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lewyn-martell · 1 year

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DAEMON TARGARYEN & VISERYS I TARGARYEN

Q: George said that the biggest conflict in this show is not between people, but within somebody's own heart. What do you think it’s your character's biggest conflict in their heart? PADDY CONSIDINE: My biggest conflict... I should never have been named king. Q: Why? PADDY CONSIDINE: Because really, in my heart, I wasn't built to do it. MATT SMITH: I don't know, that's a tough one. His biggest conflict is himself, to be honest. And, uh, his brother. Something to do with his brother, probably. Don't know what.

— Rotten Tomatoes TV interview with Paddy Considine (plays Viserys) and Matt Smith (plays Daemon)

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He's always kind of flipping sides, I suppose, in many ways aligning himself with his brother or he's not... I don't think it's about an ambition to [the] throne and all that. I think a lot of it is about his brother.

— Matt Smith, Entertainment Weekly

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I think [Daemon] has a sense of duty to his family, weirdly. I think he’d lie on his sword for his brother or Rhaenyra.

— Matt Smith, Los Angeles Times

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Q: The most prominent relationship Daemon has in the premiere is with his brother, King Viserys, and the contrast is striking. Viserys wants to be liked, while Daemon really doesn’t care what people think. A: That’s true. But what I uncovered, which perhaps wasn’t there in black and white, is that there’s a deep fragility to Daemon, actually — particularly when it comes to his brother. He cares what his brother thinks. The rest of the empire can go stick it. He doesn’t really give a toss.

— Matt Smith, The New York Times

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— House of the Dragon, 1.02 “The Rogue Prince”

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[Daemon] had been among the brashest of Viserys's supporters prior to the Great Council and had even gathered a small army of sworn swords and men-at-arms when rumours claimed that Corlys Velaryon was readying a fleet to defend the rights of his son, Laenor. King Jaehaerys avoided bloodshed, but many remembered that Daemon had been ready to come to blows over the matter.

— Maester Yandel, The World of Ice & Fire

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As for the king's own views, all the chronicles agree that King Viserys hated dissension. Though far from blind to his brother's flaws, he cherished his memories of the free-spirited, adventurous boy that Daemon had been. His daughter was his life's great joy, he oft said, but a brother is a brother. Time and time again he strove to make peace between Prince Daemon and Ser Otto, but the enmity between the two men roiled endlessly beneath the false smiles they wore at court. When pressed upon the matter [of succession], King Viserys would only say that he was certain his queen would soon present him with a son.

— Archmaester Gyldayn, The Rogue Prince, or, A King's Brother

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RHAENYRA: You haven't come to court in an age. DAEMON: Aye. Court is so dreadfully boring. RHAENYRA: Then why come back at all? DAEMON: I heard your father was hosting a tournament in my honor. RHAENYRA: The tournament is for his heir. DAEMON: Just as I said. RHAENYRA: His new heir. DAEMON: Until your mother brings forth a son you are all cursed with me.

— House of the Dragon, 1.01 “The Heirs of the Dragon”

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— House of the Dragon, 1.01 “The Heirs of the Dragon”

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I think they are normal brothers. And there's a huge amount of love there, and I think it's complicated. You know, there's a sort of deep, dark history that surrounds them.

— Matt Smith, S1 EP1: Inside the Episode

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[Daemon struggles to finish while having sex with Mysaria and gets frustrated] MYSARIA: What troubles you, my Prince? [Daemon covers himself] MYSARIA: I could bring in another. Perhaps a maiden. I have several. [Mysaria uncovers his head to look at him] MYSARIA: I could even arrange one with silver hair. [Daemon stays quiet, sullen] MYSARIA: You are Daemon Targaryen. Rider of Caraxes. Wielder of Dark Sister. The King cannot replace you.

— House of the Dragon, 1.01 “The Heirs of the Dragon”

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Ostensibly, most people are afraid of Daemon. And it's interesting for someone to say that Viserys is weak. As soon as Viserys goes "Oi, Daemon, wind your neck in", Daemon does. It's like your word is rule. And Daemon shuts up eats his porridge when he's told to. But only from him.

— Matt Smith, HOTD: Official Podcast - Everything we know about House of the Dragon

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MATT: Oddly, he says to his brother "You're weak", but I think that's all about him going, "I don't feel recognized". Everything Daemon does is the response of going, "I want you to recognize me." You know what I mean? "Please. I love you. I love you. I love you." So he's just a really annoying... he's his annoying little brother. You know what I mean? PADDY: Yeah. MATT: And I think that's what we landed on, isn't it? PADDY: Yeah. MATT: Without ever really talking about it. PADDY: And it's weird in families, you know. There's things within my own family. There's estrangements. There's a strange psychology of cutting people out and punishing them with silence and things like that. And it's just, you know, why can't we just call each other up and say, "I love you"? It's hard. And I felt, even when we were making it, that Daemon just wanted Viserys to say, "I love you." MATT: Yeah. PADDY: And Viserys sort of knew that, but begrudgingly, it's like, "I'm not gonna say that to you." He doesn't hate Daemon. Doesn't hate him at all. He's just not going to give Daemon what he wants. MATT: Which is odd, though, isn't it? For someone who's so bright and sensible, and such a, you know, in many ways, quite an astute man, he's still not capable emotionally of doing something really simple. Like, he's quite complicated emotionally, Viserys, isn't he? PADDY: I think so too, yeah. There's a lot going on.

— HOTD: Official Podcast - Everything we know about House of the Dragon

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VISERYS: My family has just been destroyed. But instead of being by my side, or Rhaenyra's, you chose to celebrate your own rise! Laughing with your whores and your lickspittles! You have no allies at court but me! I have only ever defended you! Yet everything I've given you, you've thrown back in my face. DAEMON: You've only ever tried to send me away! To the Vale, to the City Watch, anywhere but by your side! Ten years you've been king, and yet not once have you asked me to be your Hand! VISERYS: Why would I do that? DAEMON: Because I'm your brother. And the blood of the dragon runs thick. VISERYS: Then why do you cut me so deeply? DAEMON: I've only ever spoken the truth. I see Otto Hightower for what he is. VISERYS: An unwavering and loyal Hand? DAEMON: A cunt. A second son who stands to inherit nothing he doesn't seize for himself. VISERYS: Otto Hightower is a more honorable man than you could ever be. DAEMON: He doesn't protect you. I would. VISERYS: From what? DAEMON: Yourself. You're weak, Viserys. And that council of leeches knows it. They all prey on you for their own ends. VISERYS: ...I have decided to name a new heir. DAEMON: I'm your heir. VISERYS: Not anymore. You are to return to Runestone and your lady wife at once, and you are to do so without quarrel by order of your King. [Daemon steps forward toward him, but the Kingsguard stands in his way] DAEMON: Your Grace.

—House of the Dragon, 1.01 "The Heirs of the Dragon"

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PADDY: I think he's somebody who's trying to be a king that pleases everybody and ultimately that has a very detrimental effect on him later on. Q: And Daemon is the opposite? MATT: Yes, in many ways. But they're weirdly similar and weirdly opposite, like all siblings. But yeah, in many ways he's very opposite. He's reactionary, he's impetuous, violent, he's attention-seeking, there's a madness to him. PADDY: Yeah, he is attention-seeking. MATT: Yeah, totally. PADDY: And there's nothing worse if you're an attention-seeker and you're being ignored. MATT: And you're going 'notice me! notice me!'

— Entertainment Tonight

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Viserys has a very complicated relationship with his brother. He deeply loves him, but he loves the idea that Daemon will change and be somebody else, and Daemon is not a person who changes. And Daemon also desperately loves his brother. I mean, they have this really kind of beautiful, conflicted, complicated relationship, and Daemon just wants his brother to let him in and to be at his side. Everybody thinks that Daemon, you know, wants the throne, and wants to take it from Viserys. He wants to be at Viserys' side. He wants, really wants to be Viserys' Hand. But Viserys doesn't trust him because of the way we see him act. So it's this argument of "Why don't you trust me?", and it's like, "Well, because of the things you do." And he's like, "Well, I do the things that I do because you don't trust me." So it's this really, again, it's a deeply conflicted, complicated relationship between the two brothers, but I think Viserys is aware the whole time.

— Ryan Condal, HOTD: Official Podcast Ep. 1 "The Heirs of the Dragon"

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Absolutely not, no. He can't fix his brother. And I don't think he thinks he can. What he does is occupy his brother. Keeps him occupied. If we keep Daemon over there and put him in charge of that and keep him busy, you know, well, no one's talking about him and then everything's fine. [...] Every job he's had, he's messed up. I can't fix him, I can't fix my own daughter. I can't fix anybody. It was never about trying to fix him. It was just that dysfunction that brothers have with their own egos.

— Paddy Considine, HOTD: Official Podcast - Everything we know about House of the Dragon

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— House of the Dragon, 1.01 “The Heirs of the Dragon”

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DAEMON: You've matured yourself these last four years, Princess. [Rhaenyra looks down] DAEMON: You'll get used to the attention. RHAENYRA: The attention I can endure. It's the rest I could do without. My father seems content to sell me off to whichever lord has the biggest castle. [Daemon looks down smiling] DAEMON: There are worse things to be sold for.

— House of the Dragon, 1.04 “King of the Narrow Sea”

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There’s a deep and quite profound love between [Daemon and Viserys], and I hope that’s something that comes alive throughout all 10 episodes. The thing with Daemon is he just keeps pushing — pushing the envelope, pushing the boundaries, pushing the rules that were in place around him. But it’s weird. The more time I spent with palace intrigue … He’s got a strange moral compass of his own. What looks like he’s just being erratic and mad, he thinks he’s doing the right thing.

— Matt Smith, The New York Times

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Daemon has a great affiliation, and love, and admiration for his brother, the King. But Daemon's all swords and knives, really. I do think on some level, he wants to cause chaos. I think he's interested in chaos, I think he survives in chaos quite well. He's got a very quite clear moral compass. And you're either in it or you're out of it.

— Matt Smith, Height of an Empire

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— House of the Dragon, 1.04 "King of the Narrow Sea"

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VISERYS [TO RHAENYRA, IN THE AFTERMATH OF THE BROTHEL SITUATION]: The responsibility I have handed to you, the burden of [the knowledge of the prophecy]... It is larger than the throne, the King. It is larger than you and your... desires.

— House of the Dragon, 1.04 “King of the Narrow Sea”

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PADDY: Viserys does love Daemon. Massively. They just can't articulate it between each other. Daemon in Viserys' eyes is a fuck up, he's always bringing trouble to his door. But a part of Viserys envies Daemon because part of him wishes he could go off and do what Daemon does. MATT: And also what Daemon wants is, he says to him, he's like "Come with me." You know what I mean, "Be my big brother, let's go. We could have it all" and, you know, "Why are you fucking doing all this, ruling the kingdom with a sane mind?"

— HOTD: Official Podcast - Everything we know about House of the Dragon

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— House of the Dragon, 1.01 “The Heirs of the Dragon”

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DAEMON: It was never my brother's strongest trait. CORLYS: What? DAEMON: Being King.

— House of the Dragon, 1.02 “The Rogue Prince”

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If it was difficult when you were just you and your kid, now suddenly it's about the impact of those choices that you made, how you fuck your kids up, turns them into terrible leaders. Or amazing ones. And they impact every single other member of that society. And I think that's fascinating, and different characters carry the weight of that knowledge in different ways. Daemon could care less. He doesn't care, he just wants to be close to his brother. He doesn't give a shit about the throne. [As for] Viserys, it's all he can think about. "Will I be remembered as a good king? Will I be remembered as just this guy who just kept things going in peace time?"

— Miguel Sapochnik, HOTD: Official Podcast Ep. 6 "The Princess and the Queen"

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I think he's saying it with a degree of sincerity, 'The Heir for a Day', yeah, amen. That was the point as he said it. And then he goes back- I think he's just really frustrated at his brother. He wants to shake him and go 'Wake up. I love you more than everyone else. I love you more than everyone else.' It's just, you know, misplaced love, I think. It's what it's all about.

— Matt Smith, The Wrap

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MATT: I don't think Daemon said it-- from his point of view, he's not saying it in a bad way when he's in the pub, or in the brothel, whatever, when he's talking - the reason he's in trouble. I think with Daemon, again, there's just the sort of very deep, deep love for his brother. And I think there's a strange sort of fragility to him. It's all about acceptance, and he's cross, he's annoyed at his older brother for ruling like this and not accepting him. So I think they're all genuine concerns. I don't think it's particularly histrionic from him. PADDY: I think Viserys is torn between being a brother and being King. I think if it was anyone else who uttered those words, they'd be dead. MATT: Heads would roll. PADDY: And I think for Viserys, again, it's the guilt he feels for making the choices he makes in the first episode. And I think sometimes Viserys perceives Daemon as somebody that abuses his position quite a bit, abuses his privilege a little bit at times, whereas Viserys doesn't have that sort of gene in him, really. He doesn't abuse his position as king in any way, and I think sometimes Viserys feels that Daemon gets away with things because he is the prince. MATT: And ironically, Daemon's like, ‘why can't you just get away with things with me?’ Q, PADDY: Yeah. MATT: Because there was a time when they used to go out together. They were more equal, weren't they? PADDY: Yeah. MATT: Not equal, but [hand gestures].

— Digital Spy

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— House of the Dragon, 1.01 “The Heirs of the Dragon”

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It is Viserys waiting for that heir to come along and putting poor Queen Aemma through these multiple stillbirths and miscarriages and pregnancies to try to get to that, to protect the realm. Because once he has a son, then he doesn't have to have the conversation with Daemon. He can just say, "I'm sorry, bro. You know how it works. It's my firstborn." But until he has that, it's Daemon in the eyes of most of the realm.

— Ryan Condal, HOTD: Official Podcast Ep. 1 “The Heirs of the Dragon”

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— House of the Dragon, 1.02 “The Rogue Prince”

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Matters became more complicated when, with Ser Otto Hightower's encouragement, King Viserys announced his intention to wed the Lady Alicent, Ser Otto's daughter and the Old King's former nursemaid. For the most part, the realm celebrated this union. [...] Not all was so joyous in the Vale, however, where Prince Daemon was said to have whipped the servant who brought him tidings of the marriage [...]

— Maester Yandel, The World of Ice & Fire

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Laughter and love ruled the Red Keep [the night of the wedding between Viserys and Alicent]... whilst across Blackwater Bay, Lord Corlys the Sea Snake welcomed the king's brother Prince Daemon to a war council. The prince had suffered all he could stand of the Vale of Arryn, Runestone, and his lady wife. "Dark Sister was made for nobler tasks than slaughtering sheep," he is reported to have told the Lord of the Tides. "She has a thirst for blood." But it was not rebellion that the rogue prince had in mind; he saw another path to power. [...] The Sea Snake was determined to put an end to the Triarchy's rule over the Stepstones, and in Daemon Targaryen he found a willing partner, eager for the gold and glory that victory in war would bring him. Shunning the king's wedding, they laid their plans in High Tide on the isle Driftmark.

— Archmaester Gyldayn, The Rogue Prince, or, A King's Brother

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— House of the Dragon, 1.02 “The Rogue Prince” & 1.03 "Second of His Name"

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Daemon goes to war for his own motives, essentially, because I think... He wants to. And irregardless of the consequences, because it gets his brother's attention.

— Matt Smith, S1 EP3: Inside the Episode

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Prince Daemon had at last returned to court [for the great tourney in honor of the fifth anniversary of the king's marriage to Queen Alicent]. Wearing a crown and styling himself King of the Narrow Sea, he appeared unannounced in the skies above King's Landing on his dragon, circling thrice above the tourney grounds... but when at last he came to earth, he knelt before his brother and offered up his crown as a token of his love and fealty. Viserys returned the crown and kissed Daemon on both cheeks, welcoming him home, and the lords and commons sent up a thunderous cheer as the sons of Prince Baelon Targaryen were reconciled.

— Archmaester Gyldayn, The Rogue Prince, or, A King's Brother

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— House of the Dragon, 1.04 "King of the Narrow Sea"

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He loves his brother very much, but he knows if his brother turns up at a wedding there’s going to be trouble. Being king has estranged him from Daemon. Daemon has a head for adventure and can behave irresponsibly at times. He’s always pushing the boundaries of what��s acceptable, and Viserys is always making excuses for him.

— Paddy Considine, The Hollywood Reporter

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RHEA ROYCE: Husband. What brings you to the Vale? Or have you, at last, come to consummate our marriage? The Vale's sheep might be willing, even if I'm not. Our sheep are prettier, after all. Or perhaps your brother has at last had his fill of your company? Cast you aside in favor of a little girl... What will you do now? Will you strike the child down?

— House of the Dragon, 1.05 “We Light the Way”

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— House of the Dragon, 1.04 "King of the Narrow Sea"

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When he comes back, he's not looking for his brother anymore. He's somehow looking to get back at his brother. And Rhaenyra becomes the apple of his eye.

— Miguel Sapochnik (Showrunner / Executive Producer / Director), S1 EP4: Inside the Episode

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RHAENYRA: You seemed so content on Dragonstone. Why did you come back? [Daemon stays silent] RHAENYRA: There is surely more to your return than simply taunting my father. [He smiles and touches her necklace] RHAENYRA: So... What do you want? DAEMON: Only the comforts of home.

— House of the Dragon, 1.04 “King of the Narrow Sea”

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Q: What is it about [Rhaenyra] that resonates with [Daemon]? A: There’s that family bond that he is so invested in. It really, really matters to him. And probably he feels a certain kinship with her that he’s maybe lost with his brother.

— Matt Smith, The New York Times

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It's a very complicated situation, isn't it. But, I think a lot of it is about trying to get a reaction from his brother in the early instances, and it's about trying to wind his brother up and annoy his brother. As you see, when the series goes on, it's not as black and white, as Paddy says, having an interest in your young niece. It's much more complex than that, really, as the Targaryens are, you know. It's a strange, strange, complex family.

— Matt Smith, The Wrap

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— House of the Dragon, 1.04 "King of the Narrow Sea"

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It's the idea that Daemon is using Rhaenyra as a way to get to her father. Ultimately, his impotence in [the brothel] scene is a reflection of the fact that he knows deep down what he's doing isn't right.

— Miguel Sapochnik, S1 EP4: Inside the Episode

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ALICENT: It is not in Rhaenyra's nature to be deceitful. I cannot say the same for your brother. VISERYS: You believe he lied? ALICENT: How often does he speak the pure truth? VISERYS: How does confessing to such things serve him? ALICENT: By reducing you.

— House of the Dragon, 1.04 “King of the Narrow Sea”

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Q: Do you think Daemon loves Rhaenyra? Because he's a tricky one, too, you know? I mean, he's brutal. A: I think Daemon idolises Viserys, and because Rhaenyra is an extension of Viserys and represents pure Targaryen fire, I think Daemon is in love with that. But I think, also, Daemon gets bored easily.

— Olivia Cooke (plays Alicent), HOTD: Official Podcast Ep. 7 "Driftmark"

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When it's put to Viserys that Daemon may have had sex with Rhaenyra; I think that's where the dragon comes out in Viserys.

— Paddy Considine

He once again banishes his brother, but what he feels more than anything is manipulated.

— Miguel Sapochnik

S1 EP4: Inside the Episode

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— House of the Dragon, 1.01 "The Heirs of the Dragon" & 1.04 "King of the Narrow Sea"

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In a pure creative writer's sense, it's thrilling because it's so freeing, and it allows you to be, at once, devotedly faithful to the source material and also incredibly free and creative to make different decisions and to turn an expectation on its head. To take the event, that little line in the book about Lady Rhea having her skull crushed in a fall from her horse, and turning that into a whole scene and a motivation for Daemon to strike back at the king who's always held this loveless marriage that's basically a prison for Daemon, to keep him controlled and keep him from doing the things he wanted to do. So Daemon goes and destroys it.

— Ryan Condal, HOTD: Official Podcast Ep. 10 "The Black Queen"

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— House of the Dragon, 1.05 "We Light the Way"

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Prince Daemon knew that his brother would not be pleased when he heard of his new marriage. Prudently, the prince and his new bride took themselves far from Westeros soon after the wedding, crossing the Narrow Sea on their dragons.

— Archmaester Gyldayn, The Rogue Prince, or, A King's Brother

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Daemon's tried to remove himself from Westerosi politics, and go live across the sea in a place where it can't affect him and twist him the way that it always did when he was at home.

— Ryan Condal, S1 EP6: Inside the Episode

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ALICENT, REFERRING TO VALYRIA’S MODEL: It is truly wondrous what you've built. VISERYS: Oh, no. I only pore over the histories and provide the plans. The stonemasons built the structures.

— House of the Dragon, 1.02 “The Rogue Prince”

LAENA: I miss my brother, Daemon. As I think do you. DAEMON: I miss Westerosi strongwine. It could be depended on for a few hours of peaceful oblivion. This amber shit that they drink here... LAENA: Do you never long for home? DAEMON: No. LAENA: I don't believe you. DAEMON: Believe what you please. LAENA: You laud the virtues of Pentos, but you have no interest in it. If you did, you would venture into the city, but instead, you spend your time here, in the library, reading accounts of the same dead dragonlords whose legacy you claim has no hold on you.

— House of the Dragon, 1.06 “The Princess and the Queen”

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In 116 AC, in the Free City of Pentos, Lady Laena gave birth to twin daughters, Daemon Targaryen's first trueborn children. [...] From High Tide, he sent a raven to his brother in King's Landing, informing His Grace of the birth of his nieces and begging leave to present the girls at court to receive his royal blessing. Though his Hand and small council argued heatedly against it, Viserys consented, for the king still loved the brother who had been the companion of his youth. "Daemon is a father now," he told Grand Maester Mellos. "He will have changed." Thus were the sons of Baelon Targaryen reconciled for the second time.

— Archmaester Gyldayn, Fire & Blood: Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros, Volume 1

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— House of the Dragon, 1.07 "Driftmark"

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They haven't seen each other since he banished him again for robbing his daughter's innocence, and saying horrible things to him [sic]. But Viserys has gone through some stuff, and his health is failing, and I think he's feeling more like he wants family around him now than he probably was when he sent Daemon away.

— Ryan Condal, S1 EP7: Inside the Episode

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VISERYS: Daemon. I know we've had our differences, but let them pass with the years. There's a place for you in my court. If there's something you should need. DAEMON: I need… nothing.

— House of the Dragon, 1.07 "Driftmark"

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The governance of the realm was a daunting task; the king needed a strong, capable Hand to shoulder some of his burdens. Briefly he considered sending for Princess Rhaenyra. [...] He considered his brother as well, until he recalled Prince Daemon's previous stints on the small council. [...] His grace chose familiarity, and recalled to court Ser Otto Hightower, the queen's father, who had filled the office before for both Viserys and the Old King. Yet hardly had Ser Otto arrived at the Red Keep to take up the Handship than word reached court that Princess Rhaenyra had remarried, taking to husband her uncle, Daemon Targaryen. The princess was twenty-three, Prince Daemon thirty-nine. King, court, and commons were all outraged by the news. Neither Daemon's wife nor Rhaenyra's husband had been dead even half a year, to wed again so soon was an insult to their memory, His Grace declared angrily. The marriage had been performed on Dragonstone, suddenly and secretly. Septon Eustace claims that Rhaenyra knew that her father would never approve of the match, so she wed in haste to make certain he could not prevent the marriage.

— Archmaester Gyldayn, The Rogue Prince, or, A King's Brother

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— House of the Dragon, 1.08 "The Lord of the Tides"

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— House of the Dragon, 1.08 "The Lord of the Tides"

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Even at the end, there aren’t words in that relationship. Daemon helps him up there, and he puts the crown on his head, and that said everything that he’s never said, without uttering a word.

— Paddy Considine, The New York Times

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— House of the Dragon, 1.08 "The Lord of the Tides"

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It's like all this corruption and all this fighting, this is what it does. This is what being a king does. This is the effect of all of this on me. Why can't we just love each other? It sounds really naff, but it's like, "Why can't we just love each other? Why can't we just make this work?" […] I don't think he ever wanted to be king; it's a burden. He's just doing a duty. He was too human to be king. […] When he takes his last breath he maybe feels like he's done all he can, and he's put his house right. He did his best. He kept this secret belief in the prophecy, and kept that with him until the day he died. And that's all he could do.

— Paddy Considine, S1 EP8: Inside the Episode

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— House of the Dragon, 1.10 "The Black Queen"

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— House of the Dragon, 1.10 "The Black Queen"

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I think in this scene, [Rhaenyra] gets a message from beyond the grave the moment that she understands that Daemon wasn't chosen. ‘Wow, it was never you.’ Simultaneously, Daemon gets shafted from beyond the grave by his brother, who he loves more than any other character in the show. On the one hand, he can say that he doesn't believe in prophecies. But he was never trusted to anyway.

— Emma D'Arcy (plays Rhaenyra), GQ

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[Aegon’s prophecy] certainly is a burden. We know that [Rhaenyra] knows it, we know that Daemon does not. And whatever little bit he heard, he was very dismissive of.

— Ryan Condal, HOTD: Official Podcast Ep. 10 "The Black Queen"

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Q: Shouldn’t he at least have told Daemon or others about the prophecy? A: No way, not at that time. That’s something that we struggled with. There was a scene that was deleted after Aemma (Sian Brooke) died, where Viserys meets with Daemon and he tries to hint at this idea of prophecies and what the gods mean to him. He was trying to get some idea where Daemon’s at with his beliefs, but the tone of the scene was never quite right. There’s no way that Daemon would even connect to that — he’d laugh Viserys out of the room. He’s not into dreamers or things like that.

— Paddy Considine, The New York Times

***

Look, I think Daemon has a lot of good aspects to him, but there is this darkness in him that he really struggles with. And his core injury is the fact that Viserys rejected him. Everybody thinks that Daemon wanted the crown, and maybe he did. Maybe he toyed with the idea a bit. But really, really deep down what he wanted was to be Viserys' Hand. He wanted to be his brother's guy. He wanted to help him and protect him; it's the thing he tells him in the first episode. So, when Daemon learns after this hell of a day he had where he learns that his brother is dead, he maybe thinks that his enemies, the Hightowers, helped him along. He learns that the throne, his wife's birthright has been seized and stolen. It's been an emotional day for Daemon. And then on top of all that, when Rhaenyra tells him, casually, that 'oh, that big secret that we passed from King to heir through the whole bloodline...', the fact that Viserys never told him. He never named him Prince of Dragonstone. Daemon was never Viserys' heir, ever, in his mind. And I think it just shatters him. And I think it's not a... It is an act of violence against Rhaenyra, but it is a lashing out of a wounded man, and it's the only way that he knows how to express it. And the way we always wrote Daemon and his, uh, complicated, let's say, relationship with Rhaenyra was that he really does see Rhaenyra as an extension of his brother. And I think there is a part of Daemon that is in love with his brother. In maybe not a sexual sense, but in a 'I need to have it be a part of me'. And because he couldn't have that, that's a large reason why he pursues Rhaenyra. So, in that moment, I think it's all those things coming together in confluence. Perhaps in that moment where he just lashes out, he sees Rhaenyra as a further extension of Viserys. Because he can't put his hands on Viserys, that's the next best thing.

— Ryan Condal (Showrunner / Executive Producer / Writer), Official Game of Thrones Convention, Dec 9th 2022

***

— House of the Dragon, 1.10 "The Black Queen"

***

His brother’s death is going to have a bigger effect on him than he probably even realizes.

— Matt Smith, Los Angeles Times

#house of the dragon #hotd #asoiaf & got #daemon targaryen #viserys i targaryen #daemon x viserys #shipcest #daeserys #visaemon #daemon targaryen x viserys i targaryen #house targaryen

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rainbowdaisy13 · 5 months

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I don’t understand what you want Taylor to do. She has so many fans coming to her show for joy. She has to perform and give them a good show. If she dwells publicly on this sad death it will ruin the show for others. She told us she is too distraught to address it on stage. She was handing out water as much as she could from stage. She did not kill this person. They had issues very early into the show. Has it crossed your mind that this woman could have had health problems and it had nothing to do with the event? Let her get through this leg of the tour and let her entertain her fans who paid good money to watch her. You don’t know what she is going through nor do you know what her team is doing behind the scenes.

Why are you in this space? This is a space for people to vent their feelings about Ana’s passing/the subsequent silence—you can go literally anywhere else online and find people that agree with you and will endlessly dick ride for Taylor even if she ate a cat on IG live

They are doing nothing so far because the family has told us they have done nothing. To say Taylor’s feelings of sadness overshadow the feelings of Ana’s family is WILD. And if you actually follow this blog you’d know I’ve said flat out that this could’ve happened to Ana anywhere but it didn’t—it happened at Eras tour, meaning Taylor has a responsibility as a decent human being to at the very least make a post in Remembrance of Ana. Instead we are getting endless gross articles about her Beard, new Black Friday deals on merch, and her cameo on dancing with the stars—business as usual

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themomsandthecity · 6 months

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Should I Invite My Racist Family Members Over For the Holidays?

We know that every holiday season, parents have lots of questions - whether it's how to deal with stress-inducing in-laws or ways to keep their kids healthy. That's why, this year, we tapped four advice columnists and experts to help us. Enter: The Holiday Nightline, where we're answering your most burning questions about parenting during the holidays. Keep reading for a Q&A advice column from Doyin Richards, an anti-racism facilitator and the author of several children's books, including "You Matter to Me." --- Dear Doyin, The holidays are approaching, and my uncle and in-laws have been known to have racist viewpoints towards Black people. I'm a white woman married to a white man, and our twins will be 5 in a month. They are definitely old enough to pick up on what the grownups around them are saying, and I don't want them to be influenced by those words and actions. On the flip side, I know my uncle and in-laws are good people, and having a few backwards beliefs won't change that. My question is, should I confront them about their behavior or should I let it pass? They're coming to our house for Thanksgiving and Christmas. - Holiday Hatred Dear Holiday Hatred, Let's say your uncle and in-laws hate puppies. Every time they saw one in person, on television, etc., they would say how disgusting puppies are and how the world would be a better place if dogs never existed. Now, let's pretend that these adults spew their hatred of puppies in front of your kids whenever they visit your house. I'm going to pose your question back to you - would you confront them about their behavior, or would you let it pass? I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that you wouldn't hesitate to put your extended family in check if they were acting this way around your kids. Why? Because pretty much everyone loves puppies and dogs (including you, I bet), and you wouldn't sit idly by while all of this canine slander was flying around your airspace. In other words, if your letter included "German Shepherds" in the place of "Black people," you never would've sent it in the first place. It would be a no-brainer for you to stand up for our beloved four-legged companions. As a Black man, I'm not naïve enough to believe that Black people are in the same category as dogs in terms of being endlessly loved by the general public. In fact, if we weren't catching touchdowns, slam-dunking basketballs, dropping bangers for people to dance to, or entertaining people in some way, we would be at the bottom of the list. I'm not just any Black man, though - my day job is to fight against all types of racism as a consultant for corporations and universities across the globe. In doing so, I constantly see people make excuses as to why they won't fight against the world's most pervasive mental illness (and yes, racism is a mental illness), and it usually comes down to one simple phrase: "I don't want to rock the boat." It's so odd to me, because racists have no problem rocking the boat in polite society. They say and do so many vile things - and people are actually concerned about hurting their feelings? Really?! Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. described this phenomenon perfectly while sitting in the Birmingham Jail in 1963: "I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in the stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Council-er or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate who is more devoted to 'order' than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says 'I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I can't agree with your methods of direct action;' who paternalistically feels he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by the myth of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait until a 'more convenient season.'" He wrote that letter 60 years ago, and the shameful… https://www.popsugar.com/family/holiday-nightline-racist-family-49308854?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

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inkykeiji · 3 years

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day 3 ❅ you are my home, my home for all seasons

don’t cry snowman, don’t you fear the sun, who’ll carry me without legs to run?

day two ❅ day three ❅ day four | series masterlist

characters: todoroki touya | dabi ft. todoroki natsuo

genre: smut + angst

notes: WAAAAH okay listen i swear to god this was not supposed to be as long as it is. uhhhh just over half of this is smut, pls pay attention to the warnings below n stay safe! <33 | title credit: snowman by sia

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), one (1) non-graphic fist fight, tense family dynamics, generally toxic relationships, size difference, drug use, threesome, rough sex, cumplay/snowballing, a hint of mindbreak, slight dacryphilia, slight degradation

words: 7.7k

synopsis:

And the way his eyes glitter as he gazes at you, the way his fingers trace your jaw and then smooth down your hair, melts all of the anxiety and anger that had been building in your chest, burns it all to ash and sweeps it away just like that, with that one look and that gentle caress.

