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peterman-spideyparker · 2 years

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Mr. Russo (Billy Russo x Secretary!Reader)

Author’s Note: I’ve had this fic and other Billy Russo stories in my drafts for ages, and I figured while I was working on other Daredevil and Moon Knight fics, I’d throw in some of these older ones that I’ve never posted. I think the original intention was for this to be longer and a multi-part series, but I don’t like that idea anymore. I cut about a thousand words, and I might include those as a bonus separate part--I’m not sure yet. Enjoy! :)

Summary: Working for Billy Russo wasn’t a challenge like most people would expect. You know how to do your job and how to do it well. One late night of working allows something about your past come to the surface, changing the trajectory of the relationship you share with your boss.

Warnings: Fluff, Billy softening up, angst (mentions of crappy experience in New York and the foster care system/Billy Russo being brooding and sad/hurt and rage/delicious tension), implied smut, cursing, mentions of addiction (drugs/alcohol)

Other Characters: Frank Castle

Word Count: 5,495

Another day in the books. Although everyday at Anvil is never the same, it can get a little monotonous. You answer the phone, respond to emails, draw up contacts, and do whatever Mr. Russo needs.

Oh, Mr. William Russo.

Intelligent, suave, cultured, and the definition of sex on two legs.

He works so hard in his business, and he cares about what he does. Anything that you can do to make his day less stressful, you’ll do it, and that definitely came in handy today, even if it still is a late night for him. You catch a glimpse at the clock on your screen—7:14pm. With a tired sigh, you hear him shuffle some papers around and push his chair out, moving a short distance to slide on his coat. You hear the click of his Italian leather shoes move closer to where you sit, and you smell his expensive cologne in the gentle breeze he brings by. You watch him as he walks with a purpose when he stops in his tracks, turning around to address you. “Do you ever even go home?” he asks.

“Sir?” you ask, unsure where he’s going with this.

“You’re always here before I get here—no matter how early—and you always stay after me. I just don’t get it.”

“I do my job,” you tell him. “It’s that simple. I do it, and I make sure that I do it well.”

“You also deserve a break—a life. Don’t you have friends around to go out for a drink or anything?”

“No, actually,” you admit. “Last friend I made in New York was one from when I got here. She then took 180 dollars from my wallet and ran away, making me scrape by for food for the rest of that week. My family isn’t nearby, either, if that was your next question. Work—this—is all I have, really.” Oh God, do you sound pathetic.

“Where is your family?” Mr. Russo asks, slowly moving back to your desk.

You scrunch up your bottom lip in a frown and shake your head. “I don’t know. I grew up in the system. I’m assuming whoever my parents are, they live in the Boston area, since that’s were I grew up.”

His expression softens to something to one that you have only seen twice before. It’s not quite pity, but it’s deeper than sadness. “You grew up in the system?” he asks softly.

You give a small nod. “It changes you pretty quickly.”

“It does.” His lips part like he wants to say something more, but he presses them in a tight line and sticks his hand in his jacket pocket, his eyes swirling with a mix of emotions.

“Is there anything I can do for you before you leave, Mr. Russo?”

He blinks a few times before he shakes his head. “N-No,” Billy breathes. “Have a nice night, (Y/N).”

“You too, sir.”

There’s flowers on your desk when you walk in the next morning. How are there flowers on your desk?

“Hello?” you call into the office, sliding pepper spray out of your purse. “Anyone here?” Dead silence. Nothing looks out of place except for the bouquet, and after a quick sweep of the office, you see that you are alone. You look through the flowers and don’t see any card. Logging into your computer, you quickly pull up surveillance to see who delivered these. Your jaw drops when you see Mr. William Russo himself walk in at four in the morning with the same giant vase of flowers to your right. You lean back in your chair, your brain not really comprehending what you just saw. After a few minutes, you move towards the beautiful assortment of white gardenias, yellow lilies, red tulips, and magenta lilacs. You stick your nose to the flowers and take in a perfume of scents that make your chest happy and bring a smile to your face, and that smile remains on your face as you get to work and organize Billy’s day.

