set a plate in front of them, Damian thanked her before turning that smile onto the man next to him.  He wasn’t at all surprised to find that familiar smile on Ser Jason’s face, the one Damian knew was just for him and his father. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He stood ramrod straight at the top of the stairs, next to his mother who almost looked bored as they waited for the caravan of carriages and horses made their way onto the castle grounds to the main gates.  He remained still because it was expected of it, but he really wanted to move.  He wanted to adjust the cape he wore to keep the chill away.  He wanted to shift the crown on his head, the one he hated so much more than the basic one he was allowed for events that were not quite as formal.

But his Uncle Timothy and the Duke of Kent visiting was apparently a formal affair.  And one he knew his father was looking forward to.

So his mother had made it clear that he was expected to behave as a Wayne would and how an Heir Apparent should.  Which meant he remained still and silent, waiting for the carriage in the middle of the entourage to stop and the two men to step out.  He watched his father rush forward to hug his uncle and then exchange a handshake with his husband.

“Damian, come!”  His father called.  Glancing up at his mother, she gave him a stern and expectant look before nodding.  Only then did he make his way down the steps to greet the visitors.

“Nephew,” his uncle greeted reaching out for a hug and though he knew he would hear about it from his mother later, Damian sunk into the affection.  “You have grown so much!  You will be towering over me and your father in no time.”  Damian smiled up at the man and nodded.  “You remember Kon.”  The other man looked away from the king and gave Damian a smile, which the younger returned easily.  “Surely you also remember King Clark’s son, Jon?”  The young man stood next to Duke Kon, smiling over at Damian as well.

“I do.  Hello, Your Highness,” Damian greeted formally.  The other prince gave a small wave but remained where he stood.  “We have missed you, Uncle.  Father was so pleased to get your letter that you and the Duke would be coming as the representatives for the Kingdom of Metropolis for the Treaty of Justice renewal.”

The older man laughed and settled a hand on Damian’s shoulder.  “So formal for an eight-year-old.  Are you certain you didn’t age ten years since I’ve been gone?”  Ducking his head, Damian felt a blush rise on his cheeks.

“Ah that would be his mother’s doing,” he heard his father comment.  He lifted his head to look at his father but caught the eye of Prince Jon instead.  He had an almost curious look on his face.  “Come, let us go inside and allow the staff to help your men and women unpack and get settled.  Alfred had arranged everything according to the list you sent with your letter.  Has anything changed, Brother?”

“No, all should still be accurate.  Will Father be joining us?”  Damian watched the three older men walk ahead while he waited for Prince Jon to fall into step with him.

“Was it a hard journey, Your Highness?” 

“Please call me Jon,” the boy said with his bright smile.  It made Damian respond with a smile of his own, almost against his will.  But he quickly glanced over where his mother had been standing earlier and thankfully found the spot empty.  If she had gone back inside, then that meant he was free to do as he pleased until dinner.

“You may call me Damian,” he returned the sentiment.  The other prince seemed to brighten even more at the words and it reminded Damian so much of his own father’s disposition.  “Do you need to rest before dinner?  Or perhaps require anything I can get?”

Jon shook his head and looked around the area as they reached the top of the stairs.  “Is the Dragon Slayer around?  Last time we came he promised to show me some of his souvenirs from his adventures.  I would very much like to see that.”

“I believe Ser Jason is training with the knights,” Damian said, glancing toward the training grounds.  He wasn’t usually supposed to interrupt the training regimes, but he supposed Jason wouldn’t be too upset this once.  “Let us go this way.  It is quicker to go around instead of traveling through the castle,” he gestured, leading Jon back down the steps.

The pair walked for a few moments in silence before Jon spoke up.  “How exciting to have a Dragon Slayer in your kingdom!  I have read every tome in our library back home about their history and great victories.  And their heartbreaking defeats.  Ser Todd was so interesting when we were here for the wedding.”  Damian watched Jon talk out of the corner of his eye as he led the other boy toward the training grounds, enraptured with his excitement.  It was almost contagious.

It would have been contagious if he hadn’t had to worry about his mother’s ever watchful eye.

“Ser Jason is a noble man.  The strongest of his line,” Damian agreed as they rounded one of the walls into shortcut that would take them out to the training field.  Jon practically bounced as they walked and Damian felt himself smiling at his antics.  “He promised me a scale one day.  I hope on his next venture he will be successful in retrieving one for me.”

“How brave!  I read the dragons burst into flames when they have been slain.”

Damian nodded.  “They do.  That is why he has not gotten one for me yet.  It is a difficult task and one must be especially quick.  But Ser Jason said he is sure he should be able to get one.”  Jon’s eyes widened and Damian felt his chest swell with pride for knowing Ser Jason well enough to impress him.  “He is my father’s closest confidant, and he tells me of his travels frequently.  I bet he would be happy to tell you of some of them,” Damian offered just as they stepped out onto the edge of the training fields.

With a glance around at the men staggered throughout the fields, working through drills, Damian caught sight of the familiar face.  With a tilt of his head, he gestured for Jon to follow him through the ranks toward Ser Jason.

“Little Prince,” he was greeted as soon as Ser Jason noticed him.  His smile was familiar but shifted to something more formal when his eyes shifted to Jon.  “Prince Jon, how good to see you again.”  He gave the prince a customary bow before glancing between the pair.  “To what do I owe this interruption?”  And though Damian could see the contrite look on Jon’s face, he simply smiled at the man he considered a second father.

“Jon asked after you,” he offered as an explanation.  The Slayer nodded and looked over at the visiting prince.

“I promised you a chance to view some of my trophies,” Ser Jason confirmed, and Jon lit up, bouncing in excitement.  “I do need to finish training, but I promise I will escort you over to the display rooms as soon as we break.”  The older man smiled over at Damian and without saying anything, Damian knew what was being asked of him. 

Turning to Jon, who had not lost the excitement on his face, Damian pointed to a space behind him.  “Let us wait over there, Jon,” he instructed.  “Are you hungry or thirsty?  My grandfather’s manservant always makes sure to provide the soldiers and their spectators with refreshments.”  The other boy bounced over to where Damian directed him and glanced over the options, picking a few small bites before he went back to watching the men and women on the grounds. 

Passing the time chatting about how things had been in the years since they had last seen each other, Damian allowed Jon to ramble on about the state of his country and how they have faired so much better since Damian’s uncle had come to live in their kingdom.  He listened while Jon talked about the lessons his father had started introducing him to, things that would help him in running the kingdom one day and Damian confirmed his own father had been doing much the same.

“Father loves to speak of our friendship,” Jon told him as the two watched the soldiers finish for the day and begin clearing from the field.  “We have many other kingdoms come for treaties or international relations, but he always remains firm that his favorite is with Gotham.  I hope we can continue that once we are crowned.”

“Of course we can,” Damian nodded, serious.  “Our kingdoms have been allies far too long to change that when we rule.”  Damian glanced over at Jon and found the prince watching him closely.  “What is it?”

“I did not mean politically.  Father holds his friendship with your grandfather and father very highly.  I would like to do the same.”

Damian opened his mouth to reply but found he didn’t quite know what to say.  Friendship wasn’t something he had ever really experienced, his mother keeping him separate from anyone his own age outside of visiting royalty.  He knew there were a few kids living in the castle, offspring of servants, but he had never been allowed to interact.  He wasn’t sure he knew how to be a friend.  But he wanted to try.

“I would like that.”  Jon’s smile told him he had said the right thing.  All Damian could do was smile back.

“Now,” Ser Jason interrupted as he walked over, wrapping an arm around each boy.  “I do believe I have some boasting to do.  Shall we?”  He glanced between the two and Damian allowed Jon to answer.

“Yes please!”  The older man chuckled and guided the pair toward the castle entrance that would lead to the hall where the all of the trophies the Dragon Slayers collected were displayed.  “Damian told me you are to try and get him a scale!  How frighteningly fast you must be for…”  Damian let Jon’s chatter fade to background noise as he spotted his mother standing in one of the upper windows, watching the trio with narrowed eyes and an expression he couldn’t quite place.

Whatever it was, it made him want to shrink back and hide from it.  But as they got closer to being almost directly under her, he noticed it wasn’t the three of them she was watching, but Ser Jason alone.

And though he couldn’t place the exact emotion, his instincts screamed danger.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hurrying down the hall, Damian wove in and out of the gathered staff members that had lined up to say goodbye to his uncle, the Duke, and Prince. 

He was late.

His mother had insisted he go back and change into more formal cloaks for the send off and it had thrown off everything.  Especially since his manservant had already left and he had had to figure it out all on his own.  He had gained fresh respect for the man who had been helping him for years now.

“Your Highness!”  A familiar voice called, causing Damian to stop and spin.  “What happened to the cloaks you were already wearing?!  You are all a mess.”  His manservant rushed up to him and immediately started straightening his layers. 

“Mother insisted,” was all he could say in response.  The man tutted and continued to fix him.  Finally, after straightening his crown, the man stepped back and nodded. 

“Now rush along, My Prince.  The family is already waiting.”  Nodding and breathing a quick thank you, Damian continued hurrying along the hallway.  He emerged from the castle to find his mother at the top of the steps, standing regally as always, but the rest of the family down near the waiting carriages. 

Taking a deep breath, Damian slowed his gait and made his way to his mother, saying nothing at her silent assessment before heading down the stairs.

“There you are, Son!”  His father smiled brightly when he caught sight of Damian, waving him over.  “We were just wondering what was keeping you.”  Damian smiled tentatively, glancing back at his mother’s cool gaze before looking back at his father.  He didn’t miss the narrowing of his father’s eyes at the motion of looking at his mother, but it was gone before he could question it.

“I had a mishap with my cloaks,” was all he offered.  Taking the blame was the safest bet.  “But I am glad to not miss the sendoff.  Uncle,” he stepped forward and accepted a hug from his uncle and then the Duke, who had had come to also think of as an uncle over the last few weeks.

His uncle wrapped an arm around his shoulders after the Duke released him and looked down on him.  “We will arrange to have you come stay with us soon, yes?”  Damian nodded, smiling brightly.  “I will write you father about it soon.  You must come in the Spring before the heat settles.  It is the best season out there and there will be much to show you.”

“I look forward to it, Uncle.”

“Me too!”  Prince Jon chimed in as he rushed over from where he had been chatting with Ser Jason by the horses pulling the carriage.  “We will have the best time!”  Damian smiled at the other boy and nodded.  And even though he didn’t want his mother to know he had formed such a good bond with the other prince, he easily accepted the hug from the older boy.  “Don’t forget to write.  We will exchange letters, yes?”

Pulling back, Damian’s smile remained.  “Yes.”  Jon bounced before glancing back at the carriage.

“Well, we must be off,” Uncle Timothy spoke up, moving over to his father’s side.  “Brother, thank you for welcoming me home.  I have missed our time together.  You must come with Damian to visit.”

His father chuckled and wrapped his uncle in a warm hug that Damian knew all too well.  “I shall see if I can get Father to run the country again so that I might come visit.”  Damian watched the pair laugh before parting.  His father gave the Duke a hug before moving to stand with Damian.  “Prince Jon, please send my well wishes to your father and mother.  It was wonderful to have you join us.”

The boy smiled brightly and accepted the offered hug before he waved and bounded toward the carriages, slipping in behind his uncles.  Damian waved with his father when the horses began moving forward as Ser Jason backed away and gave wave of his own.

“Well, My King,” the older man sighed as he stopped next to the king.  When he didn’t say anything more, Damian glanced over at the slayer and noticed the two men looking at each other.  The look on both their faces was familiar, but painful.  Something he couldn’t quite pinpoint the meaning of.  But it was one he had seen plenty of times over the past eight years.

“Yes, My Slayer.”  The two nodded at each other before glancing down at Damian, confusing him further.  “Come, Son.  Let us to be office and I shall show you what happens now that the assembly has away, and we have the treaties to send out.”

Nodding his head, Damian turned and walked with his father, Ser Jason following closely behind them.  He didn’t look to see if his mother was still standing at the top of the stairs because he knew she wouldn’t be.  Not once the sake of appearances was over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room was quiet outside of the scratch of his quill on parchment and the rustling of papers as his mother read through letters sent from her homeland.  He could tell just by the sound of the papers that whatever was written on their surface was not what she had wanted to read.  So rarely did his mother bother to show much in the way of emotion around him, so when she slipped up and let some shine through it always intrigued him.

Glancing at the woman out of the corner of his eye, Damian took in her rigid posture as she got up and paced the room while continuing to read whatever had been written to her.

“Mother?”  He called out when he noticed her crumple up one of the pages in her hand.  His mother stopped walking and turned to look at him, looking like she had forgotten Damian had been in the room with her all this time.  “Is everything okay?”  The woman might not ever really show she cared about him outside of his role in the family, but she was still his mother.

Some part of her had to care, right?

“Have you finished your work for the day?” 

“No, Mother,” he answered truthfully, glancing down at the page in front of him.  Yes, he was nearly done, but it wouldn’t do to lie to her.  “I have two more problems to solve before I am finished.”

“Then you need not concern yourself with me, do you?”  Instead of speaking, Damian simply shook his head and looked back down to his work.  He watched her resume her pacing out of the corner of his eye as he went back to working on the problems, trying not to give himself away.  But this work he could do in his sleep and her reactions were just too curious to not want to know what news she had received. 

A heavy-handed knock came to the door and drew both of their attention.  “His Majesty King Richard,” the guard at the door of the study announced as he pushed open the doors and stepped aside.  Sitting straighter, Damian smiled as his father swept into the room with a smile of his own. 

“Damian, there you are,” his father spoke as he made his way over to the table he had his work spread out on.  “The Council meeting is in a short while and you are to be in attendance today.  Have you finished your work for the day?”  The older man picked up a parchment and glanced over the figures that were worked out on it.  “These are very good.” 

“I am finishing my last right now, Father,” Damian told him, and he watched his father nod before picking up another stack of parchments to look over.

He tried not to react when his mother made her way over and kept his eyes on the final problem.  “I was not made aware he was to be in Council today.  I have his afternoon planned already.”  The tone of her voice made Damian cringe because he knew his father was one of the very few people who she was allowed to speak to however she pleased.  Ser Jason had explained the situation to him a few years ago, but he only really came to understand recently.

“Then you shall have to cancel whatever it is you have prepared.”  His father’s voice gave no room for argument.  At least that would have been true if he had been speaking to anyone other than his mother.

“I will do no such thing!  I am his mother and therefore oversee his schooling.”

Looking up, Damian saw steel in his father’s eyes, and it made him want to cringe.  It was rare to see King Richard mad about anything.  Even when things were really bad, Damian could only count on one hand the number of times he had seen his father truly mad.  Most of those times were directed at someone who had done wrong to another person.

“And I am his father and king, and I will have him join me in Council today.  That is final.  Come, Damian.”  His father set down the parchments he was holding and gestured for Damian to stand.  And though his mother turned angry, accusing eyes on him, Damian did as his father asked.  He stood and smoothed out his clothing before gathering his work and cleaning the space.  “We can deposit these things in your rooms on our way to the meeting.”

“Yes, Father,” he agreed, glancing between his parents who were back to staring at each other with fire in their eyes. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You cannot just storm in whenever it pleases you and demand your way!”  Damian froze in mid-reach of the door to his father’s study, hearing his mother’s angry voice.  “He is my son too!  You have already poisoned him against me and stolen his love from me, giving it to that….to that man!  I will not have you steal his very presence from me too!”

“You are being dramatic, Catalina.  I have stolen nothing.  Your lack of warmth and care has caused him to seek that comfort elsewhere.”  Where his mother sounded angry, his father sounded controlled.  He could practically see them.

If he had to guess, his father was probably seated at his desk and his mother in front of it with her palms resting on the rich oak.  He had known their argument from earlier was far from over, but he hadn’t expected it to be brought back up so quickly.

“Do not presume to tell me how to care for my own child.”

“And do not presume to tell me what I, as his father and king, can and cannot do.  He is my son.  He is the Crowned Prince of Gotham.  His schooling is important, but he is ten years old and has responsibilities he needs to start learning.  I was much younger than him when my own responsibilities began.  And that work you have him doing is a joke.”  There was a pause and Damian heard his mother scoff before the sound of papers being dropped onto the desk sounded.  “He could do these in his sleep.  He is brilliant and you are having him do work below him.  If you cannot be trusted to challenge him then I will have to find someone to take your place.”

Damian’s eyes widened at the threat because he was no fool.  If his mother didn’t handle his schooling, then she had no tether to this family.  She had no role and no purpose to even be there.

“You would threaten my place when you owe me everything?”

“I do not owe you a single thing, Catalina.  In fact, it is you who owes me.  It is you who was headed for the Church of Ra’s.”  Damian shuttered at the statement, knowing the cruelties of his grandmother’s home country and where maidens were forced into forever worship of King Ra’s when they reached a certain age and were unmarried.  A woman facing that would likely be desperate.  “The sooner you realize that the sooner we can all be much happier.  You are nothing to me.  You have always been nothing to me.  Just a contract.  You knew that long before you came to Gotham.  Do not fool yourself into thinking you will ever be anything more.”

The sound of flesh hitting flesh caused him to step back and consider storming into the room.  He knew there was no way his father had hit his mother and he did not like the emotion the thought of his mother hitting his father evoked in him.

“Damian?”  Looking over to see his grandfather standing just down the hallways, he straightened his spine and clenched his fists.  “Is everything all right?” 

With one last glance at the closed door of his father’s study, Damian made his way over to his grandfather.  “I was going to speak with Father regarding the invitation to visit Uncle Timothy but it seems he is in a conversation with Mother.”  His grandfather regarded him closely, looking toward the room that held his parents before resting his blue gaze back on Damian.  “I suppose I can ask him at supper.”

“Yes, I suppose that would be a fine time,” the older man agreed, placing a hand on Damian’s shoulder and guiding him down the hall.  “Your father was telling me of your schooling the other day.  He was quite impressed with how far you have advanced and I think it might be time…”  Damian half listened to his grandfather as they walked, casting one last glance over his shoulder toward his father’s study before they rounded a corner.

#jaydick #past lives au #damian wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #anikah writes

[keatondj]

My Personal Ranking of Lady Gaga’s Discography

The time has come. The day has arrived. I am so excited to finally do this list!

Lady Gaga is one of the most influential, innovative, and incomparable artists of this generation. I think her to be one of the greatest musical artists to ever live. Her impact on pop culture as a whole cannot be ignored, and her talents as a singer/songwriter is limitless.

I remember first seeing her perform on So You Think You Can Dance with that iconic bleach-blonde, sharp-edged wig and those LED glasses with text on them and being absolutely mesmerized. Ever since that performance, I had been a casual fan, but absolute admirer of her music. Around 2016-2017 is when I decided to listen to pop music more regularly, and the first artist I knew I had to add to my library was Gaga. It was then that I listened to all her albums and officially became a Little Monster.

Each one of her albums is so incredibly unique, yet so undeniably Gaga at the same time. With the recent release of her sixth studio album Chromatica, I can now finally give my ranking of her incredible discography. I will only be covering her solo studio albums, so A Star Is Born and Cheek to Cheek will not be included.

A new thing I want to add to each album review is add a superlative that the album possesses to showcase its respective strength in the discography as a whole.

Reminder: this is my opinion. Everyone has a different ear, and certain sounds and songs resonate with different people. I’m just sharing my personal thoughts and experiences with these albums.

6. Joanne (2016)

This feels like pure blasphemy to put this album as the lowest ranking on the list when it is objectively one of Gaga’s strongest and more mature albums. It showcases her versatility as a songwriter to the nth degree, and she is the most vocally ferocious on this album. 

It is incredibly top-heavy for my taste (the first seven songs are absolutely sublime to listen to). It’s unfortunate, but from “Sinner’s Prayer” to the end, the album becomes borderline unlistenable to me. Gaga’s vocal delivery on the last few songs seems over-dramatic and unauthentic, and also technically not up to par with what I know she can do.

I think the big concern about Joanne is the feigned nature that I think I’m listening to. Gaga has always been theatrical and performative with her music, but with Joanne, I don’t seem to buy it as well. It suits a more dance-pop and electronic feel that we know and love her for. Maybe that’s the gay sensibilities in me talking; that’s just how I feel. 

She was far more successful with the A Star Is Born soundtrack in terms of writing for this genre. I applaud Gaga for going out on a limb with this massive genre shift, and it worked well, for the most part.

Favorite Songs: “Diamond Heart” through “Million Reasons”

Superlatives: Most Stripped, Most Diverse

                                           ---------------------------

5. Artpop (2013)

I have very conflicted feelings about this album. At its best, it is exploratory, imaginative, and audacious. At its worst, it’s ostentatious, inaccessible, and clumsy.

It undoubtedly has some of Gaga’s sickest and coolest production to date; she really amped up the electronic feel for this album. She also experimented with several contemporary genres (hip hop, R&B, dubstep, trap, rock, etc.) quite skillfully on various tracks like “MANiCURE”, “Do What U Want”, and “Swine”. However, the production does go overboard sometimes, creating a heavy and clunky sound (”Swine” often becomes very harsh to listen to).

Lyrically, I find that it can be very distant, boastful, and vain. Certain songs like “Donatella” and “Fashion” are very specific to Gaga’s lifestyle and obvious love for high fashion, but it is not relatable to the common listener (or at least not me). The extravagant nature of the songs, and even the album as a whole, is hard to really dive into.

I still love this album a lot, but more like as a guilty pleasure. I see many people regard it to be her underrated masterpiece, and I understand where they are coming from, but find them to be misguided. It’s a strong piece of work, but Gaga just shot for the stars and went a little too far for her own good.

Favorite Songs: “Aura”, “Venus”, “G.U.Y.”, “Sexxx Dreams”, “ARTPOP”, “Applause”

Superlatives: Most Experimental, Most Bold

                                       ---------------------------

4. The Fame (2008) 

It truly pains me to put this album so low because it’s the record that introduced us to the brilliance of her work and it features some of my absolute favorite Gaga tracks on it (”Poker Face” still hits hard even today). I cannot let the nostalgic nature of the album cloud my judgment, though. This only goes to show how incredibly strong her discography is; we are really splitting hairs at this point.

What Gaga did for the music industry back in 2008 is insurmountable and outrageous. She brought back the four-to-the-floor sound to the radio in a campy and edgy way that we had never heard before. She will most likely be the biggest juggernaut of an artist I will ever see in my lifetime; she will define my era of music as a child. This is the era I mainly associate with the iconic nature of Lady Gaga. 