Because his sapphire eyes hold so much love it’s almost suffocating, overwhelming in the best way, has you endlessly craving more, more, more; and his soft touches speak volumes, rough hands scarred and stained with blood he’ll never be able to wash off, so tender when they touch you like this.

I think…I think he really loves her.

And suddenly, none of it matters anymore, Fuyumi’s words and Rei’s worry no longer holding any weight. All that matters is that you love him, and he loves you, and that’s all you need.

❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅

It storms, the day of December 23rd; a nasty blizzard that has the wooden shutters banging against the outside of the cabin, harsh gusts of air rattling the glass windows as it viciously hurls snow and ice against them.

“God, you can’t see fucking anything!”

“Language, Natsuo,” Rei chides softly, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she stares out at the white, at the nothingness, just endless swirls of deceptively pretty snow, being tossed in every direction by fierce winds.

“We can’t even see the cars, and they’re only a few feet away!” Fuyumi whines. “So much for tubing today,”

“That’s alright,” Rei says, forcing her lips into a smile as she turns towards her children. “We’ll just have to find other ways to entertain ourselves, that’s all,”

And not one of you misses the uneasy trembling in her voice.

❅ ❅ ❅

“Up,”

Black obscures your vision for a moment as Touya tugs his shirt over your head, a shiver coursing through your body as your skin is exposed to the cool air of your shared bedroom.

“You cold?” Touya teases, tweaking a peaked nipple.

“Niichan!” you whine, swatting at his hand, blood rushing to your face, cheeks tingling with embarrassment.

“Cute,” Touya smirks, the tips of his fingers caressing a burning cheek before he turns away, rooting through a drawer and looking for your dress today. “It’s adorable that you’ll let me stick my cock in you, or fuck your throat, or coat you entire body in cum, but you still get embarrassed by those little things,”

He turns back to face you with a stupid, goofy smile on his face, though his eyes are shining with mirth, and you can’t help the soft giggle that bubbles past your lips, sprinkled throughout your shy little shut up, niichan!

It’s routine at this point, your actions entirely automatic as your naked body slides off the bed, Touya kneeling to pull a fresh pair of panties—lavender today, trimmed with lace and ribbon—up your legs, lips scattering a few kisses along your thigh as he does so. Arms raise into the air, almost expectantly, as Touya straightens up again, slipping a long sleeved babydoll dress over your head—crushed velvet and plum purple, this time—helping pull your arms through before smoothing it down your body.

Stepping back to assess you, to admire you, Touya dusts his hands together. “Do you think you can pull on your tights by yourself today?”

Your eyebrows furrow, but you nod anyways. Of course you can, you’re a big girl, you know.

“Perfect.” He turns on his heel. “Then, I’ll be back,” he tosses over his shoulder casually, as if there isn’t a blizzard raging outside. “Stay put, yeah?”

“Wait, what?” tiny finger curl in the material of his sleeve, tugging a little. “You’re going out in that?”

“Just for a moment—”

“Niichan!” the honorific comes out as a gasp, your hand smacking his bicep. “Do you have a deathwish?”

“Baby,” he begins, gently taking your face between two large palms, voice supercilious as if speaking to a child. “I need to smoke, or I’m going to crawl out of my fucking skin, do you understand? Natsuo’s gonna come,”

“I wanna—”

“No.” he says instantly, eyes flashing, your body instinctually cowering from his tone. “I’ll only be a minute, I promise,” he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Relax, it’s just a little snow! I want you to sit here like the perfect little good girl you are, and not move until I come back, okay?”

Lips pulling down into an involuntary frown, you nod in his grasp, watching him go with a little pout. It’s only after you hear the backdoor slam, pulled shut by the sheer force of the wind, that you hear them.

“He’s got her entirely brainwashed!” Fuyumi’s muffled voice carries through the walls.

“I’m not quite sure that’s it,” Rei responds, trying to gently reason with her daughter.

“Oh my God, what are you talking about!”

You creep off the bed, springs squeaking under your weight.

“Fuyumi,” Rei sighs, and you imagine her pinching the bridge of her nose. “When’s the last time you saw Touya smile like that? When’s the last time you saw your older brother this happy?”

Bare feet make the softest little pad…pad…pad… against the hardwood as you tiptoe towards the door.

“Mom…” Fuyumi trails off, her voice softer when she speaks again. “It doesn’t make it right, though,”

The brass knob turns slowly, carefully, silently, and you pull the door open just a crack, just enough to push your ear close to the sliver and listen.

The master bedroom is at the end of the hallway, but the door is wide open, their voices floating through the vacant corridor.

Rei responds after a beat of silence. “Would he stop even if I told him to? Is it even worth the fight, at this point?”

And she sounds so sad, so defeated that it drives a dull, throbbing ache deep in your chest, a hand coming up to press against your body, trying to quell it.

“I think…” Rei trails off, and your breathing halts. “I think he really loves her,”

Her words probably shouldn’t inspire such wicked sparks of joy that shoot through your veins and up your spine, but they do, and you have to press your lips together to keep a giddy smile from spreading across your face. So other people do see it.

“Oh God, give me a break, he’s—”

“I’m serious, Fuyumi,” Rei cuts her off sharply, voice curt. “I haven’t…He’s never stayed with someone for this long, never cared about anyone as much as he cares about her—you can see it in his eyes,”

“But—But she’s his sister, mom!” Fuyumi cries. “It isn’t okay!”

“Keep your voice down,” Rei scolds, sounding exasperated. She’s quiet for a moment. “You’re right. It isn’t okay. But I…” her voice fades, and you think you hear sniffling, the thought stinging your own eyes. “I can’t take that from him, Yumi, I just can’t,”

A tense silence settles, and you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears, body rigid and tight as you wonder if the conversation’s over.

“She doesn’t deserve that, you know. He doesn’t, either,”

Fuyumi’s words, murmured so quietly you have to strain to hear them, light a ferocious fire in your chest, sending scalding fury burning through your veins. How dare she!

Your teeth grind together, hand gripping the doorknob so tightly it begins to jiggle. How dare she insinuate that Touya doesn’t deserve your love. How dare she imply that he isn’t capable of loving, when she barely knows a goddamn thing about him.

Sparkling cobalt flashes through your mind, accompanied by that pearly, lopsided smile and that thoaty, syrupy voice that’s always dripping with just a touch of indifference, and your heart swells.

Touya takes care of you better than anyone ever has in your entire life. Touya makes sure you’re well fed, well groomed, well dressed. Touya ensures your final year university assignments get done in a timely manner, buys you whatever you want, whenever you want it. Touya provides for and cares about and loves you.

How dare she pretend as if she understands any of that, as if she knows anything about your relationship at all, as if it’s any of her damn business in the first place.

“What about her father? What does he think about this whole situation?” Fuyumi asks a few moments later, when it’s clear Rei isn’t going to respond, capturing your attention again, jaw clenching.

Another deep sigh, one that surely has her chest heaving with the force of it, echoes down the hallway. “He refuses to talk about it any time I try to bring it up, so I’ve stopped trying. He’d rather just…not know, I guess, ignore it and pretend it doesn’t exist, and just look away. I don’t—I don’t think he can bear the thought, so he just…doesn’t.”

Exhaustion is heavy in your step-mother’s voice, weighing down her words and diminishing the flames raging in your chest to smoldering embers, hand relaxing its grip around the doorknob.

“If that were me and Natsuo—”

“That’s enough,”

“Or me and Shouto—”

“I said, that’s enough, Fuyumi.” Rei snaps, and you flinch—in all the years you’ve known her, you’ve never heard her use that tone of voice. It’s unusual, unfamiliar, unsettling.

Heavy footsteps begin stomping up the stairs, cutting off your thoughts, and you yelp softly, scampering back towards the bed. Touya pushes through the door a moment later, eyebrows knitting as azure eyes dart from your untouched tights, still sitting neatly folded on the bed where he placed him, to your bare legs, then drifting up to your face.

“Why aren’t your tights on, princess?” he tilts his head, a smile playing at his lips, more relaxed now that he’s smoked. “Willfully misbehaving? Or are you not such a big girl after all?”

I think…I think he really loves her.

And suddenly, none of it matters anymore, Fuyumi’s words and Rei’s worry no longer holding any weight. All that matters is that you love him, and he loves you, and that’s all you need.

❅ ❅ ❅

By the late afternoon, you’ve all begun to get antsy, resulting in Rei feeling like her kids are actual children again and wracking her mind for an activity to keep you all occupied. She decides on baking and decorating gingerbread men and then a Christmas movie marathon after dinner, gathering the family in the kitchen as her hands nervously rearrange the ingredients she’s laid out on the table.

Everyone’s already a little on edge, shoulders tense and tight any time Touya and Shouto are in the same room together, and you swear the air is electric, cracking and popping with shocks and zaps anytime one of them bristles at something the other said.

Like a storm is brewing.

The entire family works hard to keep them as far away from each other as possible, and attempts to minimize any type of contact at all: seating them on opposite ends of the table, keeping them sandwiched between moderators—family members who speak cautiously in gentle voices, who carefully and dutifully steer the conversation away from a fight—and even going as far to give each ‘group’ their own mixing bowl and baking tools.

The ingredients, however, they have to share.

It feels like a competition: who can make their dough the fastest, who can decorate their cookies the nicest, who can stay the most faithful to the recipe, who’s cookies taste the best.

And yet, none of these efforts seem to matter, because Shouto’s very presence, Shouto’s very existence, infuriates Touya to no end. They clash like thunder and lightning, silent strikes of white-hot fury that you can almost see flashing through the air—Shouto snickering quietly, or making some snide comment muttered under his breath, or reacting to something Touya does with a roll of his eyes or a scoff—followed by a clap of menacing thunder; rumbling—a tremorous growl deep within Touya’s chest; and roaring—the way his deep voice booms through the space; and rolling—his hand clutching you: your hand, your thigh, your wrist, anything he can latch onto to keep him grounded, to keep him sane.

It only continues to build as the day progresses, explosive magma rising higher, and higher, and higher with each spiteful word spit through clenched teeth, each ridiculing laugh ringing out around the room, each malicious look shot in the others direction, until it finally erupts, spouting blistering lava that scorches everything in its path, that seeps through the cracks, beginning to corrode that mask Shouto has been steadily chipping away at.

It was bound to happen eventually—no matter how hard any of you had tried to pretend, you had all known it. It had only been a question of when.

The answer to that question, apparently, is after dinner.

You aren’t even sure how it began, exactly, busy washing dishes with Rei in the kitchen, but your blood runs cold when you hear Natsuo quietly urging Touya to stop, don’t, it isn’t worth it, and Touya growling at Natsuo to let go of him, don’t fucking touch him.

Rei hears it too, of course, because the plate she was scrubbing slips from her hands and cracks as it collides with the aluminum sink, sheer panic etched into her face, wiping sudsy hands on her cardigan as she hurries towards the voices with you in tow.

Shouto’s barking out a laugh as you both round the corner—a harsh, almost piercing sound that echoes throughout the cabin, void of any humour.

“I’m not afraid of you anymore,”

And though his face is harder than marble, eyes positively glaring at his eldest brother, his voice shakes a bit.

Touya picks up on it, of course, because Touya picks up on everything.

“That so?” He asks casually with a shrug, eyes beginning to glitter as Shouto involuntarily shrinks away from him. “Shame. Whaddya say we fix that?”

Touya has always been quick, has always been seemingly one or two steps ahead of everyone else. He reaches around his body, lithe fingers running along the waistband of his jeans, and groans out a curse when his hand meets nothing—Nastuo still has his gun.

That’s fine, he shrugs a little, dangerous smirk on his face as Shouto’s eyes watch his hands with laboured breathing as fingers dip into his front pocket, curling and finding it empty—Natuso still has his blade, too.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Touya hisses, Natsuo’s words from after the snowball incident echoing through his mind. You can have these back, he had said sternly, as if speaking to a fucking toddler, when you’re in your car, behind the wheel, all packed up and ready to go Christmas Day.

Well, that’s alright, Touya supposes, because his fists are weapons in their own right, too, aren’t they?, large hands flexing before curling into tight balls, sapphire eyes glinting in the warm light, teeth bared in a petrifying smile as he cracks his neck.

And it all happens so fast, like a cat pouncing on its prey, nothing but a blur of ivory and black colliding with crimson and cream, a mess of bruised knuckles and split lips and flowing scarlet—so much scarlet, streaming from noses and smeared across cracked picture frames, seeping through little slashes and spit from between clenched teeth.

Something shatters, someone screams, but it all sounds muffled to you, distant and far away as you stare dazedly at the mess of limbs on the hardwood floor a few feet away, watching as brilliant galaxies of periwinkle bloom rapidly on smooth skin, and everything feels numb.

Natsuo manages to catch Touya, receiving an elbow to the stomach in the process as he hooks his arms under Touya’s and hoists him off of their baby brother. Shouto leaps to his feet, ready to lunge at his now incapacitated brother, but your father grabs him before he can, holding him back, arms wrapping around him in an iron grip.

The softest sob sounds, all eyes snapping towards it.

Rei stands with her arms wrapped around herself, gleaming grey eyes darting between her eldest and youngest, and everything stills.

“You leave my sight for two seconds—” she starts, blinking hard as fat tears roll down her cheeks, the rest of the sentence getting lodged in her throat. “Two seconds, a-and—and you—I am so—so—”

She’s unable to force the words through her trembling lips, but she doesn’t need to.

I am so disappointed in you.

Natsuo’s able to haul Touya off to the first floor washroom, curses still spewing from your niichan’s lips as he thrashes against his brothers grip, volatile and malignant and stuffed full of hostility, his rough voice breaking with them. His eyes look glossy, and you think he may even be crying, though it’s hard to tell with his aggressive writhing in Natsuo’s strong arms, muscles bulging under the thin material of his shirt.

Touya’s hands tremble as he taps out those little round pills, as white as the snow outside, a few clattering to the floor during the process. Your fingers knot together in front of your body, wringing and unwringing as you watch Touya toss several in his mouth, dry swallowing them expertly before leaning against the counter, fingers curling around the edge, exhaling a shaky breath.

“Sh-Should he be taking that many?” Your eyes dart to Natsuo, who’s propped up against the bathroom door, your forehead creased in worry. He laughs a little, coos at you as if you’re so cute for worrying about your niichan, like your niichan didn’t just down four oxys at once—before bothering to clean himself up, before bothering to do anything—and wraps an arm around your shoulder, tugging you towards him.

It’s comforting, and you automatically snuggle into the warmth, still shaken up from the events that occurred in the past twenty minutes, burying your head in his chest and inhaling, letting the palliative scent of fresh mint and lemon with a hint of blue raspberry fill your lungs.

He needs them, Natsuo tells you in that gentle voice, in that trusting voice, his thumb rhythmically stroking your back, voice vibrating against your cheek and reassuring you that It’s alright, he’s fine, he just needs a little something to calm him down, to sedate him.

This is the best option, he promises you, stone eyes soothing and familiar when you gaze up at him, bottom lip caught between your teeth. With the snow storm happening outside and all.

He has a point, you guess. Whether you like it or not, Touya’s still undoubtedly trapped in this tiny cabin with Shouto for at least the next twelve hours.

It’s a low dose, he ensures with a kiss pressed to the side of your head, “Gave ‘em to him myself,”

You feel like you can breathe again, Natsuo’s calming words taming the irregular palpitating in your chest, soft fingers swiping across your cheeks, catching glistening tears as he consoles you.

It’s okay. He’s okay. He’ll be okay.

What Natsuo doesn’t tell you, though, is that Touya needs them in more ways than one, that Touya actually ran out of the oxys he had brought for the trip, the ones that were supposed to last him the full five days, and that Natsuo’s pulled from his personal stash to give him more, because the last thing anyone needs on top of this disaster is Touya suffering a fucking opioid withdrawal.

He leaves to check on Shouto shortly after, muttering something about shoving a few pills down his throat, too, to mellow him out.

You pretend not to hear it, rushing towards Touya the moment the door shuts, latching onto him from behind and nuzzling your face into his back, tears threatening to suffocate you again.

Touya turns in your grasp, wrapping large arms around you and squeezing you to his chest, clutching you like a lifeline as his fingers dig into your flesh, head dropping and cheek resting against the crown of your head as he repeats Natsuo’s words.

It’s okay. He’s okay. He’ll be okay—as long as you never leave him.

And you won’t. You wouldn’t. You never will.

❅ ❅ ❅

The movie marathon, to everyone’s surprise, proceeds as scheduled. It’s awkward, and no one actually wants to be there, but Rei’s face is still stained with tears, streaks of sticky salt decorating her cheeks, and none of you have the heart to leave her when she throws on some staticky old cartoon and collapses on one of the couches—not even Touya.

No one talks about it, either. No one talks about the shards of broken glass Fuyumi swept from the floor, or the ugly, weblike crack Shouto’s head left when it whacked off the drywall.

There’s nothing to talk about, you guess, bitterness stinging the back of your tongue, sinking in your chest, as you snuggle into Touya’s lap.

But Touya’s feeling better—Touya’s feeling good, large hands running down your bare thighs, kneading the flesh before he drags them back up, under your dress, the thick quilt draped over your lap obscuring his actions from the others.

“N-Niichan,” you whisper, turning to shove your burning face in his neck and whimpering when he chuckles lowly, a dark sound that has scalding heat pooling deep in the pit of your stomach, that has your thighs clamping together and trapping his hand.

“Shh, behave,” he murmurs into your hair, waiting for your thighs to relax before his hand continues its ministrations, creeping up, up, up until he reaches your clit, flicking his thumb over it once. A gasp spills from your lips, and Touya pinches the sensitive bud, lips at your ear. “I said, behave,”

So you do—or, you try, legs spreading wider for him, molars sinking into the flesh of your inner cheek to keep from mewling. Because that’s all you want, really—to be good for him, to be his good girl, to help him forget, to do anything you can to alleviate his stress and make him feel better.

Touya teases you for the entirety of the marathon, continuously driving you to the edge and teetering you on the cliff, tempting you with the fall, the plunge, the release, before dragging you away from it, only to repeat the process again, and again, and again. Skilled fingers have it down to a fucking science at this point, circling your clit in quick, hard motions, until your thighs are trembling and your hips are pathetically trying to buck into his touch. Such reactions are always his cue to stop, to back off, immediately slowing to unhurried figure eights, sometimes pressing his fingertips into your hole just a little through the thin cotton of your panties. And then, he waits, waits until every muscle unclenches, relaxes, until your breathing evens back out and your whines fade, decreasing in frequency, until the gentle, featherlight touches of nimble fingers against your swollen clit have almost put you to sleep, just to simply begin it again.

The bulge in his jeans strains eagerly against the denim, and it’s hard, so hard, pressed up against your thigh. Long, slender fingers catch your wrist when you try to cup it, to offer him some relief, sapphire eyes flashing as he shakes his head slowly. A deep pout etches itself into your face, you just want to help, but Touya growls in your ear, orders you to stop being a fucking brat, chest rumbling against your back.

And by the end of it, you’re covered in a glistening layer of sweat, legs quivering so bad that you’re barely able to stand, the cotton of your panties soaked all the way through and sticking uncomfortably to your aching pussy, your slick slippery on your inner thighs after having seeped through the thin material.

Everything hurts, muscles feeling like they’ve been filled with sand, Touya chuckling as he stands and stretches his hands above his head, cock still straining painfully against black denim, and murmuring about how cute you are when you’re tired.

“Tired,” Natsuo snorts with a roll of his eyes, just after the rest of your family has trudged up the stairs to get ready for bed, Fuyumi struggling to support a barely coherent Shouto.

You look over at him, head quirking curiously.

“You two were misbehaving,” he smirks, glancing between your faces self-righteously. “You were quite naughty tonight, don’t you think?”

Pricks of humiliation crawl along your skin. He noticed?

Of course he did, how could he not? His voice is sharp, stings like a slap to the face, a tone you don’t hear very often from him, and it wasn’t very fair to make him sit through that and not be able to touch, was it?

“No, it wasn’t,” Touya agrees with a shake of his head, sounding almost solemn, though amusement glitters in his azure eyes, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. I think we should make it up to poor Natsuo, princess. Don’t you?

They’re looking at you like a pair of starving jaguars, stone and sapphire eyes glinting dangerously in the hazy yellow light the little lamp provides as they prowl towards you, trapping you between their bodies and the edge of the couch.

“I-I…” your voice dies in your throat, eyes darting between the two men as your heart begins to race. You don’t know, you aren’t sure, is this even allowed?

Then they’re laughing at you, cooing at you as their hands paw at your body, pinching and cupping and squeezing, Touya murmuring about how you’re going to help Natsuo out like a good girl while carrying you up to your shared bedroom and placing you on the bed, Natsuo following close behind, shutting the door with a gentle kick of his foot.

Then Natsuo’s crawling onto the bed beside you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I bet you look so pretty when you cum, baby,” His voice is low, rough, and it makes your stomach flutter.

His words pull an unexpected gasp from your throat and your eyes find his, blinking twice in genuine question. “D-Do you think about that?”

“Fuck,” he nearly whimpers, sharing a look with Touya, who chuckles smugly, leaning against the wall a few feet away, arms crossed casually over his chest.

“I told you,”

Forehead wrinkling as your brow furrows, your gaze darts between the two of them, unsure of exactly what it is they’re talking about.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Natsuo breathes, eyes hooded as they scan your body slowly, working back up to your face as he grinds the heel of his hand against his hardening cock. “I think about it,”

The burning deep in your belly flares at his dark stare, thighs rubbing together as you hold his eyes, sweet little pants escaping your parted lips. Make it up to him, huh?

“I wanna—” you start, looking over at Touya and swallowing thickly. “Can I cum on his cock?”

Natsuo chokes on a whine the moment the words leave your lips. “Christ, niisan, she’s gonna kill me,”

Touya huffs out a little laugh, though his eyes do not leave yours as he considers.

Usually, the answer would be no, absolutely not. Touya has always refused to share your pussy with anyone—that was his and his alone. However…

If there’s anyone he would even think of sharing it with, he supposes it would be his brother.

“You wanna cum on his cock, baby?” he asks slowly, sapphire eyes watching you sharply, analyzing every micro-expression, every twitch of your brow, every quiver of your lips.

You’re unsure if it’s a trick question or not, but you’ve learned that it’s always best to be honest with your niichan—he’d know instantly if you were lying, anyway—so you nod, sucking on your bottom lip. “J-Just once,” you add, after a beat of silence.

“I mean, it is Christmas…” Touya trails off, looking over at his brother, who’s glassy gaze is glued to your face. “What do you say, Natsuo?”

“Seriously?” his eyes fly to Touya’s, wide with disbelief, not nearly as bold as he was in the living room. “I mean—I don’t—I’m not here to overstep any boundaries—”

“I know,” Touya cuts him off calmly. “I trust you,”

Trust. That’s rare with Touya, an honour to be told, and Natsuo’s eyes soften.

“It’d be a privilege to have you cumming on my cock, baby,” he tells you, voice so gentle, so sweet, so sincere, foiling the dirty words spoken.

But your fingers are trembling, tangled in your lap, and your heart is racing, pounding against your ribcage, and your mouth is dry, throat stuffed with cotton. Blood rushes in your ears as you look over at your niichan again, worried, scared. Is this a test? Is he really allowing you to ride someone else’s cock?

A frown materializes on his face and he stalks forward, stopping in front of you and reaching out to cup your cheek and tilt your head up, thumb caressing your cheekbone as he stares down at you.

“What is it, baby?”

“C-Can I really?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “You won’t—You won’t be mad?”

Both men coo and Touya laughs, eyes shining in the dark. “No, I won’t be mad, princess,”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he nods, hand moving to pet your hair once. “Now, come on,” he gives you a light slap to the cheek, eyes darting to the bulge in Natsuo’s grey sweatpants. “Can’t wait to see you take that monster, baby,”

Monster isn’t exactly an exaggeration.

He’s bigger than Touya—not by much, maybe an inch or so longer, but considerably thicker. The head of his cock glimmers, decorated with a pearl of precum, thick and veiny and nowhere near as pretty as your niichan’s.

“Look at her,” Touya teases from his spot across from you, now perched on the edge of the other bed. “She’s already salivating over it,”

And it’s true, at least in part, your wide eyes glued to Natsuo’s cock as endless heat gushes, throbs, between your legs, little cunt suddenly feeling very empty. Touya’s been teasing you all damn night, an intense neediness building in your chest, powerless to stop the pathetic little whine that gets caught in your throat when Natsuo shifts on the bed, rearranging himself slightly and patting his spread thighs.

“C’mere, baby,” he’s saying as you climb over him, massive hands clutching your hips as you hover above his cock. “Lemme give you what you need,”

And the high pitched moan that slips from between parted lips as you sink down onto him is nothing short of pathetic. Natsuo emits a breathless little laugh as dark grey eyes watch the way your face screws up in discomfort, little whimpers spilling from your lips as he splits you in half.

“Aw, baby,” he murmurs, never slowing his pace as he forces your hips down, down, down. “We didn’t prep you properly, did we?”

No, they didn’t, neglecting to stretch you out at all, copious amounts of your own slick the only thing aiding Natsuo’s cock as he shoves it into you.

“Your fault, you know,” he whispers in your ear as he finally bottoms out. “If you hadn’t been so greedy, so eager to hop on my cock, maybe I would’ve let’cha cum on my fingers first. But what more could I expect from a slut?”

Your eyes snap open, inhaling sharply, unused to hearing Natsuo talk with such derision, unused to the way it makes your stomach positively swoop. He’s already looking at you, a small grin on his face, and, oh, he knows.

Natsuo doesn’t afford you a second to adjust to his girth, though, immediately bouncing you in his lap like you’re just some toy for him to use, hips bucking up into you wildly, malicious laughter escaping his chest as you whimper out Hurts, Natsuo, i-it hurts, Touya snapping at you to be a good little whore and just take it.

But the stinging fades quickly, like it always does, finally yielding to that heady mix of pain and pleasure, and it feels so good, the stretch is so good, Natsuo is so good.

Natsuo snickers, berating you for your extremely limited vocabulary, and you’re so cute, all stupid and fucked out like that from bouncing on his cock—you’re so fucking easy, aren’t ya?

His degrading is punctuated by his hard thrusts, blunt nails biting into the flesh of your hips as he fucks you, as he uses you, each piston of his hips forcing you closer and closer to that edge, the one Touya has already dangled you off of so many times tonight.

Todoroki cock must really make you dumb, huh? Turns you into nothing but a drooling, senseless little cocksleeve, isn’t that right, baby girl?

You’re having trouble concentrating on anything, really, overwhelmed by sensations and sounds, by Natsuo’s steady stream of words and the smack of your ass against his thighs.

Can’t even answer me, foolish little girl, already drunk with cock and we’re just getting started.

Yes, you whine, nodding your head in lazy little jerks, pushing the word out of your slackened mouth. Yes, yes, yes!

Your skin is crawling, itching, blazing, your head lolling to the side, connecting with glowing sapphire, and you swear you can feel his gaze on your body, leaving a trail of blistering heat in its wake.

His cock is still so hard, but he doesn’t touch it, completely captivated by you. He doesn’t ever want to forget this, he tells you, unblinking eyes searing into yours, wants to see the way your face contorts in ecstasy when you cum all over his brother’s cock, wants to commit it to memory.

And it’s Natsuo’s mean, belittling words, spoken in that saccharine sweet patronizing voice paired with each rough drag of his thick cock, plus Touya’s shallow breaths, little gasps and inhales, the way his dark eyes almost sparkle as he watches you, that have you creaming on Natsuo’s cock embarrassingly quickly.

Your eyes don’t leave his, though, sapphire all you can see as your orgasm tears through you almost violently, the pulsing release almost painful after being edged for so long, little pussy aching as it clenches around Natsuo’s cock.

A pathetic little whimper slips through your lips as your body collapses against Natsuo’s firm chest, head automatically nuzzling into his neck. His cock is still so hard inside of you, twitching as your hips involuntarily shift a little. Strong hands find your waist, a patronizing chuckle blanketing you as they begin to knead your flesh.

“Idiotic little girl, we aren’t done yet,”

The words are harsh, almost spit out with that small chuckle, dripping with condescension and rolled in icing sugar—and his tone is so ridiculing, speaking to you as if you’re so dumb, so silly and God, you really do go so stupid from cock, don’t you?

Another laugh rings out—niichan’s this time, and he’s saying something—something about Natsuo’s cum filling up that empty head of yours, you think—as Natsuo roughly rearranges your pliant body, pushing your head into the mattress and yanking your hips up.

It’s hard to focus on the words being spoken, brain hazy and floating on post-orgasmic clouds, but you’re fairly sure Natsuo’s promising to make good use of your cute, empty little skull, telling you it’s the perfect little cumbucket.

But Natsuo’s arrogance fades, finally, morphs into high, needy mewls and quiet little moans, interspersed with sharp intakes of air, sucking in curses and your name as he repeatedly rams into you, thrusts growing sloppier, massive hands keeping your hips held up.

“Oh, Christ,” the curse leaves Natsuo’s throat in a pitiful whimper. And although they were talking about it, joking about it, a mere twenty minutes ago, Natsuo knows he must still get permission. “Niisan, can I—can I cum inside?”

And his voice is so whiny, as if he’s begging Touya to say yes, harsh breaths ghosting over your bare back, cool against your heated skin and mingled with little half-grunts, ones that hitch in his throat as he continues to pound into you, pace never faltering.

Desperate pleads begin spilling from your lips almost instantly, urgent and uncontrollable, brain mushy with thoughts of ice cold hands on your waist and a thick cock buried within you, intoxicated by the scent of cool mint and tangy lemon.

“Oh, please, niichan, please,” you’re sobbing into the mattress, bleary eyes squinting as they try to focus on the watery blur you assume is Touya, still seated on the other bed. “Please, want his cum, want his cum for Christmas,”

“Holy fuck,” Natsuo’s gasps out brokenly, a loud moan reverberating in his chest. “Please, Niisan,”

Touya chuckles, and if it weren’t for the slight breathlessness to his voice, you would have figured him entirely unaffected. “Yeah, fine, go ahead,” he says passively, as if it makes no difference to him. “She’s a little cumslut, anyway,”

A steady stream of overlapping, practically incoherent thank you’s flow from yours and Natsuo’s mouths, getting lost between pitchy mewls and the slap of skin against skin as his taut hips meet your ass.

“Nat—Natsuo-nii!” you cry, so fucked out that the honorific doesn’t even register in your mind, blissfully unaware in that moment that you’re older than him, little hole pulsing around his thick cock. “Natsuo-nii, please, please, give it to me,”

“Oh God,” he chokes on the words, gurgling them in his throat.

His hips piston into you once, twice, three more times, and then they’re stilling, pressed flush against you as he falls forward, sweaty chest pressed against your back, strong arms caging you in as his cock throbs, filling your little cunt with powerful spurts of thick cum.

It’s like a rush of frost through your veins, not scalding the way Touya’s cum is, sending vicious shivers skittering across your skin. It’s soothing, almost, cool and pleasant and has you pushing back against him, hips wiggling a little as you try to milk him for just a bit more. Plush lips find the back of your neck, pressing kisses along your sweaty hairline, a tongue darting out a moment later to lap at the salty substance.

He stays pressed against you for a moment more before straightening up, pulling out with a hiss and heavily collapsing back on his heels, legs tucked under himself.

“Let’s see,” Touya’s saying, as if he’s asking Natsuo to show him his homework, not to examine his brother’s cum leaking out of your aching cunt. “God, look at that,”

You whine a little, hole fluttering as Touya gently blows hot air against it, and Natsuo groans out a curse, voice raw and wrecked.

Hands—Touya’s hands, you can tell, you’re sure of it—curl around your hips, halting them from their slight swaying. A soft, surprised yelp gets caught in your throat when you feel something wet, something warm, something strong, lick along your slit.