“Mornin’,” Billy says with a nod, walking a few hours later, not acknowledging the assortment on your desk.

“Morning,” you respond as he moves closer. “Thank you,” you say just before he enters his office. You don’t need to turn around to know exactly where he is—about a stride and a half from being in the doorway to his office, his right foot mid-step. “They’re beautiful.”

He doesn’t respond, but he takes a minute before he continues his gait into his office.

The rest of the day proceeds as it normally does: you respond to client emails, answer the phones, do other office work, and hand Billy files, briefing him before his meetings.

“Have a nice night, (Y/N),” he says, adjusting his scarf on his peacoat as he walks past your desk.

“You too, sir,” you say. “And remember you have a 7:30 meeting tomorrow morning at the Four Seasons with Thaddeus Ross to discuss security for the SHIELD weapons conference.”

“Thank you for the reminder,” he says, turning to look at you, flashing you the faintest of smiles. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well, considering you built this company from the ground up, I think you’d manage.” His smile grows a hair bigger. “Safe travels, Mr. Russo.”

The next few weeks proceed as they usually do, but you are dumbfounded yet again when you walk in Monday, about a month after you found the flowers on your desk.

“Morning,” Billy says, placing a coffee cup on your desk as he walks by. “Sweet cream cold brew, right?”

You turn in your chair and look at him, confusion and surprise written all over your face.

“Yeah,” you say. You notice he has a hot cup for himself in his hands. “You hate Starbucks.”

“I needed some extra caffeine this morning,” he shrugs.

“So the ‘shit-water jet fuel’ is what you were craving this morning?”

He nods, taking a sip of the drink in his hand. “Exactly,” he answers after he swallows. You can tell he still hates the brew.

“Well, thank you for thinking of me,” you say. “If you find yourself needing some more caffeine, just let me know and I’ll make a pot.”

His face says I’ll be taking you up on that in five minutes, but his lips say, “Thanks, (Y/N).”

The next morning, there is a bouquet of blush colored peonies, white gardenias, and purple roses on your desk.

“Vultures today, huh?” Billy says as he comes out of his office and to your desk, placing some outgoing mail in your organizer, adjusting some of the flowers in the assortment of roses, chrysanthemums, and asters. “That phone hasn’t stopped ringing all morning.”

“It’s the political season,” you hum as you shift your gaze upward. “All the big wigs want the best security money can buy. You’ve made it clear that you and your people are the ones for that job.”

“You know how to flatter a man,” he chuckles, shaking some nuts you’re snacking on in his hand before plopping them in his mouth.

“While you’re here,” you say, picking up a few slips of paper, handing them to him in an ordered fashion. “These are those calls back you were waiting for, these are inquiries from the three biggest politicians running for Senate, this is a message from Frank wanting to know if you’re on for dinner at Karen’s, and these are the Ulrich files you were waiting on.”

“Thank you, paperwork Santa,” he says, moving his gaze to quickly examine what is in front of him. “And here I thought it was gonna be a slow day.”

“Around here? Unlikely,” you grin.

He is about to say something more when he turns his head to the ringing of his direct line in his office. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “We’ll talk more later.”

You turn back to your computer in astonishment. We’ll talk more later? Is this the same Billy Russo that hired you? And does he mean casual talk or work talk? He would have made it clear, wouldn’t he?

“Anvil, this is (Y/N),” you say as you continue typing a contract on your desktop.

“(Y/N), hi,” you hear Mr. Russo say on the other end of the line.

“Is everything alright, sir?” you ask, spinning around in your chair and watching your boss give you a little wave through the industrial loft windows.

“We’ve been over this, you can call me Billy,” he reminds. “We’ve known each other long enough.”

“Sorry, it’s a force of habit.” You have to suppress a blush. “What’s going on?”

“I just got off of a call about that veteran’s fundraiser,” he says, and you shift to flip through the calendar.