It’s comparatively tame to her other work since she was still testing the waters and figuring herself out as an artist. But by 2008′s standards, terms like “disco stick” and “bluffin with my muffin” were totally out-there and controversial. Songs like “Paparazzi”, “LoveGame” and “Poker Face” pushed the envelope and influenced many artists for years to come.

Besides the lead singles, many of the songs on the album are not too remarkable and probably the closest thing you can classify as “filler tracks”. They’re inconsequential, generic, and uneventful compared to the powerhouse singles. 

While these songs also deal with fame and the opulent lifestyle like the ones I mentioned for ARTPOP, they were written from the perspective of someone who was not yet famous. The whole idea of the album is playing with the universal dream and fantasy of what fame is like. In turn, that make the album so much more relatable, universal, and engaging.

This is one of the greatest debut albums ever produced, and it paved the way for Gaga’s career and artistry. I’m happy to say that it basically gets close to pop perfection from here on out.

Favorite Songs: “Just Dance”, “LoveGame”, “Poker Face”, “The Fame”, “Starstruck”

Superlatives: Most Revolutionary, Most Iconic

                                            ---------------------------

3. Chromatica (2020)

This is the first album of her work that I was eagerly waiting for as a proper Little Monster. I was absolutely ecstatic when the first information about the album was coming out, including the singles. It was the album that I had been waiting for for a long time... and it absolutely delivered. It was everything I needed it to be and more.

Vocally, it is Gaga’s most impressive work to date. Her voice has matured so beautifully over the past 12 years, and she has learned to use her upper register in the D5-F5 range more healthily, powerfully, and consistently than before. There were several moments throughout the album that I was gobsmacked at the force of her voice. 

I will admit it is the most “tame” of all her works in terms of the outlandish and campy nature with which we know her for (just ahead of The Fame). Instead, she writes with more sophistication, finesse, and honesty that has come with more experience. On first listen, it seems rudimentary, but as time goes on, the inner complexities of the album start to reveal themselves.

For being a straight-up dance album through and through, it is brutally honest and personal. There is real pain and heartache that is displayed through much of the album, and Gaga is using music as a means of catharsis to release the pain. It makes the album incredibly relatable and accessible, allowing the listeners to dance through the pain. Released in a time when the whole world was faced with such uncertainty and worry, this album is definitely a great outlet for those looking for comfort.

Being as huge of a fan of artists like Kylie Minogue, Robyn, and Carly Rae Jepsen as I am, this album truly delivers on the dance/dance-pop department. The production is impeccably done and spearheaded by Bloodpop (who I hope is Gaga’s main collaborator from now on). Even the Chromatica interludes are stunningly gorgeous and inform how the next act of the album will go. In my opinion, Act I of the album (Tracks 1-6) is absolute pop perfection; I wouldn’t change a single thing about any of those tracks.

The album may run a little short, and it’s tamer compared to her earlier works, but it is still brilliant nonetheless. With a collaboration with the reigning Princess of Pop, Ariana Grande, you know it has to be amazing. This will absolutely go down as one of the best dance albums ever written. This is Gaga’s return to form, and we have been so blessed.

(Ok, but Chromatica II into 911 is THE serve. She did THAT. Do you know what she did? THAT.)

Favorite Songs: “Chromatica I”, “Alice”, “Stupid Love”, “Rain On Me”, “Free Woman”, “Fun Tonight”, “911″, “1000 Doves”

Superlatives: Most Cohesive, Most Personal

                                       ---------------------------

2. The Fame Monster (2009)

I’m gonna be perfectly honest here: it took the longest time for this album to grow on me. Even longer than ARTPOP. But with time, I was finally able to see just how sleek, crisp, and perfect of an album this really is.

This was Gaga’s expansion to The Fame that she wrote based on her experiences with touring, fame, and the toll that can take on someone. It is a concept album with each song being based on a personal fear of Gaga’s that I am sure were all amplified with the high intensity of being a pop star. 

You can immediately tell the difference between this album and its predecessor. It’s darker, it’s sexier, and it’s candid. Where The Fame was written from a place of imagination and wonder, this was written from a place of truth and fear. The amount of growth that came from just a year on the road is staggering.

It is undeniably her most polished album in terms of production and composition. It took the ambition of sonic perfection that The Fame was going for, and amped it up even more. Each song has its own feel to it, but they all work together so well as an album.

There is one song that makes this album imperfect and keeps it from my number one spot, and the song will make tons of Little Monsters angry: “Speechless”. I just don’t like it, no matter how many times I’ve tried to get into it. It’s written in C major (my least favorite key), it’s overly sentimental and hokey, and it disrupts the flow of pop that keeps the album together. I know it’s an incredibly personal song for her, but it is just mediocre to me; I skip it everytime.

Other than that, I think the album is absolute perfection. “Bad Romance” is one of the most iconic and influential songs in her songbook and even the Great American Songbook, and the non-singles are just as powerful, if not better. This album is the standard to which Gaga is held, and any album in the future will struggle to hold its own against this amazing work. Except one. ;) 

Favorite Songs: “Bad Romance”, “Alejandro”, “Monster”, “Dance In The Dark”, “So Happy I Could Die”

Superlatives: Most Polished, Most Dark

                                         --------------------------- 

1. Born This Way (2011)

Is there really any other option?

It’s the album that debuted at #1 on the Billboard charts. It’s the album with 5 of her most iconic and successful singles (the title song, “Judas”, “The Edge of Glory”, “You And I”, and “Marry The Night”). It’s the album that was unabashedly open about its advocacy, and gave voice to anyone who ever felt cheated by life or counted out. Of course it has to be in the number one spot.

This is Gaga at her freest, her most courageous, her most daring. She went all out in this record, and the results are absolutely remarkable. I am a massive fan of the 80′s in all aspects (especially the music), so the influence of 80′s rock and pop on the album satisfy my sensibilities swimmingly. The ingenuity and artistry which she demonstrates in the composition of this album is just mind-blowing.

“The Edge of Glory” is her best song. Hands down. No question. Bottom line, cut, and dry. The first time I heard it back in 2011 was so impactful to me. I learned just what an impressive singer Gaga is, and how powerful of a songwriter she is. It is one of the most euphoric, devil-may-care, and joyous songs ever written, and one of the most important songs in my life. The fact that it perfectly closes out the thrilling roller-coaster ride of Born This Way is the cherry on top.

It might be a little messier and imprecise than The Fame Monster, but it’s lows never get as low, and its highs are astronomically high. The arc that this album takes me through is astonishing. It is an album about celebrating life, loving others and yourself, and throwing caution to the wind. Who can’t relate to that and find comfort in it?

I could go on for ages about this album, but I’ll keep it simple. This is Gaga’s magnum opus, and one of the best pop records ever created. I am so unbelievably grateful for what it has done for my life, and it will forever be one of my favorite albums ever written. It taught me that I am unequivocally born this way, and that I should strive to be on the edge of glory.

Favorite Songs: The whole tracklist   ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Superlatives: Most Daring, Most Adventurous, Most Creative

                                        ---------------------------

I have been wanting to do this list for so long, and I am thrilled to finally get my thoughts out in a post. Lady Gaga is one of the best and most iconic musicals artists ever, and I am eagerly hopeful for the future of her music. I recently uploaded a reaction video of me listening to Chromatica for the first time if you’d like to watch. I am an absolute dork in it, and completely got my life on the first listen. I’ll include it as a separate post on my page as well. Enjoy!

https://youtu.be/zdEH2RRc3DE

#lady gaga #the fame #the fame monster #born this way #artpop #joanne #chromatica #albums ranked #albums

[jamlally]

Tiny dancer

This was written for the 25 days of Christmas Challenge that is hosted by  @panicfob .  The Day 9 Challenge prompt was Nutcracker Ballet

Warnings: Fluff and hints of a relationship 

Pairing: Tony Stark x OFC (Belle Porter), Natasha Romanoff

Summary:Tony gifts the present of a lifetime to Natasha Romanoff 

Belle rested against Tony’s chest her fingers  smoothing over the scars he still bore on his chest.  This man had so nearly not been around to be a part of her life, and the thought that she couldn’t have know this feeling with him scared her.

So I have a surprise for Natasha - it’s really her Christmas gift, but even with my influence she needs to get it early”

Belle enjoyed heading the rumble of his voice in his chest, and gave a small hum to indicate she was listening 

“So the thing is I need you to be available at 6 to come and help be five it to her  - you can do that right baby”

Belle placed a soft kiss on his chest “Of course”

“Perfect” She could hear the smile In his voice “I know it’s short noice, so I took the liberty of getting something for you to wear”

Belle tilted her head up looking up at his jaw, her hands stopping any movement “Tony/…..”

“ah ah I know.  You don’t like it when I spend money on you, but I want you to be there, and you needed a specific outfit.  I know you could have shopped but then Natasha would likely of wanted to come  and well, then everything would be ruined”

Belle couldn’t help but shake her head before craning up to kiss the underside of Tony’s jaw.  “Just this once Tony.  I don’t want you for your money,  I just love the time  that we spend together”

“Hmm me too Snowflake.  Now…” Tony rolled gently pushing Belle onto her back, as he smiled down at her “We have at least an hour before we need to be anywhere and I intend to spend it seeing if I can make you make those wonderful noises again”. 

Belle giggled as his lips found hers and his hands moved to her breasts.  The giggle turned into a moan and she lost herself in the arms of her lover.

Looking in the mirror Belle dreaded to think just how much Tiny had spent to get the dress she was currently wearing.  The deep metallic blue shimmered gently under the light,  It was perfectly sized, fitted her like a glove, and showed enough of her neck ad cleavage to be sexy but not trashy. She loved the way it swayed as she moved.

“You look even better than I imagined Snowflake”. Tony was dressed in one of his impeccably tailored suits, bowtie still undone around his neck.  Belle smiled back at him

“I really want to tell you how I feel it’s too much and not necessary but I really love the dress”

Tony laughed coming to stand behind her, his hands on her hips and his chin resting gently on her shoulder “You know I would fill a wardrobe with dresses like this for you If that’s what you wanted” he kissed her shoulder “but I know you don’t so le the treat you just once in a while ok” 

“Ok but just once in a while”

“Shall we” Tony stepped back extending his arm and Belle draped her hand over his elbow as they headed out to meet the others. 

Tony had laid on a couple of chauffeur driven limos for the team, complete with drinks and snacks and the spirits were hight as they drove through the city.  Belle mostly enjoyed sitting next to Tony and listening to the others.  The peace she felt surrounded by this group warmed her soul.  

She could feel a slight tension in Tony, it obviously mattered to him that Natasha enjoyed this evening, she knew that he had put a lot of thought into this gift and while he didn’t like to show it, these people meant the world to him.  

The car’s eventually pulled up outside a grand looking theatre that was beautifully lit and the team regrouped. Tony cleared his throat “Look I appreciate you all getting dressed up and coming along tonight, Natasha I wanted to get you something that you would enjoy for Christmas, I mean I know you like knifes and leather and all that, but this year I figured something a little different”

The others all chuckled.  “The NY Ballet company has been putting a special series of performances for Christmas to raise money for local charities.  The performances have been by invitation only and tonight is the last for the season and we have a box waiting in your name,  I also had a discussion with the director and he has agreed that the money raised tonight will go to New Yorkers for Children in your name. 

Natasha stepped forward and hugged Tony in an uncharacteristic show of emotions. Belle watched as Tony gently rubbed his friends back, his eyes looking pretty soft and possibly a little teary when Natasha kissed his cheek in thanks.

Tony ushered them inside and they were quickly escorted up to a private box and Natasha was ushered to the central seat.  

“Have you ever seen the Ballet?” Natasha turned to Belle a smile in place

Belle shook her head “Never.  It’s not something I really know anything about”

Natasha gave a sick laugh “I’m pretty sure that most of these guys haven’t either so don’t worry about it.  I can explain anything that’s happening and answer any questions you might have. 

“That would be wonderful - I didn’t know that you were such a  big fan of ballet.  I hope you don’t mind me saying that it seems an unusual hobby for a spy”

Natasha turned to face Belle a little more her smile a little sad and Belle couldn’t help but reach out and squeeze the other woman’s hand 

“I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to make you sad”. 

“Don’t worry about it.  I’m not really sad, just a little melancholy.  Once upon a time I wanted to been of those women on the stage.  There was something very freeing about moving to the music”

“I’m sorry that you had to give up that dream.  It explains how you move so beautifully when you fight though”

The smile Natasha gave her was a little happier “Well the skills had to be useful for something no ?  And when you think of it most kids don’t get to be what they first dreamed off so it is what it is”. 

The lights dipped and the opening notes rose from the orchestra pit, the curtains opened and the first of the dancers took to the stage.

Belle had been glued to the stage and found that sitting next to Natasha she learnt a lot about the moves the dancers performed and what each act was showing.  She had stood with the others at the end of the performance and clapped and cheered for the dancers.

Tony had disappeared as the dancers appeared for their encore and returned just as everyone was getting ready to head out of the box/

“If you could all sit your assess down there is one more party to tonight.  We just need to wait here for a couple of minutes, I am sure you can find some way to entertain yourselves”

Belle headed over to Tony cuddling into his side as he checked his phone

“And just what else do you have planned for tonight Mr Stark?” She spoke quietly in his ear, watching as he licked his lips a small smirk in place.  

Tony bent down pressings lips up against Belle’s ear “Now you just need to wait and see Little Miss and if you keep brushing against me like that things are going to get ….out of hand pretty quickly”. Warm dry lips smoothed over the tendon n Belles neck before they were followed by the sharp nip of teeth, and the brush of tongue to ease the sling.  

Belle felt her cheeks flush as her knees felt a little wobbly and her breath caught in her chest.  Before she could respond in kind a cough pulled Tony’s attention elsewhere 

“We are ready Mr Stark if you and the rest of the party would like to follow me” they were ushered out of the box, through a door marked for employees only and down sets of stairs which eventually lead to the stage wings.  

“Ms Romanoff” The guide waved Natasha forward “This is Alexandra Ansanelli, she is our current principle ballerina and took the lead in tonight performance”. 

Natasha was delighted to spend time talking with the younger woman and Belle was sure that she had never seen someone touch things as reverently as Natasha did when she saw the costumes.  

Tony leaned down to whisper in Belle’s ear “And now for the grande finale” Belle looked up slightly puzzled and Tony tuned her head back to Natasha as Ms Ansanelli handed the spy a box

A gasp came from Natasha when she opened the box to  find a custom made pair of ballet slippers.  The orchestra are waiting, there is to be one last performance of the Dance of the Sugarplum fairy tonight - if you would”

Natasha looked lost for words as the others moved to find seats.  Tony threw a wink in Natashas direction “See you out there red”

As the lights dipped once more the group fell quiet, the curtains opened and there in the spotlight stood the teams resident red head, dressed in a custom tailored costume.  The orchestra played the first note and Natasha began to move.

As the final note rang out Natasha held the final position and the team stood whooping and clapping.  Belle head tears in her eyes and she squeezed Tony’s arm. 

“You did good Tony.  She looks so happy and you did that.  I’ve got to say I’m not sure how you beat this next year”

Tony laughed, popping her on the butt to  encourage Belle forward and Belle jumped f before shaking her ass at him and then moving to leave the seats.

The mood as they group joined Natasja was jubilant and Belle couldn’t wait to see what else Tony would have planned for their friends. 

#panic's 25 days of christmas #christmas

[easyobsession]

Some Hearts (Just Get Lucky)

This actually happened to me as I played AME Book 2. My female LI (Erin) had been my LI the entire series, and in the last few chapters I’d started liking the male LI (Ty). When the final chapter came and the proposal happened, I realized I couldn’t pick Erin. My heart had changed. This little fic is the result of me needing to dump my feelings about it.

Also, my title in book 1 was America’s Sweetheart and book 2 was Best Damn Thing (I was a Wildcard in my confessionals).

Enjoy!

-

There were plenty of perfectly acceptable locations for life-changing realizations to strike: in the middle of the night, jolting you awake from a deep sleep; as you work diligently over a project or study for a test; in the middle of a performance, on a bus, walking down the street- the possibilities were endless for times in which one could be hit with a sudden realization that would impact multiple lives.

During the live finale of America’s Most Eligible: All Stars! is not one of those acceptable places.

As the analogy goes, it truly does hit her like a truck: swift, sudden, all at once, like she is unexpectedly struck with brand new information.

Ty. It’s Ty. Of course it’s Ty. It’s been Ty all along. He was the first one she met when she stepped in to this crazy world, the first to offer a hand to hold and words of comfort and encouragement. It was Ty who had stood in the wings the past two seasons, giving nothing but unwavering support time and time again as his offers of new adventures and secret hideaways and incredible activities were turned down. When Kenzie had rambled on and on about how great it was to have someone she really wanted to be with, when Erin walked into a room and her eyes lit up, as they held hands and talked of the future, Ty had done nothing but smile gently and nod, content and accepting of the fact that it was not him the former America’s Sweetheart and now Best Damn Thing deemed worthy.

Except lately… things had been different. At first it was innocent, Kenzie began taking him up on his offers to slip away and discuss their lack of taste in art, to dance like nobody else was watching, to explore parts life she’d never entertained, to connect in a way beyond her imagination.

And they talked. So much. Since her first day in the house, she and Ty had never stopped talking. She knew about his family and his passions, his hopes and his dreams and his desire to just be a regular guy again, doing regular things, trying to find someone to love and be loved by just as passionately in return.

It was small things like the looks they always exchanged, almost as if they could read each other’s mind. It was the fact that being partnered up together had turned out to be the real Best Damn Thing that could’ve happened, because it brought her back to him. Squeezing him tight as they flew through the tunnels of Iceland on a snowmobile, a steamy night in the Dream Suite that was supposed to be a one time thing and wound up being something she couldn’t stop thinking about, and refusing to swap partners because, “You deserve to win and I’m proud to be the woman to help you go all the way.”

They’d done it. Just like she said, they’d won the whole thing.

And it just so happened that Kenzie also realized just being his partner wasn’t enough. She wanted everything. Which would have been great…

“So, what d you say? Will you marry me?”

…if she wasn’t on live television being proposed to by someone else.

“Erin…” Part of her wants to say yes just so they don’t have to do this on camera, but Kenzie just can’t bring herself to lie. Despite her revelation, she still cares about Erin a lot, and the other woman deserves the truth.

“Erin,” she starts again, already feeling like the scum of the Earth as she lowers her tone, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“What?” For a moment, the blonde can only stare at her in shock. It is clear this is not the answer she expected, and Kenzie can’t blame her because up until about two minutes ago she herself didn’t see this coming.

“I’m so sorry,” Kenzie repeats, “I can’t. …There’s someone else.”

“Oh,” Erin’s body instantly goes rigid, walls going back up at the speed of light as her face quickly turns neutral. “Okay.”

“Well who is it?”

Kenzie’s eyes finally snap up, the reality of the situation returning as she remembers where exactly they are.

“Don’t we need to wrap this up?” she questions, gaze flashing between the many members of production and back to Carson, “I really don’t want to do this on camera.”

“Actually, we got our timeslot extended for the finale, so we have all the time in the world!” Carson exclaims gleefully, causing Kenzie to let out a sigh and settle her eyes on Jen, who only gives an apologetic shrug and mouths a helpless, ‘I’m sorry’.

“Go on,” Erin’s eyes have lost their spark, Kenzie notices, and the ring box has disappeared, but her pure intentions are clear when she speaks, “Really. Go. You should be happy.”

Kenzie frowns, for a moment truly hating life. Last year she’d joined a reality show to have some fun and experience something new. Never in a million years did she imagine she’d been in this position, ripping someone’s heart out that she truly, deeply cares for on national television.

“For those of you just tuning in, we’re live in Hollywood where Kensington Park and Ty Spencer were just crowned America’s Most Eligible: All Stars! along with a million dollar prize to split between them. We are currently witnessing the shocking betrayal-”

“Shut up Carson!” She doesn’t even break her gaze on Erin when she shouts. If this is going to happen, it’s going to happen her way, which does not include Carson’s shitty commentary along the way.

Giving a final nod of apology and gratitude to Erin, Kenzie slowly turns away, one hand reaching to lift the bottom of her dress as she inches toward her new target while the rest of the cast and crew wait with baited breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees one of the lower-level PA’s escorting the blonde away from the set. As much as she hates it, Kenzie knows the other women needs to be anywhere else right now. Hopefully in time they can mend their friendship, but deep down she knows nothing will ever be the same. But maybe that’s for the best.

Ty truly does look the perfect picture of shock when Kenzie comes to a stop in front of him. Letting out a small sigh, she shrugs.

“It’s you,” she says simply, unsure of anything else in the world to offer except those two words. “I love you, and I’m sorry it took me so long, and I know I’ll have to prove myself and that you can trust me and-”

Now it’s Kenzie’s turn to be shocked when Ty produces a ring box from his jacket pocket. The breath she lost at the mere action is possibly tripled when he pops open the blue velvet lid. Rose gold, cushion outline, a center stone that looks big enough to pitch in the World Series, all completed with a look of absolute adoration by the man lowering himself to one knee.

“I have loved you since the first moment I saw you,” he says, his voice graveled as he stares up at her, “I want to spend the rest of my life standing next to you, building a life with you, and growing old with you.” Kenzie wipes quickly at the tear running down her cheek, surprised to see tears filling Ty’s eyes as well, “Kensington Park, will you marry me?”

After the horrible thing she just did to Erin, Kenzie knows she should be filled with remorse right now. And deep down, she is. But, as awful as it sounds, that remorse is pushed so far down it’s barely tangible. Because right now all she can think of is Ty. Her Ty.

She lets out a small giggle, unable to keep herself from grinning.

“Yes,” she murmurs, nodding frantically when his eyes grow to the size of saucers, repeating her answer, “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.” She says again, ready to shout it from the rooftops if possible. “I’ll marry you.”

The kiss they share next makes her see stars.

Her Ty. Her fiancé Ty.

He slips the ring onto her finger and Kenzie takes a moment to get a good look up close at the piece of jewelry.

Her fiancé with impeccable taste Ty.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” she murmurs, happily settling into his embrace and resting her forehead against his own, ignoring the rest of the cast and crew to enjoy a moment solely to themselves.

“All that matters is that you’re here now.” Ty says quietly, his lips dropping soft kisses against her own between words. “And that we get to spend the rest of our lives together.”

Kenzie can’t help but grin.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, thinking of all the adventures in their lifetime to come. “I’m not going anywhere.”  

fin.