“Aw, niisan!” Natsuo scolds, emitting an indignant sound from the back of his throat. “That’s so…That’s so…” his voice tapers off into a soft whine that has Touya chuckling against your swollen lips, the tip of his tongue flicking against your clit teasingly before he pulls back.

But, wait, that isn’t fair!

“Niichan,” you whimper, hips squirming in his loose grasp. “Niichan, want some,”

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, hands running over the smooth skin of your ass, thumb caressing his scarred name. “You want some of Natsuo’s cum, too?”

“Please,” you beg, hole clenching again at the thought. You can feel it oozing out of you, thick and cold, and hate the thought of it being wasted on the bedsheets.

You expect Touya to swipe nimble fingers along your slit and gather cum to feed you, gasping loudly when you feel his tongue on you again. The strong muscle laps at the cum trickling down your inner thigh, then it’s curling against your cunt, inside of your cunt, collecting as much of the syrupy substance as it possibly can.

A hand fists in your hair, using it as leverage to yank your head up. Your mouth falls open instantly, expectantly, and Touya lets his younger brother’s cum—now watered down with his own saliva—dribble from his mouth into yours.

Natsuo chokes something out—you aren’t sure what, you weren’t listening, hyper-focused on the way sapphire burns into your skull as cream coats your tongue—and Touya’s open mouth molds into a sinful smile, still drizzling the sticky, viscous substance into your mouth, letting his tongue hang out of his mouth as gooey strings of white drip off of it.

“Such a greedy little baby,” Touya says after he’s emptied his mouth, voice almost affectionate. “Now be a good girl and swallow. Swallow for Natsuo,”

And you do, of course, because you are such a good girl, such a good girl for Natsuo, such a good girl for your niichan.

“You guys are nasty,” Natsuo almost pants out, failing to keep the whine out of his voice, gunmetal eyes scanning your little hole, licked clean and now gleaming with Touya’s saliva. “Fuck, that was—hey, wait…What’s this?”

“About time you noticed,” Touya mutters, and your heart sinks.

You know exactly what he’s looking at.

A beat of silence passes, and you keep your head buried in the sheets, terrified to move even an inch.

“What did…Did you…?”

“Yeah, with a soldering iron,”

“Jesus Christ,”

“I deserved it,” you whine out, muffled by the mattress, guilty tears springing into your eyes. “I was—I was very bad,”

Glowing ruby and soft, fluffy tufts of silvery-blue hair flash through your mind, eyes squeezing shut tightly as stinging spears rip through your chest, straight through your heart and right to the core of your body.

No. Now is not the time to think of him. It is never the time to think of him.

A tiny sniffle escapes, your chest hiccupping with it, and you clench your teeth hard, so hard your jaw aches, in an effort to keep any other sounds from escaping. Touya hushes you, large hand warm and heavy and oh so familiar on your lower back, thumb caressing the silky skin just above the swell of your ass. You’re good, he tells you, voice quiet but firm, and you nod into the sheets.

“That is so fucking hot,” Natsuo breathes out, eyes flying to the brand again, his voice breaking you out of the reverie you nearly fell into. “Can I touch it?”

The question startles you—no one else has ever touched it except for Touya. Your mouth stays shut, body stiff and still, waiting for your niichan to make the decision.

“Sure,” Touya finally answers, your entire body flinching when Natsuo reaches out to trace the name with his pointer finger, first forward; T, O, U, Y, A, and then backwards; A, Y, U, O, T, the letters echoing through your mind in Touya’s smooth, deep voice as he does so.

“Holy fuck,” Natsuo whispers as he sits back again, the bed jiggling a little with the motion. “That’s…”

Touya gazes down at it as he blows air out of his mouth, fingers running across it slowly, feeling the slightly raised letters of his name in an almost gentle caress.

He didn’t expect it to scar as bad as it did, his name forever etched into your skin in thin silvery streaks that almost shine when the light hits them right, but you didn’t seem to mind. It’s pretty, you had told him, in that gentle soft voice that makes his chest feel as though it’s blooming its own tiny ball of sunlight. It’s yours, niichan.

He wonders what Shouto would think, if he knew, how he’d feel, if it would make his throat burn and his eyes sting and his chest stutter, if he would weep for you. Touya hopes he would.

“Mine,” he whispers, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to it, his tongue darting out and laving over the entire name once before the tip traces the letters. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you whimper, hips greedily pushing back again. “Niichan, niichan, please,”

He hushes you, tells you he’ll give you his cock now, quiet, quiet, rearranging your body so you’re on your side and bending your legs, pushing them up towards your chest and revealing your little cunt to him. Large hands drag your hips to the edge of the bed, sure to keep the ass cheek with the brand facing upward, facing him.

The gentle clinking of his belt has your toes curling in anticipation, the head of his cock nudging your little hole a moment later.

He delivers one quick thrust, burying himself in your snug little cunt in a singular motion, groaning about how you’re still so tight, how you still feel so good, even after being pounded by his brother.

His pace is merciless from the very beginning, hard and fast and so fucking deep, pulling broken cries and rough little whimpers from your raw throat, one of his hands on the mattress to stabilize himself while the other weighs down on you, pinning you to the surface.

“Niichan!” you’re squealing, Touya’s blunt nails digging into the meat of your thigh as he uses it to steady you, large hand splayed out on your skin. “Niichan, nii-niichan, it hurts,”

It more than hurts—hurts doesn’t even begin to describe the excruciating thorns of pain intermittently racing through your upper body as he slams against your cervix, shooting straight to your core and festering in your throat. You can feel them collecting in the column, wedged tightly between the gummy walls, and you choke on them, gag on them, coughing around them as you urgently gasp in air.

“But you can take it though, right?” he pants out, cobalt eyes wide and frenzied as they burn into your face. “You can take it, because you’re a good little slut for niichan, aren’t you?”

Salt stains the back of your throat, tears and snot mixing as you sob into the mattress, face half-buried in the rumpled sheets.

Yes, yes, oh God yes, you want to be good for him. “Uh-huh,” you breathe out, the noise stuttering past your lips in time with the quick snap of his hips.

And, fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful like this, so fucking hot, taking his cock so well when he’s giving it to you so hard.

“Good,” he gasps, eyes zeroing in on his name etched into your ass, peaking out from between his thumb and forefinger, glimmering when it catches in the pale moonlight. “So fucking good for me,”

Because you are, with your dedication, and your submission, and your pure devotion to him as he brutally fucks you, taking everything he gives you, taking it so well.

And it’s these thoughts, swirling in his mind as you gaze up at him, a mess of sweat and drool and cum, teary eyes dazedly watching him like he’s some sort of god, that have his hips stuttering, filling you with cum, thick and hot and so much, your body going lax under his grip as he chokes out how much he loves you.

Senseless gurgling bubbles past your lips as you try to move, try to roll onto your back or uncurl your limp body, whining softly when you find that you can’t. Two silhouettes loom over you menacingly, the sound of laughter and mingled voices blanketing you, murmuring words you can barely make out. Another pathetic whine hitches in your throat, tongue sluggish in your mouth as you try to speak again, losing the battle with your heavy eyelids a moment later, finally engulfed in darkness.

#dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #dabi smut #todoroki touya smut #dabi #todoroki touya #there's one line of dialogue in the smut taken straight from my life no joke <33 #ok ok ok dont expand the tags unless u want a slight spoiler!!! promised anon i'd answer here so!!#this almost murdered me #deadass almost jumped out from my laptop screen and stabbed me in the heart #uuuuh YES ANON FROM BEFORE there's ur answer: rei is caught in a moral struggle and her dad would rather not know #tw pseudo-incest #tw drugs

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sorenskyhigh · 3 years

Text

What Pet I Think They'd Have and Why: Karasuno Edition

Daichi Sawamura

Of course he'd have a police dog

He's a cop and if he'd have any pet he'd have a buddy to help him bust criminals and fight crime

But I don't think Daichi would have a "normal" dog breed like a German Shepherd, Malinois, or Akita

I feel like Daichi would have a Rottweiler not bc they are my favorite dog breed

But Rottweilers used to be very prevalent in many police forces around the world until German Shepard and Malinois became more common

Also Rottweilers gained a harsh reputation for being aggressive bc they were trained by drug lords and criminals and were used to in fighting

Rottweilers are very muscular, sturdy, and hard working dogs

If trained right and with proper love and care these dogs are GREAT and I mean GREAT companions

They are stubborn and can be territorial with strangers, but, they are very loving towards familiars and family

They are a kind of one or two people fits them kind of dog

They also need constant stimulus as they were breed to be very hardworking dogs

Rottweilers used to pull sleds full of butchered meat bc they were so strong and the original breed was much bigger than the one we know today

They also herded large livestock through the alps and Roman region and are known to be fearless

They are also one of the oldest dog breeds

These dogs became popular Police dogs during the World Wars

Bc they were being used so much their guardian qualities were more showcased so more and more people wanted one to help keep and eye on their children

Since they are herding dogs they are good around children and can keep them in a yard if they are taught the parameters

Rottweilers despite their size generally don't bark a lot either, they are very sneaky when approaching a possible threat and will ppun e from behind

This is why I think Daichi would have one to be by his side

I feel like Daichi would do a lot of research into a good companion and finding a good breeder to find one after deciding

He'd get one as a puppy and personally see to it's training, working with a pro the whole time

His dog would also be a great family protector when he's home with his spouse and possible children, if he ends up having any

Koushi Sugawara

I feel like Koushi would be that really awesome teacher that has a really sweet and sociable pet that he brings in for the kids a lot

I feel Koushi would want soemthing small and cute so a rabbit of some sort would suit him well

Rabbits can be very loving with a small family most of the time or sometimes only one person

Rabbits are prey animals so some breeds wouldn't do well in a loud room full of young children

So what specific rabbit breed would suit his job?

So I chose the Harlequin Rabbit for Koushi

Harlequin rabbits are very social and loving towards owners and strangers alike

They also are known to be very silly, playful and very intelligent

They come in two colour types: Japanese and Magpie

The picture above is an example of Japanese while a Magpie can be colored in just about any other colour other than black nd orange like lilac, white, chocolate, blue and/or black

I feel like this specific type of rabbit would suit him so well as it would be comfortable around all those kids

Be very social and would be less likely to nip them

And it would be energetic enough to keep up with the kids

Koushi wouldn't just want a pet for his classroom though, he'd want a cuddle buddy for at home

He'd want a companion to sit on his lap while he works on lessons

He'd also want a pet that wasn't too lazy as his life would be pretty busy

The only thing is is that rabbits are high maintenance and need very specific foods, medicines, and an experienced vet to care for them

But rabbits are cuddly little crackheads that Koushi would adore

Energetic enough to keep up with his life, but snuggly and home bodied enough to not exhaust him

Asahi Azumane

Asahi is a fashion designer and thus would spend a lot of time hunched over a sketch book making designs

In other words, he has a very home based and indoor job

So he'd need a pet that isn't energetic and obnoxious like a husky or chihuahua

So I chose the Havanese

Havanese is the national dog of Cuba

This dog may be small but they are incredibly sturdy

These dogs become attached quickly and are extremely loyal to said lone owner

Something else that is good for Asahi is these dogs do not do good alone and are willing to follow their owners to the ends of the Earth

They can be described as velcro dogs bc of how attach to the hip with their owners they are

These dogs can be lively and active but they don't need much exercise as they are smaller

Most of their daily exercise can be met in a house with some light play

Also, these dogs are extremely friendly towards strangers and can be described as good host dogs

Another plus for Asahi about this breed is they aren't particularly vocal, most are rather quiet and reserved almost

The last thing you'd want is for people to look down on you for letting your pet act spoiled by barking and nipping at people's ankles

They also love to perform for others

They like attention and are good in groups

Asahi would have to meet with a lot of new people like models and companies and whatnot so a social dog would be best

Asahi also would spend a lot of time in an office or at home and since these dogs don't need much exercise he would be able to have it sleep on his lap while he works without disturbance

I also feel like Asahi would become a bit of a hermit

Like he would contact people but he wouldn't leave his house unless he absolutely had to or wanted to (which isn't often)

Havanese are home-bodied dogs and love just chillin' out on a warm lap or on a couch cushion beside their owners

Yū Nishinoya

Now I DO NOT think Noya should have a pet until he decides to settle down somewhere

Travel can really exhaust a person so it would harm an animal tenfold

So, if you travel a lot DO NOT GET A PET IT WILL ONLY HARM THEM

But if Yū were to have a pet.............................

Noya would need a pet that can travel well, is small enough to not cost a lot, is very attached to their owners, and can eat just about anything

I thought briefly of other rodents since rodents are generally small and can eat just about any food

But raccoons, possums, and other larger rodents that are more common for pets would be too hard to get on planes and boats since you need certification to own them

Rats on the other hand don't need such certifications in most countries and fill all the other requirements

The rat he would have isn't a Dumbo rat like in the picture above, he'd have like a wild rat that he befriended and decided to take with him so it'd most like be brown

Noya would 100% fight anyone who says they hate rats

He hypes up his pet rat to no end

He calls Asahi whenever he can and tells him about all the cool stuff his rat does and sends pictures of his rat being held up to a gorgeous background of famous landmarks in other countries

Nlya always has his rat around the back of his neck and wears a hoodie, scarf, or something like that to hide him so he can join Noya in places that don't allow pets

I also chose a rat bc they are incredibly loyal and I feel like if Noya were to be really tired on a plane and pass out, he would need a pet that he wouldn't have to worry about running away

Of course he has trained his rat to do amazing tricks, you already know

Also, as I previously mentioned, rats can eat just about anything, so his constant travel wouldn't hurt his companion diet

Rats are also quiet generally and aren't overly energetic so he wouldn't have to be worried about being escorted out for having a rat under his scarf

Chikara Ennoshita

Shibas are very independent dog, let's just start with that bc Chikara would need a pet that doesn't need constant attention

With him being a personal trainer he needs a pet that can self entertain

Something else about Shibas is they can often housebreak themselves bc of how fussy and finicky they are

You can also find them cleaning themselves much like a cat

Chikara would be busy for a good bit of his time so he doesn't really have time to properly spend time to housebreak a pet

But Shibas were originally bred to hunt and flush out game like birds and rabbits and other such small animals

A fact about Shibas is they almost went extinct during WWII bc of food shortages a distemper

Distemper is a disease only animals can be affected by that attacks many different systems in their bodies

Also, Shibas are the number one most common companion dog in Japan

Something else about Shibas is that they are fairly healthy, some of the more major problems they have are glaucoma, cataracts, hip dysplasia, entropion, and luxating patella

A lot of eye conditions but are easily avoided if you bring them in for very periodic eye checks and hip examinations

So these are easy to avoid as long you keep an eye on them

Over all I think that if Chikara were to have a pet it would need to be fairly self-sufficient but also something could have a very chill and laid back relationship with

Something that doesn't need to be on his lap all the time but something he can love and nurture

Kiyoko Shimizu & Ryūnoske Tanaka

Now I know I know

Ryu would be a dog person

He'd want a big manly pet not a cat blah blah blah

Kiyoko would definitely be a cat person

She wouldn't want a purebred and would probably find a box of some kittens with Ryu on the side of the sidewalk

Now look me in the eye and lie to me by saying that Ryu would now start crying immediately upon seeing like four lonely little kittens in a box that need a home

Needless to say, they take them home and nurture them endlessly

But Tanaka would be the kind of guy that harness trains his cats so they can go out on walks

Kiyoko would research how to harness train them, what food would be the best, and anything else they need to take care of these four cats

Imagine seeing these two, a big muscular dude and this goddess walking four cats on harnesses down the street

I literally cannot stop thinking about Ryu and Kiyoko cuddling on the couch with all four adult and rather large cats draping themselves across the two of them

I feel like the reason Ryu would want them harness trained is bc he wouldn't be able to spend much time with them

His job as a personal trainer would keep him busy

So on his morning jogs to stay fit he'd want to take not only Kiyoko but the cats as well

I plan on making more parts to this, I hope you enjoy it 😉

@popcorntime-doodles @multifandombrainrot @kneecapstealingalien @akabxne @jiheonity @weareallhumans123 @smallmangi @canadian-crow @just-jellyfish @immiamarais @i-need-coffee-now-pls @foreveryoung050 @kuroos-world @luminasapphire @silverfire6 @shadowsbutdead @ghostexhibit @simpfornishinoya @goshikisimp @anothershadeofpink @mestayanon @japoga @all-around-fandoms31 @thatfunnysprout @myyeetfelloff @itsallgonnabokayihope @g00s3 @boreateo @mirrorballmyfave @backalley-astrologer @vaniatslover @lil-mellow-bunbun @strawberrymakki @theforbiddenrealm-blog @beelziee @mehreenlol

#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!!#daichi sawamura #sugawara koushi #asahi azumane #yu nishinoya #ennoshita chikara #kiyoko shimizu #tanaka ryuunosuke #daichi headcanon #suga headcanons #asahi headcanons #nishinoya headcanons #ennoshita headcanons #kiyoko headcanons #tanaka headcanons

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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years

Text

Lost Tomb Lewks, Part 7

The Warehouse 11 Special

(Masterpost)

Warning: Spoilers for Season 1 of The Lost Tomb Reboot

Rather than intersperse an endless series of slightly-different Warehouse 11 outfits throughout the series, I’m going to cover them all in one long post. Wu Xie spends a LOT of time in various Warehouse 11 uniforms. but at least he doesn’t spend three episodes chained to a pillar; I’m looking at you, Shen Wei.

Out of curiosity, I made a swatch of all of the colors used in these looks. It’s actually a pretty good range. They’re not very exciting colors, but the baseline blue-green color of most of the uniforms is flattering.

Look 31 is the Transport Driver uniform. This starts off being worn by future friend Li Jiale, who becomes a temporary enemy when Wu Xie tasers him into unconsciousness and steals his clothes and truck. Some people can’t take a joke.

This uniform is a rich blue with maroon detailing on the chest pockets and a striped ribbon across the chest. It features a closely-fitted hat and a blue and white arm patch.

The arm patch features a swirly design similar to traditional cloud, bat, and butterfly embroideries; perhaps it’s meant to represent one of the various bugs that will try to kill Wu Xie during his time in the caverns of Warehouse 11.

Look 32 belongs to Bai Haotian, aka Xiao Bai, who is such a delightful character she almost makes up for the other two major female characters in this thing. Not only does she not suffer in order for a man to have feelings about her suffering, but when she is rescued from danger by the man she loves, it does not lead to making out or other intimate moments. So refreshing!

Her uniform is not particularly refreshing, but it is different from Wu Xie’s, and she looks cute in it. This look features fitted dark trousers (it’s hard to tell from the lighting if they are black, green, or blue), a jacket in Pantone 5473C with a collar and pocket flaps in 5477C. Sorry for busting out the Pantone refs but I can only type “green” so many times.

Xiao Bai’s jacket has pleated box pockets over the boobs, which look fine on a person with small boobs. As long as they don’t try to actually put anything in the pockets. The jacket is fitted through the shoulders with a reverse pleat in the center back. She wears it with a white shirt, suitable for writing on.

(More behind the cut!)

Xiao Bai accessorizes this look with pink underclothes that she hides as quickly as possible, while Wu Xie politely avoids looking quickly checks them out.

Look 33 is Wu Xie’s Level 1 Uniform. It’s Pantone 5473C with pointed pocket flaps in 5477C and a white-and-5473C striped band across the chest and back.

It features a close-fitted cap that matches the shirt, and dark cargo pants.

It’s got an inverted pleat in the back and military-style straps on the shoulders. Everything fastens with snaps with shiny black dome covers.

Like all Warehouse 11 indoor uniforms, this has a badge on the chest that’s somewhere between a yellow brass and a green bronze color, depending on how it catches the light. The drivers don’t seem to have these badges.

I actually kind of like Wu Xie in a hat.

Wu Xie wears this uniform with black lace-up work/hiking boots. I don’t know if these are part of everyone’s uniform or if it’s a BYOS kind of place. It’s mostly too dark to get a good look at anyone’s feet.

Look 34 is Wu Xie’s Level 1 uniform with a black tee shirt and socks.

This is a good look for kissing your own biceps and saying “welcome to the gun show, ladies!” lying down under the stars with a girl and talking about constellations, in a nice twist on a classic romance trope.

I normally don’t project ideas about friendship onto strangers who work on or star in TV shows, but I really feel like this camera operator understands me.

Wu Xie accessorizes this look with a water bottle with a picture of his boyfriend on it.

Wu Xie: If you have one Wu baby and one Zhang baby that will provide a new generation for all three of our families. I promise you’ll like Xiao Ge. He’s...very talented.

This look goes well with having a beautiful face and a loving camera operator & director of photography.

I could wish the lighting designer was less fond of green, but the plot demands it, alas.

Xiao Bai’s outfit also goes well with having a beautiful face. Her haircut does, too--it’s super cute and flattering.

Look 35 is Wu Xie’s testing outfit for the first test. It’s his level one uniform, untucked, with dark glasses and fingerless gloves.

And his tongue.

OP did not speed up that gif on purpose; she captures everything at that speed, honest.

Look 36 is Wu Xie’s Level 8 Uniform. When they gave him this, did he think “oh, different uniforms for different levels, I wonder which level Xiao Bai’s uniform signifies? He did not. Neither did OP.

This uniform features a jacket in the green/green color scheme, with two pleated boxy pockets at the waist and one on the right side of the chest. The collar is an open triangle lapel instead of the two-part suit collar featured on Xiao Bai’s jacket - his jacket is tailored more like a work shirt. It’s worn untucked and doesn’t have a waistband. The white-and-green striped ribbon that was over the chest on the level 1 uniform makes an appearance here as tiny tabs on the pocket flaps. He wears a brown button-up shirt underneath.

I gotta say, the costume department really did a great job designing a whole range of uniforms that have repeating motifs, coloring, and detailing, while changing up how everything is put together.

All the uniform variations take me back--WAY back--to when I was a girl scout in the 1970s. My troop mostly wore badge vests or sashes over normal clothes but we all liked to look at the glamorous uniforms in the catalogs.

Actually the girl on the floor looks really sharp. Which is probably why she’s keeping away from the nerds on the left.

Look 37 is Wu Xie’s second test outfit. Yeah, we’re going out of order, to break up the sea of green with some smooth, glowing skin.

Zhu Yilong has nice arms, and whoever designed this sequence thinks so to. Particularly when considering the clothing item Wu Xie puts on over his undershirt.

This lil’ vest would be right at home at International Mister Leather Twill. What on earth is the purpose of a vest with pockets that you wear under an outer shirt with pockets? Other than to give you more time to show off your arms while dressing?

It features black panels on the upper chest and back; one flap pocket closure and one strap pocket closure, a...zipper? down the front? With black fabric on either side.

He wears it under his untucked level one shirt. There is no way anybody wears these vests under their shirts for normal wear - the pockets would keep anything over it from laying flat.

Look 38 is the Supervisor outfit worn by Jia Kezi.

It’s all one color--Pantone 5473C--and has rounded puffy pockets on the chest with rounded flaps, rather than the square ones featured on Xiao Bai’s uniform of the flat chest pockets of the level 1 uniform.

It has a covered placket and a high band collar, with the same close-fitted cap featured in the other uniforms.

He looks really good in this cap, which shows off his beautiful eyes and eyebrows better than his floppy hair, I think. He accessorizes this look with warm-toned skin, a cleft chin and sculpted cheekbones.

Look 39 is Wu Xie’s level 14 uniform, which shows that he’s a director now.

It looks exactly like Director Ding’s uniform.

and, oh hey! It also looks exactly like Bai Haotian’s uniform.

Her entire disguise was to change badges and remove her tie.

Look 40 is the last Warehouse 11 uniform. It belongs to book author/screenwriter/producer Nan Pai San Shu, who gets to wear a brown vest and shirt instead of green & green, and whose badge says he’s Level 18. As befits the creator of this endlessly entertaining world and these delightful characters.

More Lewks coming soon! Including several that are not green!

#the lost tomb reboot #reunion: the sound of the providence #wu xie #warehouse 11 #dmbj #lost tomb lewks #canary3d-original #my gifs #the lost tomb reboot spoilers

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bailey-reaper · 3 years

Text

The Lord of the Manor (2)

Summary: continuing on from the first drabble, Barok has returned to the ancestral home in North Devon to recover from the ordeal of being a prosecutor and alleged demigod for the last 5 years. On his first full day back home, he decides to visit his brother in order to pay his respects... Or does he?

Content Warnings: angst + me taking artistic liberties re: the van Zieks family

Barok awoke with the first rays of dawn to the sound of birdsong just outside his window. It was a peaceful change to the sounds of industry that were so commonplace in London. As he laid there, it dawned on him that he had no need to be awake so early; there was no pressing engagement at the Old Bailey or in his office. No meetings. No case files awaiting assessment. No crime scenes to investigate or policemen to interview...

There was nothing at all for him to do.

(I could have a lie in) he thought to himself, but the indulgent idea did not really appeal: why bother sleeping in? If he was awake then it seemed foolish to force his mind and body back to sleep merely because he could. No. Far better to get up and do something productive.

After a few moments of quietly listening to the birds, he threw the covers off and swung himself around to sit up then stand. He made his bed entirely on auto-pilot, forgetting that the ancestral home had ample staff to undertake such chores, and went to the bathroom to wash his face.

Once he was dressed, in a simple poet shirt, comfortable breeches and knee-high riding boots, he decided it was high time to undertake a spot of sword practice to maintain his form and competence with a blade. Thankfully the training grounds were as well-maintained as they had been 5 years prior and it took little time to set up a training dummy. As he focused on his footwork and poise, he couldn’t help but think back to the times that he had trained alongside Klint and the way in which his older brother instructed him.

“Good, little wolf, now watch that you don’t slacken your grip else it will be easy to disarm you. Focus on your footwork, too, lest you be tripped up...”

“Yes brother...” it was difficult to keep all these things in mind while also trying to watch for tells that his brother might offer up during their sparring match. He thought he saw Klint move to strike high, but it was a feint that moved smoothly into a low blow-- he only just caught it in time to block.

Klint grinned broadly, “Well done!”

He smiled to himself at the swell of pride that filled his chest: Klint was proud of him, he’d done well. Now, he wanted to impress him -- so he moved on the offensive in a bid to finally disarm his brother. It had been a long-thwarted goal, but today he wanted to succeed!

“Ha!” the Master of the House laughed as Barok took the initiative, “So you think you’re going to catch me off guard, eh Barok??”

In a blur, his weapon flew from his hands and he found himself being effortlessly wrestled to the floor with a blade at his throat. He looked up at Klint, blinking profusely, barely registering the clatter of his training sword on the floor.

“My win, little brother,” Klint held out his hand for Barok to take, then hauled him up with easy, “I must admit, you caught me quite off guard there!”

“Master!” Harvey’s caught their attention, “I apologise for disrupting your training with the young master, but a letter from London has just arrived. It was sent urgently via courier, so I presume it to be of some importance.”

“Mmm, I see,” Klint looked back to Barok, “Apologies, little wolf, let’s train again soon!”

He nodded, “Yes, brother,” then watched as Klint jogged over to join the butler and make his way toward the main building of the estate.

“. . . .” it took him a moment to realise he was standing just still, looking down at the humble wooden weapon in his hand. How long had he been lost to day dreaming? (To think... I’ll never cross blades with you again.) it was such a small thing, but it took him aback just how much that realisation hurt.

But rather than let himself wallow, he proceeded to resume his training in earnest. Even if he could not spar with Klint again, he could maintain his poise and competence as a means of honouring his brother.

“My Lord,” Harvey called as he drew near, “Forgive the interruption, but Agnes has prepared breakfast.”

Barok wiped under his chin and turned to the butler, “Thank you, Harvey, I shall take breakfast in a moment.”

“Yes, as you say...” the butler cocked his head to the side, “Um... might I be so bold as to ask what you are doing, My Lord?”

“Hm?” he looked up from dismantling the training dummy, “I was going to tidy up.”

“Oh please, do not trouble yourself with that! Allow me to do that while your freshen up for breakfast!”

“. . .” Barok blinked, before relenting with a nod, “... I ... Yes, thank you Harvey, I will go and freshen up then.”

“Very good, My Lord. Oh! By the way, will you be going for a ride later? The weather is supposed to be good today and it’s the perfect season for it. Black Gale is still in her usual spirits and I’m sure she would be pleased of your company.”

“Ah...” it had been too long since he last saw his temperamental mare, Black Gale, “... That sounds like an excellent idea, I think I’ll go and visit her after breakfast and ready her for an afternoon ride.”

“The stable boy would be more than happy to prepare her, My Lord...”

“No,” he shook his head, “I think I owe it to her to have a proper reunion.”

“Yes, as you say My Lord.”

---

After a breakfast of porridge, toast and eggs, Barok went to visit his equine companion.

Black Gale was known to most as a ‘cantankerous old goat born in the body of a horse’, but the van Zieks lordling had always been the exception. Some folks thought it was because Barok was the first thing the foal saw when she was born. Her mother had died giving birth to her, so perhaps Black Gale had decided the boy was her mother. Regardless of the reasons, everyone else had a far tougher time dealing with her.

He opened the barn door and approached her stable pen, “Hello girl, it’s been a while,” Black Gale whinnied and murmured in excited tones as she trotted over and butted her coal black head against his chest. Barok chuckled and patted her muzzle, “I’m glad to see you well and in fine spirits as ever...” the mare made a few conversational murmuring sounds and continued to nudge at him, “Yes yes, I know. I’ve neglected you, forgive me...” he continued to offer placating strokes, “It’s rather presumptuous of me, I know, but would you mind taking me to visit Klint’s grave this afternoon?” he received a contented sigh in reply, no doubt down to being stroked, “... I’ll take that as a yes.”

Once he had indulged her with a few more pets, Barok took to brushing Black Gale’s lustrous coat and checking her shoes. As with the rest of the estate, his mare had been greatly cared for. He laughed when she started chewing on the ruffles of his shirt, “There’s no need for that now,” he softly chided, before producing a handful of oats from a pouch at his hip, “You really do lack subtlety, do you know that?“ she ignored him and gladly chewed on the oats.

Finally, it was time for lunch, “I’ll saddle you up shortly, alright?” he told her as he led her back to her pen and closed the door. Black Gale whinnied a little before trying to chew his shirt some more, “You truly are a hellion!” Barok replied as he de-horsed his clothing and returned to the main building for lunch.

As he ate, he reflected on his intended pursuit that afternoon: he would go to pay his respects to Klint at his grave. It was still such a strange notion -- his vibrant brother, now laying cold and lifeless in his grave... A lump formed in his throat, which he was quick to swallow down. He’d already grieved so much for Klint, but it still seemed his sorrow knew no bounds. Like an endless font or a wound that refused to heal over. It just bled within him endlessly...

“Oh... um... My Lord,” Harvey sounded uneasy.

“What’s wrong, Harvey?” Barok asked as he set down his napkin after lunch, “Has something happened?”

“Um... well... yes... in a manner of speaking... it would appear that Lady Darlington has somehow become aware of your presence here. She’s at the door now, asking to see you.”

Barok groaned and dragged a hand over his face. The last thing he really wanted to do was entertain England’s most notorious gossip. “How on earth did she find out...?” he muttered, more to himself than to the butler, “... I see. Thank you, Harvey, please see her to the parlour... I’ll join momentarily, once I’ve freshened up.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

It seemed visiting Klint would have to wait...

#drabble #barok van zieks #klint van zieks #angst

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cozycryptidcorner · 3 years

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Monster Match 3

Here is monster match by a user who wishes to remain anonymous!

“Sure! I'm an INTJ. Female, cis, het. In addition to riding my horses and mules, and doing medieval reenactment, I do a lot of sewing and home improvement projects around my farm. I'm an animal lover, and have 2 mules, a horse, a dog and two cats, as well as 2 beehives and 13 chickens. I'm short, 5 ft 1, and heavy set. Short blond hair.”

He’s a shy, bumbling kind of thing. Skin a dusty sort of green that blends in with prairie fields, light speckles across his face and back in a system of blotchy patterns. His black hair is long and carefully kept, beard consistently trimmed. He takes great care in his appearance, not necessarily to the point of vanity, but rather to appear clean and put together in ways his kind are rumored not to be. Typically, though, he wears simple clothes, mainly because his farm quickly dirties whatever he wears, whether he is careful or not. While he might be so massive that it’s almost impossible to miss him, he’s shockingly quiet. He’s a sturdy man, that’s for sure, with the muscles required to pick up a grown cow almost like a smaller lamb. But he can do so with the gentleness of a tiny pixie, thick fingers remarkably elegant with any of the finer work he must complete.