“The one on Saturday night?”

“Exactly. They asked me to present an award and introduce a speaker that night. So in addition to networking and schmoozing, I’m gonna need to do some more things.”

“Let me know what you need to have ready, and it’ll be good to go by Friday night.”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d come with me Saturday. With my upgrade in duties, they gave me a plus one.”

What? “I appreciate the invitation, but I don’t know if I have anything black tie like that,” you say.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll have it all taken care of. So can I take that as I yes?”

“Y-Yes,” you stutter. “And—.”

“Perfect, you’re the best,” he says, having up the phone with a click.

Did your boss just ask you out? Or is this really just a work engagement?

When you come home from work on Friday, you see a black dress bag hanging off a garment rack with black bag hanging next to it. Locking up and putting down your things on the table by your door, you slowly move over to it.

“Told you I had it taken care of,” the note reads on the bag.

“What did you do, Russo?” you breathe, undoing the zipper. Inside, there is a stunning pine green gown. You look at the label and your mouth drops open: Oscar de la Renta. Taking it out of the bag, you see that it has a v-back, but has fabric coming off of each shoulder to give it a kind of cape effect. You feel like you’re moving in slow motion when you dare look over at the jewelry bag on the right next to it, seeing Harry Winston embossed in gold lettering. Carefully, you take it off of the hangar and peak inside, seeing three boxes neatly arranged. Placing it on your breakfast bar, you pull out the large necklace box, opening it to reveal both a sparkling diamond necklace and its matching earrings. Shocked, you pull the other two boxes out and find that they are the corresponding bracelet and ring. As you look down in disbelief, you catch a Louis Vuitton shoe box at the bottom of the rack.

You sit down on the barstool, lightheaded about the luxury that is around you. As if on cue, you see Billy’s contact light up on your phone.

“I’m assuming you’ve seen what you’ll be wearing tomorrow?” he says after you pick up.

“It’s way too much,” you say. “I appreciate it, but all this is more—it’s too much.”

“It fits the event,” he shrugs off. “It’s a ritzy event full of high-rolling investors, contributors, and other people within the top one per cent. Trust me, you’ll fit right in.”

“I just . . .”

“It’s a lot?” You swear he’s smiling like a devil on the other end.

“A hell of a lot.”

“If it makes you feel any better, the jewelry is on loan,” he says. “But the dress and shoes are yours to keep. Oh, and before I forget, you have an appointment to get your hair and nails done tomorrow with Donna at the Marigold Spa. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before your brain can think to ask him more, he is off the line, leaving you stunned in your apartment.

“Who is it?” you call from your apartment, responding to the rap at the door.

“Your chariot has arrived,” Billy says through the wood.

“I’m almost ready,” you say, nearly falling over as you try to put on the heels standing up. “Come in! It’s open.” You hear the door open and shut, and the click of expensive shoes against the vinyl floor.

“You know, for someone that works for a security company, leaving the door unlocked isn’t secure,” he teases.

“I knew you’d be over soon and I was still getting ready,” you say. “Just a courtesy.”

“To robbers.”

You chuckle as you successfully gain your footing in one of the shoes. “There’s water in the fridge if you’re thirsty,” you start as you slide on the other shoe, throwing a few last minute things in your clutch, and taking one final look at yourself in the mirror.

“I’m good," you hear him chuckle in a low timbre as you clack your way out of your room. “Thank you, though.”

“Alright, I’m all set to go,” you say as you enter the main living space.

Billy turns toward you and stands stock still. His eyes slowly look over your body from head to toe. It’s as if he’s drinking you in.

“Wow,” he finally says, his dark eyes twinkling in the lights of your kitchen.

“Well, the guy that picked it out has really good taste,” you say with a small grin and a blush rising up from your neck to your cheeks. “Thank you.”

He continues to look at you for a little while longer before he realizes that he’s staring.

“These are for you,” he says, holding out a bouquet of burgundy, cream, and lavender roses. “A little thank you for agreeing to come.”