#america's most eligible #ame #playchoices #choices: stories you play #americas most eligible #sh ame fic #lo writes things #answered

[almostafantasia]

Lancelot (5/14)

Lexa Woods, an impeccably dressed British secret agent for the covert Kingsman organisation, whose latest mission sees her sneaking through the corridors of the White House in the middle of the night, finds herself having to seduce the daughter of the newly elected President of the United States in a bid to save the world. It’s a surprise to Lexa when she ends up falling for her target as fast as she does, meanwhile Clarke doesn’t expect her gorgeous date for an international political gala dinner to drag her into a world of thrill and danger where one wrong move could cause a global disaster.

a clexa kingsman au | chapter 5/14 read on ao3

“A lesbian bar?” Lexa asks incredulously. “You brought me to a lesbian bar?”

As Lexa peers around the bar, with its grungy lighting and soft background music, her immediate thought is that she should have picked a gayer outfit. A lot of the women in the room are dressed in flannels or shirts or v-neck tees, and Lexa feels a mournful pang for the shirts back in her hotel room. The outfit she’s wearing is nice - a sheer, sleeveless top paired with dark skinny jeans - and her winged eyeliner game is on point, but she dressed for a generic night out. Had she known that Anya had a lesbian bar in mind, Lexa would definitely have dressed a little differently, and she is left feeling like she doesn’t quite look gay enough to have earned herself entry to this bar.

Which is ridiculous, Lexa is fully aware. She knows that there’s no such thing as “looking gay”, and her wardrobe back in England holds everything from dresses to tuxedos, from sweatpants to a three-piece tweed suit, but Lexa finds that the way she dresses affects her mindset. When she wears a crisp shirt and a tailored suit, the perfect knot of a tie sitting neatly at her collar, she’s Agent Lancelot, ready to think quickly on her feet to save the world; when she wears jeans and a casual tee, she’s just regular Lexa doing her supermarket shopping or reading a book or hanging out with her thirteen year-old brother on the weekends, a normal twenty-two year old living a normal life. It’s only a little thing, but it works mentally, it helps distinguish the different parts of Lexa’s life.

And it seeps into other things too, enough that Lexa feels out of place right now, like she’s dressed up for the wrong night out.

It’s a good job that she has no intention of pulling tonight. Lexa feels a little bit too off-balance to even consider bringing out her charm and using it on any of the girls in this bar tonight.

Noting Lexa’s surprise, Anya asks, “Would you rather I took you someplace where we’ll get hit on by gross college boys all night?”

Lexa thinks back to her previous experiences of entitled straight men and grimaces when she imagines what they might be like on this side of the Atlantic, where infant boys are weaned off their mothers’ breast milk onto a diet of misogyny and toxic masculinity before they can even say their own names, to an even greater extent than Lexa is used to back at home.

Conceding that perhaps Anya’s idea to come to this particular bar may not have been a terrible one after all, Lexa says, “No.”

“Good,” grins Anya. She wraps a playful arm around Lexa’s shoulders, forcing Lexa’s body to lean into her side as they walk up to the bar, then asks cheekily, “Buy me a drink?”

“Really?”

“Yes, because I’m a better agent than you.”

Lexa tries to find within her the strength to dispute Anya’s point, but following her abysmal performance in the White House two nights ago, she really doesn’t think that she can put together much of an argument.

“For once, I don’t think I can disagree,” admits Lexa, too tired to be bothered by any gloating that Anya might do.

They reach the bar and Lexa orders drinks for both of them, while Anya starts scanning the room. Lexa knows exactly what Anya is doing, searching for a potential bedfellow for the night, but she refuses to join in. Lexa doesn’t want to become a cliche, a tourist in a strange city looking for a one night stand to quell a hunger for adrenaline.

“Okay, the hottest girl in the room is definitely the one over there,” says Anya, nodding to the corner of the bar furthest from the door. “Dibs.”

“You’re welcome to her,” shrugs Lexa, quickly thanking the bartender, before picking up both glasses and passing Anya’s drink over to her. “I’ve got no interest in having a meaningless one night stand just because we leave the country in the morning.”

Beside her, Anya has fallen oddly silent, still staring out in the direction of the girl she’s eyeing up. Lexa rolls her eyes, slightly frustrated by the fact that Anya has dragged her out of the hotel, only to take interest in somebody else straight away, and she finds herself hoping that Anya can get a move on so that Lexa can retire to her hotel room once more, earlier than planned.

Anya laughs breathily, almost in disbelief, then says, “Lex, you might want to revisit that plan. Look who is sitting next to Hottie.”

Lexa follows Anya’s gaze, quickly locating the girl that her best friend has got her eye on. She’s easy to spot, exactly Anya’s type - dark hair and dangerous eyes and a trace of a smirk tugging at her lips. She sits at a table with three others, and though two have their backs to Lexa, there is no mistaking the third. Lexa doesn’t think she could forget that face in a million lifetimes.

Clarke Griffin is here.

The very same Clarke Griffin that Lexa made an idiot of herself in front of two nights ago.

The very same Clarke Griffin who watched her get tasered and dragged out of the White House in handcuffs by several members of the Secret Service.

The very same Clarke Griffin that is so incredibly beautiful that Lexa literally forgot how to function as a human being in her presence the last time they were in the same room.

“What the fuck?” Lexa exhales in disbelief.

“I knew that going out tonight would be a good idea,” grins Anya.

“Did you know she was going to be here?” asks Lexa, because it’s not completely out of the realm of the possibility that Anya spent the time Lexa was in a cell to track Clarke’s movements specifically so that Lexa is forced to confront the girl she made such a terrible first impression on.

“Of course not,” says Anya, shaking her head. “I think the universe is sticking its middle finger up at you, and I’m one hundred percent here for it.”

Lexa takes a long sip from her drink, then lets out a groan as she says, “I can’t believe she’s here. In a lesbian bar!”

“Well, she is bi,” says Anya.

Lexa hates how fast her head snaps up at this revelation, hates how it betrays her thoughts and hates the knowing smile that Anya gives her in response.

“How do you know that?” asks Lexa, trying to keep her voice as casual as possible even though her mind is running a marathon as she thinks of all the possibilities now that Clarke is here and apparently interested in women.

“Because she came out in a magazine interview last year during Abby Griffin’s campaign,” explains Anya. “I’m pretty sure I sent you a link to the article when it was published.”

“You know I don’t pay attention to celebrity gossip,” shrugs Lexa.

“So are you going to say hi to her?” asks Anya

“How can I?” groans Lexa. She uses the fingers on the hand not holding her drink to count as she continues, “One, she thinks I’m in jail, and two, she thinks I’m a fucking moron!”

“Then she already has low expectations and it can only go up?” suggests Anya. “I’m going over there with or without you, are you coming?” Anya pauses for Lexa’s response, and when she doesn’t get one, continues persuasively, “I’ll put in a good word for you. The very best for my very best friend.”

“Fuck it,” concedes Lexa, downing the rest of her drink for courage and waving at the bartender to get her another. Turning back to Anya, Lexa says, “Though I won’t let you forget you said that. Last week you said I was - and I quote - tolerable.”

“Tolerable as a best friend,” says Anya, with a grin. “Because nobody else is good enough.”

With a fresh drink in her hand, Lexa follows Anya across the room to the table where Clarke and her three friends sit. Lexa tries not to let herself panic too much, deciding that throwing herself into the situation without thought is probably the best option. That particular tactic usually works pretty well in the field - jumping out of a plane, for example, is something that Lexa finds much easier to do if she doesn’t give herself the time to remember that a fault with the parachute could result in her crumpled body hitting the earth from ten thousand feet - and Lexa hopes that it works with pretty girls too. Specifically, that it will work with Clarke.

“Do you ladies mind if we join you?” asks Anya, turning her charm dual up to the maximum as soon as they reach the table.

All four pairs of eyes snap up, focused on Anya at first, but they drift to Lexa soon after. Lexa tries to look anywhere but at Clarke, feeling her eyes watch her with burning intensity long after the other three return their attention to Anya. Instead, Lexa looks at the girl closest to them, the one that Anya has got her eye on, who pushes out the empty chair closest to her and gestures for Anya to sit in it.

“Be my guest,” says the girl, a small smile on her face as she appraises Anya with curiosity. “Is that a British accent I hear?”

“It is,” nods Anya, taking her seat, “and before you ask, yes I have met the Queen.”

Anya quickly launches into a true anecdote that seems to capture the girl’s attention, carefully omitting the part where she foiled an attempt on Prince William’s life.

While Anya makes herself at home immediately, Lexa is left standing beside the table like she’s a little bit in the way. She dares to spare a glance in Clarke’s direction, only to find steely blue eyes staring at her with the kind of intensity that could bore a hole straight through Lexa’s skull. Clarke’s expression contains mixed recognition and confusion, and Lexa feels herself getting very self-conscious the longer she stands there.

Luck, as ever, is working against Lexa, and the only spare seat at the table is the one to Clarke’s immediate right. The only thing working in Lexa’s favour is that the empty seat is as far away from Anya as possible, as she is grateful that Anya is probably going to miss a lot of Lexa’s future embarrassment in front of Clarke.

Clarke, understandably, has some questions.

“Aren’t you…?”

“Later?” Lexa asks, her tone pleading, not wanting to get into the gritty details so soon, especially while the two friends of Clarke that aren’t being charmed by Anya are watching Lexa with intrigue. “I promise I’ll explain.”

Clarke hesitates for a long moment, then nods.

“Okay,” she says, conceding even though there’s a sharp look in her eye that promises Lexa she won’t forget that she wants an explanation. “Well, this is Monroe and their girlfriend Harper. Talking to your friend is Raven. And, well, you know who I am.”

Lexa greets Clarke’s friends with a smile and polite nods of her head.

“I’m Lexa. It’s nice to meet all of you.”

“So what brings you to America?” asks the girl that Clarke introduced as Harper.

“Just work,” answers Lexa, keeping her answer as vague as possible, though she can feel Clarke’s watchful eyes burning into the side of her head once more. “We fly back in the morning so Anya thought it would be a good idea to enjoy our final night in D.C.”

“Oh, what do you do?” asks Harper.

Lexa feels Clarke fall still beside her, as if waiting to hear how Lexa will choose to answer that question, and Lexa wonders how much of her altered truth Clarke has managed to find out.

“Nothing exciting,” Lexa answers vaguely as possible. “I don’t want to bore you with the details. Tell me, how do you all know each other?”

Lexa’s deflection works, or perhaps Clarke picks up on the fact that Lexa is deliberately avoiding talking about her work and jumps in to save her, because Clarke is quick to offer up an answer.

“The three of us went to high school together and Raven is a college friend of mine,” she tells Lexa. “Harper and Monroe live here in D.C. and Raven is staying with me for a week or so during spring break. We thought it would be nice to go out and here we don’t have to deal with gross men hitting on us.”

Lexa nods understandingly, and says, “That was Anya’s reason for choosing here too.”

Clarke pauses for a few seconds, watchful eyes not leaving Lexa’s face once, before she replies in a voice that is a little lower than before, “Well I’m glad that she did.”

It’s almost intangible, but Lexa feels a spark crackle between them, and it causes the breath to hitch in her throat.

Lexa’s mouth is dry as she replies, “So am I.”

Lexa thinks that she can see the corner of Clarke’s mouth twitch as if going to smile, but then it’s gone, perhaps just a product of Lexa’s wishful imagination.

Though there is a seed of doubt in Lexa’s mind, wondering whether the chemistry between them is something she’s made up in her mind, it must be evident enough for the others around the table to notice it, because Monroe asks, “You and Anya aren’t dating then?”

Beside Lexa, Clarke glances across to where Raven is laughing at something that Anya has said, one of her hands resting on Anya’s forearm, then looks back at Monroe as she answers for Lexa, “I doubt Anya would be hitting on Raven quite so blatantly if she was dating Lexa. Unless that’s what you’re into?”

Clarke arches a questioning eyebrow in Lexa’s direction.

Lexa shakes her head, because although there was a girl in Bali that proposed a threesome with them both when they visited, Anya is too close of a friend for Lexa to even consider seeing her in that kind of way. Besides, while the jury is still out on Anya, Lexa is definitely the monogamous type.

“Nope, definitely not dating,” says Lexa, wincing at the thought. “Anya is more of an annoying older sister.

“Anybody else special in your life?”

Clarke reaches for her drink as she asks the question, and Lexa has to fight back a smile, experienced enough at reading other people’s body language to know that Clarke is trying to pass her question off as casual curiosity, which probably means that she’s actually got a personal interest in Lexa’s answer. Which probably means that…

Lexa shakes herself out of her thoughts, trying not to get ahead of herself. If there’s anybody with a personal interest in the other, it’s definitely Lexa, and she tries not to let her attraction for Clarke project unrealistic scenarios onto her imagination.

“No,” answers Lexa, now doing her own best attempt at trying to remain casually unaffected by the conversation. “What about yourself?”

“Nobody,” answers Clarke. “Still waiting for the right person to come along.”

Lexa nods and tries to act unaffected by this new piece of information, though she files it away in her mind as she tries not to get too caught up in hope that maybe the right person is her. Instead, Lexa turns her attention to Harper and Monroe.

“So how long have you two been dating?”

Harper and Monroe bid them farewell after they finish their drinks, claiming that they have an early start to visit Harper’s parents the next morning. Raven and Anya are absorbed in a conversation of their own at the other end of the table, and they soon disappear to the bar for another drink, where they stay, finally leaving Lexa alone with Clarke.

With some newfound privacy, Clarke wastes no time in questioning Lexa about the other night.

“So I heard a rumour that you’re MI6,” she says, raising an eyebrow as she regards Lexa with curiosity.

Lexa hesitates before she answers, wondering whether she should go along with the lie or construct an entirely new one for Clarke’s benefit. But there are still twelve hours until her flight out of the country, twelve hours in which Clarke could easily contact somebody very important and let them know that the intruder from the other night is not who she claims to be. It’s easier to go along with a lie that has a few forged documents to support it.

“Well, yes,” nods Lexa.

“Are you going to tell me what you were doing inside the White House?” Clarke asks.

Her eyes are full of intrigue, her really gorgeous eyes, and Lexa has to remind herself that confessing all her secrets to a new acquaintance who happens to be the daughter of a powerful world leader would probably not be her cleverest idea.

Instead, Lexa leans back in her seat, looks Clarke in the eyes and then, using a line that Lexa is pretty certain she picked up from a movie, deadpans, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Clarke’s reaction is worth it. Her face cracks open into a smile and a bubble of laughter leaves her throat, and though Lexa’s words were intended to be aloof and mysterious in a way that she hoped might charm Clarke, Lexa is the one that is left feeling disarmed.

“I bet you use that line on all the girls,” says Clarke.

“Only the pretty ones,” Lexa quips back.

“And does it work?”

Lexa feels her entire body relaxing because this, this is how you flirt with pretty girls, not whatever bumbling mess she made of herself the other day. She reaches for her a drink, taking a sip and savouring the moment as Clarke watches her and waits for Lexa’s answer, then glances up at Clarke with a trace of a smile on her lips.

“I don’t know, does it?”

Why, oh why can’t Anya be here now to witness her charm Clarke with carefully chosen lines?

Clarke looks away shyly, picking up her own drink as a way of giving herself something to do. And with Clarke caught off-guard, and her own confidence spiking, Lexa presses on with the apology she’s been so desperate to give ever since she saw Clarke across the bar and realised she might have a chance to redeem herself after their first meeting.

“Clarke, I really must apologise for how I came across the other night,” says Lexa. “I promise you, that’s not normal behaviour for me. Obviously I had a lot going on and then you showed up and took me completely by surprise.”

Clarke looks back up at Lexa, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, and she says, “Normally when girls fall for me, it’s not because they’ve been tasered.”

Lexa’s cheeks flush pink, though she thinks that Clarke’s teasing is flirtatious rather than actually mocking Lexa.

“Hardly my finest moment,” admits Lexa.

“I know there’s probably a lot you can’t tell me, but I’m curious about one thing,” says Clarke. She leans a little closer, then asks, “How do you get into being a secret agent?”

Lexa relaxes somewhat, because she doesn’t need to construct elaborate lies to answer this question. She can just be herself and tell the truth, and hope that Clarke likes the real Lexa.

“I joined the army straight out of school at eighteen,” answers Lexa. “Well, I tried to. I shattered my kneecap during basic training and had to drop out.”

Lexa grimaces at the memory. One moment she had been pushing herself to complete the obstacle course in the best possible time, and the next, one of her fellow trainees’ hands, slick with the rainwater that pounded down relentlessly over the training compound, slipped through her own while helping her up a sheer wall and she was falling from the high obstacle. The only thing that Lexa can remember from that point with any degree of clarity is the sickening pain, and she feels a twinge of pain in her knee as she recalls the horrendous agony.

“I had surgery on my knee and lots of physiotherapy,” Lexa continues to tell the story, while Clarke listens and watches with concern on her face. “I was just thinking about starting training again when a friend recommended me for a vacancy in intelligence. I went for it and I got it and now here I am.”

“Wow,” says Clarke, appearing impressed. “That all sounds way more exciting than my life.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” says Lexa. “Your mum is the first female President of the United States!”

“Mum,” grins Clarke, mocking Lexa’s accent.

Rolling her eyes and pretending to be offended, though she secretly thinks that Clarke’s playful teasing is the best thing to happen to her all year, Lexa asks, “Did you ever think that your life would end up like this?”

The smile slides off Clarke’s face, replaced by a thoughtful frown. She pauses for a few seconds before she answers.

“In a way, no,” Clarke tells Lexa honestly. “Obviously she’s always been in politics, but this is completely different. But also, it feels like this was always supposed to happen. I have a really vivid memory from my childhood - I must have been, like, six - and I got mad at my mom because she wouldn’t let me play outside after dinner. My dad pulled me aside and said, ‘Clarke, you have to listen to your mom. She’s going to be the President one day.’ And I think I believed him.”

“And now here you are,” concludes Lexa. “She’s the President.”

“She is,” nods Clarke, smiling proudly. “I’m so proud of her, proud of everything that she’s achieved and everything that she wants to do in the future. She’s been President for two months and she’s already leading that new global climate change initiative. There’s so much more that she wants to change. She’s the most amazing woman and the best mom I could ask for. But I do miss my old life sometimes.”

“That’s completely understandable,” says Lexa.

“God, you must think I’m such an ungrateful shit,” groans Clarke. “Complaining about being the President’s daughter when there are millions of people around the world who face real struggles every day. I’m so grateful for my life and everything in it. I mean, if my mom wasn’t President, there’s no way I’d be having a drink with a mysterious spy!”

“Mysterious?” smirks Lexa.

“You broke into my house and I have no idea wh-” Clarke trails off mid-word and Lexa thinks she can see everything click into place in Clarke’s mind and the understanding wash over Clarke’s face. “It’s to do with those other problems with the security, isn’t it?”

Lexa can’t help but smile to herself. As much as she feels as though revealing the exact details of her top secret mission to the very person whose untimely interruption the other night led to its catastrophic failure, Lexa is impressed with Clarke’s intuition and intelligence.

“Not just a pretty face,” teases Lexa.

“So,” says Clarke, her face burrowing into a frown of deep concentration, as she asks, “were you the one responsible for the others or were you trying to stop them from happening?”

“Trying to get an idea of what was behind them so we could stop them from happening again,” answers Lexa. “Unfortunately, somebody showed up before I could actually do any investigating.”

Clarke grimaces and mumbles an apology, before she tentatively asks, “You’re not going to get fired, are you?”

“No. Just demoted to the really menial missions where there are no beautiful girls to distract me.”

Clarke blushes and replies, “I knew you were secretly a charmer. Nobody looks that good in a shirt and tie without being a smooth operator.”

Once again, Lexa feels a pang of sadness for the more dapper side of her wardrobe that she left behind in the hotel room. Knowing that Clarke is into that kind of look only makes Lexa more frustrated with herself that she chose not to dress up a little more for her night out.

Lexa is also worried about Clarke’s words. Though she thinks she’s doing a pretty good job of letting Clarke see the real her, she wants to make sure that Clarke knows that it’s just Lexa’s job that is extraordinary, not her.

“I don’t make a habit of this,” Lexa tries to explain to Clarke. “I don’t want you to think that I’m this international super spy who travels the world and beds a different woman in each city.”

“So I’m special?” asks Clarke, a hint of a teasing smile crossing her lips.

Lexa relaxes a little, then answers breathily, “You have no idea.”

Lexa is like a glass of ice cold water in the middle of a desert, like the sun on Clarke’s face on the first day of spring after a cold winter. Clarke has met a lot of people in her twenty years of life, and particularly in the last few months as her position in the public eye has grown, Clarke has met a lot of people who decide to try their luck at getting it on with the President’s daughter. But there’s something unique about Lexa, a burst of something refreshing, that makes her stand out from the crowds of mediocre frat boys that usually approach her in bars.

Perhaps it’s the fact that she comes across as so quintessentially British. Clarke doesn’t know if Lexa is a typical example of her people, having not met a Brit in the flesh before, but Lexa has a delicate politeness interspersed with delightful charm that has Clarke warming to her immediately.

Of course, that’s ignoring the obvious magnetism of Lexa’s job. Clarke can hardly believe that she’s sharing a drink with an actual secret agent, her very own female James Bond, and the few anecdotes that Lexa shares from her career are so shrouded in combined excitement and intrigue that Clarke can’t help the way that she drinks up every single word, wanting to hear more.

Clarke realises very quickly that she’s attracted to Lexa, but who wouldn’t be? Lexa is gorgeous, a face that is two-thirds cheekbones and the rest lovely lips with a slight natural pout to them. Clarke has been attracted to Lexa since their first meeting, despite the awkward blunders from Lexa, though Clarke realises now that their initial encounter only endears her to Lexa more, knowing that even an international super spy is a flawed human. Clarke is slightly sad that Lexa isn’t wearing a shirt and tie again, having always had a little bit of a weakness for ladies in suits, but the top that Lexa wears tonight shows off toned biceps that cause Clarke’s mouth to dry out every time she ends up looking at them.

Like now.

“You’re staring,” says Lexa, her words snapping Clarke sharply out of her drooling trance. “Have I got something…?”

Lexa glances down at herself, searching for whatever imperfection she thinks might have caught Clarke’s eye, and Clarke is quick to correct her.

“No! There’s nothing.” After two and a half drinks, Clarke feels bold enough to add, “You have very nice arms, that’s all.”

“Oh,” responds Lexa, eyebrows raised in apparent surprise at Clarke’s compliment. “Thanks.”

Seeing Lexa a little bit flustered has Clarke momentarily regretting her decision to voice the truth. But arms have always been a weakness of Clarke’s, on both men and women. There’s just something about seeing a pair of strong arms and the implication of what those arms could do to her in the right situation, and all the moisture leaves Clarke’s mouth and moves south as she tries not to picture Lexa’s body above her own, one arm pinning Clarke’s hands above her head while the other does wicked things between her legs.