Despite the fact he could take up an entire room with his presence, he can sneak up on someone who only is partially focused on something. That silence has surprised you during moments of tasks more than once. There’s just something that’s so fundamentally nonthreatening about him, despite the fact he could bend a steel rod with his bare hands. His entire vibe, it seems, is to live and let live, and that’s such a significant essence of himself that almost anyone can sense that. The entire town loves him, despite orcs being rare in that general area, especially since he’s the kind to help anyone who needs it silently.

The Orc potato farmer might read as a joke, and for all intent and purposes, he completely understands why. Large, burly creatures sowing the earth for tiny lumps of starch might seem unlikely on paper, but that’s what his family has done for generations. He’s the only son but has three sisters of varying ages that have departed for other things. He’s not bitter about that by any means; he just misses waking up to an intense ruckus sometimes. One good thing about sisters is that they are basically a team of lawyers ready to come to his defense at any time, which works out for someone who rarely likes kicking up a fuss for anything. Not that he doesn’t have boundaries, he knows when to tell people he feels uncomfortable, but there’s something nice in the thought of being able to “release the hounds” if someone feels like giving him a hard time.

When the chores are done and the fields are cared for, he’ll put an old record into his rickety player, too stubborn to buy anything more modern than that. Sure, he’ll accept new records as they come. It might feel odd to hear hyper-pop on that ancient family heirloom, but someone (you don’t know who) gifted him a Grimes record for Christmas, and he seems to be in the mood for the racket occasionally. Though he definitely wouldn’t say it’s his favorite by a long shot, he much prefers soft classical after a long hard day outside in the summer heat. Old rock, too, when he’s in the mood, with a fondness for Sister Rosetta Tharpe.

People might call him old-fashioned, but he’s not necessarily in the position to raid an Apple Store and get up to date on all these fantastical gadgets the kids these days have. Not that he’s opposed to technology. He only openly mocked someone for reading on their phone instead of a book once, and it was his youngest sister. Oh boy, he did get an earful about “sustainability” and “no paper costs,” all in the same lecture as the dangers of physical objects versus digital licensing as soon as the other sister decided to join the conversation.

Despite their tenacity, all of his sisters are significantly younger than him. They’re the same age. His parents struggled to have him in the first place, so they had long given up the idea of having any more children. They doted on him for the first ten years of his life, being the best possible parents they could be, and then his mother got pregnant again. It was exciting news, that’s for sure, even more exciting (and kind of worrying) when three heartbeats were detected during an ultrasound. All of them are identical; even your orc has some issues keeping them apart when they decide to be purposefully misleading. He also has a sneaking suspicion that two completely switched places during high school because one liked the name better.

His parents were already older as it was, bless their hearts, but somehow managed to keep up with three rambunctious girls. He definitely did some of the heavy lifting in those earlier years; his ten-year head start made him the household negotiator. Sometimes that meant going from bedroom to bedroom to facilitate arguments; other times, he had to wrestle two screaming girls apart before beating each other into dust. Very basic siblings stuff. His parents peacefully passed away weeks apart from each other, as soon as they’re children were well into adulthood and one was married.

He’s an uncle, too. You don’t know which came first- his affinity for kids or his skills with them. From three sisters to four nieces and nephews, he has his hands full whenever family visits. He might grump and act a bit rough on the edges when the kids misbehave, but he’s quick to quietly set them up with a game or a chore to keep their hands busy. The kids are endlessly entertained over how he can effortlessly lift them up and toss them into a soft hay bail- over and over again without getting tired. Most of the children are still young, with only one hitting double digits, but there is no greater joy in a small child’s life than being gently thrown like a sack of potatoes.

#monster match #orc #orc/reader

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nightingale101 · 3 years

Text

Don’t take the money.