“They’re beautiful,” you say, smelling them. You move to find a vase, getting the flowers settled before walking back towards Billy.

He puts out his arm for you to take.

“Shall we?”

“I still can’t figure out how you manage to do it,” you say as you walk beside Billy after he schmoozes the last of the big-wigs in tuxedos.

“Do what?” Billy asks with a lift of his eyebrow.

“Work so well with these upper-crusty people. Some of them very clearly just a face at this fundraiser and don’t care the same way you do. I don’t know if I could do that.”

“Unfortunately, that’s just what the business is sometimes,” he sighs. “But then I remember that Anvil gives veterans an outlet when they get home—a legitimate career. Then it makes the schmoozing and pretending to care about their Hamptons houses easier.”

“That’s a great way to think about it,” you say softly.

“Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

Instead of walking to the direction of your table, Billy leads you to the edge of the dance floor.

“Care do dance?” Billy smiles.

“I can’t promise that I won’t step on your toes,” you say, feeling a blush prick at your cheeks and your ears.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll have the band play something slow.”

You wouldn’t be surprised if his Marine-trained ears could hear how hard your heart is beating.

“How can I say no to that, then?” you say with a small smile, your mouth suddenly very dry.

Billy takes your hand and leads you in. As if the band knows, the song shifts to something slow. Billy holds one of your hands in his while the other rests on the small of your back, his palm spread wide, securely holding you as you both move across the floor.

“And here I was thinking you had two left feet,” he grins.

“Well, I guess it helps that it’s not a formal ballroom dance,” you blush. Seriously, he has to know how fast your heart is racing right now.

“Is this what you thought you’d be doing with your life?” Billy asks as you slowly move in a circle. “Being a secretary, dealing with executives and government officials, and going to charity fundraisers?”

“Isn’t it every little girls dream?” you smirk, quirking an eyebrow.

He chuckles, twirling you to the music before he pulls you back into frame.

“No, really,” Billy whispers. “What did you want to be when you were younger?”

You think about it, but only briefly. “An author, I think. With all the time I spent in the system, I always tried to figure out how I could get out or what it would be like when I did. I’d just write about it. It moved from that to creating these different worlds and different people that were everything that I wasn’t and everything that I couldn’t be. Those are what made me happy. Scholarships from those stories is what got me through college to get my undergrad.”

There’s something soft in his eyes, tender even, as he listens to you talk about your childhood dream. It’s soul-churning and completely devastating in every sense of the word.

“What about you?” you return. “I’m assuming that the military wasn’t six-year-old Billy’s dream.”

“No, it wasn’t,” he admits. “I wanted to be a baseball player. But there were things that happened when I was a kid . . .” He clears his throat. You’ve touched a nerve.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—.”

“No, it’s okay. Saying that my childhood was shitty is an understatement, but it made me who I am and brought me here. In a way, I think the Marines was the only thing that made sense for me.” He gives you a gentle smile, pushing away the dark cloud that emerged on his face. “And just think: without it, we wouldn’t have met. And I don’t know about you, but our time together makes me happier.”

Your heart stops and leaps into your throat. He has to just mean as a coworker—maybe just even someone who isn’t an ex-Marine that he gets to see to break up his environment. You can’t let your mind go to these conclusions. It’d just be a disappointment, and he’s my boss. Still, you find yourself unable to look away from his hypnotic gaze, the tenderness in his expression making you melt. The song stops and he drops the frame, and you let your eyes flutter a few times so you can adjust your head out of the haze he has placed you in. Billy keeps his hand in yours as you stand, pointing his head towards your table.

“C’mon,” he says. “I heard the steak was supposed to be amazing.”

“Did you have fun tonight?” Billy asks as you hand him a bottle of water, his elbow cooly leaning against the island.

“Surprisingly, yes,” you admit, taking off the heavy jewels. “I don’t know, I hear fancy fundraiser, and I don’t think ‘party.’”

“That’s cuz you’ve never been to a Billy Russo fundraiser,” he smirks.