Clarke hasn’t had enough to drink to process thoughts like that.

Arms are Clarke’s weakness but so are tattoos, which Lexa also has. There’s an intricate, almost tribal-style tattoo curling around Lexa’s right bicep, and Clarke likes it very much.

“What does this mean?” asks Clarke, reaching out to trace her fingertips across Lexa’s tattoo.

Clarke doesn’t miss the way that Lexa shivers slightly at her touch and she watches a ripple of goosebumps erupt across Lexa’s forearm. The bar is warm, almost too warm now that it’s getting busier, and Clarke knows that Lexa can’t be cold. The realisation that Lexa is reacting that way to her brings a smile of satisfaction to Clarke’s lips.

“It doesn’t really mean anything,” answers Lexa. “I got it when I was eighteen. I was about to join the army and I was worried about being surrounded by men twice my size so I got it because I liked the design and I thought it might make me look tougher than I felt.” Lexa pauses, and then adds, “I know this is stupid, but I also hoped that getting a tattoo would make me look gayer.”

Clarke laughs at Lexa’s reasoning, though she understands completely. She’s been guilty of adjusting her own appearance depending on whether she wants to be considered attractive by men or women, though nothing ever as extreme or as permanent as getting a tattoo.

“I like it,” she tells Lexa, brushing her fingers over the tattoo one final time before she lets her hand drop back into her own lap. “Have you got any others?”

“You’ll have to wait and find out, won’t you?” replies Lexa.

The elusive response is laced with flirtation and Clarke can’t help but hope that Lexa is implying that there might be a continuation of this conversation later, only with much fewer clothes. The thought is enough to render Clarke dazed and speechless.

When Clarke makes no immediate reply, Lexa seems to interpret her silence as something that it isn’t and starts apologising.

“I’m sorry, I don’t actually talk to girls very often,” admits Lexa. “Well, I do, but never like this.”

“Like what?” asks Clarke.

Lexa hesitates and frowns, as if trying to find the right words to explain what she means, and then starts talking.

“I’m not a stranger to talking to girls as part of a mission,” she tells Clarke. “Sometimes I get given a mark, I flirt with her a bit, tell her everything that she wants to hear, and get information out of her.” Lexa pauses momentarily again, chuckling softly under her breath, then continues amusedly, “You’d be surprised how easily some people will tell you exactly what you want to know after you tell them their hair is pretty and give them a couple of orgasms.”

Clarke’s cheeks flush at the thought of Lexa giving girls orgasms, and it takes a few seconds for her to realise that the girl she’s picturing in her head is her, with her fingers fisted through Lexa’s brown hair and her back arched off a bed as Lexa’s mouth works its magic between her legs and oh wow, this got inappropriate fast.

Clarke reaches for her drink and takes a long sip to cool herself down, hoping that the lighting in the bar is dim enough that Lexa won’t notice the pink tinge to her cheeks.

“But that’s work,” continues Lexa, apparently oblivious to the truly debauched direction of Clarke’s current thoughts. “I can do all that with my eyes closed because there’s no attachment there. It’s just another mission. A routine, a certain state of mind.”

“Okay, ladykiller,” teases Clarke.

Lexa shoots Clarke a look, something almost like a glare but ten times more devastating and with a hint of ‘done with your shit’ to it. If Clarke wasn’t attracted to Lexa before, then she definitely would be now, with the slightly aloof stare that Lexa gives her that is equal parts arousing and intimidating - exactly what Clarke likes in a girl.

Lexa finally relaxes, though Clarke doesn’t think she will be able to follow suit, and continues talking.

“I never really let myself talk to girls for me, you know?” says Lexa, and Clarke nods to show that she understands. “So when I do, I’m sort of completely out of my depth. You’re here, and I like that, and I like you, but internally I’m panicking because I don’t know how this is supposed to go.”

There’s something endearingly attractive about Lexa’s honesty. And even though their lives are completely different, Clarke’s so regimented by the security measures in place and her desire to stay out of the public eye while Lexa’s life is full of thrills and uncertainty, Clarke thinks that this might be an area where their lives share a similarity. Because Clarke never really allows herself the luxury of getting close to other people too. Since coming into the spotlight in the last year or so, Clarke’s sexual encounters have been sparse and only with people that she implicitly trusts to remain discrete, while the possibility of romance has been so distant it might as well be on another planet.

Something about being here with Lexa, about flirting with Lexa, just feels right. Clarke can only hope that trusting her intuition won’t become something she regrets.

“I’d say you’ve done pretty well so far,” says Clarke flirtatiously.

With the slight buzz from the alcohol, it’s easy to speak her mind, a sentiment that seems to be echoed by Lexa.

“You’re incredibly beautiful,” confesses Lexa.

Clarke realises that Lexa is watching her, green eyes full of an intensity that Clarke thinks she recognises as desire. Lexa’s gaze drops to Clarke’s lips, and Clarke smiles in triumph.

“See?” says Clarke, exhaling softly as she turns slightly in her seat so that she’s facing Lexa properly, rather than just sitting side by side. “This isn’t so hard, is it?”

Lexa shakes her head and starts to lean in, her eyes going cross-eyed as she tries to keep watching Clarke’s lips. Clarke lets her own eyes drift closed, tilting her head slightly to the side in anticipation of their lips meeting. She feels Lexa’s breath hit her face, still warm, and knows they they must be an immeasurably small amount of time away from actually kissing.

And then Clarke’s phone goes off.

“For fuck’s sake,” groans Clarke.

She can’t believe that they were so close to kissing. Their lips must have been only a hair’s breadth apart. If only they had spent less time flirting in the lead up to the kiss and more time just getting the fuck on with it.

“It’s fine,” says Lexa, who looks disappointed about the interruption but still leans back to put enough distance between them to clear Clarke’s head. “It might be important.”

It’s not important. A text from Raven lights up the screen of Clarke’s phone and she unlocks her phone to read it, her heart still aching with disappointment.

Raven Reyes Left with hottie. Don’t wait up.

“Your friend has made quite the impression on Raven,” says Clarke as she taps out her reply - a thumbs up followed by a series of lewd emojis. “They’ve gone.”

“Anya has never been one to mess around,” shrugs Lexa. “If there’s something she wants, she’ll make sure that she gets it. I think that them leaving together was inevitable from the moment…”

“Lexa, I don’t want to talk about Anya and Raven,” says Clarke, switching her phone off to avoid any further interruptions and placing it face down on the table.

“No?” asks Lexa, her breath hitching in her throat.

Clarke shakes her head and just goes for it, reaching up with one hand to cup Lexa’s face and using it as an anchor to draw Lexa’s mouth to hers, even as she leans in herself.

Lexa lets out a little grunt of surprise as their lips collide, then relaxes, one of her own hands coming up to tangle into Clarke’s hair. Clarke coaxes Lexa’s lips, softer than she could ever have imagined them to be, open with her own and swipes her tongue into Lexa’s mouth, while her fingertips traced a gentle path along the sharp plane of Lexa’s jaw.

Kissing Lexa is unlike anything Clarke’s has experienced before, and certainly seems like it is realms away from the other slightly tipsy kisses she’s shared with strangers. There’s a certain familiarity to kissing Lexa that feels as though Clarke has done this a thousand times before, yet the thrill of a first kiss is still there.

And a really good first kiss it is too. Clarke has experienced her fair share of first kisses before, and the thing that most of them share is awkwardness. Noses that bump together as they get used to new angles, teeth that are a little too sharp and tongues that are too invasive - all things that Clarke has come to expect from kissing somebody for the first time.

But this feels as though Lexa has read and memorized a manual entitled How to Give a Great First Kiss. Because that’s exactly what this is. It’s by no means a perfect kiss, but as first kisses go, Clarke finds it hard to imagine how it could be improved. It’s just the right amount of tentative, Lexa’s lips are curiously explorative, and her hand in Clarke’s hair keeps Clarke anchored to reality when she feels so giddy that she could soar away and leave the entire world behind.

Even though Clarke was the one to initiate the kiss, she feels as though she has relinquished all control. Clarke is glad she’s sitting down because her entire body feels as though it has gone slack beneath Lexa’s lips. Lexa must have magical kissing powers, because Clarke doesn’t want to stop doing this ever.

And maybe Clarke can’t do this forever, because she will eventually need to do things like eat and shower, and she has responsibilities like college and showing her face at the right times to support her mom’s political career, but fuck if she isn’t going to try to keep doing this for the foreseeable future. Which is why Clarke lets her free hand drop to Lexa’s thigh, running her fingers in light circles across the rough denim of Lexa’s pants. She gradually pushes the patterns she draws higher and higher up Lexa’s thigh, not with the intention of actually touching Lexa there, because even though this is what she wants, even Clarke has a boundary of what she’s willing to do in public with a virtual stranger. But she pushes her hand high enough to just give Lexa a hint about where Clarke would be very happy to take things tonight.

Unfortunately, it has the opposite effect, because Lexa pulls back from the kiss and rests her hand over Clarke’s, stopping its movements.

“Clarke, we shouldn’t…” gasps Lexa, letting her forehead drop against Clarke’s, her eyes still close as if she’s trying to will herself not to succumb.

“I know,” agrees Clarke. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Lexa lifts her forehead off Clarke’s and puts a bit of space between them, staring down into her own lap as if trying to avoid looking at Clarke’s directly in the eye.

“No, I meant that we shouldn’t … you know,” says Lexa, letting Clarke fill in the end of the sentence. “I fly back to England in the morning.”

Clarke’s heart feels heavy with disappointment as she tries to wrap it up in a layer of humor.

“And you’re worried that after one night with you, I’ll be hopelessly in love with you and heartbroken when you leave,” teases Clarke. “I’m a big girl, Lexa. I can manage my own feelings.”

“Actually, I was thinking of how early the flight is and the fact that I still need to pack. But you’re right. We’re never going to see each other again. It’s probably for the best that we leave it at a kiss.”

Clarke can’t help but find herself wondering how many times Lexa has bedded a woman for one night in a foreign city, only to never see her again. At least a few, Clarke decides, if not countless times. The thought brings an unwelcome sting to Clarke’s eyes as she wonders what is different about her compared to all those other women for Lexa not to want to sleep with her, and she quickly blinks away the tears before they can even start to glisten in her eyes.

“That’s probably sensible,” Clarke says, her words agreeing with Lexa even though her mind is screaming the opposite.

“I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you though,” adds Lexa, reaching out with one hand to lace it through Clarke’s fingers.

Clarke has a horrible feeling that Lexa is trying to let her down gently, but she squeezes the fingers back anyway and tries to keep her emotions in check.

“Yeah, same.”

Lexa tilts her wrist, glancing down at the chunky - and probably very expensive - gold watch that she wears.

“It’s late,” she tells Clarke. “I’ve had a wonderful evening but I really do need to go back to my hotel. Are you going to be okay getting back on your own? I can call you an Uber if you like. I’ll even go with you on the way back to…”

“No, it’s fine,” says Clarke, shaking her head conclusively. “There’s a car waiting a couple of blocks away to take me back to the White House.”

“Good,” nods Lexa. Her gaze drops to Clarke’s lips, like she’s about to lean in for another kiss, but then she looks away, getting to her feet and saying, “Can I walk you to your car?”

Clarke masks her disappointment with a smile, standing up and picking up her jacket from where it hangs over the back of her chair. Clarke slips her arms into the sleeves, knocks back the rest of her drink in a single gulp, then nods to let Lexa know that she’s ready to leave.

The walk to the car is a silent one. Clarke wants to reach for Lexa’s hand, or to loop her arm through Lexa’s, perhaps under the guise of being a little unsteady on heels after a few drinks, but she chickens out at the last minute and they end up walking side by side without saying a word until they reach the vehicle.

“Well, here we are,” says Clarke, filling the awkward silence with unnecessary words.

Full of chivalry, Lexa reaches for the back door and opens it up, holding it open like a chauffeur so that Clarke can get into the back seat. Right when Clarke thinks that Lexa is going to close the car door and leave without saying even goodbye, never to see each other again, Lexa speaks up.

“Can we swap numbers?” she asks Clarke, taking her own phone out of the pocket of her jeans and tapping on the screen a couple of times, before holding it out to Clarke with a new contact open, ready for Clarke to input her details. “If you’re ever in London, I’d love to show you around.”

“Sure,” nods Clarke, accepting the phone and typing her number. “And if you’re ever back here…”

“I’ll give you a call,” promises Lexa.

Clarke can’t help but wonder how much truth there is to that promise, whether she will ever visit London or if Lexa will ever return to D.C., how quickly Lexa will forget about the few hours spent in Clarke’s company that will probably become an inconsequential dot in a life that is a constant whirlwind of adventure.

Lexa takes her phone back from Clarke and presses the green call button, and Clarke’s own phone starts to ring in her pocket, giving her Lexa’s number to add to her contacts later.

“I guess this is goodbye,” says Lexa, as she tucks her phone back into her pocket and takes a step back, her hand still resting on the open car door. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

It’s all a little too formal, like they didn’t spend the night flirting and then end up kissing. It’s like a business transaction, not a goodbye to a person whose tongue was in Clarke’s mouth not even ten minutes ago.

But that’s how it ends, Clarke’s brief encounter with a gorgeous British spy. The car door slams shut and the engine rumbles to life as the driver pulls away from the side of the road. Clarke lets her head drop against the window, trying her best to ignore the fact that Raven is somewhere in the city getting it on with a hot woman of her own, while she has been sent home without so much as a parting kiss.

It’s going to be a long and lonely night.

#clexa #clexa fanfic #clexa fic #clarke griffin #commander lexa #kingsman au

[im-fairly-whitty]

Whatever It Takes: Coco Villain Au

[Part 1: Trapped] [Part 2: Broken] [Part 3: Determined] 

Part 4: Suspicion 

“Socorro just called, she says her flight landed safely.”

Enrique looked up from where he’d been pretending to read a book in the living room. He absently rubbed at his chest as his wife walked in, pocketing her phone.

“She says she’s meeting up with the rest of her band at their hotel once she gets her drum equipment off-loaded.” Luisa said, coming up behind his chair and stroking his shoulders. She rubbed the side of his neck as he sighed and tipped his head. “Are you feeling sore again?”

“Sí, I don’t know why,” Enrique said, grimacing. He closed his eyes and leaning into Louisa’s touch as she worked at the knots in his shoulders. He coughed, rubbing his eyes as an unexpected wave of nausea washed over him. “I don’t think I slept badly on it. I think I might be coming down with something.”

Enrique straightened in his chair in an effort to dispel the tight pain in his chest, trying to take a deep breath even as his chest seemed to constrict. It couldn’t be allergies, he’s never had allergies that caused shortness of breath like this.

“It’s all the traveling stress from the Miguel Foundation speaking you’ve been doing this month.” Luisa said, her voice sounding worried from behind him. “You really should see a doctor, mi vida, you’re only fifty-one, you shouldn’t be having these kinds of pains.”

“No, no, I’m perfectly healthy.” Enrique said, forcing himself to stand. “I don’t need to waste time on a doctor. I just need to lie down for a bit, I’ll be fine.”

He swayed as he got to his feet, then stumbled back as his vision momentarily blacked out.

“Queque, what’s wrong, are you all right?” Luisa said. He felt her grab him from behind, supporting him as he tried to stay upright.

“I’m-”

Enrique gasped as a sharp pain stabbed through his chest. He doubled over, dropping painfully to his knees. He clutched at his chest as the blinding pain blacked out his vision again and he collapsed onto his side.

“Enrique!” He distantly heard Luisa scream.

The pain in his chest took over every bit of him, growing and sweeping across his body, eating away at his mind until there was nothing left.

Nothing left but darkness.

***

Waking up was slow, so slow.

For a long time Enrique was dimly aware of sounds around him, but without his brain caring to listen. It could have been minutes or years before he drifted to true awareness, before his brain registered his existence again, clicking his sense of self back into place.

He was Enrique Rivera. He was in bed. He had just woken up.

Enrique took a deep breath, his mind feeling sluggish as he turned onto his side and let his eyes slowly drift open, squinting tiredy against the light in the room. He must have slept in if that much sun was coming through the windows.

He grimaced as he propped himself up on his elbow, his whole chest ached terribly for some reason. Maybe he really should see a doctor sometime, like Luisa kept saying he should.

Speaking of Luisa...where...?

He stared at the empty space in the bed beside him, seeing many things that seemed wrong, but having to wait for his brain to tell him why as it processed at a maddenly slow rate.

Not only was Luisa not there, but this was a twin-sized bed. He had never seen it before. He looked up and blinked hard as he took in the foreign room around him, all pastel yellows and greens, sparsely decorated in hospital style.

“Mijo, you’re awake.”

Enrique’s mind was picking up speed now, taking things in faster as he turned to look towards the familiar voice, not believing what he was hearing. He hadn’t heard that voice in over fifteen years.

“M-Mamá Coco?” He asked weakly his words sticking in his throat and a cold feeling flushing over him.

“Welcome home Quique, it’s so good to see you again.” Mamá Coco said, leaning forward in her wicker chair and gently taking his hand. “We didn’t think you would be coming so soon, but it’s good to see you.”

“I, you’re...” Enrique’s head spun and the awful pain in his chest flared, sending him collapsing back onto his pillow with a strangled whimper.

He stared at his abuelita as she calmly watched him. Her hair was done up in her usual two long braids and her sweater shawl was just like the one she’d always worn in her last years.

But her face. Her hands. She...

He caught sight of his own hand as he looked down to where she was still gently holding it, and jolted.

Bone.

Gleaming, white, dry, and very, very,

“Dead.” Enrique said, his breathing rough and weak as he closed his eyes tightly against the staggering realization. “I’m dead, I died.”

He remembered now. The chest pain, his collapse, Luisa’s scream.

Luisa.

“I have to go back.” Enrique said, pushing himself upright and trying to throw off the covers, “I have to get to Luisa, I have to-”

“Enrique, you’re going to hurt yourself.” Mamá Coco chided, catching his shoulder as he swayed dangerously halfway off the bed, forcing him to sit as a dizzying rush swept through his head at his sudden movement. “You just died mi hijo, you’ve only been recovering for a few hours, you’ll need to rest a bit more than that before you go charging off.”

“I can’t, I can’t be dead,” Enrique gasped, grimacing against the pain in his chest, his, his...

He looked down and felt another wave of nausea. His ribcage?  

He put a hand to his forehead and cringed at the awful sensation of bone scraping bone, an unpleasant shiver running down his spine.

His spine?

He grit his teeth and forced himself not to look again to see his own spine. Too much, it was too much all at once. He was going to lose it if he did too much all at once.

Luisa had been right, she was always right, why hadn’t he listened? A heart attack? That was so, so preventable.

“Is there any way to go back?’ He asked, forcing himself not to scream, to try and make his voice sound as normal as possible. “I need to go home, Luisa is going to be devastated, I can’t leave her like this. Could this be a near-death experience? Can I get back somehow?”

“It hurts to be separated from those we love,” Mamá Coco said patiently. “but I’m afraid you’ll have to be patient with the rest of us. Don’t worry, Luisa will come eventually, everyone always does.”

Enrique shook his head, grimacing. No, no, no, no. Luisa had to stay alive, she had to stay for Socorro, for their three grandchildren. She needed to stay away from death for as long as possible, she didn't deserve this too.

But how could he survive without her?

What was left of Enrique’s body ached, and what was left of his heart hurt even more badly. Enrique didn’t know if the dead could cry, but his breathing was beginning to catch and gasp as if he were about to try his hardest. He hadn’t felt this emotionally gutted since-

He gasped, standing up fast enough to make Mamá Coco frown, but he didn’t care about the dizziness this time.

“Miguel?” He said urgently, the decades old question spilling out of him. “Is he here? Is he dead? Did he really die?”

“Sí.” Mamá Coco said quietly, watching him closely.

Sí.

Miguel was dead.

They’d all known it, after twenty years without even a hint they’d all known deep down that he must be dead, but finally hearing it felt was a heaviest bittersweet pain he’d ever experienced.

“How old?” Enrique asked hoarsely, needed and dreading the answer.

Not a single birthday had gone unoted over the last twenty years, Miguel was thirty-three years old. Should have been thirty-three years old.

“Enrique,” Mamá Coco sighed, reaching down to pick up a photo album off the floor. “You’re going to see a lot of unsettling and different things today. I need you to promise that you will do your best to adjust and accept that many things are different in the land of the dead. Can you promise me that?”

“When did Miguel die?”

“Enrique.”

“Sí, lo siento Mamá Coco, I promise. But please, my son, Miguel, can I see him? What really happened to him?”  

Mamá Coco lifted the heavy photo album onto the bed and flipped open the cover. “You’ll meet everyone tonight, including Miguel. We live together at your Papá Héctor and Mamá Imelda’s mansion, I’ll be taking you there as soon as you’re feeling able to walk. The arrival agents say you should be ready to leave this afternoon.”

Enrique tried to bite his lip to stifle his frustration, only to shudder at finding no lip to bite. It was fine, he could play be her rules, he could wait just a minute longer.

“The family is all coming together to celebrate your arrival and you’ll need to know who everyone is, so pay attention. You know about Papá Héctor and Mamá Imelda of course.” Mamá Coco said, pointing to the first photo in the album.

It was a large and familiar sepia photograph he’d seen in family albums a million times growing up. Mamá Coco was a little girl on Mamá Imelda’s knee as she stared down the camera, and Papá Héctor smiling gently as he held his old performing guitar to the side. It was a picture from the years before Papá Héctor had become famous.

“That was them in life, and this is them now.” Mamá Coco said, her bony finger tracing to the opposite page. “They care for the family.”

She tapped a newer looking photo of two impeccably dressed skeletons, posing for the camera with an ease that came from a lifetime of fame and papárazzi. Mamá Imelda looked just as determined but more confident, and Papá Héctor’s smile was a little sharper, probably from constant use, but just as warm as ever.

“Your Papá Héctor has been caring for Miguel ever since he died, they are both very close.” Mamá Coco looked up at him. “Quique, when children die young they’re often adopted by a surrogate family member here until their real parents arrive. Sometimes it’s a simple hand-off, but sometimes it’s more complicated than that. Miguel has been very close with Papá for a very very long time, you need to be aware that your arrival is going to be a sensitive issue. I need you to be patient over the next few weeks as things are figured out and keep a cool head, alright?”

“He’s a child?” Enrique asked hoarsely, his brain seizing on only that detail, “He died when he was young?”