So slowly writing chapter 2, i figure i might as well post the first chapter here.

~~~

Somebody broke me once, Love was a currency A shimmering balance act, I think that I laughed at that And I saw your face and hands, Coloured in sun and then I think I understand

~~**~~

This was different. Those other times, love had burnt like an uncontrollable fire, consuming everything and everyone in its path and burning itself out in the process. It was all consuming, a fire they had lit under his skin that turned everything it touched to ash and ruin. But with V… with V it was different. It was…. Warmth

One

Sweet Disposition.

A moment, a love

A dream, a laugh

A kiss, a cry

Our rights, our wrongs

“I don’t understand. They- Grayson said - at the oil fields”

“he either lied or wasn’t high enough up the Chain to be in the know.”

“But I-“

“Focus, We have to move. Reinforcements are probably on their way here as we speak.”

“I know- I just.”

“It’s alright, we can figure this out. Together, as a family.”

“yeah. Ok... one thing at a t- oh shit, that alarm. Fuck”

“We have to move. Now. Do you think you can help me carry him, V?”

The voices came to him from far, far away, a lifetime away it felt like. filtering in through the inky blackness he currently found himself drifting in. afloat, lost, confused.

He didn’t know them. At least he didn’t think he knew them, he couldn’t remember. Well, he really couldn’t remember much of anything right know. He wasn’t even sure he knew himself. He wasn’t even sure what his name was. Where was he… How did he get here… why was he here... why couldn’t he remember?

V… was that a name...? Was that his name? No… No he didn’t think so, but it was confusing. He knew V… He was sure of that. He wanted to… save them.

~~**~~

He didn’t know how long he’d been there. floating in the dark, it seemed timeless. It could have been seconds, it could have been hours, it could have been a year as far as he could tell. He wasn’t sure where he was, or why, or how he got there. But he remembered his name now.

Johnny.

~~**~~

The voices still floated to him though the darkness. Not as clear as the first time, but he caught the occasional word through the muffled haze that seemed to surround him.

Plan. Silverhand. Night City. Dying. Border. Wake up. V. Bleeding. Badlands. Lucky. Wake up. Please.

There were more than the first two voices now, although he couldn’t tell exactly how many. Some of them seemed to blend together and he couldn’t distinguish one voice from the other. He heard the first voice, the voice he now could recognize as V, the most often. She often talks to him alone, or at least he doesn’t hear anyone else while she’s around. He wonders if this means he saved her. If he could just remember what happened.

~~**~~

He knows who he now. He is Johnny Silverhand. Deserter. Rockerboy. Terrorist. All round bastard.

He remembers all of it. Alt. Arisaka tower. Rouge. Smasher. And V. God he remembers V. A pang of guilt clutches around his heart when he thinks of her. That’s new he thinks. He hadn’t really felt guilty about something before. Everything was inconsequential to him before, someone else’s problem.

He remembers It felt like torture to him. Watching her slowly get worse, her body and mind slowly being taken over by him, with nothing he could do about it. He remembers when he stopped the elevator, taking control of her arm to push the button, the fear in her voice. And he remembers his own fear, when she’d passed out, and he couldn’t reach her, no matter how hard he tired. But, he could still hear her voice… she was talking to him, wherever he was. Which means she was alive, right? He’d… Gone with Alt? is this what being a part of her was like? This… nothingness... but something. And still being able to here V.

He doesn’t remember anything after speaking with V in Cyberspace. Seeing her red digital form, arguing with him of all things. She didn’t want him to leave, wanted to find a way for them both to live. One moment they were talking… and then he was here. Nowhere.

~~**~~

He was starting to feel things again. and everything… Hurt. There was pain firing in all his nerves all over his body. His head was throbbing, sharp pain spikes were running down his back and adding to the dull ache in his legs…. His... legs...? Was this phantom pain from his non-existent body? Like what he had felt when he first lost his arm. Was he feeling the injuries that his body would have sustained from that last fight at the tower...? Or- no. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea that he actually had a body again. Because that would mean V... was... and he didn’t want to think about that. As long as she was alive, it was all worth it. He’d given his life for hers, and he couldn’t think of better thing to lay down his life for.

~~**~~

He’s… confused. He has a body, he’s pretty sure of that, can feel jolts of pain running down his spine, way to vivid to be phantom pains. But he hears V talking… wherever he, they, are, she’s here, and talking to Panam. He tries to pay attention to their convocation.

“… signs of improvement.” Panam was saying. “but no guarantees, V.”

He thinks they’re talking about him. Whatever is going on, he thinks he’s getting better too. He didn’t feel like he was floating anymore. He felt anchored. Secure. Still in darkness, but he didn’t feel like he was floating endlessly. He was more aware of his body; of the pain he was feeling. Or whoever’s body he was in, because as far as he knew his body was a skeleton and some rusted metal buried under the oil fields.

“I know…” came V’s voice, she let out a sigh. “One day at a time, right?”

V sounded exhausted. She sounded like she did when he’d taken her to the Pistis Sophia, after she’d woken up, a pain in her chest and barely being able to walk. Like she was running on empty, holding on by a thread that was threatening to snap at any moment and send her plummeting to the ground.

“Right. And anyway. We should talk about you.” Panam said.

“one thing at a time, Panam.” V responded, “Besides, there’s not a lot to talk about on that front anyway. Mitch is still chasing down his old contacts, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but that’s not really what I meant.” Panam continued. “I meant, how are you doing? I know you haven’t been sleeping and-“

“Time is short… Sleeping seems like a waste.”

“If you don’t sleep, you’ll burn out so much faster. You-“

The conversation faded to the background as his thoughts sawm around his head. V. It was odd not knowing exactly how she was feeling, what was going through her head. When he was in her mind, her thoughts and feelings flowed into him, and he could reassure her without even speaking, steel her nerves, calm her racing heart. He wanted to reach her now. He wanted to reassure her. He wanted to speak to her…

“…V” His voice was so small he thought as the blackness surrounded him, not his intention at all.

“Johnny!?” he heard V say, her voice full of concern but also hopfullness, and then the nothingness came once again.

~~**~~

When Johnny Silverhand woke up it was sunrise, the pale orange light stung the edges of his vision. His eyelids were heavy, like he hadn’t opened them for so long that they resisted the unfamiliar movement. It took an enormous effort to even open them at all, and even more effort to try and keep them open. His whole body ached. Every inch. From his legs to his head. From dull aches, to sharp jolts, he felt it all. Even moving his eyes too look around like it hurt.

He was in a tent. He recognized it as an Aldecaldo tent, like the one V had awoken in after she’d passed out in front of Panam. He was vaguely aware of frantic voices around him, but he was more focused on breathing, the ache in his chest as his lungs rose and fell. The fact that he was even breathing at all.

And then she was there.

“V…” His voice was hoarse, and his throat felt like it had been fucked by a sandpaper covered dick. But it was worth it, her face lit up with a smile the second he spoke.

“Johnny… Oh my god.” She sounded so relieved, he heard her dragging something to his side and she sat down next to him. With the most effort he’d ever needed to do anything, he turned his head slightly to look at her. His neck protested, loudly.

“I don’t…” it was taking all his effort to stay awake. He felt Vs hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in reassurance.

“It’s okay.” She said softly, as he was rapidly losing the fight with his eyelids. “just rest… we can talk later”

~~**~~

The next time Johnny woke up he felt marginally better, as in he didn’t feel like he had been runover by semi-truck, just a minivan. He wasn’t sure what time it was, sometime at night he thought, Judging from the lack of light in the tent. When he turned his head slightly, he could make out a person sleeping, or at the very least laying down, on a cot opposite him.

He moved his hand to reach out to them, not entirely sure why, but just knowing he wanted to. With a protest of pain that shot out from his wrist, up his arm, and down his spine; his hand slid off the cot and thumped onto the floor. It felt like trying to move a waterlogged post, slow and impossibly heavy. He almost imdently wanted to bring his arm back up onto the bed, to a more comfortable position, but quickly decide that was way more effort that he was willing to put in right at this moment and would probably make him pass out again. He settled on moving his fingers, enjoying the feeling of his nails scraping though the carpet, or mat, or… whatever was on the floor of the tent, he couldn’t be bothered looking. He became aware that he couldn’t move his other hand, or his other arm in general. His arm that in his original body would have been his cybernetic arm. He hated that feeling. He let out a sigh.

He saw the person on the other cot stir and begin to sit up, it was V.

“Johnny.”

“Hey... V.” he croaked out. She stood and walked over to him, taking a seat by his side again. “I ...” he began, but wasn’t sure how to finished that sentence, or even what he wanted to say. she reached for something next to him, a bottle of water. She placed a straw in it and brought the other end to his lips. He drank. It made throat feel significantly better. When he was done, she put the bottle back down, somewhere just beyond his sight.

“Its okay.” She picked up his arm and placed it back on the bed, resting it across his chest. “first off, how are you feeling?”

“Fucking preem.” He said, throat still protesting slightly, “Apart from the fact that I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck or ten”

“Yeah, I figured...” V responded, her eyes looking over his body, as if she could see the pain. It was quite for a moment.

“V…” He said softly, breaking thought the quiet, she looked at him. “What the fuck happened… I don’t... I don’t remember”

She let out a sigh and looked up at a ceiling. He could see her eyes dart back and forth as she got her thoughts in order. The last time he’d seen her do this, they were on the roof above Mistys, making one last choice, and he was feeling sick to his stomach. But at this moment, it felt like a lifetime ago. Maybe it was. “Johnny, what’s the last thing you remember.”

“talking to you… inside Mikoshi and then… Nothing.” His voice came out more of a hushed whisper than he would have liked.

“okay… its… right.” She began. She slapped her hands down on her lap, he wasn’t sure why, maybe to psych herself up. “so, while we were talking in Mikoshi, before we came to a decision, Alt appeared. Do you remember?

He shook his head slightly. He knew he’d already came to a decision; he would die so she could live. It was V who was still wrestling with the choice. V continued. “She said there was an anomaly. Something that she didn’t account for, and then you disappeared. Just… Blinked out of existence right before my eyes.”

She paused to take a shaky breath.

“She then told me a location inside Arasaka Tower to go to, close to where we were, If I chose to go back to my body... which I obviously I did... and in that room was the anomaly. In that room was you.” She looked at Johnny. “Your body.”

He swallowed. “I don’t understand…. Grayson said…”

“He lied” V said. “Or he just genuinely didn’t know. But this” she placed her hand on his chest, right above his heart. “This is you. Not a clone, or a replica. You.”

He let that sink in for a moment. He’d known that he was in a body. He just hadn’t thought it had been his body. At least it was slightly less concerning that he couldn’t move his left arm now. The prosthetic must have been damaged. “...How?”

“Cryogenically frozen.” V said. “honestly, lucky you still have all of your fingers and toes. Cryo freezing’s a crapshoot even these days, I couldn’t imagine how it was back then.”

Lucky to even be alive, he thought, from what little he knew about the Cryo technology from 2023, but leave it to Arasaka to have the top tier technology squirreled away in their basement. “so, is that why I feel like I’ve been run over?”

“Maybe partially.” V said. “but, near as I could tell... they froze your body right after they used soul killer on you. So all your injures from the tower, they’re still fresh.”

Oh. That made more sense now. He did fall out of a helicopter, and get his ass handed to him by Smasher. “so... Alt just uploaded my mind back into my body? And I was good to go.”

V smiled at him, a sad smile. He decided he didn’t like it. “not exactly… Johnny when I got to you, you were dead. You had no pulse, you weren’t breathing. Me and Panam just barely managed to get you back. We didn’t know if you were going to wake up…. I didn’t…. you scared the hell out of me.”

“It’s payback…” He said. She was upset, and he hated that it was because of him. Her hand was still on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. Despite the protests from his arm, he moved to place his hand over the top of hers, letting his fingers come to rest between hers. “For when I thought...”

“its not funny Johnny.” She sounded annoyed, but she didn’t move her hand. “You’ve been in a coma for nearly a month.”

A month his mind echoed. He could feel himself slowly slipping back into unconsciousness, but he was suddenly aware of the implication of sleeping for a month. The moment V’s mind was placed back in her body, she was a ticking time bomb, and the clock was set for six months. And now that was down to five. She didn’t deserve that. His chest ached as guilt wrapped itself around his heart.

They were quiet. His hand was still over hers, their fingers interlaced. She had begun to move thumb, gently and slowly stroking the side of his palm. He in turn began to move his thumb, caressing the back of her hand. Her hands were so much smaller than his and they seemed much more delicate, but he knew they could be just as deadly as his own if she needed them to be. He wanted to ask more questions, but more than that he didn’t want this moment to end, just being able to touch her- actually touch her. And just enjoying this. This unspoken thing between them.

He was in love with her. He’d been aware that for a while now, although he couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it started. He thinks it might have started bubbling in his chest around the time he took her to the Pistis Sophia, when he’d committed to saving her.

He’d been in love before, he knows that. Alt. Rouge. And even Kerry at some points. But this… This was different. Those other times, love had burnt like an uncontrollable fire, consuming everything and everyone in its path and burning itself out in the process. It was all consuming, a fire they had lit under his skin that turned everything it touched to ash and ruin. But with V… with V it was different. It was…. Warmth. Like a fire you had built to keep the winter chill at bay. it surrounded you with its warmth and comfort so that whatever storm you were taking shelter from, didn’t matter. It still burned with ferocity, like all fires did, but it didn’t feel like it would consume him and everything thing in its path. It felt... safe… like he needed this fire to survive, and not like he need to survive this fire.

He wanted to tell her, but as the thought crossed his mind, he felt his grasp on consciousness slip. “V…”

“You should rest..” She said, she had the softest smile on her face. “Its late. And we’ll have all the time in the world to talk when you’re stronger.”

He thought that sentiment was laughable, as his eyes slowly fell shut against his will. He’d always been weak.

#cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand #v cyberpunk #johnny x v

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nutty1005 · 3 years

Text

Xiao Zhan – Beijing Beijing

Translator’s Note: This article comes from PEOPLE Magazine 2020 2nd Issue.

In between “seems beautiful” and “very beautiful”, there can be one or many different views. For example, the phrase “famous after a battle” (TN: Xiao Zhan’s “Zhan” sounds like battle in Chinese), we could analyze the keywords in many ways.

Xiao Zhan, born 1991. Could you imagine how you and I would be when we were 28? Xiao Zhan is like this –

Fan View

“His looks are totally my type” “As warm and gentle as jade, a gentleman who is peerless” “A precious boy with the soul as crystalline as prismatic glass”

“Famous after a battle”, is the most effective “wartime story”. Using this analogy in the entertainment business, there are many who had been battling for quite a while. Xiao Zhan is like this as well…

Audience View

The summer of 2019, the antihero Wei Wuxian (portrayed by Xiao Zhan), came from “The Untamed” into the living rooms of countless viewers, and straight into their hearts;

Platform View

As the Beijing TV Spring Night Spokesperson, as a celebrity with more than 20 million fans on Weibo, as Tencent’s “Most Popular Artist of 2019” and “Drama Actor of the Year”, as iQiyi’s “Breakthrough Popularity Actor of the Year”…

When we change our point of view, will the world become more interesting?

With regards to his looks, Xiao Zhan said he is “ordinary”, and only scored himself a 6.

With regards to his age, Xiao Zhan said his mother’s method of urging him to start a family has went from straight-to-the-point to indirect and tactful.

With regards to “famous after one battle”, is it really as straightforward as standing out from the big data and being ahead of everyone else? Xiao Zhan, who is 1.83m, reduced his weight from 70kg to 58kg for his outstanding portrayal of Wei Wuxian – is this really the result of a day’s work? Does anyone remember the hardworking youth, with a caption “Designer from Chongqing”, from the 2015 idol search variety show “X-Fire”? Does anyone remember that in 2016, after debuting as the lead singer for X9, Xiao Zhan admitted that there were instances of zero income, zero entertainment and zero social activities?

No matter whether it was “very beautiful” or it “seemed beautiful”, would it be free of worries?

Xiao Zhan looked down and smiled, slightly bashful, his expression serene, “Sweet worries.”

He actually loves Beijing so much

On 28 Feb 2019, I (a reporter) entered a dressing room in Beijing TV. The narrow and long dressing room had been split in the middle into two narrower sections. Near the corner, after the staff has dispersed, I finally set my eyes on Xiao Zhan, who sat obediently on a chair while styling his hair.

The stylist stood on the right of Xiao Zhan; to the left of Xiao Zhan was a giant suitcase. After we tried to push the suitcase aside, I managed to stand in the gap. In such a tight space, I could only put the phone in front of Xiao Zhan, on top of the opened makeup case, for voice recording. After some more effort from everyone, there was finally space for the phone.

He was covered in a white hairdresser cape, his long legs enveloped by a pair of black pants – his thick black hair was being kept in order, his handsome side profile, relaxed and natural attitude, polite words, and after some close observation, no piercings on his ears.

How did this unguarded Xiao Zhan look like?

There was no need for exquisite words, just simple and pure wonderfulness.

If it remained unimaginable, it would not be too complex to imagine the warm smiles of the good looking youths on the streets of Beijing. All of these people could have been born in Beijing or traveled to Beijing from their hometowns.

“Chongqinger” Xiao Zhan said, “Beijing, in fact, besides my hometown Chongqing, is my longest lived in city. If we use 2020 to calculate, it would have been 5 years. Beijing, is a striving city, and like any other youths, Beijing means dreams and endeavors to us – this is a city of ambition. Hence, as Beijing TV’s Spring Night spokesperson, I feel that this special meaning, I’m very happy and very excited.”

Indeed, during the release conference in the afternoon, when being asked about how he felt spending his “Year of the Rat” Spring Night with Beijing TV, and expressing that by singing, Xiao Zhan, who was nicknamed “The Little Chinese Music Archive”, thought about it seriously and suddenly sang, “I’m beautiful, beautiful, beautiful……”

Haha, this quick wit and humor was almost as cute as “The Chipmunks”.

Spring Night is a big event, and it required absolute secrecy. We secretly asked Xiao Zhan about Beijing TV Spring Night from his personal point of view. Xiao Zhan continued to be witty, “I feel it’ll be exciting, at least I’ll be performing with a… senior that I really like.” When asked who it would be, Xiao Zhan smiled, “Let’s keep it a mystery, and we welcome everyone to watch Beijing TV Spring Night!”

This “Chongqinger”, who still could not confirm if he could return to his hometown for Chinese New Year, would sometimes show his inner thoughts – “If I could go back I definitely would”, but yet his words lingered on Beijing TV Spring Night.

Xiao Zhan, he actually loves Beijing so much.

He actually likes Zhou Xun so much

Who are the actors that Xiao Zhan admires the most? If he were to pick two, it would be Zhou Xun and Tony Leung.

Xiao Zhan said, “I really like Zhou Xun, her views, her experiences, are all mesmerizing to me. She has many performances that give me the urge to rush into the screen to rescue her. Her performances are very vivacious, it feels like you’re beside her experiencing her performances with her, my attention is all on her, she just has great charisma.”

Xiao Zhan emphasized that he liked Zhou Xun all along, and as we stood and studied his side profile, his face, we suddenly remembered a classic scene from “Palace of Desire”, where the young Princess Taiping removed Xue Shao’s mask.

That year, Zhou Xun was 26, Winston Chao was 40, but it did not prevent her from portraying a young girl’s infatuation. This drama was almost 20 years old, and the female audiences at that time would exclaim that Winston Chao was “as warm and gentle as jade, a gentleman who is peerless”. If this seemed familiar, this phrase was also used by many of Xiao Zhan’s fans to describe him.

Time, in the long river of ages, cycles endlessly Memories, in our past and present lives, crosses endlessly

– Lyrics from “Yu Nian”

This is the lyrics from Xiao Zhan’s song “Yu Nian”, which is the ending song for “Joy of Life”. Who knew that time cycles? Who knew that memories crosses paths?

As of now, Xiao Zhan is similar in age to Zhou Xun’s age then. If we could time travel and Xiao Zhan were to act as Xue Shao, could we guess the ending?

And since we are at this point, we could add another statement – “Traffic” / “Celebrity” / “Actor” – what difference do they make in the face of time? If there are no answers, why not listen to Xiao Zhan’s “Yu Nian”.

Time will tell, it is just that we are too impatient – regardless of our need for speed, we still ought to seek the truth.

He actually admires Vincent van Gogh so much

Xiao Zhan, like many of us, went through the tough period of studying overnight for university entry examinations. He became a student of Chongqing Business and Technology University, majoring in Design. However, this did not prevent Xiao Zhan from becoming a “Top 10 Inter-school Singer”, he self mockingly called himself a “literary enthusiast”, but in fact became one of the stars in many girls’ eyes – someone who was good looking, tall, stylish and could sing and take photographs. Immediately after he graduated, he became a designer, but he would still be brought up by his ex-teachers, one of whom recommended him to participate in “X-Fire”.

When reviewing “X-Fire”, you would realize that Xiao Zhan had a round face, an obedient expression and mild temperament – in fact, you would think that he did not pose much of a threat. But as one by one, the youths started getting eliminated, as their teams were getting regrouped, as they were getting more and more difficult tasks, it seemed as though Xiao Zhan was being sculpted on the spot – his face became more chiselled, he started slimming down, his eyes started having the steady gaze of ambition… Talent search variety shows are, in fact, cruel and all the participants were getting re-sculpted and remodeled – whatever that was removed was not the meant to be in the final product.

So what did Xiao Zhan keep in his heart? These were all the passwords to his past – drawing, design and art. Like anyone who learnt design, they all had an artist that they favored, and they were all different. Xiao Zhan’s answer – Vincent van Gogh.

Xiao Zhan said, “I was asked previously – if I could have a conversation with a past personality, who would it be? I would just choose Vincent van Gogh, because I want to listen to what he had experienced then, how he lived then, such that he was able to create such a beautiful world and paintings. Such as “Starry Night” or “Self Portrait”, I feel that he was able to step away from himself, into very amazing angles, and then create them.”

Those who learned design would usually be able to draw quite well, and usually beyond the levels of self taught hobbyists. Hence, these would also become part of his self cultivation.

Xiao Zhan confirmed this, “Yes, I think starting from aesthetic views to detailed observation, I feel that there were definitely influences.”

On whether Xiao Zhan still went to art exhibitions, the question seemed like a luxury to him – his eyes widened, he straightened himself, and he started smiling widely, “There is very little time now for art exhibitions, I would see them via friends who went and posted in their social media, or those art-related media accounts.”

There could be no burden I could sway my head I could stay my steps I could surrender to you

– Lyrics from “Two Tigers”

This is the promotion song from movie “Two Tigers” sung by Xiao Zhan. There was once in a variety show that he was requested to use his facial muscles to move a cookie on the side of his face into his mouth, while singing. Before the game started, Xiao Zhan pointed at the camera and laughed, “I really do have an idol’s image burden! I really do have an idol’s image burden!” However, after the game started, you see no sign of his “burden”, just 100% into moving his facial muscles, working hard to get to the cookie.

What is an idol’s image burden? Is there art in an idol’s image burden? There are no answers, but we can look for it in Xiao Zhan’s “Two Tigers”.

Art often gave the answers to philosophy. For example, an idol’s image burden could be thrown away, hence it is definitely not art; Art follows the heartbeat, follows life, just like the Vincent van Gogh, a man whose life bloomed and withered like the summer flowers, in the hearts of people like Xiao Zhan.

This phrase “A designer who can’t sing isn’t a good actor” seemed nonsensical, but if you think about it, it seemed to suit Xiao Zhan a lot.

He actually yearns the audiences’ recognition so much

It seemed like Xiao Zhan did gain fame after a single battle, but it was not just one battle – there were more raging battles before then.

The dancing spirit, wearing bright red and green clothes, in “Monster Hunt 2” – the camera panned past him without a HD shot; The minor role of a special agent in “The Rookies” – with some onscreen time less than a minute… And there were more, such as “Star Academy”, “Oh! My Emperor”, “Battle Through the Heaven”, “Shuttle Love Millennium”… Never heard of them? Eh, well this proved a problem – how could there be so many people who became “famous after a battle”?

What next? Xiao Zhan happily shared, “If everything goes well, there would be three roles coming to meet everyone, two period, one modern.”

Alright, the modern role would be Doctor Gu of “Oath of Love”. In fact, there were already naughty fans yelling that they were going to register for Doctor Gu’s hospital. Two period roles from “Douluo Continent” and “The Wolf”. Which do Xiao Zhan like the most? Xiao Zhan was unable to answer, “I feel like I like them all. Three different roles, three different pace!”

So, for the audiences who are already familiar with the two roles from “Joy of Life” and “The Untamed”, which are the ones that are closest to Xiao Zhan himself?

Xiao Zhan shook his head, “They weren’t quite similar to me.”

With regards to his roles, his works, let us get to some quick Q&A.

Q: After experiencing the life of the role, would that some what affect yourself? A: I feel that there are some influences to my usual personality.

Q: Would it make you mature faster? A: I feel that it makes my life richer, it means that I have experienced multiple different lives.

Q: What is your long term goal as an actor? A: If we are talking about long term goal, it is definitely being able to act in a drama that I love, and then gain audiences’ recognition for that. I feel that this is my ultimate term goal.

Q: Which role do you like? How do you live with your roles? A: I feel that there isn’t the most loved, I’m just someone who enjoys the moment. For example, when I’m in the current role, I will invest myself entirely into that role, and then I will cherish him and love him. But when I have to go to my next battle, I will put him down and let him go. And then, I will invest all of my passion for the next one.

He actually likes to smile so much

Observing Xiao Zhan up close and personal – his head narrow, his face small and firm, the folded long legs were especially straight and long. Xiao Zhan, is really thin.

When asked if he was at his thinnest, Xiao Zhan smiled, “No, I was the lightest during ‘The Untamed’, it was shot with ‘Joy of Life’, that was the period. I feel like I’ve regained more than what I’ve lost.”

Wei Wuxian in “The Untamed” liked to smile, all the time, everywhere; Yan Bingyun in “Joy of Life” was cold, all the time, as cold as ice. These two roles shot at the same time, just the emotions were already poles apart – the effort in switching in between them definitely exhausted a lot of brain cells.

When asked if he remembered his longest working day ever since his debut, Xiao Zhan looked down and smiled, then exclaimed at the same time with me, “A few days!”

Whether he could mentally sustain the current pace was not the main point – whether he could physically sustain was hotly debated. On this, Xiao Zhan replied especially fast, “I could adjust to it, really! I personally preferred a busier schedule, the feeling of being busy, makes me feel more fulfilling, and more sense of security.”

“Sense of security” – Xiao Zhan used this phrase, how did he understand it?

For example, Xiao Zhan said that there were instances of him in bad temper, and then he was asked if he would flip tables. Xiao Zhan was slightly taken aback, and answered with a smile, “I can see that you’ve never done design, a designer is a contractor working for his clients, if the clients have opinions, you need to communicate properly and slowly convince them…”

Everyone has a different understanding and adaptation when it comes to “bad temper”, a lot of it came from experience and self control of emotions – similarly, our understanding and adaptation of “sense of security” would be different as well, because everyone’s sense of responsibility and experiences would be different. For a youth to openly bring up “sense of security” and fight for that, we could only choose to give him our blessings. Because, in the blur of the mind, we could almost see ourselves in him.

Before I could give him my well wishes, Xiao Zhan gave the readers and audiences an especially down-to-earth and warm blessing, “I feel that more well wishes are repeated too often. I will simply wish everyone a smooth path ahead, and then peace and safety would be nice!”

Finally, we would emphasize one point – Xiao Zhan really likes to smile!

Moreover, Xiao Zhan’s smiles are varied – there is gentle, healing, mischievous, surprising, confident, hearty, shy, embarrassed… and every one of these smiles could be extended into a language of its own.

There is this saying about a child who likes to smile…

His luck will never be lacking.

#xiao zhan #sean xiao #xiaozhan #肖战

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hectabdr · 3 years

Text

Dragon Raja IV - Chapters 11 & 12 (Abridged)

Hi everyone!

Today's chapters are a little slower than the previous ones, but they have a lot of insight on Nono, Luminous and the nature of their relationship. I also kept more of the original dialog for the same reason.

BTW, this is the point where the illustrations suddenly stopped for some reason so... No more drawings :P

Previous chapters.

Chapter 11

A girl waited in the top lobby of the Black Prince International Financial Center. At 21 years old, Tu Xiaojiao was already known as the "Sophie Marceau of China". She was in that building to meet the legendary "Master Shao", the inheritor of this powerful organization. If anyone else in the world made Miss Tu wait for more than half an hour, she would leave the place immediately, but Mr. Shao was different, he could offer her the role of her life, so she decided to stay in the waiting room.

When the receptionist finally allowed her to enter Shao's office, she found him next to the window, reading a poem out loud. She had to wait for him to finish for fifteen minutes, her high heels started making her feet feel numb, wondering if he was mocking her, Shao didn't even notice her presence. To her dismay, once he finally saw her in his office, it didn't make much of a difference, since Shao only had one topic in his mind, his adored senior was back.

Miss Tu tried to be polite, and asked to know more about this "senior" girl. When Shao was younger, he had a girlfriend, she was actually one year younger than him, but she demanded to be referred as his senior and he obsessed over her for the rest of his life. He even showed miss Xiaojiao a picture of himself and his senior back when they were a couple. Tu Xiaojiao was confused, in the tiny photograph, there were two children, one looked like Shao and by his side, there was a girl who seemed completely indifferent towards him. This was cut from a kindergarten group photo, and he carried it in his wallet ever since.

Shao had everything at his disposal since he was born, his focus in the entertainment industry was nothing but a hobby. He could visit any place that he wanted, he could buy any piece of clothing and of course, he could date some of the most beautiful women in the world. But he didn't want any of them as his wife. The woman of his life had to be someone who would make him beg for her affection, someone who would make him kneel in her presence. The only woman who could make that to him, was Chen Motong.

Every time that Miss Chen came back to the country, he felt like a five year old all over again, but getting her heart wouldn't be an easy task. She acted cold and demanding, when she arrived he asked her out for dinner but she just wanted to borrow a car from him and left. He heard about an Italian man, apparently her boyfriend and he couldn't learn anything else about him, it was driving him crazy, but he received some information that brought some hope back into his eyes. Miss Chen had a friend in town, and he was in the hospital. Shao left his office with Miss Tu in it, on his way to meet Mr Luminous.

Young Lu was also disheartened because of Nono, although, his reasons were different. His 91st attempt to save her also ended in failure. When he realized that they were once again going to die, Nono desperately tried to make him react, but he lazily waited in the car seat for the whole scenario to restart, frustrated and annoyed, as the gravity of the situation slowly became less palpable. He looked to his side and saw Nono's face looking at him. Her expression was as ruthless as ever but in her eyes he saw deep sadness, he almost felt like hugging her before they died but the simulation ended. To him, death meant that he would have to start all over again, but for Nono, every single time it meant a genuine end.

To interrupt his depression, a young, short, overweight man entered his room. He called himself a friend of Miss Chen and Luminous thought for a second that she sent him there to get him out of the hospital, but Shao was there to speak.

He started making questions, in particular, who was this Italian scumbag that he heard about? Tragically for him, Luminous spoke highly of Caesar's fortune, personality and actions, and to make matters worse, he wasn't only Chen's boyfriend, but her fiancé.

A depressed Shao proceeded to tell an anecdote from his childhood. When he was studying in the United Kingdom, Shao felt belittled next to ehe aristocratic children that studied with him, so he started bragging about his own family's wealth and promising other kids money for listening to him, when he tried to show off in front of Nono, she beat him up and told him to call her "Senior Sister".

The school's Rugby matches also got violent, Shao played aggressively, so the other kids retaliated against his attitude by deliberately kicking him in the face and hitting him with the ball. His front teeth got broken as there was no coach present to stop them. He sat down on the grass, defeated, when Nono took his place in the match, she fearlessly rushed into a defense of fifteen boys while Shao swore to his heart that one day he would marry that girl, even if he had to kneel and crawl in front of her.

Shao compared himself to the protagonist form "The Great Gatsby", who desperately needed to be with his love interest, Miss Daisy.

-Why should a girl be with a man who needs her?

She should be with a man she needs. My senior sister doesn't need me, I am the one who needs her.

Before Shao left, Luminous reminded him of a scene in "Journey to the West" where Tang Sanzang found a silly monkey who lived behind a waterfall. The cowardly monkey recognized Tang's strength and left his hidden home to follow him around the world. There are two types of monkeys in the world, the smart ones that can survive out there on their own, and the silly ones, who need a master they look up to.

Shao understood his metaphor and he felt encouraged. Realizing he could trust the strange mental patient enough to untie one of his hands, Shao gave Luminous a can of beer and they toasted. When Shao left, Luminous took a syringe from the side table and injected himself with more sedatives. This was his 92nd attempt.

Shao returned to his office, motivated and lively.

-I met a new brother today!

He encouraged me to come back here, he's a philosopher and his words are very touching!

People living in mental hospitals are all experts in this kind of stuff.

He realized that he left without saying goodbye to Miss Tu, but his apology wasn't answered, because the girl in his office was Nono. She was drinking, looking tired, she didn't wear any makeup and silently stared at the window.

Shao was determined to win her over, but Nono answered most of his questions briefly and coldly. She didn't want to speak with him, she was just there to return the car keys and now she wanted to leave.

Shao's pitiful voice tone softened her attitude a little so she asked him for some gin with ice. Nono drank the whole glass in one sip and asked for a refill. She had another glass, and another.

- Senior sister, is someone bullying you?

- Who could possibly bully me?

- Usually no one, but aren't you engaged now?

- Caesar wouldn't do that, don't worry about it, just take care of yourself.

- Are you really going to marry an Italian? Those guys spend their money so recklessly!

- Could you give me a better reason not to marry him? Who are you to say those things? Stop messing around and just confess your intentions.

- I'm your boyfriend from kindergarten! If you gave me a chance instead I could be endlessly more confident and...

- You? "Endless"? Nono was so angry that she laughed.

Shao Kneeled and asked Nono to be his girlfriend instead. He kneeled in one knee, so she asked him to kneel on both like he used to, and he did, but not for begging, he used to do so as punishment. Nono didn't like his subservient attitude.

- We were just classmates, I was wrong to treat you so hardly, but you don't have to hold on to me, I am engaged and you could marry just anyone.

Shao kept begging, Nono deflected every single one of his arguments until he recited Luminous's "Journey to the west" reference. His delivery was incredible, but she had no reaction to it, she looked at her glass with tired eyes. She got up on her feet and entered the elevator.

After she left, Shao was avidly celebrating, he interpreted her reaction as progress and showed off in front of his employees.

Nono stopped at a small ramen restaurant to warm up her rain-soaked body. Chu Tianjiao was her last clue and she lost it. If Luminous was actually sick, why didn't she give up on him yet?

Why did she feel the need to insist on his case? This wasn't only about her, every moment she spent in the middle of nowhere, escaping from the secret party, she got Caesar in trouble. How was she supposed to explain this to them?

She had to admit that she cared too much about Luminous's well-being. She wouldn't doubt to give him her diving suit, she immediately called him last year when she and Caesar were overwhelmed by Scythe ferrets to warn him of the impending danger and now that the whole world was against him, she kept insisting on proving his sanity. Regarding his feelings for her, she comforted herself with positive thoughts. Who didn't have a crush on a senior girl at some point in his life?

Zero was great for him, so was Isabelle, if she had known Erii in person, Nono would have considered them to be "such a fucking perfect match".

Over the last few years, this petty boy had grown up, he became more energetic, better dressed and gained so much experience, yet he kept holding on to her. She left Shao's office without saying a word because she recognized those words belonged to Luminous. They were about Luminous.

- Chen motong, you're such a fool, you messed everything up.

Chapter 12

An exhausted Su Xiaoyao leaned back on her office chair, she had spent a long day on work meetings and in the middle of the night her phone kept ringing. This was her life ever since she had to leave school to take over her father's business. She had gained some weight ever since but no one really cared, she was still one of the top bachelorettes in the city and she had just accepted a blind date, excited to take a break.

During the student reunion, seeing Luminous made her cry a little. It wasn't because she used to have a crush on him during their high school years, she just realized that those carefree days would never repeat themselves. Back in the day, she and the other girls used to sit on the basketball courts to see Luminous play basketball. Even the air felt different.

Su took her high heels off and put her feet on her desk to take a quick nap, but her phone interrupted her attempt to display an urgent text message. It was Liu Miaomiao, her old rival in love.

- Su Xiaoyao, find a way to get here, quick! They put our senior brother in a mental hospital!

Game level: Gungir light, 101st load.

- So, where did you get that rocket launcher again?

- I found it under the seat...

The whole fight seemed extremely rehearsed by now, Luminous always knew exactly where to shoot, it almost looked like he could predict the future.

- Did you learn that in your special training? I want to take that special training too!

Nono slowly became the most problematic element in the simulations, she didn't retain her memories after every attempt like he did. This was probably the first time Luminous felt something other than absolute admiration towards her, she became a little annoying, but he couldn't really blame her. They got in the car and tried to escape, but one of the tires was damaged.

- Are you hungry? I just found some nuts in this car!

He knew Nono was trying to calm him but he was still a little anxious, he repeated the steps to replace the tire in his mind but the car-wheel escaped his hands and rolled over the highway.

His tantrum surprised Nono, who dropped her snacks all over the floor. Ming·Z paused time and got out of the car.

He noticed that Luminous asked to reset his last six attempts instead of waiting for his death, he seemed far more tired than usual after his conversation with Shao, it made him reflect about his feelings for Nono to the point of getting distracted in battle.

- First of all, I'm not the only monkey that she brought out from the waterfall, second, I am the one who needs her, she doesn't need me.

- Brother, I expected you to regret going to Cassell College, you wouldn't be so sad otherwise.

- I don't regret it, if I hadn't gone to Cassell College, I wouldn't know my senior brother nor my senior sister or the boss, nor would I know Finger, the Japanese "Lonesome George" brothers... And Erii.

Luminous ignored Ming·Z's snarky remarks and got a better hold of his feelings.

- I always ran after my senior sister, I like her so much that it makes me very sad that I can't be with her. Caesar was born with everything, he could have married any girl he liked but he picked the only one I cared about.

Suddenly I realized that I'm wrong, that was just wishful thinking on my part.

There are more people for me out there, Erii liked me, but Nono was the only one I had eyes for. Nono doesn't need me, I'm the one who feels at ease when I follow her, like she'll feel relieved when she marries the boss. She wouldn't feel like that if she were with me and to pursue her is to act on my most selfish side, why did my senior brother support me?

- Your senior brother wasn't that upright, don't you think?

- Finally, are you willing to admit that he's real?

- Okay okay, Johann Chu really does exist, but there is something wrong with him and you need to get him back"

- Then I'm relieved.

Ming·Z confirmed more things, the city was closed on all exits due to the weather conditions and the Nibelungen was invading their reality on a large scale.

- Thank you, Ming·Z·Lu. Why do you call yourself Ming·Z? You deliberately used my cousin's name"

- No, my name is Ming·Z·Lu, there has always been a Ming·Z·Lu in your life and that's me, not the fat boy in your uncle's house.

Luminous went back to the car, picked the dozens of floating snacks and put them back in Nono's palm one by one.

- Sister, don't worry, you will be fine, I will definitely find a way, I changed my mind, I will attend your wedding, I'll see you in your white dress holding orange flowers, walking on a red carpet full of happiness... Maybe you should throw the bouquet in my direction.

Three girls were sobbing next to his bed when he woke up, Chen Wenwen was the first face he recognized, followed by Su Xiaoyao and Liu Miaomiao. Su was one of the most influential persons in town, so she demanded that her old classmate got released from the hospital.

They took him out on a car and decided to stop on a luxurious bar. They all felt a little insecure about what they were wearing, so Su Xiaoyao asked her driver to bring them their old school uniforms.

Sitting at the bar, after multiple drinks, the girls kept reminiscing of their old days in high school, Luminous past in this reality was the same as Johann's, including his Saxophone recitals at the cultural festivals. He used to envy Johann so much back then...

He stood up and told everyone that he was going to the bathroom, but he changed back to his normal clothes and got out of the bar. A man with a motorized tricycle was waiting for potential passengers outside and Luminous gave him his expensive watch as insurance for borrowing his small vehicle.

He drove all the way to the Number 10 highway and entered the Nibelungen again. Odin was waiting for him far away, he didn't say a word but he slowly raised his lance. Luminous turned around and left the god's prison.

Back in his old apartment, Finger had befriended Luminous's aunt and kept doing shores for her. Nono came back to the place and they argued about their course of action.

- If I had known this was going to happen, I wouldn't have rescued him from that theater.

- Feels like you stepped in bubble gum and you can't take it off.

Finger suddenly left the room and came back with the news, Luminous had left the hospital with three old classmates. Nono grabbed an umbrella and ran out. She knew the bar and she knew about Su Xiaoyao, they weren't going to be hard to find.

By the time she arrived, the three girls were arguing after Luminous left. They actually tried to blame each other, the way they admired him was surprising to Nono. Suddenly, Luminous came back and justified his absence by saying that he went to a convenience store to get something to eat.

Nono watched them from the dark, feeling really stupid, there was a strange obsession that she couldn't let go of. In fact, she should have driven away the silly monkey that pestered her long ago, the more she helped him, the more he would rely on her. This wasn't good for any of them, but she couldn't bear to refuse.