“I guess those are the only ones worth going to, then.”

“You know, I’m really glad you came tonight.”

“You are?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Oh,” you blush, but a nagging question starts to echo in the back of your brain. “I-I didn’t mean to. Just tired.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll let you be for the night,” he says with a soft smile, giving you hand a gentle squeeze on the island before he moves away. “See you Monday, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Okay, that’s it.

“Are you only being nice to me because you found out I grew up in foster care?” you blurt as he walks towards the door. There’s no turning back now. “Before, you’d never say more than you needed to to me, and now for five months, you’ve gotten me flowers, you ask about my day, you know my coffee order, and you left me an insanely gorgeous gown and jewelry to wear to a fundraiser that I wasn’t supposed to go to in the first place.” You pause for a moment, processing that you’re probably running a bond that you’ve wanted for a long time, not to mention your job, probably. “What’s changed?”

“You know I grew up in the system?” he asks, his head turned to the side while his back is still to you.

“I do,” you answer. You had done some deep digging when you were applying for the job, trying to find out as much about the company and its founder as possible.

“Then you should realize that I sympathize with you. Pouring your life into something to move yourself as far away from your past as possible.”

“What I’m really hearing is that all of this from the last few months has just been pity,” you say bitterly, and you try to push away the feeling of tears stinging at your waterline. “And if that’s what this job has turned into, then I don’t need it. I know my worth, and it’s more than that—than whatever this is.”

Your statement causes him to spin around so fast you think he’s gonna get whiplash. He strides over to you so quickly you almost can’t process it. He drops his keys to the ground before kissing you hard, one hand on your waist as the other holds onto the back of your head. He almost knocks you off your feet, but his hands on your body assure that it can’t be a possibility. Your hands rest on his shoulder as your lips move against him, kissing him back just as urgently. His beard tickles a little, but you’re not moving in a way that makes it scratch. When Billy finally pulls away, you’re both left panting for air.

“It’s not pity,” he clarifies. “It’s admiration. I had always thought you were some brown-noser with daddy issues, but you always had this integrity and determination. And then . . .” he trails, his eyes intent and glassy. “I know that drive you have, and that fear of being a disappointment. Hell, that’s how I got here. I wanted to show you that we’re not that shit that happened to us. I wanted to show you that I care.”

“It’s a hell of a way to show it,” you say quietly, looking at his big brown eyes. “I, um . . .” you swallow hard and let emotion contort your face, reeling your feelings in before you continue. “Every time someone finds out, they treat me differently. I really didn’t want you to be one of those people. You might not have thought so, but the way you treated me before made me feel like I finally had a place, y’know? I had a purpose to do something. That I was needed and wanted.”

“I know,” he nods.

“I guess I’m just confused why now.”

“You’ve been my secretary for four years. You know things about me that I don’t even know all the time. You know things about me that you don’t need to know, but you care enough to. I’ve always wanted to know those things about you, but . . . I’m not great at communication with people that—.” He stops to clear his throat, furrowing his brows together. “The only good relationships I have are with Frank and Curtis, and that’s because we’ve been through hell and back with and for one another. I didn’t know where to start with you, because you just come in and you’re like this . . . force to be reckoned with. I guess that finding out we had something in common made me think I could know you better.”

Billy tucks some stray hair behind your ear as he looks at you. “I don’t want to go back to what this was before,” he says softly. “I like this. Having a friend. Connecting with someone. And . . . I like to think this has the potential to be more than that. Than friends.”

“Well, I guess I need to know if you kiss all your friends like that.”

A small smile spreads across Billy’s face. “Just the ones that use lemon shampoo and look good in designer dresses.”

“I’m not fired, am I?” you whisper. “Because I think a kiss like that is some kind of HR violation.”

“Not if you don’t want to be,” he responds. “I will say, though, the job market is tough right now.”

“Is this something we can do?”

“I’m willing to make it work if you are.”

You nod your head. “Let’s try it.”