“Miguel disappeared because a curse transported him here.” Mamá Coco said gently, “He didn’t make it back in the narrow window he had before he died. Miguel died the same night he disappeared twenty years ago.”

The same night.

Enrique had known, suspected, feared deep down all along that the truth was something like this, but that hadn’t stopped him from idly imagining what Miguel must look like as the years passed. Miguel hitting his growth spurt, his voice deepening, growing facial hair, his shoulders broadening. Looking just like him perhaps, or maybe even like Luisa’s father.  

But he’d been wrong. Miguel had never changed from the picture they put on his memorial all those years ago.

“I need to see him.” Enrique said, fatigue beginning to creep into his mind, “Please, I need to see my boy.”

“You’ll see him tonight.” Mamá Coco promised as she turned the page and pointed to the next picture. “This is little Miguelito now.”

Enrique pulled the album towards him, looking at the picture.

“Oh Miguel.” Enrique said, not waiting for permission as he slipped the photo out of its sleeve so he could look closer. “Miguel what happened to you.”

Papá Héctor looking as confident as ever, but now with an arm lovingly wrapped around a small child skeleton shyly leaning against his jacket as he looked at the camera. Their facial markings were so similar, and the boy had a small navy blue mark just above his mouth where Miguel’s mole had been in life.

Miguel had never been shy like that in life, but maybe the picture had been taken shortly after his death, when he was still recovering. At least it looked like Papá Héctor had taken good care of him. At least Miguel had been able to rely on loving family when Enrique couldn’t be there for him. Enrique would have to thank Papá Héctor for looking after his boy.

“Miguel is much different than you remember him Quique, he’s been through a lot, he’s much quieter now.” Mamá Coco said. She turned the page again. “These are my siblings, you’re great-Tias and Tíos, pay attention for a moment.”

Enrique tried, he really did try to focus as Mamá Coco toured him through the rest of the family. He made it through her siblings; Mateo (the director of the Rivera Foundation, someone he’d known in life), Leti (Mateo’s twin that had died young of cancer), and Héctor Junior (a stiff businessman Enrique had known of but never met).

And the youngest of the siblings, someone named Rodrigo, someone whose picture Mamá Coco sighed tiredly over, shaking her head. “Your Tio Rodrigo is...very spirited. He died when he was twenty-six and doesn’t get along with most of the family. You won’t see much of him in the afterlife I’m afraid. If you do, just let him be. He can be a trouble maker, just ignore him and you’ll be fine.”

After Rodrigo came endless pages of primos, Mamá Coco turning page after page after page, all the skeletal faces and half familiar names blurring together. The dull ache in Enrique’s chest seemed to be fading, but that may have just been his imagination, he had to fight to keep his eyes open against the tiredness that was pulling at him.

He kept looking at the picture in his hand, at Miguel, wondering what their reunion later that night would be like. If only Luisa were here with them.

Well, no. If only he and Miguel could somehow go back to Luisa, to Socorro. If only their family could be brought back together in one place, without death.

“Normally we would ride home in a private car,” Mamá Coco said, finally reaching the end of the photo album and closing it. “But as soon as you’re feeling up to it I thought I’d take you on the sky trolley and show you a bit of the city while we travel. Rest a little while longer, we’ll leave out in a couple hours to get you ready to meet everyone, alright mijo?”

“And then I’ll see Miguel.” Enrique said, grateful to be allowed to lay back down on his pillow, already feeling himself slipping away as he still held Miguel’s photo.

“Remember Quique, things are going to be different.” Mamá Coco said.

For some reason she looked mildly concerned as Enrique closed his eyes, but he was already asleep before he could wonder why.

***

“Well anyway, it was so good to finally meet you, welcome home.” Leti said, giving Enrique a hug.

Enrique smiled as he returned to hug, forcing himself not to cringe at the unsettling clacking of bones under their clothing. Hugging his teenage great-tia had been only the latest in what had already been a long evening of handshakes, shoulder slaps, spirited stories, and of course skeletal hugs.

He hadn’t realized just how much family he had, let alone how well known the Riveras would be in the Land of the Dead. On the sky trolley ride over Mamá Coco had pointed out “Plaza Rivera,” among other landmarks dedicated to Héctor and his posterity. And that was after explaining that he’d woken up in the “Rivera wing” of the hospital.

Arriving at the massive Rivera mansion had nearly been overwhelming, it easily outshown even the large estates the Riveras has in the land of the living, which was saying something. It had been surprisingly pleasant to meet everyone waiting inside, connecting with dozens of enthusiastic family members, most of whom somehow seemed to be very familiar with his life even if he usually knew little of them.

At first it had been easy to stay busy meeting and talking with family, but now that Enrique had made the rounds of dozens of people that he had forgotten names of already everyone else seemed content to catch up with each other, leaving him drifting now that Tia Leti walked off to join another group.

Enrique glanced around the ballroom yet again, looking for any sign of Miguel. When Mamá Coco had turned him loose to mix and mingle she’d warned him Papá Héctor and Miguel were at a pre-scheduled charity event and would be coming late.

“Enrique,” someone (a...second-cousin?) said, tapping him on the shoulder and pointing across the crowd. “Papá Héctor’s here.”

An electric jolt shot through Enrique and he craned his neck to see over the crowd, zeroing in on the brim of a white and gold sombrero on the other side of the room. He didn’t even think to say thank you before he started pushing and weaving his way towards his target. Enrique ran as quickly as he could, causing others to jump out of his way.

Miguel was here. Here in the same room. Here where Enrique could finally, finally reach him. He would be able to scoop him up into a hug and make twenty years of apologies and hear his little boy talk and chatter again, just like he’d been longing to hear for decades.

Enrique was panting when he reached the other side of the ballroom, bursting through the crowd to the small clearing where a man in a fine white and gold charro suit was holding the hand of a boy in a matching outfit as he talked pleasantly with others.

“Miguel!” Enrique cried.

The boy turned to look at him and Enrique’s absent heart ached to recognize his son, despite how different he looked in death.

But instead of running to him, Miguel’s eyes got wide and he whimpered, leaning up against the man he was with and holding more tightly onto his hand.

“Miguel, what is it? What’s wrong?” Papá Héctor asked, looking down at the boy, then looked up and spotted Enrique. Realization flitted across his face and he smiled, extended an arm in welcome. “Enrique, welcome home, it’s good to see you. I suppose it’s time for you to meet Miguel.”

Enrique stepped closer, but there was now a growing ill feeling in his ribcage that had nothing to do with his recent heart attack. Something was very wrong.

Héctor put a hand on Miguel’s head and the boy turned toward him, silently keeping his glazed eyes on Enrique as he clung to Héctor’s jacket, like a scared toddler might do. The boy didn’t make a sound, watching Enrique without actually looking him in the eye.

“Miguel...” Enrique choked, dropping to one knee, looked at the skeletal shell that was left of what had once been his son. “Miguel, what, what happened? Mijo, what happened to you, what’s wrong?”

“I’m afraid he’s been through quite a lot.” Héctor said, but Enrique didn’t take his eyes off Miguel, who stared back, still not meeting his gaze, somehow managing to look blank and terrified at the same time.

“He’s been like this ever since he arrived,” Héctor said sadly, gently stroking Miguel’s hair as the boy clung to him. “we don’t know exactly what it was that the curse did to him. I assure you he’s been to the best doctors and therapists that money can buy over the last twenty years, we’ve done our very best to take good care of him. As long as he’s with me we’re alright, aren’t we, Chamaco? But being around a lot of new people can be a little scary.”

“I am his father.” Quique said, the words coming out unexpectedly hot with the heat of the tears he couldn’t cry. “I am not new, there’s something wrong with him.”

“Quique,” Héctor said, looking down at him with an expression that inexplicably made Enrique want to hit something, “I know this must be hard for you, but I need you to understand. Miguel has been with us for twenty years now.”

Longer than you ever took care of him.

The unspoken words rang in Enrique’s head as he looked up from Miguel. The look on Héctor’s face confirmed that it was exactly what he was trying to communicate.

Miguel is mine now, and you need to take a big step back. Héctor seemed to be saying.

So this is what Mamá Coco had been trying to warn him about.

“Miguel,” Enrique said gently, looking back at the catatonic child. “Miguel, it’s me, it’s Papá, it’s been a really long time since I’ve seen you, Mamá and I have missed you so much.”

No response. No words. None of the fire he remembered in his son. Not the quick smile, the bright eyes, the loving teasing or the musical laugh, the bright joy or the calm warmth.

As a skeleton he didn't even look like his Miguel, only the red-brown eyes and the small navy beauty mark above his lip were at all similar to the boy Enrique had missed and wept and prayed over for decades now. To the pictures he’d carried for years. To the son he had never, never stopped hoping he would somehow see again.

This was not Miguel.

This was a nightmare.

“What is wrong with my son?” said Enrique, getting to his feet and staring Héctor down. “What have you done to him?”

“Miguel is a fragile child who has been through more than he deserves.” Héctor said quietly, wrapping his arm around Miguel in a protective way that made Enrique want to scream. “Perhaps we can continue this conversation tomorrow when we’ve all had some rest.”

“Miguel, it’s me, look at me.” Enrique said, taking a step forward, “I know you remember me, mijo.”

“I don’t think he’s in the mood-”

“Stop talking for him.” Enrique snapped, feeling desperation rising in him. “And why are we having this conversation out in the open? It’s obviously too much for him, I need a room where I can be alone with him for a while.”

This was wrong, this was all so wrong. In all the hundreds, the thousands of ways he’d imagined seeing Miguel again over the years, not even his most awful imaginings had come close to this.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Héctor said, his voice as warm as ever, but now with a hard edge creeping into his tone. “I think this is as far as we go tonight. I’m glad that you’ve joined us Enrique, welcome home. Miguel’s had a long day and I think it’s time he get some rest, perhaps we can continue this conversation when I return.”

Enrique watched helplessly as Héctor turned and led Miguel away from him.

Héctor was holding Miguel’s hand as if he were leading along a five year-old, a deeply unsettling sight that clashed terribly with the memories Enrique had of his son, a boy who’d been charging off on his own since he could walk. He’d never had to pull him along like that.

“Miguel.”  Enrique called, the word slipping out before he even realized it.

And Miguel looked over his shoulder, back at Enrique, just for a moment, before being silently tugged along again.

“Miguel...” Enrique said quietly, the aching in his chest getting worse as his son disappeared into the crowd.

Should he run to catch up with them? Should he, he didn't know, talk to Mamá Coco about getting Miguel back? At that moment he wanted nothing more than to grab his son right and take him far away from Héctor, to get a chance to talk to his boy alone, find out what was really going on.

But...Héctor had said Miguel was fragile, which Enrique had to beleive after what he’d seen. Maybe forcing Miguel to see him really was making things worse.

And as much as it tore Enrique apart, it was true that Héctor had been caring for Miguel longer than he ever had in life...and Enrique didn’t know the first thing about curses or their effects...and it really had been such a very long time since he and Miguel had seen each other.

Maybe...maybe things really had changed.

Enrique rubbed his forehead, flinching his hand away at the still-unfamiliar feeling of bone-on-bone. He didn’t know how his own body worked anymore, but it certainly felt like he was choking up, like he was going to cry.

He needed Luisa. She would know what to do, she would know how to handle this nightmare, she would know how to wake up Miguel, would know what was wrong with him.

Enrique stared up at the high ceiling above him, gritting his teeth and willing himself to get a grip. He hadn’t even been dead a whole day, whether he liked it or not, things were indeed different on this side, just like Mamá Coco said.

He should be grateful Miguel had been taken care of. He shouldn’t be feeling furious jealousy raging inside him. He shouldn’t be jumping to wild conclusions against how must have been treating his boy in order to reduce him to the hollow shell he was now. He shouldn’t be wishing there was some way he could get Miguel away from Héctor, at least for a day or two.

He shouldn’t.

But he was.

Something crashed into him from behind and Enrique yelped as some kind of liquid sloshed over him.

"Lo siento, güey, didn't see you there." A voice chuckled lazily.

Enrique looked up from his soaked shirt to see a man holding two now half-full glasses of wine. The skeleton’s smile looked as disposable as his apology had sounded, and his bloodshot heavy-lidded eyes didn’t help.

He was young, or rather, he must have died young, because Enrique recognized his small beaded braid from the photo album Mamá Coco had shown him earlier.

“Tio Rodrigo?” he asked.

“In the flesh.” Rodrigo grinned, his words just a little slurred on the ends.

Enrique stared at him, momentarily taken aback. In the flesh? Did he really-

“Your faaaaace!” Rodrigo crowed, managing to spill even more of his drinks on the ground as he laughed uproariously. “You freshies are hilarious, I swear, you guys always take forever to loosen up.”

“I see it’s possible to get drunk in the land of the dead?” Enrique said flatly, his agitation turning to annoyance as he looked down at his ruined shirt again.

“Ayyyy, sin hígado, sin problema, sí?” Rodrigo said, elbowing him in the ribs. “Gotta do something to survive around all these stiffs.”

He paused, but Enrique didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction to his second death joke.

“Anyway, welcome to the family or whatever.” Rodrigo said, his lazy smile thinning as he shrugged and took a sip of what was left in one of his glasses, “This is probably the last time you’ll ever talk to me, so here’s my magical Tio wisdom for you: be careful where you stick your hand, everything around this place bites.” He shoved his second glass in Enrique’s hand. “And here, you’ll need this before you meet Papi, unless of course you’re already one of his bootlickers. Anyway, have fun wandering this zoo for the rest of your afterlife.”

Rodrigo made a kind of sloppy salute and walked off, leaving Enrique with a practically empty glass, and staring in mild shock.

He had never heard a Rivera, dead or alive, talk about the family like that. Especially not about Papá Héctor.

Rodrigo had sounded downright disgusted.

Enrique needed to know more.

“Hey! Tio Rodrigo, wait!” Enrique called, making his way through the crowd of chatting family member that he didn’t recognize.

He noticed he was attracting stares and dropped his voice, forcing himself to walk after Rodrigo instead of running. Mamá Coco had hinted that Rodrigo was the black sheep of the family, it might seem strange for the new arrival to be paying him so much attention.

Enrique carefully made his way to the edge of the crowd and spotted a massive, winged cat alebrije curled up by a roaring fireplace in the far corner. Lounging against her softly glowing side was Rodrigo, legs crossed, eyes closed, and hands behind his head as leaned against the huge cat like she was a sofa.

“Tio Rodrigo?” Enrique said as he approached, eyeing the huge multi-colored beast a little nervously. If it was allowed indoors it had to be safe, right?  

“Qué?” Rodrigo cracked open a bloodshot eye, squinting at him. “What, already want to come tell me off? You’re faster than most, I’ll give you that.”

“You said that “everything bites,” you made it sound like Papá Héctor might bite too.” Enrique said, sitting down on the floor across from Rodrigo. “I need you to tell me what’s going on around here.”

Rodrigo stared at him, both eyes open now. But then his lazy expression grew cold. “Get lost. I’m minding my own business, go mind yours. And tell Teto Junior to come face himself if he wants me harassed instead of sending freshies to do it for him.”

“I...no. No one sent me. I need answers.” Enrique said, squaring his shoulders. “I’m Miguel’s father, the little boy that Papá Héctor won't let go of? He disappeared, well, died, twenty years ago and I don’t even recognize him anymore. I think something terrible’s happened to him, if you know anything about it please tell me, something is wrong and you’re the only one I’ve heard say anything negative about this family.”

Rodrigo stared hard at Enrique, slowly tipping his head back, as if his thought process was slowly loading. Which it undoubtedly was, judging by how much alcohol it seemed that he probably drank on a regular basis.

“You’re el espectro’s real Papá?” Rodrigo asked.

“What do you mean, “real” Papá?” Enrique asked irritably, “Of course I am.”

Rodrigo let out a low whistle, looking at Héctor with something that approached pity.

“Hey, uh, you might want to... You don’t actually have to live here.” Rodrigo said, looking out at the crowd beyond them, adjusting to sit up a little straighter. “Like, they’ll make it sound like you have to, but you can leave. Get a flat like me, strike out on your own, alright?”

“I’m not talking about housing, I’m talking about Miguel.” Enrique said sharply. Why was he even talking to the family drunk if he couldn’t even hold a coherent conversation?

Rodrigo looked him in the eye, his dazed focus crystallized suddenly into something raw and hard, reminding Enrique unsettlingly of the look he’d gotten from Héctor only minutes before.

“Look Quique, I’m going to be straight with you.” He said, “You don’t have a son anymore. That nino’s gone, he’s been gone for years. He wasn’t even that bad when he first arrived, but whatever’s wrong with him, it’s permanent now. I’ve never seen him more than five inches away from my father, the kid calls him Papá. He belongs to my father and Papá does not like it when people take his things from him. Move on before you get hurt, if you stick around he’ll grind you down too.”

“Papá Héctor said the curse is what changed Miguel,” Enrique said, forcing himself to push past the pain of hearing Miguel called another man Papá. “Héctor said he’s been to therapists, but if he has then I don’t understand why Miguel is in such bad condition. I need to talk to Miguel, to feel out what the problem is myself. Maybe they’ve had him too long to see clearly what I could see with new eyes, but he wont even let me near Miguel.”

“Look, you’re talking to the wrong person, he won’t let me near the kid either.” Rodrigo rolled his eyes, looking away as he absently threading his fingers through the alebrije cat’s fur. “I’m too much of a bad influence, they don’t want their old youngest child to rub off on their new one. I don’t know what his deal is, all I know is that you’re not going to be on their good side if you try to get near him without a signed permission slip. El espectro is Papá’s lucky charm, pretty sure they’ll both die the second death if they’re ever separated at this point.”

Mamá Coco had made it sound like Miguel was attached to his caretakers, not that he’d been completely re-written by a set of adoptive parents.

If only Enrique could just get Miguel alone, if he could just talk to him for a while. Maybe Héctor really had taken him to doctors, maybe he really had been trying his best, but evidently whatever he was doing was only making things worse.

And Enrique was Miguel’s father, not Héctor. Enrique could help Miguel recover, he knew who Miguel really was, he’d been the one to actually raise the boy, Héctor has only seen him trapped in this stagnant state.

Which wasn’t even remotely the same thing as being his parent. Héctor didn’t have any special one of claim over Miguel, he was just used to no one challenging him.

Maybe it was time for that to change.

“Look, lo siento Queque, really,” Rodrigo said, stiffly getting to his feet and stretching. “but the only way to survive this family is to get away from them. Trust me, I know. There’s some open flats near my place at Plaza Rivera, get your family stipend and get yourself set up there. Take my advice and leave this all behind, move on before you get hurt.”

Rodrigo turned and dug his fingers into the alebrije jaguar’s fur, dragging his hands back and forth across her huge neck. The massive animal opened her blazing yellow eyes and stretched luxuriously, extending her legs and wings, making Enrique shiver at the amount of tense energy coursing through her gigantic frame. This was a creature that looked like it could even kill the dead if it wanted to.

“Pepitaaaa, heeeey pretty kitty,” Rodrigo crooned, scratching behind a feline ear the size of his skull. “want to give me a lift back to my place, beautiful girl? Caprice stayed home tonight, I need to get back before she starts wondering about me.”

Pepita’s thundering purr rolled as she got to her feet and drooped a wing to the floor, allowing Rodrigo to clamber up onto her back.

“Look Quique, you seem like a good kid.” Rodrigo called as Pepita padded to the huge open window nearby, “I’ll tell you what, since you’ve got a bone to pick with my father I’ll give you a once-in-an-afterlife offer, you can come crash at my place for a night if you ever decide to escape. Plaza Rivera, teal building, ground level. Give it up with el espectro now, Papi’s not going to let you anywhere near him.”

“But how do I-?”

Enrique startled as Pepita dropped out of the window, taking a waving Rodrigo down the skyscraper height drop with her.

A moment later he saw them rise in the distance, already flying far, far away on glowing wings.

Enrique watched them disappear into the distant skyline, still holding tightly to the glass Rodrigo had handed him, feeling suddenly as if he had been abandoned somewhere dangerous.

“Was that tonto giving you trouble?”

Enrique jumped, looking over to see that a skeleton in a sharp business suit with a glowing squirrel perched on his shoulder had joined him and was glaring out the window. Héctor Junior, the second youngest child in the family.

“I don’t know why Coco and Leti insist on him attending our gatherings,” Héctor Junior said, his voice as cold as a terminal diagnosis. “all he does is bother the people who actually care about the family.”

“He wasn’t bothering me.” Enrique said automatically, but then froze as Héctor Junior’s stiff gaze turned to him.

“Then what were you two doing?” Héctor Junior asked, his squirrel alebrije chattering as it stared Enrique down with its beady fuchsia eyes.

Enrique tried to bite his non-existent lip for the second time that day as he thought fast. Perhaps disclosing his sympathies with the family pariah wasn’t the smartest thing he could do right now.

Especially not with the mad plan beginning to form in the back of his head.

“Well, actually he was bothering me,” Enrique said, pulling at the hem of his wine-stained shirt with an angry sigh. “But he flew off when I tried to talk to him about it.”

Héctor Junior snorted unkindly, taking a sip of champagne from the fluted glass he carried. “Yes, he does that. Ruy is forever flying away from his responsibilities.”

“Well I’m glad he’s gone,” Enrique said, cringing internally even as he laid it on thick. “he was saying awful things about the family.”

“You’ll find that afterlife without the family mistake is much preferable.” Héctor Junior said, looking at him approvingly. He extended his hand. “Héctor the Second, now that we’ve officially met. You can call me Tio Héctor.”

“It’s good to finally meet you in person.” Enrique said, shaking his hand and resisting the urge to wipe his own handbones on his pant leg afterward. “You’ve left quite a legacy in the family with the Rivera Zapatos Corporation.”

“Yes, I suppose I have.” Héctor Junior said smugly, “Teaming up to work with Tio Felipe y Oscar was certainly one of my most brilliant moment in life. You know, it was when-”

“I just remembered,” Enrique said quickly, cutting off what he already could tell was going to be a very long story. “Papá Héctor asked me to meet him at Miguel’s room and I’ve completely forgotten the directions he gave me. This place is so big, do you know how to get to Miguel’s room from here?”

“It’s on the second floor.” Héctor Junior said, swiftly recovering from his obvious disappointment at being interrupted. “If you go down that hallway and up the grand staircase it should lead you to an atrium. Past that is the second hallway, I think his room is one of those doors, I do know it’s right next to my parent’s room. Pobre nino, I hear he still gets nightmares about his death, Papá keeps him close by so he can help.”