She was afraid that he would end up crying alone in the wilderness, where no one could listen to him. She hoped that one day he could become one of those smart monkeys who run around happily, but maybe this silly monkey was smart from the beginning and she was pitying someone who didn't really need her.

She strolled under the heavy rain, her clothes were soaking and stuck to her body, it was a long way back to the uncle's house but she wanted to walk alone. She felt colder and colder and for the first time in her life she missed the Golden Iris Academy. She felt like going to a ramen stand again but there were no businesses in sight, however, there was a phone booth.

One call, that's all she needed to give away her location, Caesar made her memorize an emergency number long ago, it was the right thing to do, the person she should trust the most in this situation was not Finger or Luminous, but Caesar. Dialing felt like betraying her old classmates, but she started pressing the numbers.

"No, no, no, no, no, don't be like this, don't be like this"

Subconsciously, she looked aside and saw a small boy in the rain, looking at her from the other side of the glass. What was such a young boy doing out there on his own?

He was delicate and beautiful, like a porcelain doll.

- Are you looking for me? She asked.

The expressionless face of the boy slowly got horrifyingly distorted by the raindrops on the glass. She couldn't breathe due to an overwhelming sadness, so she opened the door but the boy was not there anymore. She took the calling card out of the booth and hanged up the phone.

Rome, Italy.

Caesar was waiting in front of a phone, he was under a lot of pressure, but the moment he received Nono's call, all of his problems would be over, yet the phone was silent.

The family elders felt like Luminous had stolen something that belonged to their heir, so they suggested that he cancelled his marriage.

- No, there are only two people in this world who can dissolve that engagement, Nono and me.

To avoid being put under heavy suspicion, he had to act calm and decisive, like he did a few days ago, when he released the monsters from the ice cellar to find the fugitives. Parsi entered the room and informed Caesar about the worsening weather conditions in Beijing, this type of climate phenomenons usually signaled the awakening of powerful dragons.

Luminous, the never-existing Johann Chu, the grim reaper, it was all starting to make sense. Caesar instructed Parsi to prepare his private jet and his desert eagles, he also dissuaded Parsi from going with him. At the lionheart club, president Babru informed the former president and dragon slayer Abdullah Abbas that Caesar wanted to team up with him to hunt the dragon down.

Intrigued, Abdullah accepted and instructed everyone to get ready.

To be continued, final update on Monday.

#Dragon Raja #dragon raja novel #luminous #ming z lu #nono #caesar gattuso #johann chu

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theawkwardterrier · 3 years

Text

An Alliance with an Earl

Here’s one for @lavellenchanted. It’s no Steggy AU of A Song for Summer (although what is?) but maybe Regency Jily will suffice, Sarah...

Read on AO3 here

I am going to have to buy Frank Longbottom a very nice bottle of brandy, Sirius thought to himself as he looked down at the letter in his hand, but what he said casually aloud was, “It seems we’ve been invited to a house party.”

James finished whatever he was scribbling, taking care to sign his name with the full flourish before he looked up. Light from the wonderfully sunny day, the kind they would never have been inside for a mere year ago, caught his spectacles as he did. James had worn a pair from the time he and Sirius first met as boys at Eton, but when light used to flash across them, it paired with the grin he once wore nearly constantly and his foolishly infectious laugh. Now Sirius half expected James to take his glasses off and massage his eyes, the way their old headmaster used to do.

Instead he set down his quill and gestured to the letter in Sirius’s hand. “If it’s any of your cousins, I shall have to respond in the negative. Well, perhaps we should have Lupin draft the letter - he is less likely to phrase it as rudely as either of us might.”

Sirius tossed the letter opener he had been using on the day's post back onto the very edge of James’s stupidly massive mahogany desk and barked out a laugh. “As if any of my cousins would allow me to darken their doorway. No, it’s the Longbottoms - it seems that old Augusta has allowed Frank and Alice use of the country place and they’ve invited us to come for the week after next.”

He tipped his head to the side, slouching further into his chair. He had once only done such things in the parlor of Grimmauld Place, his parents’ London residence, because in their view posture, like wealth and good breeding, was one of those things which mattered and he made a point of not allowing such things to matter to him. But the habit was so ingrained in him now that every time he sat, he tended to perch himself with a leg slung over the chair arm or his back placed on the seat and his head allowed to hang. “Not having access to that all-important family tree of my mother’s, however,” he said, “I really couldn’t promise you that I’m not cousins with either of them somewhere along the way.”

“Aren’t we all? I think between the two of us, we must be related by blood or marriage to half the ton.” James stretched his arms back and above his head, rotating his wrists and making a slight groaning sound. “Not, however, closely related enough to stop plenty of mothers from shoving their most eligible daughters into my path at every turn.”

Sirius nearly responded as he once would have, with a jibe about that sort of thing being unavoidable for such a catch as the future Earl of Gryffindor. Two years ago, however, after the deaths of first his mother and then, weeks later, his father, James actually became the Earl of Gryffindor, and seemed to think nothing in that line of humor at all funny anymore.

Quite a lot had become unfunny to James, actually. Some days, Sirius worried that his friend’s shoulders would simply break from the responsibilities settling there. Oh, James still came out with them in the evenings, still made them laugh and could manage to charm nearly any woman in a given room. But his old self, the one who loved racing on the fastest horse or placing the highest bet, the one who thought duels were daring instead of a measure to be undertaken only under direst circumstance, who snickered with Sirius around the corner after they had placed a tripwire across the school corridor...Sirius suspected that boy to be gone for good. In his place was a nobleman who inherited too early, whose indulgent father had thought to have more time to teach him how to grow into the man he needed to be, and who was now struggling to meet the expected role under the weight of who he had suddenly become.

Which was why, Sirius thought, eyes scanning the invitation from the Longbottoms again, this would be perfect. Balls and parties around London brought with them some degree of diversion if not enjoyment, but also held a reminder of responsibility. A playful lack of interest in marriage had once been the subject of jokes between James and his mother, but finding a wife, having a child, had now become a grim and acute duty. Sirius hoped that this more simple gathering, merely a few friends out in the country air, would allow James some desperately needed socialization with much more limited pressure - not to mention that it would tear him away from the deadly dull work which seemed to pile endlessly upon his desk at Gryffindor House in London and at his estate of Godric’s Hollow.

“Anyway, Longbottom’s always done us a good turn,” Sirius said, forcing a bit of a yawn to keep his manner as informal as possible. James went tense at the littlest things these days, at the merest suggestion that he might lay his duties to the side for just a moment or any hint that Sirius thought he might need to relax. “And Alice is a fine girl from what I remember. It’s only polite for us to join them, since they asked.”

James looked over toward the window, the drapes drawn back to reveal the bright, busy Mayfair street outside. The sunlight caught the lenses of his glasses again so Sirius couldn’t see his eyes; still, something seemed to grab at his mouth for a moment and twist it in pain. But the next second, he was turning back to Sirius looking like himself again, or at least like this new self. He picked up his quill once more and said, “You know that I am only ever polite.”

It was a lie, or at least Sirius hoped that it was. Either way, however, it was an affirmative response, which was exactly what he had hoped for.

“I’ll inform the Longbottoms, then,” he said, still maintaining his nonchalance. “My handwriting has always been better.”

This was true, but he mostly said it because being bested at something always made James a bit disgruntled and this time was no different. Without looking up from whatever document he was currently taking careful notes upon, he crushed a piece of paper with his other hand and tossed it toward Sirius’s head.

So there is something of you left after all, Sirius thought with relief as he caught the crumpled ball. Let us hope that some time in the country is enough to bring you out again.

Having known Alice since her own first season four years previous, Lily was quite familiar with her friend’s sweet, detail-oriented, and slightly nervous personality. She had received numerous letters in the weeks leading up to the house party filled with particulars of the menu, questions regarding the ideal number of guests, or worries that there would not be sufficient entertainment, and had tried to send back her reassurances that Alice’s first instance of hosting such an affair would surely be a resounding success.

Yet, as her carriage came to a halt on the wide drive in front of the house, she was unsurprised to see Alice wriggling a bit and twisting her hands as she stood with her husband’s arm over her shoulder.

She alighted from the carriage and went over to greet them, trying to infuse a bit of levity into the way she said “my lady” to Alice, though it didn’t seem to work. Alice linked her arm with Lily’s under the premise of leading her into the house and whispered, high and trembling, “Frank’s mother insisted on joining us and bringing friends of hers, which has my numbers entirely off, and you know what Lady Longbottom is like besides.”

“You are Lady Longbottom as well,” Lily reminded her, but before she could say something else bracing, she saw, striding across the grounds with Sirius Black at his heels, another person who would apparently - and unfortunately - be joining them.

She successfully avoided him over the next several days, making certain to keep at least five people between them even when they were in company. The odd thing was, however, that he didn’t seem to notice her very much at all. No, that wasn’t right. He clearly noticed her, his chin dipping in recognition if their eyes happened to meet across a room, but he did not pursue her in the way he once had.

He did not, in fact, act similarly to the way she remembered in general: his remarks, when he made them, were astute and his sense of humor not at all mean-spirited, he tended to spend most of his time at the edges of the room rather than the center of it, and every time there was dancing he took at least one turn with Hestia Jones, who everyone know was very nearly on the shelf. The whole thing was the slightest bit confusing, though, Lily reminded herself, it was a perfect relief not to be approached. Their paths had crossed less in the past two years or so, but she remembered sharply their prior interactions.

On the day before they were to return to London, the gentlemen were called to a hunt while the ladies attended to their correspondence. Lily had just finished and sealed a letter to some distant cousins in Sussex when the footman brought the morning's post. It did feel a bit Sisyphean, finishing the last of your responses only to have more required, but Lily was certain that none of it would be for her; Alice had invited most of their close friends, after all, and Lily's family was not large.

However: "Oh, here is one for you, Lily," Mary said, picking it up from the tray and passing it over. "From your sister."

Lily swallowed. "How lucky." She stood, tucking the letter in her pocket with fingers that fumbled despite her best efforts. "Do you know, it looks as if it might begin to rain this afternoon. I would like an opportunity to spend some time out of doors before the weather turns. Would anyone like to join me for a walk through the gardens?"

Though Alice looked as if only her duties as hostess kept her inside, the mention of a potential storm made the rest of the group demur, as Lily knew that it would. Within five minutes, she had her cloak on and was making her way alone into Lady Longbottom's lush and splendid garden. She walked until she found a small seat to perch upon and, after taking in a few deep gulps of the air (it seemed that she had not been wrong: there was a tinge of moist heaviness to it that spoke of an oncoming storm) forced herself to open the letter.

She read it through once, then a second time to see if she had misunderstood. She had not. She wanted to cry.

In person or in writing, Petunia never said anything that Lily wanted to hear. They had been friends of a sort when they were small, but Lily had long since given up on her sister understanding her or even loving her despite not doing so, and she no longer sought her approval. If they could have stuck to basic pleasantries or the dutiful exchange of sentiments, that would be one thing, but in the last year, Petunia had turned nasty, and this latest letter...

"Da-Deuce it," Lily said aloud, leaning over to scoop a handful of pebbles from the ground. She pitched one toward the bushes, then threw the next one harder when it seemed not to alleviate any of her upset. Even that did nothing; she flung the full handful. "Damn it!" she shouted, disregarding all propriety, then placed her palms over her eyes, pressing down as if surrounding herself with darkness might help.

"Lily? Er-My apologies. Miss Evans, are you quite well?"

Her hands flew from her eyes. Standing before her, uncomfortable but certainly there, was the Earl of Gryffindor.

The first time he saw Lily Evans, James Potter was standing on the balcony of Lady McGonagall's home with Sirius and Peter. They had left Remus below distracting their hostess; she had been widowed several times longer than she had been married, but it seemed to suit her well and she ruled every occasion hosted at her home, and in the ton generally, with an iron fist.

"She's quite fine," Peter had said, jabbing a finger toward a lady in a pink gown who was being helped from a recently arrived carriage.

"Too fine for the likes of you, Pettigrew," Sirius said carelessly, though James did not get the sense that he was joking. Peter forced a laugh anyway.

"There's plenty of girls here tonight for all of us," James responded, scanning over the street. Most people seemed to have already arrived. "With the season just starting, no one's begged off for the evening or tired of each other's company yet."

Sirius snorted. "That's your opinion. I believe I tired of the company of most everyone here before I was past my dear father's knee."

"Well, there's always—" James started, but did not even complete his thought, much less his sentence. Instead he said blankly, "Her," leaning forward a bit over the rail as if this would help him take in each detail of the new girl who had just stepped from her carriage. She was followed by a slightly older girl wearing a most unattractive expression and a woman he would guess was her mother, but James did not pay them even a moment's mind. His mouth had slackened as he studied her hair - it looked dark from this height and in the barely lit street, though not dark enough to be brown - as he imagined her eyes, and took in each nuance of her expression, excited and just a bit forward, her shoulders thrown back as she stepped toward the party.

By the time James got downstairs and escaped a lecture about etiquette from Lady McGonagall, her dance card was full, but he at least found out her name. The next day, armed with the largest bouquet from the most expensive florist in the city, he stopped at the house that she, her mother, and her sister were renting for the season. There were several other gentlemen in the room already as he was announced, but he paid them no mind as he walked over to her, knelt, and said, "Miss Evans, I would like nothing more than if you would agree to become my wife."

Later, his father would berate him for this, for going about it without asking permission, for being too hasty, introducing himself and proposing marriage in the same breath. But he knew that this would not have made the difference. Because there was a look in her eye, as if she had been expecting this and had prepared her answer, when Lily Evans said, quite coolly, "No, thank you, my lord."

And now here she was, sitting in the garden before him, looking far less collected than she had that day. She had lost the aspect of the ingenue - she was near his age, making her at least two and twenty - though she was no less lovely for it. The deep red of her hair, the arresting green of her clear eyes, were familiar to him by now, though he did not typically see those eyes looking so startled.

“My apologies, Lord Gryffindor. I had thought you had joined the other gentlemen.” She hastily made as if to stand and curtsy, but he gestured at her to keep her seat.

“I had some business which necessitated my return to the house,” he said, trying to hold himself straight, the way his father would have done, but it did not work. He shrugged his shoulders, sagging a bit back to himself. “Well, that is not the truth of it. It is what I said when I begged off, but to be frank with you, I wanted a moment with my thoughts. And they were planning on shooting deer besides, something I have never quite been able to stomach. The Potter crest features both a doe and a stag, you know, and the deer are truly beautiful when they run - it always seems such a terrible thing to do, killing them.”

Fool, he thought despairingly, refusing to allow himself to collapse with his face in his hands. The first time you have spoken with her in years and you come off as a blibbering fool who is unmanned by the thought of a hunt. Not to mention using her given name - even if it is how you address her in your head.

But, strangely, instead of regarding him with even her usual disdain, she was watching him with a slight smile: the first, he thought, she had ever directed toward him.

“Do you refrain from eating venison then, my lord, in honor of your family crest, and the sight of the deer running?”

The lightly teasing sound of it, as if they were any sort of friends at all, made him grin far wider than the comment meritted. “I’m afraid that by the time I find myself at table, my stomach does not have such high minded ideals.”

She actually laughed now, and it made him comfortable enough to gesture to the place beside her. “May I sit?”

“Oh, of course.” She glanced over and saw her letter still there, crushed at the edge, and snatched it up. All traces of laughter left her face as suddenly as they had come.

“Have you received bad news from home?” he asked as carefully as he could, seating himself a decent distance from her, even on the small bench. “I know that you have a sister - is something amiss with her?”

Her mouth pinched inward, though not, he thought, as if his question had angered her. She swallowed and then said, “I would not say that something is amiss with her, no, though she certainly seems to think something is amiss with me. Or, I suppose, she thinks that I am still too much a miss.”

“I’m sorry?”

“As am I.” Her laugh now held no lightness nor humor, and he valued the true one she had given him all the more for it. She glanced over at him, seeming to examine his face closely; he did not have time to shift his expression, but whatever she found there was apparently correct, for she began, slowly, to speak.

“My mother passed this last autumn and since then I have been living with my sister and her husband, an arrangement which suits none of us. In their view, I should have been long since married and of no concern to them. My sister has hinted before, but she writes now that her husband has determined that I should be married before the end of the season, and if I have not found a match myself by that point, he has selected one for me.”

He watched her sit up straighter, the wind catching a strand of her hair and whipping it from her coiffeur so it lay in beautifully vivid contrast to her pale throat. She stared out into the gray bluster of the day as she said, “It is well known that Lord Snape has expressed his interest in the past. My brother-in-law did not initially view the match as advantageous enough, but it seems that given the lack of other prospects, that avenue has become sufficiently promising.”

James felt his fist clench atop his thigh before he truly thought to clench it himself. Severus Snape had been heir to his nearly insolvent barony through merest coincidence - all closer cousins were female, a fact which had led Sirius to remark that Edward Christian might have had the right of it in Blackstone’s ten years past and perhaps women should be allowed some latitude in inheriting. And yet, those with whom Snape chose to consort closely were the most disagreeable sorts of snobs, people who believed anyone without generations of nobility behind them to be worthless.

He seemed to think it a great compliment that he would single out Lily as someone meriting his particular attention despite her own father having been only Mr. Evans. One of James’s few consolations after Lily had rejected his proposal had been that she had apparently rejected Snape’s as well. He, however, had not taken it with good grace or even James’s own dazed acquiescence; instead, he had stated publicly that it was merely a sign of her low breeding, that someone of a more elevated bloodline would have been happy even to have been approached by him. (James had run into Snape one evening shortly after hearing of this, and would have called him out on Lily’s behalf had Remus not intervened - and had James not already been so foxed he could barely string the words together discernibly.) Still, in the years since, Snape had made it plain that he would be willing to consider her were she to humble herself enough.

“Surely there must be other options,” James said, a bit awkwardly. For the rest of the season following his initial proposal and even into the next, he had arrived at her residence with regularity, though he had not approached her so directly again - too humiliating, and impolite besides to press when he had been so clearly declined. But although it had been some time since then, he knew, even when he did not want to, that she was often called upon by others.

She hesitated, seeming to choose her words carefully. “I was, perhaps, not as wise as I might have been. Not as wise as I thought myself to be.” Her gaze drifted to her lap, where her hands were folded carefully over the letter. “I was not waiting for a love match, I truly was not. I simply hoped to find someone who was not on the hunt merely for looks or for a biddable wife, with whom I might find conversation and companionship, someone who truly saw me. I allowed myself to believe I had time to be selective, and while my mother lived she indulged me, perhaps even enjoyed being able to keep me close for some time longer. But now she is gone, leaving my keeping in the hands of another who is not so lenient, and it seems that I have waited too long. Those who were once interested have moved on to women who are prettier or younger or lighter-hearted, women with larger dowries or who do not seem as fussy as I, and I cannot blame them.”

I have not moved on. It came to his throat readily, nearly voiced before he stopped himself. He did not want a wife right now, he reminded himself, and he especially did not want a wife who was cornered into the marriage, and it did not matter if that wife would be the one woman to whom his eyes turned without his control anytime they were in the same room.

But if he could at least help her, just a bit, even if it would mean tormenting himself, well, it was not as if he were not in torment already.

“I wonder—” He cleared his throat. “That is, I wonder if you would consider...It is rather unconventional, of course, but if you were amenable…”

“Have you something to say, my lord?” she asked, turning to him with just the barest hint of amusement touching her mouth.

“I could, perhaps, affect as if I were courting you,” he finally spat out.

His breath held for a moment in his lungs, and he was certain that she would gasp or dash off or even strike him, but instead, though the humor had gone from her lips, she tipped her head to the side and asked, “And what would be the object of such a ruse?”

“Well,” he said, voice a bit too eager now that she had not reacted with outright negativity. “The season settles into such dull rhythms after a while that any new story always gathers interest. Considering our...history, I suspect that a courtship between us would have tongues wagging, which would certainly remind people of your charms. And of course, not to generalize regarding my sex, but men are always particularly roused by the idea of rivalry. Were I to pose as a serious suitor, it would surely spur others to emerge as alternative contenders for your affections.”

Her eyes narrowed a bit at this last piece, but she only said slowly, “And what would you gain from this arrangement?”

James forced himself not to cross his arms. “My own parents passed not long ago…”

“I had heard,” she said. “My sympathies,” and from her it did not sound at all rote. He nodded.

“Thank you. And mine to you, on your mother. But in any event, it has left me with quite a lot to learn regarding my position, and I have found the continued attention of certain mothers and their unwed daughters to be an extremely inconvenient distraction. Were I to be seen as having my affections already directed toward another young lady, I believe they would leave off, and I would have some reprieve to attend to the management of other things.”

She looked away from him once again, squinting out absently into Lady Longbottom’s hedges. One foot tapped a bit, and her finger ran around the edge of her letter, though he suspected that she did not remember exactly what paper it was. They were the sort of gestures that he would have taken for granted in another male of his acquaintance or in his mother, but young women were always on such perfect behavior around him that simply being allowed to see these common mannerisms made Lily seem filled with an extra bit of color, of brightness. He swallowed, unsure once more that making this offer had been in his best interest; then again, he had never been known to be hesitant or particularly calculating. Diving headfirst was always more his style, and he had rarely looked out for his own interests with any real care.

Finally Lily said, “I would, of course, not want to take you from your other responsibilities, but if this were to work, I would require a certain amount of attention to ensure that others truly believed that you found me of interest. Would three evening occasions and three daytime meetings per week be reasonable to you?”

“Perfectly agreeable,” he said, even as his heart began to pound in a manner so uncontrolled, he might as well have been running. “Let us say two dances together when we are in attendance at the same ball. I believe that expresses the right amount of interest while still indicating that there is a chance for others.” Traitorously, his mind began to slip into wondering about holding Lily’s body against his own in a close dance, how he might feel her laugh rippling over his skin during a more energetic reel, her face alight as she returned her hand to his.

She nodded slowly. “Thank you. That should do quite nicely. And, of course, if I at some point become affianced, I could spread word on your behalf regarding your broken heart if you would like - that should grant you a bit of extra time before the interest begins again in earnest.”

At her mention of becoming engaged to someone else, the wind, which had been pleasantly brisk a moment ago, seemed to cut through his riding coat, his skin, right to his heart. “I would certainly appreciate it,” he managed, keeping his voice as steady as he could.

“Well, I am very appreciative of this,” she returned. “I had not expected...It is most kind of you, my lord, even to offer such a thing.”

“Think nothing of it,” James replied, knowing all the while that he would be able to think of nothing else.

When they returned to London, the talk was all of what a success Alice Longbottom’s house party had been. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mary Macdonald would certainly be announcing a wedding soon; Hestia Jones, several years older even than Lily and practical, was allowing Peter Pettigrew’s attentions; and - pigs might fly - James Potter seemed to have caught Lily Evans at last.

They had agreed to walk together in Hyde Park as a first outing, and for all her thought that a secret might bind them together and smooth over any lingering awkwardness, Lily was hard pressed to think of a more uncomfortable stroll she had taken in her life, and she had certainly been on her share of contenders.

Part of the problem was that she could hardly believe she had even agreed to such a scheme in the first place. It was ridiculous, unheard of, completely foolish of her regardless of the situation Vernon and Petunia might have placed her in. Even more difficult to conceive: she had agreed to it with James Potter of all people. The same James Potter she had rejected without remorse, who she had sniffed at when hearing of his later reckless exploits, counting herself blessed she was not attached to him in any way. Well, there were few people she was attached to more closely now.

“Have you told anyone?” she asked abruptly, the first either of them had spoken in some minutes, after the pleasantries regarding the return journey to London, how they had each fared so far that day, and the state of the weather had been exhausted. “Have you told anyone about our…?”

He cleared his throat, though whether from discomfort or disuse she could not tell; either seemed entirely feasible. “Our arrangement? I’ve told Sirius. Remus and Peter as well.”

“Ah.” She attempted to transform the critical press of her lips into a smile as she nodded to the passing Bertha Jorkins, though she could practically already hear Bertha dashing off to tell whoever was closest that Lily Evans had been walking alongside Lord Gryffindor with a most unattractive expression. “I suppose I might have expected, considering your closeness. I had heard that his lordship, at least, has rooms in your home.”

“Yes, Sirius has had a strained relationship with his family for several years now.” Lily, though no gossip, was aware that this was an understatement. It was well known that, had it not been for the scandalous reflection on the family, the marquess and marchioness would have disowned their elder son years ago for what they considered his lewd behavior and unseemly friendships; as it was, they rarely mentioned each other in public, and pretended the other did not exist when they were present at the same function. “Even when my parents were alive he had free run of Gryffindor House, and the place has only become emptier since so there is plenty of room for even one as untidy as he.”

Lily glanced at him, unable to help hearing the sadness in his voice although he tried to give the words some degree of levity. She did not comment on it, however, saying instead, “It is rather unconventional, though of course utterly reasonable.”

He shrugged. “Were Sirius my brother by blood, he would always have a place in my home. As he is my brother in all but that, I see no reason that he should lack such a place merely because of an accident of parentage. I have offered Remus and Peter as well - there are probably a dozen bedrooms going unused, and perhaps even more which I have not discovered - but they have both declined.”

“The decor is not to their taste?” Lily asked, winning her a laugh.

“No, Peter’s mother still has a residence in London and prefers he stay with her, and Remus…” He sighed, his mouth shifting a bit to the side, as if this were a problem he was well used to mulling over. “He has his pride, and a part of that is insisting on keeping his own lodgings. But he does join us for supper several times a week, and as Mrs. Pomfrey, my housekeeper, nursed him through many a childhood illness and injury, he cannot well refuse when she tells him we have food going spare and he must take some home.”

It was this comment which forced her to fall silent. Somehow it was even more shocking than the way he had seemed to her transformed in the Longbottom’s garden, smaller and more human instead of filled with that overconfident persistence she had remembered and hated, more shocking than when he had suggested this ruse in the first place. She could not help but think that when Lord Gryffindor sat in his office or attended a session of Parliament, some part of his mind was distracted by wondering how he could best take care of those closest to him, even if it made others about the ton think him odd for it. There was not even anything to be gained from his solicitousness: Lupin’s father, if she recalled correctly, was a missionary only distantly related to some minor viscount, and Pettigrew’s hope of becoming a baron rested on two uncles and seven purportedly hale and hearty cousins meeting untimely demises.

“It is most kind of you,” she finally said, but he merely shrugged.

“As I said, Gryffindor House is altogether too large. My father actually decided that two sitting rooms was quite enough and turned the third into a space for experimentation - he was a bit of an amateur natural philosopher.”

“Truly?” The grin taking over her face felt a bit silly, but she found the idea of it a bit silly, and entirely delightful.

“Truly. In fact, he enjoyed having such a room so much that he had one of the bedrooms turned over at our country home as well so he could continue with his discoveries there. He actually was fairly successful at it. His tonics and ointments might remain family recipes, but there is a pomade of his invention which is only growing in popularity.” His smile tinged a bit sad at the edges. “I think he would have been quite tickled to hear that.”

“I’m certain he would have been.” Familiar with the propensity for jollying people away from their remembrances, as if the sorrow of it was too much for polite conversation to bear when perhaps a moment of dwelling would be welcomed by the one grieving, Lily remained silent for several paces and kept her tone neutral when she said, “These experimental rooms of your father’s sound most entertaining. I wish I could see them myself sometime in the future.”

“Of course, why don’t I—” But he was too smart a man, to finely bred, to allow his tongue to run away with him and simply invite her over. They wanted to build a gentle interest in her from suitable parties, not ruin her reputation entirely. Instead he said, “I’m certain I shall entertain at some point during the season. My mother was well known for her gatherings, and I could never let down her reputation. I shall, of course, have an invitation sent for you, and we will make sure that there is a tour.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Her arm had been resting on his as they walked, but she allowed her hand to press a bit more heavily against him in gratitude. She had meant it to be a momentary gesture, but he turned to her then, his dark brown eyes catching hers from behind his spectacles, and she found that she could not look away. They were still walking, she was nearly certain, but how many people they were passing, what everyone might be observing, she had no idea.

It was he who cleared his throat and took his gaze from hers. “I suspect that was sufficiently convincing to anyone watching,” he said, and cleared his throat again.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course.” Although, if she were truly forced to consider, she thought she might find that it had been somewhat convincing to her as well.

If the training on proper behavior that James’s mother had tried to instill in him had one benefit, it was the ability to keep a brilliant smile on his face even as he asked quietly, “Is there something I can do to make you more comfortable?”

The cotillion offered little chance to speak privately - one was constantly being forced to circle or line up beside other dancers - so it was not until their next brief whirl as partners that she was able to reply. “I am perfectly comfortable.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but you do not seem entirely to be enjoying yourself,” he said hurriedly at the next opportunity. “You have barely smiled.”

Many women of his acquaintance and most of the gentlemen would have lost track of the conversation as they stepped and wove and traded partners before rejoining, but she merely said, “Perhaps you are more accustomed to dancing with those with silly looks on their faces. Here, I shall make you more comfortable.”

The expression she pasted on was of such exaggerated adoration that he nearly burst into laughter straight into the face of his new partner. As it was, he returned to Lily grinning and found her doing the same.

A whisper seemed to start at the edge of the ballroom (they were quite definitely not displaying the usual polite smiles reserved for these events) but James barely noticed that their plan was coming to some success.

“Well played, Miss Evans. Clearly I should have left it all to your capable hands.”

“See that you do next time,” she responded with a regal nod, and the thought of next time filled his mind with such sudden brightness that his grin stretched anew and did not stop when the music did.

“Unacceptable!”

At her sister’s hiss, Lily looked up from the embroidery in her lap, but did not need to ask what was causing Petunia’s upset. She was altogether too familiar with the expression that came with minor household imperfections, and by the glare being leveled at one of the teacups, she suspected that some nigh invisible spot had been detected.

“All our visitors have gone,” Lily hastened to say. “I’m sure there is no need to disturb—”

But it was too late. Petunia had taken the cup and stalked from the room, undoubtedly to berate the poor housekeeper or whichever maid came across her path.

Shaking her head in sympathy, Lily nevertheless allowed her gaze to wander over to the place behind the curtain where she had hidden the novel she had been reading before the callers had started arriving. Petunia barely allowed such pursuits in privacy; reading in front of gentlemen would certainly have earned a reprimand.

There had been a goodly number of callers, enough that Lily found herself hopeful for the first time in a while, but she would be glad to have a chance to relax, a few moments to just be in her own mind. She was standing on soft feet to go retrieve the book when the butler arrived and announced, “Lord Snape.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she was not at home. Over this one thing she had control, and it would be so easy to exert it; she could nearly feel the relief of avoiding him. But something, a wisp of remaining affection for a childhood friend or a desire to see whether she would be able to bear him should the worst case scenario come to pass, made her nod and say, “Show him in, and please inform my sister that he has come.”

The butler stayed after bringing Severus in, standing guard beside the doorway for the sake of propriety in a way which made Lily feel protected rather than surveilled.

“Won’t you take a seat?” she asked as she did the same, but he did not seem even to take heed of her words.

“You danced with Lord Gryffindor last night,” he said. His riding gloves, held as a pair in one hand, smacked lightly against his thigh, and Lily held herself back from flinching.

“Yes, we recently discovered that we have much in common with each other, despite past differences. I found him a most amiable partner,” she responded, her tone not as cold as his but not particularly warm either. She reclaimed her embroidery and began to work on it as she added, “I had not realized that you were in attendance at the ball.”

He gave a short, sharp laugh, and she could not help but notice the difference between it and the one Gryffindor had given the night before. “It was not the sort of affair that I would take interest in. I was in attendance at the Selwyns. The company was a bit less...mixed.”

And there it was once again, this idea that could not seem to be purged from him, this idea her old friend seemed to have no interest in overcoming. “I find that with such an attitude, I cannot regret not having received an invitation,” she said, making three flawless and focused stitches in quick succession.

“But—” He began to surge forward, until the butler let out a loud and pointed cough. Jaw tight, he stepped back once again and said, “As my wife, you would have received such an invitation and would have no fear as to the attitudes shown you. There would be only deference. You would be under my protection.”

Her hands fell still in her lap. She looked up at him directly and spoke with precision. “I have no interest in engaging with people who would only tolerate me were I under your protection, and I have equally little interest in marrying a man who believes that it is deference and a shield from petty remarks which I seek in a marriage.”

There was a twitch of anger in his face which he covered over quickly. Severus had always masked things so easily; it had once seemed natural to her, a part of him, but now she found it slightly frightening, not being able to tell his true thoughts or feelings.

“Very well,” he said. “That is your opinion. Only remember when Gryffindor has thrown you over for the next pretty thing which comes his way, that I will still be here.”

Lily swallowed. Steadfastness was an admirable trait, but being the sole focus of someone like this felt more like being a hunted animal, a butterfly trapped behind glass, only meant to flutter prettily at the one who had caught it and locked it away, stolen from nature.

“Ah, Lord Snape,” Petunia said from behind him. Her voice was not pleasant - she and Severus had never liked each other - but it was polite, and Lily realized how much her sister and brother-in-law were depending on Snape to take her if no one else did. “May I offer you some refreshment?”

“I shan’t be staying, Mrs. Dursley,” he said, with equally cold politeness. “I merely wanted to ensure that Miss Evans is well. Good day to you both.” He gave a short, sharp bow, and walked past the butler out the door.

Lily rested her hands on her lap for a moment, then forced herself to pick up her embroidery. Even if Snape were no longer in the room to see, she did not want to give him the power of her anxiety.

She cast her mind once again to the plan. It had seemed a longshot at the time, slightly foolish, but she needed it to work. Unbelievable as it seemed, she had placed her trust in the Earl of Gryffindor, and she needed him to have been worthy of it.

“I must say, Miss Evans,” James said, “that you are quite the most stubborn woman of my acquaintance, possibly the most stubborn in the whole of England.” He kept his tone fairly low in deference to the fact that they were surrounded by dozens of other pairs of dancers, but he knew that his amusement came through regardless. She was arguing her point with the focus and diligence of an experienced barrister, which was entirely annoying while also being entirely too much fun.

“Well, England is not particularly large, so I shan’t worry overmuch,” she responded pertly.

“I rescind the comment. You are surely the most stubborn woman in all the world.”

“Merely disagreeing with you regarding the best type of pie does not make me the most stubborn woman in the world, my lord. It only makes me someone who knows her own mind, and I should hope you would be aware of that.” He thought that she might break away from him to place her hands on her hips and wag her finger in the scolding so familiar to him from his time in the nursery, and he held on just a bit tighter, not out of any ridiculous concern for propriety, but simply because these moments when he was allowed to touch her were outlined with such care and detail that he did not want to miss a single second.

She did not even attempt to move from him, however, a smile breaking its way across her face instead. “And regardless, I have complete certainty in the superiority of the apple pie, as any right-thinking person would.”

“Lemon pie,” James responded staunchly, nearly gritting his teeth even as he grinned back. “On the day that you try the lemon pie we eat at home, you shall eat your words along with it and beg my forgiveness.”

“I shall certainly sample it when offered, if only in the spirit of open inquiry and because I am absolutely secure in my own opinion, although I’m doubtful that I would ever beg anything from you.”

“Expect one at your home tomorrow afternoon, then. I do not retreat from a challenge any more than you.”

They were standing close enough that he could see the precise way her eyes flashed as she said, “I take your challenge gladly.”

“I say, is there to be a duel?” Benjy Fenwick, a longtime friend of James’s, seemed taken aback as he came alongside them. James felt similarly taken aback, shocked that the outside world had managed to intrude, shocked that it even still existed; without their having realized it, they had completed the steps of the dance and the next set was starting.

“Of course not.” Lily blinked, then adjusted her tone. It was not precisely fawning, James decided, nor coy, but there was a polite feeling to it, as if she had tucked away some of her warmth or her particular character. He wanted to bring it back, to make certain that the world did not lose that sparking magic of hers, but at the same time he found himself oddly relieved that Fenwick, who she had been so excited to add to her dance card, was not worthy of her true self. “A simple debate between myself and Lord Gryffindor. My apologies, my lord. It is terribly good to see you. Shall we rejoin the floor?”

Fenwick offered his arm and they took their places for the quadrille, while James retreated to the corner where Sirius was observing everything.

“Fenwick’s a nice fellow,” said the man who had only a moment ago been James’s best friend.

“Hmm.”

Sirius sipped at his cup, which James doubted contained only lemonade. “I’m certain Miss Evans would be delighted if he were to further his attentions toward her.”

“He isn’t—Fenwick is fine. He never excelled in a single class to my knowledge nor has he grasped sarcasm, he seems entirely content to be an unassuming third son without particular purpose, and I have beaten him handily every time we have fenced, but he is fine. However, Lily—Miss Evans needs more than fine. She needs more than nice,” James said, exasperated. “We’ll simply have to keep this up until she finds someone else. Someone better.”

“Indeed.” Sirius sipped again, a damnably amused shimmer in his eye. “I suppose keeping up your arrangement would be the only way of achieving that.”

“Of course it is,” James said.

“Of course it is,” Sirius echoed, but he was smiling, almost as if in relief. James turned away, even though he was fairly certain that he did not want to watch Lily dancing with someone else, smiling at someone else.

No, not fairly certain, absolutely certain. But if she was the most stubborn woman in the world, he was the most stubborn man, and he forced himself to keep on. The whole point of this was to find Lily a husband, and she had made it perfectly clear that she did not consider him to be a contender. He would have to become accustomed to seeing her with someone else. He would simply have to.

“Not only pie but ice cream as well?” James asked, licking chocolate from his spoon. “How does one manage to have so many wrong opinions?”

“Unbelievable as it might seem to you, an opinion is not wrong simply because it is not yours,” she responded, taking a dainty bite from her own dish. “Although, to tell you the truth…” She looked this way and that before leaning across the table just slightly. He mirrored her at once; apparently it was lucky that he was a part of the plan because he seemed more eager for gossip than any ten ladies of Lily’s acquaintance. “I actually only order the maple because it seems the least popular. It’s terribly sad to think of it simply melting away for lack of interested customers.”

He gaped at her for a moment. “But then you miss out on the chocolate,” he said, with a sort of implacably simple logic that belonged in childhood. She laughed.

“The maple isn’t actually bad. It simply isn’t as popular because it is overshadowed by the other flavors. Even the lavender gains an audience simply because it sounds sophisticated. But…” Her voice lowered even further. “Sometimes I finish my serving and then ask for a dish of chocolate as well.”

“Gluttony, Miss Evans?” he said, eyes glinting. But where she might have once reminded him sharply that he certainly had more experience in deadly sinning than she, now she merely raised an amused eyebrow and said, “Enjoyment, my lord,” before sitting back and picking her spoon up once more.