Billy leans back in for a kiss, this one more gentle that the last, but just as deep. Your arms wrap around him and settle on his back, and you feel him lift you up slightly as he pulls you into him.

“We’re gonna do this slowly,” he breathes, brushing his nose against yours, his chocolate eyes staring into your soul.

“Okay,” you quietly agree. “Slow.”

“We have different definitions of slow,” you hum as Billy presses a kiss to the back of your naked shoulder.

“Trust me, I wanted to, but I have a thing for brunettes in designer dresses,” he says, dragging his hands down the bare curves of your body in post-sex bliss. “And it looks just as good on the floor as it did on you tonight.”

You laugh as you roll onto your back, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Hi,” he says with a dreamy look on his face.

“Hi,” you say, returning his gaze. He leans down and presses a soft, tender kiss to your lips before resting his cheek on the crown of your head. You lay like this in blissful silence as his fingers play with yours, the pale moonlight trickling into your bedroom through the curtains. You think he has fallen asleep—and you almost have—when he shifts a little on the mattress.

“Did you ever think of finding them?” he asks quietly. You know exactly who “them” is.

“I did find them,” you say. “I found out all about them, too. A little after I told you about growing up in the system, actually—curiosity got the best of me.” You think about what you know, and the silence weighs heavy in the bedroom. “My father was an alcoholic, and my mother used all kinds of drugs. They had a short and nasty relationship and split before I was born. My dad worked on the docks, showed up one day drunk, hit is head, and drowned. Based on his obituary, I was six when he died. My mom sobered up around that time, got married, and lives in Cape Cod.” You feel hot, angry tears sting at your waterline. “Two kids, and a freakin golden retriever.”

“And I’m guessing you don’t want to reach out?” he asks carefully.

You scoff. “No. Didn’t want me then, won’t want me now. I’m a part of that past that she worked to forget. I don’t want to go near her with a ten-foot pole. Besides, if she wanted to know me, she’d find me. She’d find a way. And she hasn’t. That says all I need to know.”

Billy wraps his arm around you and pulls you close, pressing a long kiss to your forehead.

“She’s missing out on the best person that I know,” he whispers.

Too emotional to respond, you snuggle into him and nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck.

“Have you?” you whisper. “Found yours?”

“I found my mom,” he swallows. “She chose meth over me—she safe-havened me. From then on it was group homes.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I think I’ve made my peace with it all. Can’t change it. But it made me who I am, and I’m okay with who I am.”

You don’t ask any more onto the subject. Instead, you snuggle in closer to him.

“For what it’s worth,” you breathe. “I really like who you are, too.”

Billy turns so you’re huddled together chest-to-chest, his arms holding onto you tightly, kissing your forehead before tucking your head under his chin. You fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart.

You practically jump out of your skin when you feel a pair of arms loosely wrap around your middle.

“Jesus, Billy,” you sigh. “You really don’t make a sound if you’re not wearing Italian leather shoes.”

His laugh comes out as a hum as he places a kiss on the back of your neck, right on a bundle of nerves he found out about last night.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” he murmurs into your skin. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” you grin as you turn the waffle maker.

He kisses your neck again before resting his chin on your shoulder. “I thought the guy was supposed to make breakfast.”

“Not in my house,” you say, running your fingers through his hair as you move to flip some bacon. “My place, my job to make you some food.”

“Fine,” he sighs, moving from you, but not before placing a light smack on your rear. “But I make the coffee.”

“You want any eggs?” you ask.

“Nah,” he says, pouring coffee grounds into the filter. “This all is more than enough. I don’t usually get to enjoy this part.”

“Well, if we’re gonna make a habit of this, it’s something you better get used to.”

You finish making breakfast in harmony, exchanging sections of the newspaper as you eat.

“Wow,” Billy chews, taking a sip of his coffee. “You’re destroying the crossword.”

“It’s a talent,” you smirk as you pause before filling in the rest of your answer. “Now, is it ‘ei’ or ‘ie’ in Steinbeck? I can never remember.”