Enrique desperately wanted to curl up and die again at that last part (Nightmares for twenty years? Now he knew something was wrong.) but he kept his business smile on, grateful that years of dealing with overbearing press and slimy business partners had prepared him for situations like this. He had to be strong if he was going to help his son, he had to keep it together if his insane plan was going to work.

“Muchas gracias, Tio Héctor.” Enrique said, nodding, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go find a new shirt before my meeting.”

“That does seem appropriate.” Héctor said with a smirk, “Welcome to the family Enrique, I hope you settle in well.”

“Gracias.” Enrique nodded, then turned and made his way deep into the crowd as quickly as he could. Away from that man.

Enrique dodged between well-wishing family members, politely smiling off their advances, excusing himself over and over. So many skeletal faces, some he vaguely recognized, many he didn’t, but now he couldn't help feeling like he really was in a zoo, just like Rodrigo has suggested.

Something was very wrong, even if no one else seemed to realize it. Enrique needed to get his son and get him out, just for a little while, a day or two, long enough to actually connect again with Miguel without a crowd looking on.

Enrique ducked down the hallway that Héctor Junior had pointed out, his forced smile dropping as soon as he was out of sight.

There was a very good chance he was overreacting. Maybe he should wait, give it a couple days to let himself adjust before charging into a situation that he knew he didn’t fully understand.

Luisa would probably tell him to be patient.

But Luisa wouldn’t want him to leave their son a moment longer than he had to, not in this state.

Enrique sent up a quick prayer, crossing himself as he headed towards what had to be the grand staircase Héctor Junior had mentioned. If Papá Héctor had just put Miguel to bed then that meant Miguel would be alone once Héctor went back down to the party. That gave Enrique a brief window of time to get to Miguel before Héctor noticed he was missing from the crowd.

Enrique had no idea what would happen if he were caught, but if worst came to worst, Miguel was still his son. How much trouble could he really be in legally?

Enrique shook his head as he quietly climbed the stairs, keeping his hands close to himself after hearing the clacking sound they made against the stone railing.

He would cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, all he knew was that he had to get to Miguel. For the first time in decades his son was within his reach, for the first time years he knew where he was.

Enrique grit his teeth and picked up his pace. Nothing was going to keep him away from Miguel, not now.

He was going to do whatever it took to get his son back.

Read Chapter 5

---------------

Well now you’ve all gone and done it and goaded me into writing an actual story with all your brilliant asks. Hope you’re all quite pleased with yourselves.

- Wit

#villain!au #coco #rodrigo #enrique #mama coco #hector #part 4 #chapter 4 #Tequila Tio has arrived

[hoochy-coo]

Give us your take on reputation vs 1989.

MUSIC

1989: The singles were amazing with tons of radio appeal (with the exception of ‘Shake it Off’ and ‘Bad Blood’) but still remained memorable with witty lyricism. However, the album as a whole is very ‘meh’ to me - a couple of the b-sides are top-notch with serious replay value (I Know Places, Clean, Wonderland, New Romantic), and others are either juvenile or forgettable fillers (This Love, How You Get The Girls, All You Had To Do Was Stay, I Wish You Would). The highs are very high and the lows may as well be scrubbed from her discog lol

Reputation: Poor single choices with the exception of ‘End Game’ because while it may have not even be close to the best song on the album, it’s a goldmine of commercial success with both Future and Ed Sheeran as features. THE experimental album of her discog so far and the b-sides deserve more love. An interesting listen for a fan that’s been around from the beginning because it marks a point of musical evolvement (that we later saw regress with ‘ME!). Even if you don’t enjoy the music, you can find aspects of it to be intrigued by, such as torch-inspired vocals on ‘Don’t Blame Me’ or the full EDM explosion on ‘I Did Something Bad.’ 

Verdict: 1989 wins for singles and highlights but Reputation wins as an album.

VISUALS

1989: I don’t think anyone can deny the superiority that is the visuals of this era. The music video ‘Blank Space’ was glamorous but nevertheless, a satirical take on stereotypical aspects of modern music videos for female pop artists. Taylor was glammed up like a movie star but a screaming, crying mess which really captures the core message of the song. ‘Bad Blood’ was an epic concept in theory and executed well imo, however the actual song was written as a diss to another woman so the feminism marketing/message became pointless. ‘Style’ was a flop of a music video and a massive waste of the song since it’s such an underrated bop. ‘Wildest Dream’ was basically a mini Hollywood movie. ‘Out of the Woods’ didn’t even warrant a music video but she’s extra so she gave it to us anyway. Overall, we were flooded with content and they were all quality. 

Reputation: Let me start this off by saying that I detest LWYMMD as a song but visually, it was um...amazing. She also kept with the theme of ‘humbling’ herself that we saw with ‘Blank Space’ by poking fun at her own image with all the snake symbolism and adding a line-up of Taylor from each eras to the end of the music video, while also attacking Kim K with that ‘receipts’ jab. Petty? Yes. Entertaining? 100%. ‘...Ready For It?’ was a cringe-fest (we had Taylor trying to act tough for 3-4 mins) and I like to pretend it never happened. ‘Delicate’ was ok but nothing special - the dancing was quirky but that’s about it. The music video for ‘End Game,’  just like the actual song, is overlooked by the fandom. It’s a fun music video of her partying with her friends, she’s drinking and dancing seductively with the girls without doing too much (ala LWYMMD). She actually looked comfortable doing the choreo in the video, which proved to me that she could have pulled off a sleek, alluring era but shot herself in the foot by starting it off with a very aggressive brand of sexy.

Verdict: 1989 wins, obviously.

STYLE

1989: We get it, this is her 80s era but did we have to suffer through that much embellishments, sparkles, metallic skirts and glittery cropped bomber jackets? Everything looked cheap, like she sent her stylists to a local craft store and asked them to superglue gemstones onto clothes she got from Target. Also, the tour costumes have no correlation to the style she presented in any of the music videos from that era?! Justice to that matching-plaid set she wore on tour though!

Reputation: Throw the rainbow Atlantic City-inspired halter dress out and we had an era full of excellent styling. Taylor gave us strong shoulders, sleek silhouette, and a bunch of different texture to keep the outfits interesting despite most of it being black. The tailoring was impeccable, all the pieces looked like they fit her to perfection and it was sexy but in the most tasteful way. I despised her hair during this era but the fashion was so great that I overlook it. Also, I can’t believe I’m saying this but can we get Taylor in more Balmain?

Verdict: Reputation wins. The bejeweled rompers from the 1989 tour need to be set on fire.

PROMO

1989: Taylor was insufferable during this era, and whenever we had enough and tried to look the other way, she was there too. She didn’t give us a chance to have a break from her and constantly bombarded us with her cats, her pap runs, her faux girl squad, and the constant reminder that ‘GUYS, THIS SONG IS ABOUT HARRY STYLES.’ I don’t think we had one day without at least two headlines about Taylor, whether it’s about which new friend she just initiated into her squad or which colour she painted her nails. It was so extra, so contrived, and at the time, I thought it was never going to end lmao. With that being said, this era showed us just exactly how far Taylor was willing to go for that Grammy. This era also cemented her as one of the biggest pop stars to have emerged from our generation and grant her a pass for eternal relevancy in pop culture. And then everything fell apart when the gp got a bad case of Taylor fatigue lol. Either way, we’re probably not going to get another pop era that big or impactful for a very long time so we should appreciate the gradeur of it all.

Reputation: This was supposed to be her triumphant comeback. She’s back to drag KimYe and “own” her snake image. She revolved a whole era around vengeance but she gave such mix messages - half the time she was still pointing the fingers at her enemies and the other half was spent making excuses. It didn’t come off as an authentic era of her evolving or letting things go. Literally, nothing went to plan. LWYMMD flopped (by her standards, especially as a follow up to 1989 anyway) and album sales were a disappointment to her and her team. Did Taylor even promote this era much? She went on a few late-night shows, performed at iHeartRadio and some award events but that’s all I remember. I’ve said this gazillion times before and I’ll say it again, the biggest issue with the promo is that she picked the wrong singles to send to radio. It’s her sexy era, she had about 4-5 mature track on the album and decided to not promote any of them. It didn’t make sense. However, I’ll give credit where credit is due - the rollout for LWYMMD was very smart (wiping her IG clean and posting that 10 secs clip of a snake slithering around) and it got the internet very hyped so kudos for the single. If only the song was quality...

Verdict: 1989 reigns supreme over every era. This isn’t even up for discussion

In conclusion, 1989 is the better era and inarguably, the more memorable one but I prefer Reputation music-wise. 1989, as an album, has little replay value to me. Whether it’s because her music was everywhere the year the album dropped so I’ve had enough of it for a lifetime or because I can’t stand ‘Welcome to New York,’ I’m not sure.  In a twisted, these two eras share one thing in common: inauthenticity (although in a completely different way). Reputation was like one big warped apology tour where Taylor was “sorry but not sorry.” It was her chance to tell her side of the story after the public ‘cancelled’ her but her petty need to have the last word on all the beef and drama made this era a hard sell. 1989, of course, was inauthentic in a sense that Taylor basically bent herself out of shape to find her most marketable self.

#taylor swift #ask #answer #music

[jocdaily]

INTERVIEW: IS JACK O’CONNELL OUR NEXT GREAT LEADING MAN?

Most people know the story of Jack O’Connell. The bad boy from Derby; the teenage delinquent turned Bafta-winning Hollywood actor; the go-to guy for a “troubled youth” tale; a skinhead in This Is England, a sexy, self-destructive lost boy in Skins. He dates pop stars and supermodels; he gives interviews with a hangover. As the tattoo on his biceps says, he is the definitive Jack the Lad.

But that’s not the man I interview one Thursday afternoon in Camden, north London. The guy I meet is softly spoken, calm, seemingly unflappable and with impeccable manners, a guy who gives me tips for the best Sunday roasts in Hampstead, who leans over to pick up my jacket when it falls off my chair, who offers to share his last cigarette and who orders two scones with cream and jam at the gastropub where we meet around the corner from his new home. He moved here in May from east London, where he’d lived for years. “I had my local pubs I went to,” says the 27-year-old. “I’d speak to all the old fellas in there, go for two or three pints, then lock-ins would ensue.” He’s already finding new watering holes with the same “old fellas” in NW1: “I like a pub, me. You can have a nice boogie in some pubs.”

This summer, O’Connell has risen to a whole new level of fame after starring in Tennessee Williams’s Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, directed by Benedict Andrews, at the Apollo Theatre. He plays Brick, a broken, alcoholic, ageing football player who is grieving the loss of his best friend and whose marriage is falling apart. O’Connell says he has enjoyed the routine of theatre and the opportunity to evolve his character, though, “I’m over halfway through and I feel I could be better. I wonder if it would be more truthful if I took the edge off, instead of belting it out,” he thinks aloud. “Because I’m really starting to feel sorry for people in the front row.”

Certainly they get an eyeful. The play opens with O’Connell sitting naked and spread-eagle under a shower and, predictably, his full-frontals have received much publicity. (“Worth coming all the way from Stoke-on-Trent for!” one woman trills in the interval the night I attend.) He says he has “got used” to the nudity and likes the “immediate intimacy” of marriage it establishes between him and his on-stage wife, Maggie, played by Sienna Miller. He describes his co-star as “wonderful. A powerhouse. She’s just solid,” adding that she started a tradition of a “company cuddle” with the cast before every show. “Every time we’re on stage, she’s energised,” he says. “Even as recently as our last performance, she’s trying new things, which is exciting for me, too.”

I wonder how he copes with his sudden sex-symbol status. I tell him George Clooney once said that the level of attention he gets is embarrassing. Does O’Connell feel the same? “I’m willing to put money on the fact that George Clooney is not embarrassed about it at all, not a chance,” he laughs (they featured together in the 2016 film Money Monster). “I play characters for a living. If they come across looking like they breathe real air, then sweet. If people want to f*** them as well, sweet — that’s another reaction altogether. But really, I don’t pay enough attention to feel anything towards it. It’s a by-product.” It may be a constructed front of modesty, but I can believe it.

His next big moment, set to air in November on Netflix, is Godless, an epic seven-part western set in the 1800s, also starring Michelle Dockery and Jeff Daniels, and written and directed by Academy Award nominee Scott Frank. O’Connell shot in New Mexico for eight months, which involved “plenty of horse-riding and proper cowboy shit”. He enjoyed the physical challenges of the role. “Don’t get me wrong, I was a bit scared on them horses from time to time,” he says. “But it helps your character if you look like a natural. It gives you a better continuity in your own head, instead of sitting in your trailer while your stuntman does all the brave shit.”

Starring in period films holds particular appeal, O’Connell says he has a genuine fascination with history and hopes one day to immerse himself back into the education that he took for granted in his younger life. Earlier this year, he went on a pilgrimage to Co Kerry, the birthplace of his late father, John, to find out more about Ireland’s history as well as his own heritage. “The idea was to visit museums and talk to historians, but I did it on a more casual scale than I’d hoped. I met people, hung out and played golf.” He’s currently trying to write a Buddy Holly biopic, but he’s still in the “research and spider diagrams” stage. “I stand by my dad’s opinion, which is that few people have gone on to make as much music, not only quality but quantity, in such a short amount of time. My dad hails him as the greatest ever. If he could,” he says, exhaling cigarette smoke. “He’s not around nowadays, bless him.”

Godless also allows O’Connell to break away from the troubled-youth stereotype. When I suggest this, I suspect he might bristle, but he seems fairly serene about it. “I get what I’m given,” he says. “Maybe a year or two ago, when I’d racked up one or two similar-sounding characters, I was more conscious of it and made more effort to avoid it. Nowadays, I just think, ‘Oh, f*** it.’ I’m very grateful to be doing what I’m doing. I’ve done way more than I ever could have hoped as a kid, and I’m glad to be free of that anxiety of what comes next, that ‘How can I justify this choice?’”

He was once quoted as saying of his younger life: “My mentality every time I left the house was that I had to have the most fun I’d ever had.” I ask whether this ambition has mellowed. “My teenage years were fast and bountiful,” he says, “but I feel fortunate to have learnt one or two things by my early twenties. I’m all right with having a bland night out now. Even if it’s a Saturday — two, three pints and a nice chinwag. It’s all about the chinwag. That’s what I’ve come to learn: everything else is just temporary. Chinwags last a lifetime.”

Despite his propensity for roasts, history and a chinwag, O’Connell is single, but in no rush to settle down (he has previously dated the singer Tulisa and, allegedly, Cara Delevingne). “I couldn’t imagine doing this job with children. Maybe there will be a quieter period when I’ve got the luxury of choice, but I don’t at the minute. So that has to take priority. Just being fair to myself and my unborns,” he laughs.

At the end of our chinwag, he gets up from the table to ask the waiter if he has something he can transport his scone leftovers in. I ask him if he’s taking the jam and cream as well. “Too f****** right I am,” he smiles. He offers to pay the bill, then shakes my hand and says it was nice to meet me. And off he goes to the theatre, with his box of scones in hand — that nice lad, Jack O’Connell.

Interview by The Times

#Jack O'Connell #jocinterview #jocnews

[toonstarterz]

Toonyoungster Watches: Pokémon The Movie: I Choose You ! (DUB)

SPOILER WARNING!! 

ALSO, CONSTRUCTIVE (NON-BASHING) CRITICISM OF THE DUB AHEAD...

Very few movies can resonate with me on a deeply, personal level. 

The latest Pokémon movie has that distinct honor. 

As a long-time Pokémon fan, seeing this movie in theaters was an absolute must. And apparently, I wasn’t the only one. The theater I went to see this was seriously packed. Kids, teens, and adults were all over the place, and I felt so honored that I could share this once-in-a-lifetime experience with people who love Pokémon as much as I do.

But what about the movie itself? To be honest, I don’t think I can review this movie wholly unbiased. A part of me loves this movie for reasons the average viewer rightfully won’t appreciate. That said, I’m going into this review not as a newcomer, but through the eyes of a lifelong Pokéani fan. And yes, I will be critiquing the dub here, for better or worse. 

Let’s start with the narrative. You all know the origin story of Ash and Pikachu, so I won’t be going too much there since it was largely the same as the first episode. What I’m talking about is everything past the 10 minute-mark. The story of how Ash Ketchum met Verity and Sorrel and their quest to find Ho-oh.

The first thing I wanna say is that this is a solid idea start to finish. The way Ash met Verity and Sorrel, the rivalry with Cross, the trials and tribulations they go through to find Ho-oh are all believable. It was hardly a complex story, but in this case, the simple goal of a lovably simple trainer is all you need. 

Now for my first criticism. The first that comes to mind was the pacing that made the movie seem a little too eager to get through the smaller parts in favorite of the bigger, heavier scenes. The problem with this is that these bigger scenes don’t have as much impact without the proper buildup. Butterfree’s goodbye felt a little hollow since we didn’t see much of the pokémon beyond its evolution scenes. The inclusion of the legendary dogs didn’t feel as meaningful since their connection with our three heroes seemed a little too convenient. 

Speaking of heroes, let’s talk about Ash Ketchum from Pallet Town. If there’s one thing I can give this movie full props for, it’s putting Ash Ketchum at the center of it. A movie where Ash is the true main character instead of just a face to put next to the marketable characters is what I’ve always wanted. Best of all, they actually have Ash go through some real development, and on an internal level no less. When he muttered that he wish he’d had a different starter, that gave me goosebumps since it’s so unlike the Ash we know now. But given that this is a reimagining of Ash at the start of his journey, it makes sense to characterize him this way. Kudos M20 for making this a true Ash Ketchum movie.

I believe a special mention goes to the dream sequence, which may be the most original thing the Pokémon movies has ever done. It’s essentially a world where Pokémon don’t exist, and Ash Ketchum is typical anime schoolboy. It really crossed into the uncanny valley of being so familiar yet also so wrong that I respect the writers for eliciting such an emotion out of me.

Props to Sarah Natochenny for giving her most impressive performance of Ash yet. She’s still rough around the edges, but you tell that she’s putting in real genuine emotion at the right moments. She’s come a long way.

Of course, you can’t talk about Ash without Pikachu. The yellow rat is just as much of a jerk at the start of film as we all expected. From spearow attack onwards, Pikachu’s personality does sort of plateau for the rest of the film, save for some key moments like the dream sequence. I will say this, though: Ikue Ohtani is spectacular when delivering Pikachu’s most emotionally driven moments. I honestly had chills during the “death” scene.

As for the “talking” scene...it could have been worse. I heard a few laughs of disbelief in the theatre so I know the seriousness didn’t resonate with everyone.  It felt like we were supposed to take it as a mental translation on Ash’s part, but the execution of it felt a little too far into reality. Good try.

Now for our side heroes, Verity and Sorrel. Note: If you looking for comparisons between them against Misty and Brock, you’ve come to the wrong review.

Verity, on all accounts, is a perfectly likeable heroine. She’s has a lot of the qualities that make her a good parallel for Ash: headstrong, spunky, earnest, empathetic, with a little fire in her. It certainly helps that she’s voiced by Suzy Myers, one of my top favorite voice actors in the dub. Thankfully, her backstory wasn’t overbearingly sad. It had just enough subtlety for the audience to sympathize with her. All in all, nothing groundbreaking, but just right for a movie appearance. 

Sorrel, on the other hand, I’m not afraid to admit I was sort of disappointed with. I get that he plays the “mature” role to Ash and Verity, and in that apartment, he’s a decent character. My issue is that it’s the only thing about him, so he didn’t have much character depth. There wasn’t really anything to offset his sensible personality, such as the quirks that “mature” characters like Brock and Cilan had. It certainly didn’t help that his voice actor, David Oliver Nelson, seemed to struggle giving him a good emotional range. Guess you can’t win them all. 

Then there’s our antagonist, the not-Damian Cross. He definitely plays the role of being everything that Ash isn’t, and in that regard, he’s a very good villain. I think my issue with Cross is not so much his personality, but by his character growth, which felt very textbook as far as rivals are concerned. He does effectively increase the tension whenever he’s on screen so I’ll give him that. At this time, I don’t know who voices him, but he seems to have some of the performance issues Nelson appears to have. Overall, a good rival that needed some refinement to be really great.

Bonji was obviously meant to be a representation of fans who’ve been with the franchise for twenty years. Not much to say about him except that he’s a fun addition, even if he is just a little more than a mouthpiece for the plot.

Our obligatory mythical Pokémon, Marshadow is...weird. Jumping from an observer to leading a genocide against humans was certainly an unexpected development, so I give the movie props for not giving yet another cutesy, pure-hearted legendary. But going back to the movie’s pacing issues, the jump from passive to active was just so fast, that it almost felt like a cop-out. If anything, Marshadow will be one of the more memorable pokémon the movies ever put out. 

Team Rocket...I love you guys, but even I can’t deny how insignificant you were to this movie. Being utter gag characters is fine in some cases, but in a 20th anniversary movie, you’d think Team Rocket would have more of a starring role. And it hurts even more since they had more significant roles in the last string of Pokémon movies. Better luck next time.

Technically speaking, this may be the most visually inspiring film to date. Seeing the landscapes of the Kanto region in such vibrant and immersive colors just blew my mind, and the lighting was absolutely impeccable to boot. The animation, to my surprise, exceeded my expectations. It was joyfully frenetic at the action scenes, and delightfully subdued in its quieter moments. I have nary a complaint in this regard.

And now for the most controversial part of my review: the music. Not gonna lie, I was one of the people who was really, really hoping they’d keep the Japanese soundtrack, and I was met with disappointment when my hopes were shot down. Now the dub soundtrack isn’t horrendous, mind you. It’s just that I personally am not a fan of Ed Goldfarb’s compositions–they lack variety and are emotionally muted in my opinion–though to be fair, this does feel like his better works compared to previous movies. I also really respect that they kept silence where it was essential. But for an anniversary movie, having the original tracks from the series just felt like an absolute must. I can only imagine just how much more glorious the movie sounds in the original.  

As I said before, this movie is a case of a really strong, really solid idea suffering from less than stellar execution. This is quite honestly, the most important Pokémon film in existence, as it very likely will affect how the anime and films will proceed from here. The inclusion of past traveling companions at the end was especially meaningful, because it told us that the writers do remember they exist, and that future appearances are not out of the question. It’s a tease, but a much desired one. 

While I may have expressed some disappointment in the dub, I can recognize that the cast and crew really put their heart into this one, which why I find its shortcomings to be more disheartening than aggravating. Despite its narrative constraints, it really did feel like the Pokémon team, both the original and dub, put so much more effort into giving us a Pokémon movie to remember. If I had to give this movie a hard rating it’d be a 7.5/10. Let’s hope that future Pokémon movies will be given just as much love as this one.