He seemed to watch her more closely than the simple movement deserved. “Enjoyment indeed,” he said, and his low voice was not as one telling a secret, but one who had forgotten he was speaking aloud. She glanced up at him sharply, but before she could say anything more, he too had started on his ice cream again.

“One thing I do miss from my travels is getting to try the local delicacies,” he remarked. “There is quite a bit more to the world than the traditional menu would lead you to believe - although I will confess that I was glad to come home to lemon pie and chocolate ice cream.”

“Oh, yes, you mentioned that you had traveled. Where did you go?”

He waved his spoon. “All sorts of places.”

“Please, you must give me something more particular than that. I have never been even to Scotland and might never, and so I may only read about other places in books and listen jealously to stories such as yours.”

“Well, most people start off in Paris, but we - Sirius and I - went to the Netherlands first, then throughout Prussia, then down to Italy and Greece, and across the water to the Ottoman Empire. We even got a chance to see Egypt and some of North Africa before…” His mouth had clearly been coming up with the words before his mind was ready for them. When he realized what he would have to say next, he seemed to take a steadying breath, sliding the ice cream away from himself as if it no longer held appeal. “Word reached me that my mother had taken ill. We cut things short.” He swallowed. “Unfortunately, it made no difference.”

The urge to reach across the table and touch his hand came to her quite suddenly; she was nearly surprised into giving into the impulse. Instead she folded her hands on the table and said softly, "That must have been quite difficult, moving so quickly from a time meant for freedom and adventure and frivolity to one of urgency and then of mourning.”

“I wonder if mourning should always feel sudden, even if one were expecting it,” he said. Once she would have thought it shocking if not impossible for this man to take such a serious tone or speak such a profound thought aloud, but she was finding that there was quite a lot about him which was unexpected for her but no less true.

He cleared his throat. “Regardless, you needn’t be jealous: our travels were not as full of frivolity as all that even before we received the news from home.”

Perhaps if she had not spent the last several weeks so often in his company, with such an awareness of his every expression and how it would be perceived, she would have mistaken the charming smile he gave for a true one. As it was, she said simply, “Oh?” and waited with patiently folded hands for him to continue.

His eyes observed her keenly for a moment before dropping to his lap. Slowly, he said, “I thought that merely reading in the newspapers about the ruin Bonaparte made of things on the continent was enough. I thought I understood. But it was nothing to actually seeing everything that people needed to rebuild, hearing from the locals all that they had lost.” His expression turned self-deprecating. “I had once thought that had I not been the eldest and only of my family, I might have been a soldier, but I could barely stomach even the aftermath years later.”

“I think you could have been a soldier had you the opportunity,” she said. “I believe it can only be for the good to have soldiers who fight not because they enjoy the battle or out of a desire for glory, but to bring peace, to protect the innocent. And of course we have determined that you can come up with an innovative strategy with haste, a quality I’m certain would have served you well.”

That actually made him smile truly, and she could nearly see him trying to brush away his unfortunate mood. “I thank you for your compliments,” he said. “And of course, all of that was no more painful than what you had to bear. You have lost your mother more recently than I did my parents. If anything, I should be comforting you.”

“There needn’t be a competition between us regarding our suffering,” she pointed out. “And taking a turn at being comforted simply because I am next in the queue is not how I like to remember my mother.”

“How do you like to remember her? I confess, we—” He gave an uncomfortable cough. “We had little opportunity to speak.”

She wondered if he remembered that, although they had indeed spoken little on the occasion, it had been her mother who had guided him gently from the room after his ill-fated proposal. She suspected not - he had seemed quite dazed in the moment.

“I have rarely enjoyed simply being in company with someone as I did her,” Lily said instead. “Our minds seemed to work quite similarly. I miss so many things about her - her quiet humor, her independence although even as a girl I could tell that she wished my father had not passed so young, and how she always seemed to know exactly the solution to any problem in the household, any social faux pas - but more than anything, I don’t know that I will ever find someone who seemed so often to echo my same thoughts. I’m afraid it left my sister a bit isolated at times. She engages with the world so differently. It was Mama who always encouraged me to continue reaching out to her, trying to allow some understanding between us.”

Now it was her turn to glance down at her lap, although she forced her eyes back up toward him mere seconds later. “I imagine these last months would have been easier if Petunia and I did have some sort of understanding, even an imperfect one. I am not speaking of my...situation, although I am certain that would have been different had we been closer. But there are so many memories which only we two now share, and I wish we had closeness enough to recall them together.”

He nodded. “I was lucky to be able to spend a few weeks remembering my mother beside my father before his passing. Perhaps that time would have been better spent in discussion of our holdings or my responsibilities, and had he known what was to come he might have insisted upon it, but I find that I cannot make myself regret those times. And now I have been lucky to have Sirius nearby to share with me his memories. He spent so much time in our home, with my parents, that he can easily recall to my mind things I did not even realize I had forgotten: the way my mother ordered a new perfume for each season, or how my father would sit alone with a cup of hot milk when he was particularly pensive.”

His throat seemed nearly to catch as he swallowed. “I suspect it is always easiest to bear these sorts of things when you are with people who will listen, even if they cannot share experiences with you. I am sorry that you do not have the same.”

“Well,” she said, “I wonder if perhaps I do.”

She had not known she would say the words until she did, but she had felt them all the same. She had her own friends, it was true, and yet no one seemed to want to discuss her mother’s passing the way he did, no one even seemed willing to try beyond platitudes or small embraces. And he seemed overwhelmed by the comment, his lips falling open just a touch, eyes large and bright behind his spectacles as they caught hers.

“Miss Evans.”

She very nearly fell from her chair, and her only consolation was that he nearly did as well, although he recovered more quickly, his from-the-cradle training pushing him to rise and bow smartly. She had forgotten, somehow, that they were in the middle of Gunter’s, that their object for the day was to be seen in public laughing together and enjoying each other’s company in order to rouse the notice of others, that being with him - pretending to be with him - was only meant as a waystation on the path to the man with whom she would actually spend the rest of her life.

Somehow, as she sat at their small corner table, she had only been seeing him.

“Miss Lily Evans,” Lady McGonagall said again, and Lily remembered to stand and curtsy. The countess looked her over closely, then turned and said, "You could hardly do better, my boy."

In their limited interactions, Lily had rather liked Lady McGonagall and she suspected that she was liked in return, but she was still surprised at her warm and roundly approving tone.

The countess continued: "And James Potter. Earl of Gryffindor, Viscount Peverell, cousin to the king, heir to the Potter fortune..:” She glanced him over and tilted her head to speak directly to Lily. “I suppose you could have done worse." She turned back. "See that you're worthy of her," she said, in that way of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question.

And while Lily could feel her eyebrows practically springing into her hair, he merely smiled and said, "I am trying my best.”

He really was remarkably good at pretending - for a moment, even Lily nearly believed him.

Having already attended the agreed upon number of occasions for the week, James could easily have begged off of the Weasley’s supper party and spent the evening at home or at his club or out with his friends (up to less savory pursuits, if Sirius was allowed to be in charge). He told himself that his reason for accepting the invitation was simply because he liked Molly and Arthur - regardless of their financial status, they were actually enjoyable company, unlike many in the ton - but that did not explain why he had not cited another engagement following the meal instead of sitting through the gentlemen’s retreat and then their return for cards and socializing. Overall, as he watched Lily set her face fiercely across from him at the whist table, he found any excuse less and less convincing by the moment.

Sirius elbowed him. “It seems as if you have a tiger for a partner,” he remarked in a low tone, somehow managing to lounge in his chair while holding his cards properly before him.

“If you are referring to my demeanor, you should well address me directly so that I may tell you just as directly that I have rarely lost and do not intend to do so tonight,” Lily interrupted, running a fingernail casually across the top of one of her cards. She faced Sirius directly, and James suspected that he was the only one who would be able to detect the hints of humor in her face. “And if you were referring to my hair, my lord, well, perhaps you should retire once again in order to refresh your arsenal with more creative comparisons.”

Grinning, James watched Sirius and Remus staring at her in astonishment. They had exchanged pleasantries before, but this was the first time his friends were spending time with Lily, and she was certainly leaving an impression.

“Goodness, Sirius,” Lupin finally said, a chuckle building in his throat. “If you do need to retire after such a carefully aimed attack, I can certainly replace you as a partner.”

“No need.” Sirius sat up straighter, staring Lily down with good-natured ruthlessness. “I have talent enough to come up with my riposte as we play.”

Lily said, “One might say that if there has not been a response within the first moment, there is not one forthcoming,” then bowed her head politely to Sirius, adding, “Not, of course, that I am referring to anyone in particular.” She faced across the table once more and said, “Now then, shall we play, my lord?”

“James,” he blurted before he could think better of it. "You should call me James."

It meant something, giving her leave to call him by his given name, and he wondered if he had been holding himself back from this particular development, one which now felt inevitable, as some sort of protection. The thought of it felt quite tangled about in his mind, but regardless, he needn't have said it in front of his friends.

He could tell that they were gaping at him - well, Remus had his eyebrows raised so high that they were practically on the moon and Sirius's expression had defaulted to arch surprise - and he even thought that Molly Weasley might have looked over instinctively from her own whist table to ensure that nothing was amiss, but his eyes were for Lily alone.

"James, then," she murmured comfortably, though he seemed to see a touch of something like nervousness, even fear, in her eyes as she said, "And you may call me Lily, of course." But it was gone the next second as she said to the group at large, "Shall we play, then?"

"I like her," Sirius declared as they sat in James's study later that night having a brandy together. "I like her quite a lot."

"As do I." James tapped a fingernail absently against his glass. Lily was indeed a champion whist player - he was willing to lay the lion’s share of their team’s victory at her feet - and her dress tonight had been a most fetching shade of blue which offset her hair quite startlingly. Obviously she wore green beautifully, and he had once seen her in a gown of deep purple which redefined the shade for him, but the blue in the candlelight as she laughed and schemed over her cards…

"I can tell," Sirius said, and his voice was sober enough to break James from his thoughts and look over at him. "I can tell that you like her. It has been some time since I saw you smile with such frequency." His own smile returned and he said, "Although I would wonder if she would consider you worthwhile after tonight. You should call me James, indeed." He repeated it, voice lower and more pompous than James believed his to be, then in an oily, seductive way, then with a shy blink through his lashes, until his impressions were apparently so hilarious that he fell into laughter and could not continue.

Dear Miss Evans,

Dear Lily,

Madam,

I hope this note finds you well, and my apologies for leaving without a proper goodbye - or truly any goodbye. I had an early letter regarding a fire near one of my estates which necessitated a speedy departure. Luckily the damage appears to be less serious than feared: there are no severe injuries, it seems that only minimal repairs will be required, and the harvest will not be affected.

I spent the morning helping to clear some of the wreckage, and then was deemed competent enough to swing a hammer and so was able to help with some repairs. In the afternoon, I assisted with a foaling, although to be frank, I'm not certain that I was truly any help at all. If I recall, I mostly spent the time asking the farmer whether it would truly work and flinching away as I wondered whether that amount of fluid was normal - which it apparently is. (If any of this should happen to make its way to Sirius, I'd like it to be impressed upon him that he would certainly have done no better in the circumstances, and if he doubts it, he may come try next spring.)

I shall likely be staying another two weeks at least - now that I am here, there is some business it would be wise to take care of - but I hope that my absence gives opportunity to those perhaps not bold enough to come forward while I am about. Only recall, of course, that you do not have to give in to such gentlemens’ attentions if you do not want to...unless you desire a husband over whom you can take charge. It would, after all, be only natural for you to desire someone whose stubbornness will not outmatch your own. But if you are waiting for something else in a man, please recall that you are a most excellent catch and quite eligible on your own, and someone with the highest qualities to recommend him will see that in due course.

In the meantime I remain,

Yrs &c

James Potter

Dear Gryffindor,

It is quite a relief to hear that things were less dire than initially believed - although I suspect that they might be a bit dire still if they are allowing you near hammers or any other tools. I shall, however, refrain from sharing my opinion on that with any of your friends or acquaintances, as it would likely spoil the illusion of our deep affection for one another (to my knowledge, most ladies do not express their ardor by pointing out the flaws of their supposed beloved). Nor will I mention the incident with the foal - unless I am severely provoked to it.

Since you bring up potential suitors who might be suffering from attacks of nerves at the thought of crossing the formidable Lord Gryffindor, I did dance twice with Mr. Davey Gudgeon at the Abbott ball evening last. In the first dance he was anxious but quite sweet, but in the second he mistimed his cross-step during the Duchess of Devonshire's Reel, knocked into Miss Vance (or as he put it “nearly had his eye taken out by her!”), and seemed to desire me to spend the rest of the evening fetching him cool cloths and telling him that the redness was not visible. It depressed things quite considerably, I must say.

I shall be waiting with bated breath for these gentlemen of highest quality who you allege to be on the horizon. My criteria remain, I believe, modest: kindness, someone who will be a friend to me, and who will be open to conversation. (Degree of stubbornness matters not at all, regardless of your inferences to the contrary...) Hope with me that they come soon: if my need for air becomes too pressing, I shall be left gasping at the feet of Lord Snape, and there is more than one reason I have worked for many years to avoid such a fate.

With best and most sincere wishes,

Lily

Dear Lily,

I shall keep in mind not to provoke you, although I should ask that you grant me some amount of latitude in what is meant by provoking lest I blunder into it and you are forced to cast aspersions on my reputation as an iron stomached lord of the domain.

Although by your description, Mr. Gudgeon has set the standards quite low in this regard. If these are the men of the ton, I believe my reputation would remain intact even should my inability to assist in live animal births be revealed. (My reputation with Sirius in specific would, of course, never recover.)

I hope that whoever you partner with at the next occasion is more suitable, and that it is certainly not Snape. Forgive me for asking, but I wonder if I misunderstand your comment regarding him. Has he caused you insult or injury further than is commonly known? I give you my assurance that I shall refrain from rash behavior, regardless of your answer - although you must know that I might countenance a considered, planful vengeance upon my return.

James

Dear James,

Your reputation remains intact here in town, although Lady Bones did frown most ominously upon your absence at her party two nights past, even with your other friends present. (Mr. Pettigrew seemed a bit downcast, despite my efforts to cheer him; it seems that Miss Jones has been engaged to another.) Apparently you have a habit of slipping from your promises of attendance. It is a lucky thing for you that it was I with whom you entrusted your secrets, or she might be casting aspersions in revenge even now without you here to defend yourself. (I suspect, however, that she would not, regardless of her pique - she is quite dignified.)

Regarding your own revenge, there is no need. Lord Snape and I were acquainted as children, prior to his inheritance, and he believed that our past friendship and certain areas of mutual interest were enough to assure his suit. However, in the intervening years, I found his choice of friends to be quite reprehensible and his values not to match with my own. I care little regarding his insults toward me, but he was similarly disparaging to those for whom I care, or stood by and listened while others acted similarly. For those reasons I refused him, and while I have the choice, I will refuse him still. You are already doing quite enough in allowing me to continue to have such choices, and for that I must thank you once again.

Yours,

Lily

Dear Lily,

I avoid Lady Bones because she is so intimidating that I perpetually fear that simply being near her will result in unintentional confessions. Even Lady McGonagall, who is quite shrewd and can devastate with her tongue lashing, has a sense of humor beneath it all; Lady Bones seems all mind and sharp eyes.

Perhaps this observation is another which can remain between us? Although if I encounter her again, I might find myself revealing it regardless.

As for Lord Snape, I still find that I would rather confront than avoid him, but as this is your battle, I shall defer to you. (If his path and mine were to cross, however, I wonder at my own control.)

I am to journey home in two days’ time, and while I do not find myself anticipating my arrival back in the social whirl, I hope that you will have some time free to walk with me at least. We must remind everyone of our affections most publicly, after all, as the attention of the ton is short - and besides, it has been quite too long since last I saw you.

Yours,

James

Her drawing room did not lack for suitors these days, her dance card rarely had an empty place, and surely someone would offer for her soon, but as they walked through the park together, even given the gloomy weather, Lily found herself overwhelmingly glad that James had returned.

He was speaking of a visit he had taken to the school in the village, his manner proud as he described the recitation that the students had performed for him - although he turned sheepish as he described how, when one boy had asked him to show them his own skill, he had needed to make up an excuse and flee in order to avoid embarrassment.

“Truly, you could not have been such a terrible student that you cannot remember a single thing,” she admonished, laughing slightly. He really was quite intelligent, as determined as he sometimes seemed to act otherwise; they conversed often on literature and current events, and his friend Lupin had once let slip that James had received a first at university.

James tapped his head. “I’m certain there is some passage or poem lurking around up here, but what if I had erred in front of them? I could never have endured the shame. And, being frank with you, I was never a particularly engaged student. That crop I saw was all much better and they deserve the credit for it.”

“I had not realized that you would be so involved in the education of your tenants,” Lily commented, lifting her skirt a bit to avoid a puddle which had collected in a dip in the path.

“Many are not, but my family has seen it as a responsibility of ours for some time. Not everyone will find themselves at university, but there is no reason that we cannot help to ensure that there is instruction beyond the most basic of reading and sums.” He said this all very staunchly, brow furrowed, but he relaxed a bit as he added, “My father would often send books down for the schooling of the boys.”

“And what of the girls?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Her sister would have hissed at her in shock and shame, both for the impertinent tone and for even bothering to ask the question, but James just grinned. “That was my mother’s pet project, actually, a schoolhouse educating the village girls. Whenever she had heard that my father had provided more materials or hired on a new schoolmaster, she would do the same for them. She was quite an admirer of Wollstonecraft.”

“Really? I had not heard,” Lily said. It was not altogether surprising, as she had never interacted with James’s mother in life, but gossip did travel far and fast. And Lily was sure that if she had known this about the late Lady Gryffindor, she would not have forgotten; although she had hidden it from not only Petunia but their mother as well for fear they would be scandalized, Lily had read both Thoughts on the Education of Daughters and Vindication of the Rights of Woman and considered the ideas within them often.

“It’s likely fairly common knowledge in that corner of the country but she kept it a bit quiet in London. She always said that it was easier to change people’s minds when they did not know your opinions well enough to start bracing themselves and preparing their counterattacks without having even heard your points.” Strangely, it was not the smile on his face which spoke more to Lily of his love for his mother, but the gruff clearing of his throat as he said, “She could likely have worked for the War Office, my mother. Napoleon would have been dispatched much sooner.”

“I wish I could have met her,” Lily said honestly. “I wish I could have met both of them. They both sound quite lovely, quite special.” She had one arm resting in his, but she drew up her other hand and covered his fingers lightly, trying to communicate the truth of her sentiment.

James nodded. “They were, to me and to each other. I was terribly lucky to be able to watch their partnership for as long as I did.” He squeezed her fingers back.

His hand, Lily realized, was warm beneath hers, warm and very strong and somehow comfortable. She did not know how it had happened or when, but she had grown to adore walking alongside him, hearing his thoughts and having him listen to hers, watching the way his face crumpled a bit with concern over his friends or his tenants or news from the continent or some issue in Parliament, seeing his concern turn into determination, registering the degree of his every smile and laugh, especially when they were for her.

She thought of the things she had told him she wished for in a husband, comfort and companionship, someone who truly saw her, and she knew that she had that in James, and that she had more too. He had told her that he had arrived back in London near twilight the previous evening, and that after so long in the carriage he had wanted to stretch his legs so he had walked part of the way to Gryffindor House. She had not mentioned that she had been at her window as he passed, that she had involuntarily drawn in a breath at the sight of his undone cravat, of the leanly muscled forearms beneath his rolled up sleeves, of the hair that she once thought foolishly messy but which now seemed dashing as he brushed it carelessly from his eyes.

Neither had she told him that she had run down to receive the post each morning that he had been away, and not only because she had feared Petunia withholding his letters from her if she got to them first. She did not mention that she had read them over more than once, conjuring up his awkward little gestures and his seriousness and his enthusiasm, imagining him swinging a hammer beside his tenants, rubbing a finger against his lips as he read her own correspondence the way he did when he was particularly engrossed in something. She did not speak of the way, when she lay in bed, she thought of his eyes lighting up behind his glasses as he returned to see her, nor of the way she would fall asleep smiling just from the thought of being with him once again.

Oh, she thought with polite surprise, even as it felt as if a rock were sinking into her belly. Oh, God. I’ve fallen in love with him.

She had never questioned her refusal of his proposal all those years ago. There was no doubt that he would not have suited her at the time, that after a short time he would have realized that she did not suit him. Only, if they had turned into who they were now and they had already been married…

She allowed herself a moment to imagine it, being married to James, being a friend to him over the years not only at a distance or because of some scheme but in true partnership as his parents had been. To have all that they did now, but also to be able to touch each other, to be alone together.

But she could allow herself only that moment. He had made it more than clear at the outset that he was uninterested in marriage at present, that he now found the idea a bothersome distraction. She had missed her chance, and she would simply have to live with it. Fenwick had danced with her thrice two nights past, tantamount to a proposal. She would live a fine life with him, and James would be happy, one day, with someone else.

Swallowing against the tears in her throat, she squeezed his hand once more and let him go.

When Remus came running into the room two days later, James thought he must be falling ill once more. His friend kept his condition quiet, but he had developed malaria as a child after time spent abroad due to his father’s work; attacks of the illness came on periodically, bringing with them terrible fevers and pain which James hated to watch and could do little to stop.

“Shall I call for the doctor?” he asked desperately, forcing his thoughts straight as he rose from the table where he had been having a late breakfast and shoved out a chair for Remus to collapse into. “You’re meant to have that quinine remedy, aren’t you? Have you run out?”

But Remus only shook his head frantically, finally rasping out, “A drink, please.”

James hastily poured him tea, remembering only after he had handed it over that it would likely be cold by now. He had come down to breakfast late already, and then had lingered quite a long time absently eating through progressively more tepid eggs and fish as he read over reports from his solicitors. But Remus took it down in a gulp, making a face only after he had finished and returned the cup to the table.

“You’ve been found out,” was the first thing he said.

James slowly regained his seat. He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I was at the stationers,” Remus continued as his breathing calmed slightly and his color began returning to normal. “And I was approached by Lucius Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange - those bounders married to Sirius’s dreadful cousins, you remember.”

“Of course.” If James had not already known and disliked the men in question, he would have pitied them, Lestrange especially. “But I don’t see—”

“They said that they knew that Lily had been having one over on everyone,” said Remus grimly. “And they know of your part in it too. It’s apparently already being spread all over town. According to them, as soon as Snape found out, he went to go see Lily’s brother-in-law: he seems to think that Dursley will simply give Lily over now that there are even rumors about her being duplicitous or what have you, and having only met the man once I’m inclined to think he’s right.”

James stood from the table so quickly that he didn’t unbend his legs in time, hitting both knees on the tabletop and needing a moment to straighten himself. Fingers fumbling with his cravat, he called for his coat and hat, only pausing after he had done so to ask, “Did they say how they found out in the first place? I don’t expect that Lily was spreading it around, and I only told you three.” There was an unpleasant turn in his stomach at the thought of Sirius’s unbound tongue when he was in his cups. But surely even then, he would not have revealed the information? If Lily’s life was ruined because of this…

“It was Peter,” Remus said.

“What?” James said, his thoughts still on how Sirius would have to grovel, but then the words made it through. “What?” he said again, so shocked that he sank back into his chair. “Peter?”

Remus said, with the air of a doctor giving a fatal diagnosis, “He was trying to ingratiate himself to them, I think, but they kept needling him about Hestia Jones throwing him over. So he struck back by letting them in on the most sensational secret that he had.”

“I’ll have to—” James began weakly, but then his anger took over. “I’ll speak with him later,” he said, rage bristling through him, pushing his shoulders back. He found himself wishing that the morning had never started, but it was too late for that. He took a fortifying breath as the butler returned and set his jaw. He would need to handle things regarding Peter, but for now he had somewhere else to be.

Fifteen minutes later, he was nipping at the heels of another butler as he walked through the hall to the drawing room of the Dursley house.

“No callers all morning?” came the voice of Lily’s entirely unpleasant sister. “It seems that the bloom has quite come off the rose. I caught Vernon in my second season, you know. It seems that once again you will not be so lucky.”

“The bloom coming off the lily would have been the more apt reference, Tuney,” Lily replied. “And I am quite grateful that you were the one to catch Vernon. But regardless, perhaps everyone somehow divined that I would prefer some quiet time with my thoughts this morning.”

“And what thoughts are—”

“The Earl of Gryffindor, madam,” the butler announced, mere seconds before James entered the room.

Petunia Dursley rose and curtsied. “My lord,” she said, although with a turn of her lip as if she would prefer to call him something else, or even to comment on his lack of manners in barging into their home. If James had not been so distracted, he might have even appreciated her lack of ingratiation: too many people began positively groveling as soon as they heard the title. As it was, he was distracted by the sudden realization of the flaw in his plan. For all that the ton relied on rules and propriety, Mrs. Dursley clung to the concepts with a martial gleam that put most others to shame. She would never leave them alone and unchaperoned, not for a moment. Perhaps he could trip her, and in the chaos, whisper something to Lily…?

“Would you like to sit down?” That was Lily now; he focused enough to watch her gesture to a chair across from the sofa which she and Petunia shared, and even to follow her direction, although he was still distracted by the necessity now of coming up with a plan.

“Would you like something to eat or drink, my lord?” Lily again. She had set her embroidery aside and was eyeing him oddly. He had the feeling that this was not the first time he had been offered a refreshment.

“Tea would be lovely,” he managed. Maybe her sister would go to arrange it…

But no, Petunia Dursley simply rang for a maid, then picked up her own embroidery and began conversing about the weather as if she were being forced into niceties with a pistol at her back. He was able to manage answers for several minutes, sipping tea occasionally, even as Lily looked at him in a way which clearly showed she thought him mad.

“The weather is indeed lovely,” he finally interrupted a bit desperately, although he knew that firstly, it was not, and secondly, Mrs. Dursley had been asking whether he believed that there would be more rain this month than the same time last year. “Perhaps I might take Miss Evans on a walk?”

“Fresh air would certainly be wonderful,” Lily said swiftly.

Petunia glanced between both of them suspiciously. “You walked only yesterday, Lily, with Mr. Fenwick. I’m afraid you will become too dark and hearty-looking if you step out so often.”

James Potter had never even considered being rattled by an exam, a fight with a fellow gentleman, or an upbraiding by his mother. The slightest sweat broke out on the back of his neck now.

And then, several things happened, if not at once, then in very close succession: the front door burst open followed by a stream of unintelligible invective; Petunia rose, calling, “Vernon, is there some trouble, darling?” and began to cross the room; and James, spotting an opportunity, upended his teacup onto her skirt with a barely believable, “Oh, my apologies!”

Instead of causing her to leave the room at once to put herself to rights, this clearly non-accidental dousing simply made Petunia eye him stonily, mouth agape. James ignored her, turning and starting, “Lily—” before being cut off.

“Thought you could pull one over on us, eh?” Vernon Dursley had arrived in the room, impressively red in the face. The color became even more impressive as he spotted James, and he barked out a “You!”

“We’ve been found out,” James said rapidly, returning to face Lily alone. “It was my error. I should not have—In any case, I have heard that Lord Snape has already tried to finalize things, but if you were to marry me, I believe that you would be…”

She was looking at him with the same vaguely curious expression that she had all the way back in the garden at the Longbottom house party. The arguments he was about to make - that the power of his title and standing would offer protection to her reputation, that it was only honorable that he make amends in this way considering it was his lack of discretion which had allowed their secret to be known, that he would trouble her as little as she liked within their marriage - died on his tongue.

All he could remember was Lily making conciliatory faces to Alice Longbottom behind the back of the redoubtable Lady Longbottom, Lily’s small and capable hand against his arm as they walked, the feeling of her assured steps, of her warmth against him when they danced. Lily’s look of concentration as he explained something dull regarding crop rotations, her careful gestures as she offered some solution. The gleam in her eye when she won at cards, the way she gave Sirius as good as she got and spoke with Remus about literature and was kind to Peter even when he stepped on her toes. Lily, choosing the maple ice cream because it was the least liked, looking fascinated at the idea of his father’s old work rooms, conceding a point only after he had presented his best arguments, teasing him that he allowed his hair to stay in such disarray because he did not want to seem shorter than Sirius, speaking so lovingly of her mother and tilting her head in welcome as he spoke of his own parents. Lily’s smile, her laugh, her mind, the way he felt such joy whenever they spent time together…

He had thought himself in love with her years earlier, but that had been mere infatuation, an enjoyment of her appearance, her outward manner. He had been drawn to this one woman who had not been charmed by him, who had offered novelty through her rejection, but that was not love. This, knowing her and wanting to be known by her, always, this was love.

The teacup was empty, but he placed it politely on the side table before he slid from his chair and knelt before Lily. He took both of her hands in his and held them near his mouth. Surely this was allowed? Hands were allowed, he had kissed many of them, although not ungloved like this and not with this precise level of intimacy. The Dursleys certainly seemed to take offense: Petunia gasped in nearly all the air in the room, although she left enough for Vernon to bellow out an “I say!” James ignored them both, watching those spectacularly green eyes of Lily’s instead.

“I have no flowers,” he said softly, “and I have no ring, although I can obtain both very soon, but if you would have me, I should like to marry you. Not because you must, and not because of what my name can offer, but because you are my friend, because I adore you, because I want you to be my partner in every dance, today and for the rest of my life, because my favorite times are when I am with you, because I want to spend each one of my days with you beside me.” He swallowed. “Will you have me?”

And just as he had known the first time he had asked what her answer would be before she said it, he knew now too.

Two years later…

Sirius was not certain whether it was his sighing or his constant checking out the carriage window, but a few miles from Godric’s Hollow, Remus had apparently had enough.

“Please,” he said, faintly begging. “Borrow a horse and ride ahead.”

“It would not be polite to leave you alone,” Sirius pointed out dutifully, glad that his mother was not there to see him acting in such a manner.

Remus countered, “It would, in fact, be more polite than what you are doing now.” He gestured to the manuscript atop the travel desk on his lap. “I have much to keep me occupied, and you are merely a distraction from it. Now go.”

And so, less than an hour later, Sirius directed his commandeered horse up the neatly maintained path to the house. A servant was already hurrying out as he swerved to a stop by the front door (Lily had been welcomed easily as countess, and her staff always rose to exceed her expectations), and Sirius tossed over the reins and bounded up the steps two at a time.

He was recognized immediately by the butler and footmen and maids, but he only nodded in acknowledgment of their bows and curtsies as he strode through the entrance hall and made his way to the main staircase.

Barely had he reached the upstairs landing when he heard a door thrown open and saw James barrelling toward him.

“Sirius,” his best friend shouted, nearly knocking him over when he couldn’t manage to come to a stop quickly enough. Without apology, he grabbed Sirius’s hand and hauled him further down the hall. “The baby’s here.”

“I know,” Sirius said, laughing. “You wrote to us, that’s why we came.”

But James didn’t seem to hear him. “Come see the baby,” he said, words nearly toppling over each other in his excitement. “Come see Lily. Come meet my son!”

His spectacles were falling down his nose and he looked as though he hadn’t slept in the days since the baby was born and there was a large, unpleasant looking stain on his waistcoat over his ribcage, but Sirius had never seen him so happy.

And as he allowed himself to be dragged for his first glimpse of the future Earl of Gryffindor, Sirius realized that the best friend of his childhood was well and truly gone. Or perhaps not gone, he decided, but transformed. James had left behind old habits and made way for new. He had laid aside the roles of rake and man about town and had taken on others, earl and husband and now father. They would no longer challenge each other dangerously or act below their age and rank, and that was no pity. James had happiness here, a different kind than Sirius had once expected, but no less true for it.

“Let’s go see your son,” Sirius said, and James laughed a wholly exhilarated sort of laugh, running his hand through his hair and beginning to describe the baby as though Sirius wouldn’t see himself in only a moment.

Two weeks later, Frank Longbottom received two bottles of extremely fine brandy alongside a note from Sirius Black.

Congratulations on the birth of your son, and my belated thanks for the invitation.

“What invitation?” Alice said, rocking their new baby Neville as he read the card aloud to her. “I should hope that you have no intention of inviting people around for months yet.”

“Not even—”

“Especially not your mother,” Alice said with exhausted vehemence.

“Well, I have no idea what he’s talking about, regardless,” Frank said, hefting one bottle to eye level. “But it’s a jolly nice gift anyway.”

“I would have preferred some chocolates, and Neville might have liked another blanket, but I suppose we shall make do.”

“Oh, Nev will like this perfectly well one day.”

“One day quite a long time from now,” Alice remarked, but she smiled as she did.

#Jily #Jily AU #James Potter #Lily Evans #long post #too much Bridgerton can't cope

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ficsilike-reblogged · 4 years

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Sunshine City: Four

A/N: We are nearing the end of this little story, my loves. Thank you to everyone who read, liked, and/or reblogged the last chapter. I adore you.

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader (No Y/N)

Word Count: 2.8k

Rating For This Chapter: T for blood, injuries, a K*ss or two, my undying love of tropes and cliches

Catch up on previous chapters here!

London was a beautiful mix of sparkling skyscrapers and bygone brick and mortar. It reminded her of New York on one street and some sort of historical romance novel on the next. The Tube was much more proficient than the subway and Bela was fond of the fact that Harry let her take him along to the office whenever she wasn’t on assignment.

But it still felt…like she was just visiting.

“Mordred!”

She pivoted in her chair to see Roxy—Agent Lancelot—walk into her office. The young agent had been thought dead for a handful of weeks after Kingsman’s old headquarters had exploded, but she had survived. A little injured, more than a little confused, but quickly back to normal after Eggsy discovered her in the nearest hospital. She couldn’t remember her name but she did remember how to throw men over her shoulder like it was nothing. (The nurses were not a fan.)

But Roxy was now back on her very-capable feet and usually out in the field.

“Lancelot,” she replied with a quirk of an eyebrow.

“Your cowboy has arrived in that atrocious car.” But a teasing smile was pulling at Roxy’s lips as she said it, letting Sunny know this would not be the end of their conversation. Roxy had almost instantly become aware of the strange relationship between Whiskey and the former Statesman agent and found it endlessly entertaining. While Eggsy was tending to his new duties as a prince of Sweden, Roxy had readily stepped into his role of friend to Sunny when Ginger was busy.

“He is not my cowboy.” She rose to her feet and Bela poked his little head out from under the desk where he’d been napping on an embroidered pillow, a Boxing Day gift from Merlin last year.

Roxy laughed, a full-belly laugh that had the other woman frowning. “You might want to tell him that. When he saw Tristan at the door he said, and I quote: ‘tell Sunny her cowboy is here.’ So, I do not believe he knows he isn’t your cowboy.”

She was able to keep her face neutral as Roxy’s smirk continued to grow but that did not mean her stomach did not flip and fill with butterflies. “I’ll let him know, Lancelot.”

Roxy laughed and nodded before excusing herself.

“At least he didn’t honk this time,” she muttered to herself. The pair had been assigned a mission and she expected him later that day.

The stately manor house just an hour outside London was the newest headquarters for the agency and usually agents and their American counterparts would use the underground bullet train under the (also recently rebuilt) tailor shop. It would take only a handful of minutes.

But apparently Whiskey had to be…different.

She straightened her shoulders and walked toward the door and Bela followed, matching his short stride to her longer one as she made her way out of her office, through the ornate and marble halls, and out toward the manicured lawn and front courtyard.

And there was Whiskey in his Bronco. His head was tilted back so it could catch the warmth of the infrequent sun and his stupid cowboy hat was still on his head. Her stomach tightened at the sight of the stretch of his neck. God. She still had it bad, didn’t she? Would the sight of someone’s neck make anyone (aside from her pathetically-in-love self) short of breath?

Their relationship hadn’t really changed since Tilde and Eggsy’s wedding. Well, that is what she told herself anyway. Their emails had progressed to whispered telephone calls about their days and missions and she had lost count how many times she had fallen asleep to the sound of Whiskey all-but crooning in her ear.

But…friends did that. Right?

They were friends.

The scratching of Bela’s little paws against the stone of the front steps grabbed his attention and his head lazily turned to the side as a familiar smile pushed up his lips, displaying the one dimple on his right cheek. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, Sunshine?”

She tried halfheartedly to hide her smile as she slowed to a stop and leaned against the passenger-side door. “I’m Agent Mordred here, Whiskey.”

“Nope. You’ll always be my Sunshine.” He opened his door and Bela leapt up into his lap just long enough for the older agent to scratch behind his ear and then into the back seat where the corgi promptly made himself at home. Whiskey leaned over and opened the door for her and patted the leather of seat, smile never fading. “C’mon. We can talk on our way back to London.”

She rolled her eyes but slid in. As she pulled the door closed, she said, “we could have taken the train.”

“It don’t like it. The darn thing moves too fast.”

She scoffed with another smile. “I don’t believe anything moves too fast for you.”

As Whiskey started the engine he looked at her, head dipping so he could pin her with his stare over the edge of his gold-rimmed aviators. “On the contrary, Sunny. I like going slow.” He enunciated each word with that southern drawl and let his fingers slide around the worn leather of the steering wheel, nice and slow as they trailed over the stitching. “Take my time. Make it worth it when I finally reach a destination.”

Her head snapped toward the windshield as heat curled in her stomach and then strangled the next breath from her lungs. “Inappropriate.”

But he laughed and reached over to pat at her thigh and squeezed just above her knee before gravel spit beneath his tires when he pressed down on the gas.

The pair did actually speak about the mission as the unusually clear autumn day provided a perfect backdrop for their drive. “Why do we always get put on the nuclear waste missions? It is like Champ and Harry don’t like us.” She said with a huff.

“Maybe it’s our specialty, Sunshine.”

She reached out and smacked at his arm. The mission was a little more involved than Vegas. It involved a pair of couples from blue blood families who had turned to buying and selling anything and everything a would-be terrorist or dictator would need in order to keep their luxurious lifestyles. Merlin had managed to uncover the plans of an American couple about to meet with the dealers at a gala at one of the privately-owned castles in Scotland. While Tequila managed to neutralize the American couple, she and Whiskey would be taking their place, hopefully to stop them and uncover where they were getting their supply.

She gave him directions toward the tailor shop (where they could pick up a few gadgets and supplies) once they reached the right borough and laughed when he had trouble parallel parking. But after finally managing to squeeze the Bronco into a space definitely designed for something smaller, he darted around to open her door as she pulled Bela from his napping spot in the back.

She murmured a thank you as she let Bela lick at her cheek. Whiskey hummed and scratched behind Bela’s ear before placing a hand at the small of her back as she led them up toward the gleaming glass door of the tailor shop.

It was all very…domestic, in a stereotypical “southern gentleman” sort of way and she hated how much she liked it. But she had given up on actually hating anything he did. Especially when he smiled at her like that.