“I guess you got cocky too soon,” he smiles.

“Yes, and I’m big enough to admit it. Which is it?”

“I’ll tell you, but it’ll cost ya.”

“Oh?” you say as his hand slides into mine, silently inviting you to get up and sit in his lap. You do, and his free hand squeezes your thigh.

“It’s gonna cost you a kiss,” he hums.

“Mm, you run a hard bargain, but I think I can afford that,” you smile, biting your lip as you press your mouth into his. It’s tender, and even with coffee in your systems, there’s something sexily sleepy about the embrace.

“It’s ‘ei’,” he breathes, his lips brushing against yours before placing another kiss on you lips.

“Thank you,” you say, filling in the squares and placing a soft kiss on the freckle just below his eye. His hand then gently holds your cheek, bringing your lips down to his. The kisses grow more needy, and just after he adjusts you so your legs straddle his lap, his phone starts to ring. Reluctantly, he pulls away and looks at his phone.

“Shit,” he hisses before he answers. “Hey, Frankie.”

“Brother, where are you?” you hear Frank ask through the phone.

“Yeah, no, I’m on my way,” he sighs. “I just got a little held up this morning.”

“Mm, yeah,” you hear him chuckle. “Where’d you find this one?”

Billy looks at you with warm, sparkling eyes. “I think she found me.”

“And the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes that day.”

“Yeah, shut up,” he chuckles. “I’ll be there soon.”

Billy hangs up to avoid any more snark over the line from his friend, but not before kissing you once more.

“I didn’t realize it was this late,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I gotta go.”

“I know: ten o’clock runs with Frank, every Sunday. And if you go by the office, you have some extra workout clothes there so you don’t have to run in a tuxedo.”

“Nothin’ gets by you.”

“Nope,” you smile, popping the ‘p’.

You get up from his lap and begin to clean up the table while Billy moves back to your room to get his clothes.

“I will trade you one dress shirt for one very soft and fluffy robe,” he offers when he comes back into the kitchen, your Hello Kitty robe hanging from his finger.

“I guess I accept,” you sigh dramatically. You slide Billy’s shirt off of your body and hand it to him as he slides the robe onto your shoulders.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks, adjusting the collar on your robe.

“Tomorrow,” you nod. “Have fun with Frank.”

“Somethin’ tells me I’d be havin’ more fun here.”

He leans down to kiss you, repeatedly procrastinating his delay with each punctuation of his lips.

“Okay,” he kisses. “I’ll see you—.” Kiss. “—tomorrow morning—.” Kiss. “—bright—.” Kiss. “—and—.” Kiss. “—early.”

You giggle as he takes you in for more kisses. You pull away from his reach, only to be swept back in for one final kiss.

“I really gotta go, now,” he sighs, tucking hair behind your ear.

“I know. I’ll see you soon.”

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dragonwritersblog · 4 months

Text

Royally Screwed!

Read on AO3

1/2/3/4/5

Hey guys! Sorry for the delay, there was a lot of issues going on and it took out a lot of energy from me. But it's here now and I hope its worth the wait. Hope you guys enjoy! Also I tried to edit it as much as I can but I'll go back is there's any spelling mistakes, but other than that, here's chapter 2!

2. Irish Eyes

Kaufmo groaned as he pressed a hand to his lower back, tonight’s show hadn’t been kind to him in the slightest. The ringmaster has suggested a few new stunts for his act to make the audience go crazy. Now usually that would be fine…if the ringmaster hadn’t announced it while performing. It gave Kaufmo no time to warm up or prepare before he saw an anvil failing for the sky and aiming right at him. He managed to dodge it just in time and had earned him some good reception, but he had twisted his body the wrong way while ducking, leaving a pretty bad sore spot on his back.

He sighed, at least it was over now and he could have a better chance tomorrow morning to prepare for that new trick (and anything else the ringmaster hadn’t told him about yet). He was going to head to his tent for the tight when he heard light sniffling from the lion cages. He turned and tried to peak through the shadows to see who was inside of Ragatha’s lion’s cage…oh, it was Pomni.