#toonyoungster watches #pokemon the movie: i choose you! #m20 #review #ash ketchum #pikachu #verity #sorrel #cross #bonji #marshadow #team rocket #jessie #james #meowth #brock #misty #tracey #may #max #dawn #iris #cilan #clemont #bonnie #serena #movie review #spoilers #pokeani

[beatricethecat2]

backstairs affairs

I scribbled the bones of this when I was desperate for a break while on a crazy work deadline. Now that I’m free(er), I’ve honed in on it as a fun thing to finish, as it’s a truly a silly piece of fluff. It could use more shaping but I'm putting it up anyway.

Timeframe: Vague mid/late season 4. Instinct never happened. Leena’s still with us. Claudia’s Caretaker. B&W are an established thing. Sorry for typos!

////////////////////

Myka enters the B&B dressed in full winter regalia, shutting the door quickly to keep the cold out. She drops her keys in a bowl in the foyer and begins brushing snow off her jacket, but slows to a stop as a low, muffled groan draws her attention. When the groan swells in volume, she jettisons her jacket and boots and hurries down the hall to the living room.

“Stop moving," she says, eyes scanning a horizontal Helena as she shifts on the couch. "Let me help you.” She kneels down and gently lifts Helena’s arm, the one in a sling, then rearranges the blanket and pillow underneath. “Where's Claudia?"

"Caretaker," Helena says, her non-restrained hand wafting in the air as if blown upward by a puff of wind, then flopping down limply, as if the wind abruptly stopped.

Myka meets Helena’s gaze, but Helena’s eyes never fully focus, instead loll past her towards the glowing screen beyond. Myka looks over her shoulder to see what’s there.

“What are you watching?"

“Some nonsense Claudia put on. ‘Easy to follow in my condition,' she said."

“Why’s the sound off?"

“Is it?"

Myka looks at Helena and quirks a brow. Helena is on hardcore painkillers, but she's too fixated on the show to not notice the sound's missing. She twists at the waist toward the TV and watches for a few beats, then turns all the way around and sides to the floor, leaning her back against the couch.

As the action unfolds, she sees why Claudia put his show on. “Easy to follow" has little to do with it; the sultry-eyed, pouty-lipped, shoot-from-the-hip protagonist swaggering across the screen has more. When Helena returned from astrolabe duty, it became quickly apparent there was a type of show she’d become addicted to: the female fronted police drama. Not only the show itself but a specific female character, always wronged in some way and fighting tooth and nail for what’s right. Such a stereotype in this modern age, a cardboard cut-out to fit into a plot, but Helena said the repetition fascinates her, each heroine’s motivations different in some way. Claudia says it's because they remind Helena of Myka, but Myka sees little resemblance.

In this instance, an attractive, dark blonde is dressed in a too-casual-for-this-event but hot-for-her dress and is holding hands with an with an impeccably suited, broad shouldered, roguishly handsome man that accents her nicely. They chat with each other while walking down an ornately decorated, red carpeted hallway, into what looks like an office or den. The man closes the door and abruptly pins the woman to the wall in what first appears to be rough flirtation, but the shot cuts to her wrists, which strain to break free as he cuffs them too tightly. He sneers as he speaks and the woman laughs at whatever he said, then she knees him in the groin. A fight ensues, one over dominance rather than escape.

“That’s impossible in those shoes,” Helena huffs, breaking Myka’s concentration.

"You wear heels in the field sometimes."

“Boots, darling, not stilettos."

“That's a stunt double anyway."

“Really?” Helena says, craning her neck and squinting as if it will allow her to see the switching of bodies. “How disappointing. And misleading to those choosing a career in government.”

Myka snickers, and pulls a corner of Helena blanket around her shoulders. They fall silent while watching the scene continue.

The woman is overpowered, and tied to a chair, then beaten while being questioned by the man. During a lull in the interrogation, she hangs her head and spits blood from her mouth, then looks up and smiles devilishly at her captor. Just then the door busts open.

"Oh, no. Not Johnny No-face again,” Helena mumbles.

"Johnny who?"

"Claudia’s moniker. Stereotypical male stepping in to save the day. Love interest of the pretty blonde."

"You think she's pretty?” Myka says, focusing the blonde. Blood drips from a cut on her forehead, but her hair is somehow perfectly arranged.

“I find her eyes expressive, captivatingly doe-like. Quite like your own."

“My eyes aren’t…they’re not doe-like,” Myka says, turning toward Helena.

“Lost in an emerald sea so deep, I’m wont to look away.”

Myka knows Helena is talking about her, not the blonde, but still…where is this coming from? Helena's gaze is glazed over, but the look in her eyes is adoring enough it elicits a half smile from Myka.

Satisfied with Myka's gesture, Helena's eyes drift back to the TV, and Myka turns around, analyzing the scene in front of her. The interrogator now lies in a lump on the floor, unconscious, while Johnny No-face talks to the woman, still bound in the chair. She studies the woman for a minute, then looks at the man.

"Is he more your type?” Helena asks.

Myka flinches. Damnit! The last time they went through this, it was awkward enough for a lifetime. No need to rehash.

The blonde holds up a pair of handcuffs, and from the look on her face, she broke out of them before the man arrived.

"Look, she was handcuffed. She seems pretty capable otherwise. She would have gotten out on her own, without the dude.”

"Like you would have, had I not interfered?"

Myka flinches again. Not the change of topic she was hoping for. “We’ve gone through this," Myka says, wondering what in her tone set Helena down this path.

“I saved you from that artifact."

“You fell down the stairs and took me with you. And I fell on top of you. Now your shoulder's dislocated, and your ribs are bruised. We’re lucky things weren’t worse.”

Myka braces for an argument but Helena's attention flicks back to the screen. She studies Helena, thinking “lack of follow through” is an attribute to add to the list of side effects from Helena’s drugs. Not that she's complaining, it’s just odd.

On the TV, the pretty blonde now sits at a table, surveilling a long haired brunette stationed at a different table, spying on a bottled blonde in a lab coat, camped out at yet another table.

“Intriguing,” Helena says.

“Who’s the brunette?”

“The blonde’s notes on her are written in Cyrillic.”

“Which blonde?”

“The pretty one."

"Talk about stereotypical,” Myka huffs.

"What if they’re lovers?”

“Who?”

“The brunette and the pretty blonde."

“Not on a show like this."

“Why ever not?”

“Uh…” Myka’s mind fills with a flurry of lame but institutionalized excuses. “There’s the Cold War for one. And the blonde's probably dating that guy...”

“Johnny No-face.”

“Yeah. So she wouldn’t…well, typically…switch teams.”

“How unfortunate,” Helena grumbles.

Helena slumps down in the couch, obviously disappointed by Myka’s statement. Myka worries that in Helena’s mercurial state, a familiar diatribe may be on the horizon, the one on how disappointing the twenty-first century's been where sexuality’s concerned.

“Why don’t we make up stuff. Like, play the parts ourselves. I'll be the blonde; you be the brunette,” she says, purposefully steering the conversation somewhere else. "I’m...defending my country, while you’re…stealing secret plans."

“You’ve already indicated they’re meant to be enemies. I’ve no desire to portray such roles.”

“Couldn’t they be enemies and lovers?”

Myka shifts and looks up at Helena, utilizing the doe-eyes she’s been told she’s in possession of.

“Da,” Helena says, and smiles dozily, draping her good arm around Myka’s shoulders.

“Don’t do the accent,” she says, cringing at the sound.

“I’m meant to be Russian, and I not?"

“Yeah, but, it’s…just, don't.” Myka hadn’t realized Helena feigning an accent would chillingly remind her of Emily Lake.

"Let’s watch some more,” Myka says, placing her hand over Helena’s and lacing her fingers through. They look back at the screen in tandem and see the brunette and pretty blonde sitting at the table together, conspiring over something unknown.

"They've met time and time again, throughout many empires and continents. They're destined to be together; intimately acquainted, yet their superiors haven’t a clue they’re involved.” Helena's voice deepens and formalizes, her words sounding like a voice over from a movie trailer.

Myka absently nods at Helena and studies the pair on the screen. They’ve tracked down the man, the one previously knocked out by Johnny No-face, and have tied him to a chair.

“Do you think I could be a spy?” Myka asks.

“You? No,” Helena scoffs.

“Why not?"

“You’re far too earnest."

“No, I’m not."

“You’d never perform a bludgeoning such as that.”

“She’s just slapping him around a little….oof,” Myka says, squeezing Helena’s hand and closing her eyes as the brunette shoots the man in the knee.

“That’s why you could never be a spy."

"I’m not going to shoot someone just to get information."

“You’ve never been tempted?"

“Well, Pete, but mostly to shut him up.” Myka laughs at her own joke, and her laugh ends in a snort.

The blonde and brunette smile at each other as they talk, their body language much friendlier than before. They divvy up papers found in the (now dead) man's (shot) open briefcase.

“After this, they'll tumble madly into bed, and Johnny whots-its will all but forgotten,” Helena says.

“TV doesn’t work that way,” Myka laments, shaking her head.

“One can dream,” Helena says, tensing her arm around Myka’s neck, hugging her close.

As the show cuts to a secondary plot thread, Myka's gaze wanders towards the coffee table.

"How many pills did you take?” she asks at the sight of several open bottles.

"All of them."

“Helena!"

"Claudia disbursed them before she...”

Helena’s arm, the one in a sling, lifts as if to waft in the air at the mention of Claudia. Myka places her hand on top and guides it back down before it rises too far. In the process, she turns her wrist to check the time and scowls at her watch. It’s too early for drugs. No wonder Helena’s out of it.

“Marvelous inventions, these pills, much better than opium."

“Opium?"

“You’re marvelous as well. Much prettier than that pretty blonde." Helena lifts up and leans forward to kiss Myka but jerks back in pain before she reaches her target.

“Easy there,” Myka says, fussing with Helena’s placement on the couch. “You just got out of the hospital."

"Did I? I can’t recall."

Sooo out of it, Myka thinks and smiles while completing Helena’s kiss. She settles back into place in front of the couch and reorients Helena’s good arm where it previously was resting and turns her attentions back to the TV.

“Wow. That was quick. The Russian’s dead.”

“No,” Helena says, sounding genuinely concerned. “Let’s hope our heroine's allowed time to mourn the death of her timeless lover."

“Uh-uh,” Myka says, squinting at the screen. “She’s not in Europe anymore. South America, I think."

“These spies are certainly…well…traveled,” Helena says, her words slowing as she yawns.

“So are we,” Myka says. “And we serve our country, just like them. But I like our job better."

Helena’s hand goes limp and slips from Myka's shoulder, falling to rest over her chest. Myka glances up at Helena and smiles; she’s fallen asleep.

“I like coming home to you, even if you think you saved me when you didn’t,” Myka says. She threads a lock of Helena’s hair behind her ear and kisses her forehead.

When she turns back to the screen, the pretty blonde is "getting it on" with Johnny No-face. She missed that transition, not that she really cares, but for some reason, she finds the proceedings hard to watch. Maybe it’s the way the scene is cut, or the lack of chemistry between actors, but the whole scenario looks forced upon the plot. She clicks the remote to read the show summary, and it begins, “In this fifth and final season....”

Typical, she thinks, and turns off the TV.

“I don’t know what I’m going do with you when the drugs wear off,” she says, quietly, as she turns toward Helena. But you’re so adorable right now, asleep, I don’t care. Helena makes a tiny, equally adorable noise as if responding to Myka's thought, and Myka combs her fingers through Helena's hair.

Maybe we’ll play spies one day, just for fun. You’d have to be English, though, like, 'James Bond’ English, without the sexist and trope-y stuff. And I could be…does Canada have spies?

#bering and wells #vague season 4 #fan fiction #fluff #comfort #TV cop dramas #Myka Bering #Helena HG Wells #I'm still pounding away at if/then(2.0) #and shaping up a sequel to that Emily Lake piece I did last xmas #(it's taken on a mind of it's own) #but I think I needed something finishable #to make me feel it's possible #to finish something #somewhere #somehow #sometime #(because when vacations over #I'm back to deadline hell)

[themorningcatch]

Dana’s Korean Drama Favorites

Special thanks to the Bogum to my Taehyung, Jazzie Rivera, for ruining my life via KDramas

CHICAGO TYPEWRITER ( 시카고 타자기) From April to June 2017

Network: tvN

Number of episodes: 16

Cast: Yoo Ah In, Lim Soo Jung, Go Kyung Pyo, Kwak Si Yang, Joo Woo Jin, Yang Jin Sung

Kilig* Factor: Satisfactory. It’s there but not too in-your-face. Seju is just a total tsundere but it’s perfect because (spoiler?) it’s every fangirl’s dream to meet their idol and be able to peel back all their layers and see them for who they truly are. There’s just enough strain between them that makes you root for them but there’s also some solid, cute couple moments that I may or may not have re-watched because huhu when will I ever???

Drama Factor: SO. MUCH. ANGST. I LOVE IT. Since the plot revolves around a tragedy they can’t figure out, when more of the plot is revealed, there is so much upheaval of emotions on their part, which also affects the audience. Not too mention the main cast’s acting is no joke. Absolutely captivating. Every episode feels heavy loaded, especially the last parts. This drama made me tear up again and again because one, there’s just something about past lives that really get to me and two, the lines (thank Jin Soo Wan) and their delivery just hit home so hard. 

Love Triangle Factor: This triumvirate’s affection for each other is the only Kdrama love triangle I will recognize. Their friendship is so special and it LITERALLY transcended lifetimes. The main cast’s chemistry is endearing like they’re all going through so much but they still have each other’s backs. And you know what, I love how Seol didn’t have to pick. I mean, she sort of did, but she didn’t really. Those two boys were both hers and they knew it. Sigh, now I want to be their friend. 

Notes: it really isn’t a surprise that Chicago Typewriter is my favorite drama because the characters are writers/avid readers; there is a touch of supernatural in the plot which is always good in my books; there is amazing acting. I honestly couldn’t get over how well they did it (especially Ko Gyung Pyo who is now one of my favorites); there is a balance between sad and light scenes, all while letting the story progress; and there are really cute moments without it feeling like fan service. I just love this show. I finished it at 4 AM after no sleep and I was physically and emotionally exhausted but at the end, it made me want to sit down and write and work because that’s the kind of storytelling that I want the world to be filled; stories that make people want to claim their roles as heroes in their stories. And heroes they are, this unforgettable trio. The only thing unrealistic about this is that Seju lives in a mansion. Like, I get that he’s a writer and he’s famous, but a mansion? Really? That’s doubtful.

Rating: 10/10 (will watch again!!!)

*(The Filipino word “kilig” is untranslatable but the best description is “the feeling one gets when they experience something romantic” or “that heart fluttering feeling”; whichever suits your fancy.)

W: TWO WORLDS ( 더블유) From July to September 2016

Network: MBC

Number of episodes: 16

Cast: Lee Jong Suk, Han Hyo Joo, Jong Eu Gene, Lee Tae Hwan, Park Won Sang, Cha Kwang Soo, Kim Eui Sung

Kilig Factor: Hyo Joo and Jong Suk have impeccable chemistry and Song Jae Jung (bless her heart) doesn’t let that go to waste. There were times when I would pause the episode just to let what I saw sink in. I thought, “HOW CAN TWO PEOPLE LOOK THIS CUTE???” Some scenes were so kilig, I almost cried. Sure, it was defo fan service for all us thirsty, lonely hoes, however, it is duly appreciated. Many times I would finish an episode and just want a boyfriend because dammit, Lee Jong Suk. Some moments are a little cringe-y when you think long and hard about whether really people do that, but I’m not complaining. I’m perfectly fine with it. 

Drama Factor: Like all good dramas should, the endings that W episodes go through crush my heart. Ultimately, it was just begging for a happy ending. I didn’t think that a sci-fi/rom-com plot was capable of making me upset but I guess that’s the charm of W; that even with loss, confusion, mystery, yearning, and all those painful adjectives, you still sit tight and grip the seat to watch it all unfold. For me, W has one of the best endings ever, a satisfying close, like a sigh of relief. To be honest, when I think about W nowadays, there’s this phantom ache in my chest just because there were scenes when I just thought, “The writer did THAT.” So word of warning, watch with detachment and if not, just be careful.

Creativity Factor: In the span of 16 episodes, W managed to scissor multiple plots and be stitched together and still not confuse the hell out of me. I think that is a plus for creativity. More often than I expected, W’s story line felt different each time a problem began. It’s an absolute roller coaster with a bunch of tropes that sometimes it felt like watching a whole other show. I personally enjoy that. It felt like an adventure, although exhausting at that. But sometimes, it does do something ridiculous that reminds you, this isn’t real anyways but I forgive that for entertainment’s sake. 

Notes: Not entirely a stunning show, but a unique and imaginative one. No other drama has quite left the same impression W did with me. This was the drama I recommended the most to people. It was about creation and art as well so that appealed to me. I love the bits where Song Moo would be sketching and whatever he did started translating to reality. That must’ve been hard to shoot so I commend the director as well. W also felt quick to watch as the plot moved without dawdling too much. It was quite unrealistic and intense but still, incomparable. As for the romance, Yeon Joo and Chul = OTP. 

Rating: 9/10 (when will my life become a drama???)

GOBLIN: THE LONELY AND GREAT GOD ( 쓸쓸하고 찬란하神-도깨비) From December 2016 - January 2017

Network: tvN

Number of episodes: 16

Cast: Gong Yoo, Kim Go Eun, Lee Dong Wook, Yoo In Na, Yook Sung Jae

Kilig Factor: At first, I seriously didn’t like them because of the age difference and it was little weird that Eun Tak called him “ahjussi.” Later on, I got used to it and as their love story progressed, the more I got tangled with it. I absolutely can’t forget the part when it would rain and Eun Tak would cry hysterically and she had no clue why. That was such a powerful and poignant scene for me. Gong Yoo and Kim Go Eun are incredible actors. They could convey such deep emotions from their characters and still retain parts of that when they become quirky. With the Sunny/Grim Reaper pairing, it felt a little dragging and draining by the end, to be honest. However, there’s this certain yearning I can’t remove that I want them to end up together. I think their relationship boosted Goblin/Eun Tak’s by showing a contrast. The kind of drama with romantic scenes that made me squeal out loud. 

Drama Factor: I think there were only a few episodes I didn’t shed a tear over. The writing has this fragrant poetry structure to it that just appeals so much to a hopeless romantic like me. I know people don’t talk that way in real life but there’s just a beauty with a good string of words that can support an otherwise mediocre scene. Also, a very, very good cast. There was a lot of crying but it didn’t feel overwhelming (for me) because of how it was delivered. I think Goblin is a show I would watch if I ever doubted the supreme lightness love can bring after a dreadful storm. 

OST Factor: Unforgettable. There’s a reason that Goblin’s is one of the most famous. The roster of performers in that OST is unbelievable. It’s so well chosen, especially once it’s edited as the background for a certain scene. There’s also so much to choose from that the songs post-Goblin binge watching don’t feel sickening; more nostalgic than anything. The OST by itself captures the sweet sadness of Goblin’s story and that’s a pretty good feat for a musical score to achieve. 

Notes: Goblin was the very first Korean drama that I’ve watched properly and voluntarily. I was just really curious at first but then the cinematography, the music, the acting of this show absolutely blew me away. I think I cried majority of the time because I couldn’t believe I was watching such a well written show with representation of people who looked like me! (Asians!!!) I think that like the show’s theme of first love for the 900 year old Goblin, this was the perfect drama to show me how great K-dramas have become, and maybe I’m being eye roll worthy but it felt a little like finding a first love. I have nothing but fondness over Goblin and its clever story full of fate and twists and childlike innocence amidst the dark past they all share. And loneliness is something that is so palpable to me and seeing it suited up like this, made my heart clench and have hope. It’s wonderful like that. 

Rating: 15/10. Just watch it. It’s worth your time. 

REPLY 1988 ( 응답하라 1988) From November 2015 - January 2016

Network: tvN

Number of episodes: 20

Cast: Hyeri, Ryoo Joon Yeol, Go Kyung Pyo, Park Bo Gum, Lee Dong Hwi, Sung Dong Il, Lee Il Hwa, Ryoo Hye Young, Choi Sung Won, Kim Sung Kyun, Ra Mi Ran, Ahn Jae Hong, Kim Sun Young, Yoo Jae Myung, Choi Moo Sung, Kim Sul, Lee Min Ji, Lee Se Young

Kilig Factor: Of course I know most people don’t fall in love with their neighbors that often but this one is an exception. Romantic love wasn’t the main theme for this show however it still came through. And yes, I may be super biased when it comes to Park Bo Gum and Go Kyung Pyo and yes, them just smiling can get me riled up already BUT the love triangle presented towards the end is pretty decent and the falling-back-in-love trope with two characters is realistic and enjoyable enough. I’ve never seen a character demonstrate that kind of attitude (fiercely and stubbornly choosing their career over a relationship) before so it was quite interesting for me. There were little moments where they would reveal that this character actually liked this character, or did this for this character that would just have me punching a pillow, kicking, and screaming because dammit, that’s cute. I think it could have been better though, but as Reply 1988 isn’t solely focused on that, it’s good enough. 

Drama Factor: Okay, compared to Reply 1988, my crying in Goblin was a dripping faucet. This show had me bursting like a waterfall. It was in all those moments that felt real, so, so real, I couldn’t help but weep. It was superb how Lee Woo Jeong wrote this show with tenderhearted conversations and the absolute unfairness of life that everybody can relate to and have such an awesome cast enact it in the messy times of the 80′s and translate into something a girl like me could deeply feel. Towards the end, I cried at every episode (there was always just something that hit me so much!) and it was the kind that would start as a sob and just progress then on. Inside Reply 1988 were lessons and experiences that everybody has felt or will feel or is trying to forget that universally is the same but in a different packaging. This show, to me, is the epitome of a Korean drama, unashamed and so emotional.

Food Factor: To be honest, there were far too many times Reply 1988 made me hungry. From clams to ramyun to kimchi pancakes to fish-shaped bread, they ate everything. I do appreciate it though because it exposed what Korean culture is like and how families have a good meal with each other as an act of love. I find the putting-meat/egg/vegetable/whatever-into-someone’s-bowl gesture as a unique and  simple way of saying you favor someone. I also saw how important food is with the plot because as they go through changes, their food changed! When they were poor, they complained about side dishes. When they got older, the food they ate became different. When something good happens, there’s a whole feast. When watching this show, beware of the scrumptious dishes. I’m still looking for tteokbokki these days. 