Edinburgh was magnificent. And Kingsman had made sure their agent and visiting Statesman were comfortable in a luxury hotel room and an extra agent to act as their chauffeur for the evening, solidifying their image as a well-to-do couple with nefarious intentions.

The past handful of hours were spent going over the plan before separating to get ready. Her dress was from some Italian designer Roxy insisted would look good on her and fit her like a black, silk glove. The thigh-high slit just barely covered the holster she’d strapped around her thigh but hopefully the dangerously low neckline would distract anyone away from her legs. The false eyelashes gave her pause for a moment—and a few tears as she stabbed herself right in the eye a few times—but she managed to put on a face full of makeup and finished with a berry-tinted lip and a heavy hand of jasmine and leather perfume.

Missions like this always made her a bit nervous. No matter how many times she’d completed them easily, they always made her feel like a kid playing dress up and waiting for a scolding. She took a few breaths and then stepped out of the bathroom and into the suite. Whiskey was there, fixing the silver cufflinks in his classic and sharply cut, dark blue suit. The dying light of the sun was framing him and the next exhale stuttered in her lungs. It was going to be a long night.

Whiskey turned at the sound of her red-soled shoes on the floor and smiled. And, of course, his eyes dragged from her toes, up her legs, her stomach, her chest…and then stopped.

“My eyes are up here, boss,” she said with a snort.

His dark eyes finally lifted up to hers as his smile slipped to a smirk. “I ain’t your boss, Sunshine.”

And her stomach actually clenched at that and she had to take a moment to clear her throat and remember that they were on a mission. “That’s good. We’re supposed to be lovesick newlyweds, right?”

Whiskey’s mouth—god, how many times was she going to stare at his mouth tonight?—twisted to the side with a frown as he took a few steps toward her and gently grasped her left hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing the diamond-encrusted band on her finger before pressing her palm against his cheek with a sigh.

She let her thumb slide against his cheekbone for a moment, smelling his expensive cologne tickle her nose and the warmth of his hand over hers settled the nerves she felt.

“You look beautiful tonight. Truly.” He leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead before he squeezed the hand he had in his grasp and intertwined their fingers as he brought them down to his side. “An easy cover.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as his watch beeped, letting them know it was time to go. “Let’s get these guys.”

And she let him tug her along with her heart in her throat.

The gala was luxurious in every sense of the word and the targets were so ostentatious that it was easy to spot them even if she hadn’t memorized their faces. Whiskey made easy work for introducing them as Mr. & Mrs. Jameson and making the targets laugh and trust them. She played the part of doting newlywed with no trouble and let herself enjoy it—as Whiskey seemed to be doing with how many times he deemed it necessary to hold her hand or press a kiss to her cheek or forehead, avoiding her lips with a joke, “she always hates it when I mess up her lipstick.” She would let her hand slip under his suit jacket as she leaned against his arm at the dinner table, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath her palm or push a smile to her lips whenever she had to lean in to whisper something in his ear about the security stationed around the room or how her Geiger counter, disguised as an opulent diamond tennis bracelet detected traces of radiation on the targets’ hands and feet. Especially on the woman’s—Alice—hands.

“Shall we talk shop in the gallery? I have heard they have a wonderful display of Mucha,” the man—Allan—said with a smile.

“I do adore Mucha,” she answered in return, tapping twice against Whiskey’s hand as it rested on her leg. Show time.

The pair of couples rose from their table and walked through the ball room and down a dimly lit hall toward the castle’s art gallery without much fanfare. In fact, she noticed that this whole ordeal didn’t have much fanfare at all. It was a wonder this couple had lasted this long without being taken down with how blatantly they spoke about their intentions. It was easy.

Too easy.

As soon as they stepped into the gallery, she noticed the ‘closed for maintenance’ signage. She was nearly leveled with a crack of a gun against the back of her head. The room swam for a moment and she stumbled but kept her footing and turned just in time to duck, dodging Allan as he tried to hit her again. She took a step back just enough to gain momentum before kicking out and slamming her stiletto heel into his chest.

It barely registered that Whiskey was busy handling Alice who had somehow produced a knife from god-knows-where and had managed to at least get him once with the amount of blood spilling across his white shirt.

But her attention was quickly brought back to Allan who was coughing, blood slipping from his lips as the he struggled to get to his feet. Her heel had punctured his chest. Oops. But the struggle was getting too loud. They couldn’t afford to be caught like this. It would ruin everything.

She stomped forward and grasped the sides of Allan’s head as he tried to stand and yanked. His body thudded to the ground just as Whiskey managed to sink a needle full of some yellow-tinted liquid into the side of Alice’s neck and she collapsed in his arms almost instantaneously.

The sound of approaching footsteps had them both scrambling. To hide the bodies (both of them were stuffed behind a statue in the corner). To clean up the blood (she grabbed Whiskey’s pocket square and made quick work of it all). There wasn’t time to make an escape. The thin beam of light from a flashlight was making its way down the hall, she could see it and tugged Whiskey toward her with steady hands.

“Don’t hate me.”

And then she pressed her lips to his and threw her arms around his neck, dragging him ever closer to hide the blood on his shirt.

Whiskey…could kiss. That was made abundantly clear with how easily he coaxed her lips apart to lick into her mouth, tasting of thousand-dollar-bottle champagne and mint. His warm hands grasped at her silk-covered hips and his face angled just the slightest bit so he could truly kiss her. Her hand shot into his hair on its own accord and mussed the carefully coifed locks. He groaned against her lips.

She could kiss him forever-

“Hey!”

They broke apart to see a disgruntled security officer standing in the gallery’s doorway.

“This area’s closed to the public.”

“Sorry man,” Whiskey drawled, keeping her close with a hand on her hip and her angled to keep his wound concealed, “just had to kiss my wife-”

“Do it somewhere else,” the man all but snarled before walking away.

She listened to his footsteps disappear before pushing out a soft laugh. Her heart was still racing. Her lips seemed to pulse in time with her heart and she licked them before she could stop herself, still tasting him. She quickly shot a message to the agent waiting outside that they had one body and one unconscious target to take care of before she stepped around the room, scrambling the security camera feeds with ease with the help of a small device Merlin had been particularly proud of.

She heard Whiskey walk up behind her but still jumped when his hands settled over her shoulders, a finger dragging under the strap of her dress and down her back. She shivered when she heard him chuckle against her throat, nose pressing against her pulse. Turning in his grip, she offered a small smile but didn’t pull away. She wasn’t sure when she would have him so close again. “Alice’ll be taken back to headquarters. Alan will be disposed of. Whoever set us up doesn’t have much time left.”

But Whiskey didn’t reply. His hands travelled up to carefully grasp at her face and he pressed a kiss to her lips—slow and sweet and perfect.

She pushed out a shaky breath as he pulled back and patted at his chest, mindful of the blood. “We are about to be in trouble if the guard comes back, Mr. Jameson,” she said, trying to save face.

“M’name’s Jack, Sunshine.”

“Jack,” she whispered back and she’d never liked a name more.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @spookyold-saintjm @honestlystop @paryl @fioccodineveautunnale @lackofhonor

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey #kingsman

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thecandywrites · 3 years

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Blood For Gold

So. I was SO INSPIRED by @kriskukko ‘s regency era orc art, please forgive me for taking it and putting it into the photo montage that I do for all my stories but I wanted everyone to see your amazing art and really get a visual sense of the story I want to tell. For more amazing orc and other fantasy beings in GORGEOUS period clothing- @kriskukko is where to go. They’re amazing.

I’m a HUGE fan of Jane Austin in general and now with historical period dramas like Death Comes to Pemberley and Bridgerton, they need a fantasy twist with orcs, elves, trolls and of course mouras which are my own precious creation. Also because this is a fantasy period piece, I’m fudging and blurring the lines of historical accuracy just a wee bit. Regency Era- 1811-1820 ish. First Industrial Revolution- 1760-1840 and railways becoming a key transportation tool around this time as well. So we’re going with all three at the same time.

Trains, Industrial Revolution, Regency, Nobility, Intrigue, Murder Mystery, Damsel in Distress, Mail Order Bride, Only One Bed but with a twist as Only One Train Cabin, all the clichés. ALL OF THEM. Enjoy. And I really hope @kriskukko enjoys this because this was written specifically for them. And it’s written as a reader insert. Hope that’s ok. If that’s annoying @kriskukko, I can change that. Technically this will be female reader insert.

Blood For Gold

Part 1

You were happily sitting on the train, in a private first class cabin suite, dressed in your mourning clothes, relieved that others took the hint and left you alone so you could travel in peace, reading one of your latest acquisitions from one of the more upscale and prominent bookstores in Kent since you were traveling from Kent back to London Towne. Normally you would never dream of traveling alone, but you did just give away your latest paid companion in marriage the day before to a man who would love her for the rest of her life so you found yourself feeling bittersweet at the loss of her company, both sad to lose such a close friend yet happy she would be happy. She was your third paid companion just this past year to do so. But you were far from begrudged. But now you would have to start the process all over again and have to take out an advertisement in the papers for a new paid companion and start anew.

Then your thoughts were interrupted by the knock on the door by a station master since the train had stopped on its way into London, stopping in the industrial district.

“Yes?” You asked as he came into your suite.

“Begging your pardon Countess, but there are two first class gentlemen looking for a private cabin on their journey home and it’s a full train today and we’ve filled up all the other cabins, would it be a horrible inconvenience for them to share this one with you? We’d like to extend these certificates of first class cabins on future trips to you if you’d be willing to share yours with them.” He offered generously, holding them out to you hopefully.

“Who are the gentlemen?” You asked curiously as you looked from his offering back to him.

“Duke Damsey Voyambi and Count Javyn Jabire.” He answered. You didn’t know them personally but you knew of them. Men of both nobility and industry and supposedly of considerable wealth in this country. Although you did hear rumors of both gentlemen of being romantically attached to various debutants so you’d have to be careful to not let any rumors spring up. The last thing you needed was another scandal on your hands.

“But of course, I would be happy to share my cabin with them.” You readily agreed before you took the ride certificates into your black laced gloved hand and put them away into your purse as the station master then happily left and returned with the gentlemen a moment later, they were exquisitely dressed but did smell like their factories, they must have been just checking in on their businesses.

“Countess Morrigan, this is Duke Voyambi and this is Count Jabire.” The station master introduced as you stood to greet them formally. Duke Voyambi was orcish and the count was clearly troll, but you were moura, so it made little difference what they were.

Mouras- ever since the moura plague over a hundred and fifty years ago that wiped out the heavenly moura population, leaving only the royal moura and mountain moura to live on since their own moura heritage was “diluted” by other races enough genetically to withstand the plague and live on- were now all born with golden yellow eyes, golden blonde hair and their moura collars and cloaks, instead of being actual objects containing magic and power were now reduced to looking like they were painted on the skin with gold glittering ink. It’s what made mouras stand out even more than they used to. Gone were the days of the real moura gifts but the breed’s legacy lived on. But you were of course in your mourning attire, mostly all black and covered up, the only moura trait giving you away were your gold eyes and little golden freckles on your cheeks and nose, otherwise you looked mostly human.

“Pleasured to make your acquaintance Countess Morrigan. How do you do?” They bowed as you curtsied in kind.

“Please, won’t you sit down gentlemen?” You invited as you gestured to the other bench before all three of you sat down again.

“Thank you so much for having us Countess Morrigan, we’re much obliged.” Count Jabire thanked you earnestly.

“Pleasure is all mine your graces, a journey is always more enjoyable when spent with amiable company.” You answered pleasantly.

“So why are you travelling alone Young Countess?” Duke Voyambi asked curiously.

“I believe you have me confused with the Young Countess Jane Morrigan, I am her late grandmother in law Audravienne Saharrazat Morrigan from Dorierra, I was married to the late Old Count Edward Morrigan.” You gently corrected, your r’s rolling while your moura accent flourished and furled with the pronunciation of your name, which both of them couldn’t help but raise their eyebrows at that revelation as they realized you were that Countess Morrigan.

You were the reason every young man threw themselves into business if only to make enough money to afford a moura bride as beautiful and wonderful as you. To hear of the late Count Edward Morrigan’s death had many marking their calendars to mark when your mourning period would be over so they could pursue you themselves. Especially since after the death you weren’t immediately whisked away back to the moura stables of Dorierra but stayed in the country and it seemed to be in this moment that both actually took note of your mourning attire and seemed to connect the dots so to speak.

“Oh, I do beg your pardon, again, so sorry for your loss, I believe the last time we were in the same room was actually your wedding to the Count only two years ago, forgive us for not recognizing you.” Count Jabire offered.

“It’s alright, I did not recognize you either, that day was a bit of a blur for me and all the faces ran together having met so many people that day.” You admitted.

Your wedding to the Count was attended by all of high society in this country, even the entire royal family attended, all of which you barely remembered because of the circumstances of your marrying the Count. It was all a blur for you and most of the first year of being married to him, you’d much prefer to forget and the circumstances of his passing had you feeling relieved you had only been married to him for a year. Much longer and it would have finished you for good. But you had settled into widowhood much easier than you had anticipated and it afforded for you to finally enjoy life again. Now that he was dead, you had a very charming and pleasant life, and one you would be loathed to lose.

“Oh it’s perfectly alright, practically the whole country came for your wedding, it would be impossible for you to remember all of them, especially when all of them were practically strangers to you that day. And especially since you rarely come out into society since.” Duke Voyambi reasoned and all you could do was smile politely but it didn’t reach your eyes.

Edward had been a widower, he was human and had married a human wife in his youth and used his family’s small and modest fortune and invested it into industry and investments, all of which paid off handsomely so that the Morrigans were one of the wealthiest nobles in all of England, if not most of Europe. Then Beatrice, Edward’s wife died, and in his old age, and now fully established wealth, Edward decided it was time for him to “buy” a moura bride, a tradition most kings partook in going back for a millennia since the moura stables were established specifically for that purpose. The moura estate of Doriera functioned like a racing horse stable. All brides were put on display and bought and sold or rented to the highest bidder, because since the plague, mouras were becoming even more rare and sought after and were the first to embrace the mail order bride system. Edward wanted a moura bride who was young and vibrant and entertaining to keep him company in his old age and give his last years a measure of happiness and pleasure. He had paid a fortune to the moura stable in Doriera for you since you had a pedigree that rivaled most ruling kings and gifts galore, not to mention were an outstanding beauty in your own right and Edward got what he paid for because you delivered on all accounts.

Edward had been incredibly sweet, kind, thoughtful and generous as a husband when you first married him and treated you like the gem you were and in the beginning, you found much to appreciate and have affection for as he helped you to adjust to living in England, away from the moura stables and indulged you endlessly because he could afford to. He made sure you had a very generous allowance paid out weekly, wore splendid gowns and practically dripping in jewels at all times. You were his delight in his old age and he even had the good sense that it was all down in writing and was taken care of by his steward.

However six months into the marriage, he started to go completely senile, mistaking you for Beatrice and then getting so angry when you weren’t her and especially once the sun set every day, he became a different man, he grew incoherent, irritable and angry and even violent but then in the morning and during the day, he would come back to his senses and himself and would apologize and do everything he could to make amends and even hired special assistants to keep himself from hurting you further but even that only lasted a few months, the last three months of his life was spent having all sense leaving him and he became completely senile and deranged no matter the time of day and that’s when the abuses started happening, in his senility, he dismissed his helpers and Richard, his eldest son and heir, who was looking to save money, agreed with their dismissal, no matter your pleadings or theirs and even his steward plead with him but Richard and his family turned a blind eye to it since they viewed you as his paid caregiver and basically dumped him on you and left you all alone to deal with him and shut you and him up and away from society so they would not and could not see it for themselves while forbidding you from contacting the stables or anyone else about it to “preserve the family honor”.

Then the “incident” happened and Edward unexpectedly passed. And it came as a relief to everyone else in the Morrigan family. Richard then fully inherited the estate and very quickly shipped you and all of your things off to live in London Towne as soon as you could be packed- to live in an exquisite and surprisingly luxurious townhouse in the fashionable side of town that was big enough to suit you just fine because you couldn’t return to the moura stables because ‘you were broken beyond repair’ by Edward’s and Richard’s treatment as judged by the stable masters who were beyond enraged at your treatment and thankfully Edward had written it into his will and specified the kind of living you would receive upon his death so that the rest of your life, until you chose to remarry someone of your choosing, would be in comfort and luxury and even accounted for inflation and unless Richard wanted to lose everything, he would be honoring his father’s wishes and pay out what you were definitely owed and had earned by enduring it, under the threat of the truth being discovered and him losing everything, including the family honor and estate and business to you, which the stable masters were more than ready and able to hire the best international lawyers who would make sure to hold the new Count Richard Morrigan to the very letter of the contract his father signed when he “bought” you from the stables which clearly stated, should you be damaged in any way, you would inherit all of Edward’s estate to “recoop” the damages inflicted on you personally which all moura contracts superseded all others in all courts worldwide.

So that left Richard to pay for your silence and discretion on the matter, effectively doubling what his father had already set out in your material living agreement which you had the good sense to get down in writing and have the stable masters cosign it so that it accompanied the contract Edward signed which you kept a copy of in your possession and the stable masters also kept the original copy of and had it witnessed by the highest judges in the land, in private of course. Which for the price of your peace- and complete independent freedom from the Morrigan’s, you agreed to it since you could not return to the moura stables yourself.

So you made peace with your circumstances and counted yourself fortunate to have the moura stables still backing you despite technically no longer being a part of them even though you knew that if this particular country were to ever become unsafe by either revolution or war, you were still welcome back to the stables under those conditions to simply preserve your bloodline, but little other circumstance garnered your return to them.

Besides, you got to have the very same staff that served you at the Morrigan Estate named Broadcove follow you to your new townhouse- Mirador and they were ever so happy to follow you there because you were a good and fair mistress to them and took care of them exceedingly well and they made at least twice the money they would make at any other house and they were loyal to you to a fault. Even the steward followed you to Mirador because he knew his master had done you wrong.

“How are you getting home to Broadcove?” Count Jabire asked curiously.

“Oh since the Late Count Edward Morrigan passed and the New Count Richard Morrigan and his family has taken ownership of Broadcove, they thought it best I mourn in peace at a house of my own, so I have since moved to Mirador since the late Count’s passing.” You informed them.

“Oh how kind and thoughtful of them.” Count Jabire noted and you fought not to snort a derisive laugh at that. It was never ‘thoughtful’ on their part. It was always just a business to them.

“Yes, it’s been most helpful to me. It’s incredibly convenient to be in town and so close to so many amusements and diversions, it has helped me with my grief a great deal, especially since the living afforded to me by the late Count is generous enough for me to afford a paid companion so that I don’t get too lonely. My latest one was married only yesterday, Lady Bellum to Sir DeVaunce, you may have seen the announcement in the paper perhaps?” You readily agreed.

“Oh yes, yes of course.” Duke Voyambi readily agreed while Count Jabire nodded in agreement.

“But now it seems I will have to take out another advertisement for another, since it’s obviously a little unseemly for a lady such as myself to travel alone, especially in this country.” You allowed as they nodded and gave each other a meaningful look.

The rest of the ride was spent in pleasant conversation as all three of you got to become better acquainted.

Duke Voyambi owned a soap company, making not just soap to wash the body, but laundry supplies as well which explained his own scent on his clothes smelled like he worked as a laundress. But he also employed a union of orcish workers. One of the few captains of industry that was for the union instead of against it, which you greatly respected because you could tell he was passionate about the betterment of orcs in general, from livelihood and wages, to education and living and working conditions and was incredibly safety conscious.

Count Jabire on the other hand- he owned one of the many flour mills, using the river rushing through the feet of the bridge to run the giant wheels to make flour of various kinds. And it was why he smelled like a bakery and why the two of them together smelled- if anything- interesting. But they were clearly friends, and close ones at that and in conversation, they clearly played very well off each other and it was entertaining for you to sit and listen to them. You were almost saddened when your stop came and all three of you had to disembark.

But at the same time, you were relieved to see Malcom, one of your manservants there to help you with your things and there with a carriage to take you home.

“Till we see each other again gentlemen, may you both get home safely.” You offered the Duke and Count, curtseying again as they bowed and tipped their hats to you before you left to return to Mirador.

“You have visitors waiting on you my Lady.” Malcolm informed you as he helped you into your carriage.

“Who?” You asked.

“Count and Countess Morrigan.” He answered before you groaned and made a whiney whimpering sound which brought a grin to Malcom’s face.

“Why?” You asked.

“Don’t know, but they came bearing gifts my Lady.” He answered.

“Great, well, I suppose we shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer than they have to.” You urged him as he finished loading your things up and the driver drove the carriage home as you steeled yourself for whatever would find you once you came home.

“Countess,” Richard and his wife Agnes greeted you as all three of you curtsied to each other respectfully.

“Count, Countess.” You returned respectfully.

“We trust your ride home from Kent was pleasant as always.” Richard urged with forced pleasantness.

“It was,” you confirmed.

“So what do I owe the pleasure of your presence your Graces?” You asked curiously.

“Well since your mourning ends in a fortnight, we came to invite you to everything that will be happening shortly after, and since you will be out of mourning and even half mourning in a fortnight, you will need new clothes to stay with the fashions, we must get you out into society as soon as possible. Surely you long to see it and we brought all the invitations that we should all go to as a family.” Agnes insisted as cheerfully as she could muster as she presented you with a stack of invitations and you wanted to laugh scornfully in her face for her audacity. But decorum would not permit you to do so- so you simply smiled politely as you took them from her.

“Of course.” You agreed as you started looking through them.

“Well we must get you to the designer houses as soon as may be for they may need time to finish your gowns in time for all of these events. Take the next couple of days to rest and recoup from your journey from Kent, so on Wednesday perhaps, we should go, in the meantime, the stables have sent gifts to celebrate the event, and your servants have taken the trunks to your quarters for your inspection and we must inform you that you now have a dowry, should you chose to get remarried of fifty thousand pounds.” Agnes suggested. You were being paid thirty thousand pounds for your silence a year, since Edward afforded you fifteen thousand but Richard doubled it for your silance and discretion, but the Morrigan’s estate and business earned them hundreds of thousands of pounds a year which they were using to build an even bigger estate in the country along with a new townhouse in London that was going to rival any other as well, the new country estate was going to rival the Palace of Windsor or even Buckingham Palace. Which is how Edward could afford to give the stables two hundred a fifty thousand pounds to buy you outright from the stables but Edward, when he had not been senile insisted that you were worth every penny. But still, they always viewed you as a gold leech and they were obviously keen to get rid of you and have you ‘latch on’ to someone else.

“Yes, Wednesday would be a good day for that, thank you.” You agreed, in a desperate attempt to get them out of your house so you wouldn’t have to put on this pretence any longer than you had to.

Mourning here lasted a year and a day for widows, the first six months were spent in deep or full mourning, where the widow would wear nothing but black, and the last six months were in half mourning where a little bit of subdued color was introduced back into the wardrobe, which seemed almost alien to you since mouras liked to dress in the brightest and most vibrant colors possible.

But you knew the sooner they could get you remarried after the mourning period- the better for them because they would no longer have to pay for your living arrangements and pay for your allowances. They were going to dump a fortune into getting your market ready and dump you on the first willing suitor who showed interest and they would try to induce you to remarry but you were determined that only the deepest and purist and most genuine love would ever induce you into matrimony now.

If they only knew who you shared a train ride with- they would be going to the gentlemen directly to try to broker a deal behind your back as you wondered exactly what tricks they had up their sleeves to try to pawn you off.

But you had tricks of your own. You just needed a little help...

#Blood For Gold #a story inspired by #@kriskukko #their regency and industrial revolution art #orcs #orc period drama #bridgerton #but orc and fantasy being style #it's going to be so fun!

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jasonspetertodds · 3 years

Text

the skeleton with a scythe

warnings: swearing, mentions of character death

Jason glanced around the basement that they were in, trying not to suffocate at the sheer amount of velvet that was covering the walls. There were fuchsia colored scones on the walls that illuminated the large neon purple light on the back wall. He squinted, not being able to make out the name, but he didn't supposed that mattered. He rolled his eyes at Steph who was merely grinning up at him, her hair had been pulled back into two small ponytails at the crown of her head with the rest being down. It gave her the illusion of having even more volume then she normally did with her curly blonde hair.

She was dressed in her trademark color, but this time it was a soft lavender instead of the royal purple of her uniform. She had talked to him endlessly on the way there about how she had found her shoes, which were vintage white leather platforms, at the thrift store Jason had recommended. Trying to distract him from the fact that she was leading him to seedy basement in the heart of the Alley. A basement that housed a self proclaimed 'psychic'. Jason knew realistically that soothsayers, at least in some part, existed. He did exist in a world full of aliens and magic.

But Jason knew this was a scam and so did Steph. He hadn't been able to taste the tell tale nectar sweetness of magic when he stepped foot into the parlor. She had sourced the fact that it was just a fun thing to do at least once in his life and Jason had begrudgingly found himself staring into the depths of the weird vintage poster on the back wall. The pink neon light flickered in the corner behind him. He was, for the most part, down to try something at least once. And he didn't really see the harm in indulging Steph, especially when she was trying so hard to make him feel comfortable.

And Jason was only going to admit this in the privacy of his own mind, but it was actually kind of sweet.

And Jason wanted to maintain the best relationship he had in the family to the best of his ability, especially because it offered the unlimited possibility of tag teaming his siblings but also Bruce.

"So?" Steph asked, gently prodding his side with her elbow, pulling him away from being entranced by what looked to be a rat skull with a peacock feather coming out from the eye socket. It also had a top hat on and a little bow tie. Jason looked at her flatly and then shrugged. He was interested to see where the night went, with what story this psychic was going to spit back out to him. It was at the very least going to be entertaining.

"I don't know," He finally, eyes shifting around the room, "It should be fun, I guess."

He saw her roll her eyes and cross her arms over her chest. He shrugged again, unbothered. His eyes settled on a stack of crystals sitting on a bookshelf next to a book. Jason squinted, not wanting to step any closer to the center table with a deck of cards spread out over it, trying to read it. It looked like a copy of Daemonologie by King James of all fucking people. Jason almost huffed out a laugh. Almost.

"Can you at least pretend to be excited about the prospect of spending time with your favorite honorary sibling?" She grumbled, exasperated. Jason gave her an amused smile, but before he could respond he heard footsteps outside of the parlor.

There was the small ringing of the bell behind him and Jason immediately regretted his former words. He could taste the stinging sweetness in the lower part of his jaw, pooling just under his molars as he heard the soft approach of footsteps. Steph must've seen him stiffen, but he was so thankful that she didn't say anything about it, just threw him a questioning look.

Why was it that he always attracted magic users?

He sighed internally, steeling himself before he turned and saw a rather young looking witch smiling back at his companion. Steph had mentioned offhandedly that she had also dragged Cass and Tim to the same psychic a while ago with interesting results. She had bright lavender dyed hair that was piled up into two buns just behind the crown of her head and a blinding smile. She was also wearing a full length velvet dress, which seemed like an oddly formal attire choice, but maybe Jason was just being judgemental.

She gave Jason a strange look when she slide past him, heeled boots muffled on the strange astral Persian rugs beneath their feet and the skirt of her dress swishing gently as she wandered back behind her table. Had Jason forgotten to greet her?

"Hi," He said, hesitantly, trying to keep the uncertainty out of his voice as he watched her. He didn't know why he was on edge. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up and like he wanted to claw his skin off. Maybe he should talk to Zantana or Constantine about how magic was affecting him in his second life, because the woman sitting in front of him didn't seem like a threat. If she was, Jason already would've taken her down. Besides, maybe she wasn't a psychic in the way that she was able to tell that he was a dangerous, murderous vigilante. Maybe she was just a witch who misread his discomfort for skepticism. Was that too much to hope for? For Jason, it probably was.

He was wary, to say the least when he finally followed suit and sat down at the table to the right of Steph. She still was looking at him weird, but he figured he could explain himself later. He forced himself to relax, trying not to flex his jaw as it tingled like it did when he ate sour candies, covered with acetic acid. Piercing through the muscle and down to the bone. At least he didn't feel like throwing up... yet. He straightened his posture, trying to keep as close to a neutral expression on his face as he possibly good, trying to ignore the way his eyes glowed in the mirror of to the side of him.

Steph tapped him gently on the forearm, feather light, a question. Jason's face softened and he nodded, trying his best to convey that he was alright. He was fine. This was okay. He could deal with the unease worming around in his soul for the forty five minutes it took for this to happen. He watched out of the corner of his eyes as the blond relaxed, nodding once and offering a slight smile to the woman with the cards.

The woman before him offered him an unsure smile, before motioning to the deck in front of her before she began cheerily, "Welcome!"

Jason offed a nod of acknowledgement and Steph's smile morphed into a brilliant one, mischief alight in her eyes at the night's events. He was focused more on keeping his face as politely blank as he possibly could without it being mistaken for rudeness. He watched as she reached forward, ring clad fingers curling around the majority of the deck of tarot cards. At first he thought she was going to start shuffling them, but instead she knocked three times on the top of the stack. Maybe to cleanse it? Jason glanced back up at her face, uncertainty writhing around in the pit of his stomach.

"My name is Iris and I'm hoping to do a reading for you tonight...?" She trailed off, waiting for Jason to answer. Her voice was cheery but Jason was still hung up on the name. Iris... like the Greek goddess of rainbows and a messenger of the Gods? Because something was tugging at the back of his mind, like the Pit often did and Jason didn't believe in coincidences.

"Jason." He responded, watching as Steph relaxed further into her chair, shoulders slumping as she leaned further back, completely at ease. The witch nodded, handing the cards over to Jason. He looked at her confused for a second before he started to shuffle. Iris smiled, "It's better for you to shuffle, so the cards can have a better sense of your character."

Jason raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything. She continued, "I'm going to have you pull three cards first, since this is a general reading and then we can go from there, okay?"

He nodded, feeling how worn the corners of the cards were in his hands and how soft the glossy backing was, almost like the backing of a well loved paperback. He furrowed his brow, methodically sliding them around in his hands, trying to keep them from getting caught on each other before he finally decided that was enough. Three cards. He placed the deck on the edge of the table with great care and with a splayed palm he spread them out to the best of his ability. He sat back, suddenly noticing how sweaty his palms were before he took a deep breath, readying himself. The fact that a stupid throw away magic trick was having this much of an effect on him was ridiculous.

He eyeballed it, before tugging free a card in what he thought was the middle of the pile. He pulled it in front of Iris before he took two from each of the ends of the pile. He waited, licking his lips in anticipation when his mouth was suddenly dry, watching as she turned over his cards.

She painstakingly overturned the first card that he had pulled and he nearly choked back a laugh which turned into a choke when Steph elbowed him harshly in the ribs, glaring. There, looking tauntingly back up at him, was a skeleton draped in a black cloak upon a horse, holding a scythe with the neat little letters spelling out Death underneath the scene.

And oh god, was that fucking funny.

Iris seemed a little confused, as she tapped one purple talon against the card, before speaking, "Don't freak out about that card. Everyone always freaks out over him."

She flipped over the next two cards; One of a man looking over a cliff, a stick in hand with two others driven in the ground next to him. It read Three of Wands and one showing three swords piercing a bleeding heart. From Jason’s position the last one was upside down. Three seemed to be a big number for him tonight.

Jason remembered very suddenly three motifs in literature, when he was in high school slaving endlessly over research papers and book analyses, more often then not it was a Holy number. But it is the repetition of the cycle: birth, life, death. Of the passage of time, past; present; future. Jason again had to keep himself from snorting.

Omne trium perfectum.

Iris leaned over the cards, humming to herself as she flattened them, eyes glowing faintly under the scrutiny of the lights around her parlor. Steph looked curiously at her, “So? What does it mean?”

“Well,” She started, talon back to rapping gently against the glossy front of Death, drawing Jason’s attention, “Death is the first card you pulled. It means that you’re going to undergo change— growth if you will, but it’s specifically change followed by a period of renewal to yourself and your strength. That change leads to closure, an end to a chapter of your life.”

Jason was smirking now and he could see some of the humor return to Steph’s face at the acknowledgement. It was more than a little on the nose. He watched as Iris moved to the next two cards, flipping the wand cards around in her hand as she was thinking, "Three of wands points to foresight and a journey..." She trailed off, glancing at his other two cards, biting her lip in concentration and Jason felt his eyebrows raise further up to his hairline, "But in the context of your other two cards I think it's going to be more of a spiritual journey instead of a physical one. It also is going to lead to monumental growth. Whatever you decide, you'll have an immense amount of confidence in your plan."

"And the three of swords reversed also points to growth and recovery. You recently went through a rough time? Maybe some animosity between those in your family?"

Jason nodded. He wasn't going to offer up any more information that absolutely vital and he may have had one particularly bad fight with Dick in his little kitchenette the week before. It was interesting that the cards did seem to represent past, present, and future as he had originally suspected. He frowned, though. Death wasn't in his past. Based on the way the cards were set up, Death was his future. It was the first card he had pulled, with the three of wands being in the middle, as his present, while the three of swords being his past.

"It points to reconciliation, even though it was on the past, I think you're journey currently is learning to forgive your family--" God, Jason was trying so hard not to laugh. He heard Steph snicker beside him. "All signs point to reconciliation on both sides. Once that happens you can finally put to rest this chapter in your life and start your renewal as Death wants."

She tapped the three of wands again, "And you're on that journey, though I can't say when you'll achieve the final outcome."

Jason nodded, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that he absolutely was not going to process his feelings about this reading until he was home, safe and sound, alone in his apartment. His head was already swimming. Sure, he had reconciled with Steph, but he hadn't really done anything to wrong her in the first place. He had tried to kill her ex a couple of times while they were together, but she seemed to have forgiven him. And they just clicked. Shared background and feelings of being the failed Robins. And Alfred. Alfred hadn't been the one to excommunicate him. He knew the butler could never do that. He saw Jason as a man who had simply lost his way in the whirlwind of his life, but he had never once doubted Jason's character...

And nope, Jason was going to back out of that emotionally charged alleyway before it overtook him in public.

"It's interesting," Iris said, breaking him out of his thoughts as she started collecting the cards and shuffling them back into the deck, "You also seem to have a very strong connection with the color green. You have a lot of rebirth symbols surrounding yourself, Jason."

"His birth cards are the chariot and the tower." Steph admitted, a cheeky grin on her face. Birth cards? Jason shot her a bewildered look before she rolled her eyes, "You add up the date of your birthday and you get pair of twelve sets of tarot cards. I did it before we came."

"Why?"

She shrugged, unbothered by his harsh tone, "I was curious."

"The chariot and the tower are a powerful combination. You'll be able to overcome anything thrown at you in your life. Though, you'll be in a constant state of change because of the Tower. Ripping yourself down to the foundation again and again to rebuild a stronger and better foundation for you to stand on while the Chariot brings stabilizing energy and the will for you to be able to complete your tasks, overcoming every obstacle every inconvenience on its way to deliver you to fate. It's often the card of warriors. They're painful cards, but eventually pain will stop being the driving force behind your transformation. You'll be the driving force behind the change you inflict both on yourself and the world."

Jason titled his head with a look of disbelief painted on his features, a small uncertain frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. Even if he did believe in this particular brand of magic, which he hadn't fully decided on at that exact moment, this wasn't exactly a positive reading. It wasn't like he was a stranger to any pain, his entire life had been seeped in the worst kinds of emotional and physical trauma most people could conjure up themselves. But what she had just said rang very similarly to what Ducra had said to him. Something about how glorious it will be when his heart shined brighter than his fury.*

And, something something, he needed to recover. Which he did it's just kind of hard working through his complex emotions featuring his adoptive father, all of his siblings, the clown that killed him, his own self worth and his ethics when there was an almost world ending event biweekly. And he did think he was being significantly more successful in terms of his recovery. He had at least started paying attention to shit that triggered him and was trying to take care of himself more than he ever had in his entire life. And that was something, right?

He still had a shattered mirror in his bathroom that held all the memories of him hunched over his basin, blood sometimes dried but always sticky on his hands as he tried to make sense of who he was. He was a mosaic of every person he had ever come in contact with, of a dead kid, a murdered robin, a current outlaw, of his father, all of his mentors and all of his siblings. He was full of jagged edges and unholy rage, but it was hard not to get lost in all the different patterns and colors he possessed. His breathing would be ragged and his eyes unfocused, he was the combination sum of everything that happened to him. Both good and bad and sometimes the bad one out the night, but more frequently it was the good. He was Jason. In ever manner that he acted. He was a vigilante. A fighter. A protector. He protected the people of Crime Alley to the best of his ability, he was a protector of children, of sex workers, of anyone who needed it. And he was trying to be better. For himself and the people he was so admit on protecting.

"Jay?"

He hummed a response, pulled from his thoughts at Steph's voice. She gave him a questioning look and he was very suddenly hit with the crisp cool air of the night. They were outside, walking through the Alley in the direction of her apartment. His hands were jammed in his pockets, feeling the sharp edge of something as he rubbed his thumb along the edge. He furrowed his eyebrows, "You good? You seem pretty spaced out."

"Yeah, sorry. I didn't really expect for that to go the way it did," He offered, still tracing the thing in his pocket, "I don't really know why it effected me this much."

She tugged her jacket closer around herself, nodding, "Yeah. The first time I went all of my cards seemed to be linked back to my, uh, death. Do you want to talk about it? I know I didn't actually die, but it might help?"

Jason flinched at her mention of her death and the casual admission that she didn't actually die. As if that made it any less traumatic. Immediately he shook head, "No. No, I'll be okay I think. It was largely positive. It's just..."

He felt his entire face screw up as he tried to think of what he was trying to express, he finally settled on, "Weird."

Steph nodded, both falling into a comfortable silence. He palmed the card, slipping it out of his pocket to look at it and was torn between an exasperated sigh and a smirk of amusement. Death seemed to be rather attached to him.

#this has nothing to do with anything #i just wanted to have some practice writing steph #did my wattpad writer come out when describing steph's outfit? maybe #jason todd #red hood #jason todd fanfic #red hood fanfic #my writing #stephanie brown #spoiler #*jason absolutely remembers the exact quote that Ducra said to him he's just in a weird place with his emotions #i'm not super happy with this one :/#just because i don't think i have enough developed dialogue between steph and jay #ill take a crack at steph again soon #becuase i love her as a character i just have to flesh her out a bit more #i'm sorry! i'm trying

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