Notes: First of all, the set design team is amazing. I didn’t feel the whole Ssamundong late 80′s vibe at first but then it felt a little like home after so many hours of looking at it. There’s a lot of things I want to complain about this show, especially how it didn’t resolve properly. There were so many things left hanging! So many relationships unexplored! So many people’s endings swept aside! I didn’t feel like it got the ending it deserved. However, this was such a heartwarming drama. I haven’t seen such a raw presentation of this kind of suburban city life anywhere and it was familiar to me. I also loved how in an episode, things will happen and at the end, there was actually one unifying theme for all of that. I can say nothing more about Reply 1988 other than it did feel like I was growing up with these kids and I was part of their rag-tag bundle of troublemakers. That’s the most important part, I think, to have your audience feel like they were a part of it all. It means art has done its job well.

Rating: 7/10. A little disappointing but still great. 

(this took me forever to make but it was fun. i might make a part two. maybe...)

#lists #review #reviews #kdrama recommendations #kdrama #k drama #goblin #reply 1988 #w: two worlds #chicago typewriter #recs

[imaginekpoptrash-blog]

My Dancer (Lee Soohyuk Scenario)

Request: This may sound rather weird but I had dreamt about this and the thought just won't let go of me. So there's this Scenario: y/n is a dancer and currently performing with another group of dancers for a royal theatre. One day the son of the family who owns said theatre visits the dance practice and instantly falls in love with y/n. But because he never felt this kind of love he's a bit rude to her you know like the quarrel of lovers is the renewal of love so but because of his behavior y/n (1) doesn't think too much of him so one day when y/n is on her way home her car breaks down in the middle of a dark forest and of course it starts so rain. So then the son shows up and takes her, soaking wet, to his home where she can shower and change her clothes. But what she didn't know: the son is already married to a girl of equal royal status. But he doesn't love her. So he has lend y/n some clothes from him and of course his wife notices that and treats y/n without any (continued) (2/2) respect at all and kicks her out when the son leaves the room for a moment. Y/n is now completely lost outside, she has no car and it didn't stop raining so she's all soaked again... The end? I leave it up to you. the son's character could be portrayed by Lee soo hyuk, gong yoo or Lee Joon gi thanks in advance and I'm sorry if this is too specific, weird or long ~ Anonymous

A/N: Hey there! I’m sorry this took a bit longer than I said it would, but the scenario, itself, ended up being longer than originally intended...I hope you like it! ~ Admin Silver

Genre: Fluff with a dash of angst

Word Count: 4,493

Summary: Love can be an unfamiliar feeling that will make you do things you never thought.

You lifted your arm over your head and leaned to the side as you focused on your breathing. The attention you were giving your stretches was torn away when you overheard a small group of dancers to your left giggling. You looked over at them as you straightened and leaned the other way. “What’s going on?” you asked curiously. One of the girls looked over at you with an excited grin. “You didn’t hear who came to watch practice today?” she asked. When you shook your head, she and the two other girls waved you over. When you stood next to them, they subtly pointed to a spot directly in the middle of the audience seating. You glanced up to see a man sitting directly in the middle. You couldn’t really make out his features due to the distance and the house lights being down, but you could see his dark hair and impeccably styled black suit. You looked back at your fellow dancers to see them stealing glances at him between giggles. “Who is he?” Another of the girls gawked at you. “You don’t recognize him? That’s Lee Soohyuk. He’s the only son of the Lee family, the one that owns half this city. He’s like...modern day royalty or something.” “You’re from out of town, aren’t you?” the first girl inquired. You nodded and she laughed. “That’s why you didn’t recognize him. Like Sunye said, he’s practically royalty. His family is one of the richest and most prominent around here, and, well, owns half the city. Including this theatre. Usually it’s his mother who comes to watch practice. I wonder why he came?” “Maybe he was bored?” You shrugged. “Or he’s filling in for her.” The third girl laughed and shook her head. “Either way, I’m glad. He’s so handsome…” “Yeah,” the other two sighed, and you couldn’t help but smile. Not a moment later, the choreographer stepped on stage and called for everyone’s attention. She explained the scenes you would be working on today and had everyone take their places. You had a supporting role in the show and were only a few feet away from center stage. You were still a rookie in the company, but even so, you were one of the best dancers this season and a supporting role was the best you could get outside of being part of an ensemble. ~~~ Soohyuk glanced at his phone for what felt like the hundredth time in the last ten minutes. His father had somehow convinced him to attend the ballet corps’ practice at their theatre that day. Something about learning every aspect of the family’s holdings, not just the business side. Soohyuk, however, would rather have been anywhere else. His attention returned to the stage when he heard the choreographer speaking loudly. His eyes scanned over the dancers and paused on one just off to the side. When his gaze landed on her, he felt his heart skip. Soohyuk rubbed at his chest as a knot formed. He wondered over the new sensations for a moment before returning his attention to the girl onstage. He found himself watching her over the next few hours, growing increasingly confused and frustrated over the odd feeling. He only got it when he looked at that particular dancer, and it annoyed him. ~~~ Practice lasted for a few hours like usual, but this time it seemed more taxing. All you wanted was to go home, take a hot shower, and climb into bed in your comfiest pajamas. Your plans, however, were about to be interrupted. “Who the hell are you?” A voice caught your attention as you made your way through the carpark, startling you out of your fantasies. You turned to find the same suited man from earlier. Now that you could actually see his features, you understood why the other girls were so giggly. He certainly was handsome, if a little rude. “Excuse me?” you asked, turning toward him. You crossed your arms, frowning as you watched Soohyuk walk closer. “What’s your name?” he asked this time, stopping just in front of you. One had was in his pocket and the other was twirling an expensive looking smartphone. You watched as he looked you up and down, almost like he was inspecting a specimen. You were growing annoyed at his attitude. You answered his question with one of your own, “Why do you want to know?” Soohyuk shook his head, “Can’t you just answer a simple question?” “___,” you finally told him. He opened his mouth, but you raised your hand to stop him. “I know who you are, Mr. Lee. Is there anything you need from me?” Soohyuk scoffed and the corners of his lips twitched. “Well, then. Nothing, I suppose. Goodbye.” You stared at Soohyuk as he turned and walked away. You watched as he got into the backseat of a nearby car with tinted windows, just leaving you there. “What a weirdo…” you mumbled to yourself as you continued searching for your own car. ~~~ Interestingly--and annoyingly--enough, that wasn’t your last interaction with the man who essentially owned your workplace. After practice every day for the following week, you would be on your way to your car when Soohyuk would stop you. Sometimes he’d catch you in the lobby and sometimes he would stop you in the carpark. Either way, it was the same type of conversation. He’d make some comment about you, your dancing, or your dance partner, and then you would reply with as much sarcasm as you could muster. Sometimes the conversations were teasing. There’d be a tilt to Soohyuk’s grin and a certain sparkle in his eyes. Other times, however, he could be downright rude. You noticed those were the days you practiced scenes with your partner, but you thought nothing of it. You figured you were just the newest toy on a rich boy’s radar. You didn’t dislike Soohyuk, but you weren’t sure how much you liked him either. You had grown so used to these daily interactions that you were shocked the one day you didn’t see him at all. Soohyuk hadn’t shown up to watch practice, in fact no one from his family did. It was the source of plenty of gossip amongst the dancers and you found yourself wondering if something had happened. You made your way through the cars, searching for your own, and realized that you were taking longer than usual. “What am I doing, looking for that weirdo?” you asked yourself quietly as you reached your own car and unlocked it. You threw your bag into the backseat before climbing in behind the wheel. “Jeeze…” You pulled out of your parking spot and quickly made your way to the highway. The news on the radio was talking about an accident halfway between the theatre and your home, so you decided to take the next exit and use a different route that you knew of. Practice ended late this evening, so by the time you reached the backroad, the sun had fallen. You drove through the tall trees trying not to think of all the horror movies you’d watched in your lifetime. “You’d think living in a city, I wouldn’t find myself in a creepy place like this…” you sighed as you turned the radio up to drown out the creepy thoughts. You were singing along to one of your favorite songs twenty minutes later when all of a sudden, your car started to sputter. You turned on your hazard lights and slowly pulled over to the side of the road. Almost as soon as you stopped, the engine cut out. The dashboard lights and radio all shut off, throwing you into darkness and silence. “Shit…” you whispered. You reached over and began digging through the glovebox in search of a small flashlight you stashed there in case of emergencies like this. Once you found it, you pulled the lever to pop the hood and got out of your car. You looked around, eyeing the woods as you made your way to the front of the car. Using your free hand, you lifted the hood and immediately began to cough when a cloud of steam hit your face. You waved the steam away and stared at the smoking engine. “Great. Could this get any worse?” you shouted. As if on cue, a loud peal of thunder answered your question. You looked up at the sky in surprise. “Oh, no. Oh, no no no!” you yelled as you tried to shut the hood quickly. By the time you managed to close it and make it back to your seat, you were all but soaked. You rested your head on the steering wheel, loudly swearing and cursing both the car and sky for a terrible night. You reached back into your practice bag and dug out your cellphone. You dialed your roommate’s cell number, groaning when it went straight to voicemail. You banged your head against the headrest before sighing, “This cannot be happening. Why is this--AAAHH!!” You screamed when a pounding knock sounded against your window. You placed your hand on your chest to try and calm your racing heart. You held your cellphone tightly and looked to the side to see who it was. “Mr. Lee?!” you squawked, quickly rolling down the window. “What are you…?” Soohyuk leaned down and narrowed his eyes at you. He had an umbrella in one hand and a cell phone in the other. “___?” he asked. “Why are you out here like this?” “My car broke down…” you answered, feeling your cheeks warm as he stared at you. “You wouldn’t happen to have the number for a tow truck would you?” Soohyuk nodded. “Yes, but it’s on a business card at home. Come on, you shouldn’t be out here alone like this, especially soaking wet.” “Oh, um...I don’t think--” you began to protest. Soohyuk opened the car door and offered you a hand. You grabbed your wallet and cellphone before letting him help you out of the car and lead you to his, which was facing in the direction you had come. “I live about five minutes from here,” Soohyuk explained as he started the car and turned on the heater. “We’ll call a tow when we get there. You can tell them where you stopped and it shouldn’t take long for them to get out here and find it.” You nodded and thanked him. The ride continued in silence, the only sounds being the rain and the hum of the car’s engine. Soohyuk reached over after a moment and pressed a button on the radio, but keeping the volume low. “The weatherman said it would continue raining the rest of night,” Soohyuk coughed out. You could tell this ride was just as awkward for him as it was for you. You gave a small hum in response, and the two of you fell silent again. It didn’t take much longer to reach Soohyuk’s home. It wasn’t a mansion, but it certainly wasn’t some cottage. The house was two stories and was surrounded by trees. A garage sat off to the side of the building, the driveway leading straight past the house to it. There was a large fountain that the pavement circled around and a set of stairs leading up to the front door. Soohyuk had parked as close to the steps as possible. “Wow,” you couldn’t help but whisper. “Yeah, it’s a little outrageous...but it’s home,” Soohyuk said. You turned to see Soohyuk leaning over the steering wheel and staring up at the house, almost mirroring you. There was a strange expression on his face that you couldn’t place, but it disappeared as soon as he noticed you looking at him. Soohyuk coughed and leaned back to take his seatbelt off and grab the umbrella. “Wait until I come around,” was all he said before getting out. Soohyuk led you through the house and into what looked like a study. The walls were lined with bookshelves and paintings. On one end of the room was a desk with a computer and several notebooks. On the other end near a fireplace was a coffee table surrounded by a sofa and two plush armchairs. “Wait here a minute,” Soohyuk said as soon as you entered the room. He left and walked down the hall, leaving you there alone. You began to browse the bookshelves, noticing that the books were split between fiction and nonfiction. About five minutes later, Soohyuk returned with a pile of clothes in his hands. “There’s a bathroom down the hall you can use. Get cleaned up and out of those soaking clothes. You can borrow some of mine. They’re old, but they’re clean and they might fit,” he said as he handed the pile to you. You looked from the clothes in your hand to Soohyuk and back. “I don’t want to impose, we can just call the tow truck and I’ll wait in the front…” Soohyuk shook his head. “You don’t want to catch a cold do you? Or get kidnapped by some psycho in the woods?” he asked, the same cheeky grin you had become accustomed to taking its usual place on his lips. You grinned back and replied, “How do I know you’re not some psycho in the woods? You have been following me this whole week.” Soohyuk threw back his head and laughed. He shook his head at you and waved toward the door. “Go change. There’s a fully stocked shower in there, too. Just leave any towels you use in the basket by the door. I’ll search for the number while you’re in there,” he said, still grinning. “Fourth door on the right.” You stepped past Soohyuk and turned down the hallway. You easily found the bathroom and locked the door behind you. You glanced in the mirror at your stringy, wet hair and found yourself glad that you never wore makeup when you had practice. Looking like a wet rat was bad enough, you didn’t want to look like a wet raccoon on top of it. Laughing to yourself, you set the clothes Soohyuk gave you on the counter, found a towel a towel, and began to undress. You stepped out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, your wet hair dampening the neck of the T-shirt Soohyuk lent you. You padded barefoot down the hall back to the study. Your shirt and shorts were in your hands, wrapped in a plastic bag you found under the sink. When you entered the study, Soohyuk was sitting in one of the chairs, a book in his lap. The sight of him like that with his guard down caused a fluttering in your stomach, one that you remembered getting every time he would smile at you during your run-ins. He looked up when he heard you come in and grinned. “See, isn’t that better?” he teased. “Yeah yeah,” you snorted. You walked over to the armchair across from him and curled up in it, setting the bag on the ground. “Did you find the number?” Soohyuk nodded and pointed to a card sitting on the coffee table. He bookmarked the book and set it on the table as well before steepling his fingers and staring at you. “What?” you asked as you shifted nervously. “Why aren’t you in the lead role?” You stared back at Soohyuk and answered, “Because I don’t have enough seniority for it. I’ve only been with this corps for about six months.” Soohyuk raised a brow, “But you’re an incredibly good dancer.” You felt your cheeks warm and shifted again. “Thanks,” you mumbled. “Mr. Lee--” “Soohyuk. Please, call me Soohyuk.” “Soohyuk,” you said softly, watching his eyes flash. “You’re usually not this nice to me…” It was Soohyuk’s turn to shift uncomfortably. “I’m, uh, sorry about that,” he started. “I just...I don’t know how to…” “How to…? Act kindly to a stranger?” you joked. Soohyuk snorted and shook his head. He opened his mouth a few times and his forehead scrunched as if he were trying to figure out how to speak. “Just say whatever it is you want to say,” you urged him. You made yourself comfortable while you waited for him to start. “I feel strange around you.” You stared at Soohyuk wide-eyed. “Well, that’s certainly not what I expected. Nor does it convince me that you’re not the psycho in the woods…” Soohyuk narrowed his eyes at you as you snickered and sighed. “What I mean is...when I’m around you, I get this funny feeling in my stomach. When I first saw you earlier this week at practice, my heart did a weird...jumpy thing…” “Jumpy thing?” you repeated with a grin. “Don’t make fun of me,” Soohyuk groaned. He rubbed his forehead in frustration. “I don’t know if I’m allergic to you, or what. Stop laughing! Anyway, being around you makes me feel like that, but it makes me feel oddly happy. I have never met anyone I’m like this around and it’s incredibly frustrating.” You tried your hardest to back bite a smile. “So that’s why you’re always so rude to me? Because I make you feel funny? What is this, a case of playground pigtail pulling?” “Pigtail...pulling?” You giggled at Soohyuk’s confused expression. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it, you weirdo.” Soohyuk looked affronted at being called weird, but just laughed it off. The two of you moved on in conversation, but your thoughts continuously returned to his confession. Did Soohyuk...have feelings for you? Over the course of the next half hour, you learned more than that about Soohyuk. Your conversation was like one long game of 20 Questions. You learned about what he liked to do besides the family business, and he learned why you loved to dance. You learned about each other's’ favorite foods, vacations, and so much more. You found yourself enjoying Soohyuk’s company, and you found that you did, in fact, like him. All of a sudden, there was a ruckus in the hallway. A woman threw open the study door and sauntered in. She was dressed in a dress suit and was towering in a pair of six-inch heels. She was in the middle of talking about some store when she caught sight of you and stopped short. “Who is she?” the woman asked pointing a finger at you. “Miyoung…” Soohyuk said, standing. “What are you...I didn’t think you’d be back until next Friday?” Miyoung looked at you again and her eyes widened a fraction. “Why is she in your clothes?!” Soohyuk raised his hands in a placating manner and stepped between the two of you. He explained that he had found you stranded in the road on the way home from a meeting. He told her that you were from the theatre and that you two had talked a few times, so he wanted to help you out. He made a point to mention that that was all that happened, and it seemed to calm Miyoung down a fraction. “That was sweet of you, darling. Would you do me a favour and take my bags up to the room? I’d hate to leave them out where anyone could trip,” Miyoung asked sweetly, batting her eyes. Soohyuk looked at you and apologized, “Sure, Miyoung. Sure. I’ll put them in the same room you stayed in before you left.” Miyoung smiled at Soohyuk and patted him on the cheek as he turned to leave. As soon as he left the room, she turned on you with a scowl. “Get out of that chair,” she ordered. You stood and stepped back, nearly tripping on your bag of wet clothes. Miyoung scoffed at you and shoved past. She leaned over the table and picked up the business card, reading each side carefully. “___, was it?” Miyoung asked, not really looking for an answer. She took a few steps in your direction and glared at you. “Do you know who I am?” “Sorry, no,” you replied. “I’m Soohyuk’s wife.” “Oh,” you replied, trying to hide your shock. “He didn’t mention having a wife.” Miyoung hummed in response, giving you a nasty smile. She nudged you out of the way, pushing you toward the middle of the room. Once you were out of the way, she leaned down and picked up your bag. She inspected the clothes before making a noise of disgust and throwing them at you. Miyoung walked over to you again and used a finger to pin the card against your shoulder. “I don’t care what you’re really here for, you little golddigger. You can sit in the rain for all I care. Get out of my house and away from my husband,” she sneered. You bit back the rising anger as you took the card from her and turned to leave. You pretended not to hear the insult she muttered and quickly left the room and made your way back to the foyer. Just as you grabbed the doorknob, you heard Soohyuk calling your name from the stairwell. You sniffled and straightened your back before turning to face him. He came down the remaining steps and rushed over to you. “Where are you going?” he asked, concern written over his face. “It’s still raining.” You shook your head. “I’ll be fine,” you said firmly. “I’ll call the tow truck on the way to my car, and wait there. I’ll try getting hold of my roommate again so that someone knows where I am. Thank you for all of your help, Mr. Lee.” Soohyuk’s brows shot up. “Mr. Lee? What happened to calling me Soohyuk? Seriously, ___, you can stay here until--” You cut him off. “No, I can’t. And you know what? You really should have mentioned that you have a wife before basically confessing that you have feelings for me.” Soohyuk’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by a throat clearing. You both turned to see Miyoung at the hall entry with her arms crossed. She was glaring at the two of you and tapped her foot repeatedly. “Goodbye, Mr. Lee,” you said quietly before leaving the house. Once you were a few yards away, you began to cry. ~~~ A few more weeks of rehearsals passed and opening night finally arrived. You shared a dressing room with two other dancers, both supporting roles as well, but were currently alone as you were still getting ready. You hadn’t seen nor heard from Soohyuk since the night your car broke down, and you were partially glad. You weren’t sure you would be able to handle another confrontation with his wife. You stared into the mirror as you began to wonder if they’d both be in the audience during the performance. “Of course they will,” you said to yourself, “His family owns this place…” You were pulled out of your musings when a familiar knock sounded at the door. You slowly got up and made your way over to open the door, hoping that it wasn’t who you thought it was. “___...hi…” Soohyuk said. He stood on the other side of the door in a grey tailored suit with his arms behind his back. This wasn’t the haughty Soohyuk who would bother you after practice, but the real Soohyuk whom you had gotten to know in such a short time that night. “I, uh, wanted to see if I could catch you before the show to give you these. You mentioned that you liked daisies...” Soohyuk took a bouquet of beautiful multi-coloured daisies    from behind his back and held them out to you. You stared at them in shock as you took the flowers. “Mr. Lee--Soohyuk--you really shouldn’t ha--” “We’re getting divorced,” Soohyuk interrupted you. “Actually, I’m divorcing her. I’ve been trying to get her to sign the papers for almost two months now.” You gasped and grabbed Soohyuk’s arm to pull him into the dressing room. Once you closed the door and set the flowers on your vanity, you calmed your breathing and turned to face him. “You have five minutes. Explain.” “I’ve been trying to divorce Miyoung for weeks now. It’s something that’s been in motion since before I met you,” he began. “She’s been in Paris this whole time using it as an excuse to not sign the papers. It’s not even me she wants to stayed married to, it’s my family’s name and money. You met her, it can’t be that hard to realize. Anyway, I didn’t know she was coming back so early and I was planning to give her the papers and tell her to move out once she returned, so...you saw how well that plan worked out.” You nodded, but remained silent so that Soohyuk could get everything out. Soohyuk dropped into a chair with a heavy sigh and rubbed his face. “The woman’s a vampire, I’m telling you. I don’t know why I agreed to marry her in the first place. And when I heard what she did to you...I got so pissed. I kicked her out of the house.” “You what?!” you almost yelled. “Soohyuk, you kicked her out in that weather?!” Soohyuk shrugged, “Yeah, but it didn’t really stick. She didn’t leave that night, but the next afternoon instead. There was a lot of screaming and slamming doors all night long, from her I mean. But she agreed to sign the papers. We’re getting a divorce.” You nodded and leaned back against the table. “What does this have to do with me?” you asked quietly. Soohyuk leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees. He put his head in his hands and sighed again. “You were right that night,” he said as he lifted his head to look at you. “I did have feelings for you. I still do. These past few weeks have been hell not seeing you or talking to you. I don’t know if I love you, I’ve never actually been in love before...but there is something there. I want to see what it is. I want to be with you.” You nodded and moved to stand in front of Soohyuk. He sat back to give you room and stared up at you warily. “I’ll admit, I have missed talking to you and arguing with you,” you told him, crossing your arms. “But I will not date a married man. Shush. Ongoing divorce or not, until it’s finalize you are still married.” Soohyuk frowned and you could tell by the look in his eyes he was hurt. You leaned over and grabbed his hand. “But once the divorce is final...maybe...we could go out for dinner,” you said as you played with Soohyuk’s hand. You looked at him with a cheeky smile and winked. “If you don’t act too rudely, weirdo.”

#lee soohyuk #lee soohyuk scenario #kactor #request #imaginekpoptrash #kpop scenarios