The child was the newest member of the cast, and the youngest. Now that Kaufmo thought about it, no one had joined the circus at her age before, so the experience must have been so much more jarring for a young girl. And she was only five years old, the poor thing.

The girl was patting each lion’s mane as she tried to control her tears, the large animals providing as much comfort as they could. She had been quite nervous around the two felines when she first met them, but after seeing how tame they were, they were a great source of security for her in times like this. Times when she felt overwhelmingly homesick.

Kaufmo tapped one of the bars, alerting everyone of his presence. The lions let out a growl when Pomni let out a startled gasp, only to calm down once they saw the clown. “Easy, it’s just me,” he said reassuringly as Pomni gripped tighter to one of the lions. “Hey kiddo, sorry for scaring you.”

Pomni wiped her eyes as the clown climbed in, sitting on the wall opposite her with one of the lions between her. The other lion came back to sit beside her, nudging her hand for more scratches.

“Huh, Simba and Kovu seemed to have taking a liking to you,” Kaufmo mused. Despite their large size, both of the large felines were rather friendly to the rest of the circus. Give them a snack and scratch their favourite spot and you were practically their best friend.

“Yeah, they’re nice,” Pomni whispered, harshly rubbing her the tears off her cheeks to hide the fact that she had been crying. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, the show just finished up and I was gonna get back to my tent,” he explained, “But, then I heard someone wasn’t feeling that great.”

Pomni paled, hiding her face in Simba’s mane. “It’s nothing!” she mumbled into the fur, “I just had something in my eyes, I’m fine!”

Kaufmo hummed. Pomni seemed to be quite a particularly panicky child, one wrong move and she’ll be shaking like a leaf, in fear for her life. He had to approach her carefully, she had already been through enough. “Here,” he pulled out a handkerchief. Pomni stared at it cautiously. “Don’t worry, it’s joke free. Clown’s honour.” He put a hand to his chest with a mock serious expression.

The child smiled, taking the little white fabric and wiped her cheeks.

“I know you’re scared,” Kaufmo said, “I understand. We’ve never had anyone as young as you join. Well, ‘join’ might be a might of a strong word. And you have every right to be scared, upset, angry. It isn’t fair what the ringmaster did. If you need to scream, scream.”

“Maybe not scream,” she muttered, “But the ringmaster said we’re not allowed to get upset.”

“That’s because he’s void of any emotion and doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” he placed the tips of his fingers on her hand just in case she wanted to pull it away. “Pomni, you’re five. Cry if you have to cry.”

Suddenly, a wall had crumbled and the dams were loose. The child latched herself onto the clown, muffled cries escaping her and tears soaking his costume. He instantly wrapped his arms around her. “Shh, there, there,” he whispered, “It’s gonna be okay kiddo, I got you.”

“I want my Ma and Pa!” she wailed as he stroked her hair. “I wanna go home!”

Kaufmo sighed. She was way too young for this. Curse the ringmaster and his void heart. “I know kiddo,” he hugged her tighter. “I know.”

They remained like that for a moment, Kaufmo letting Pomni cried while he stroked her hair before the child pulled away, her cheeks tear stained. “Sorry,” she sniffed.

“There’s nothing to apologise for,” he reassured her. “Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself, would that cheer you up?”

“Um, okay,” Pomni nodded. “I…I like to sing a little bit, my ma used to teach me.”

“Huh,” Kaufmo lit up, an idea forming. “You know, I like to play guitar, I used to play it a lot.”

Pomni beamed, crawling closer to him, “Really?!”

“Heck yeah,” Kaufmo chuckled, “How about I go get it and I can show you what I can do?”

“Yeah!” Pomni cheered, giggling and falling back, a lion catching her with the side of his body.

“Okay kiddo,” Kaufmo grinned, “You just wait there. I’ll be right back.”

The clown had never run so fast in his life. He couldn’t recall the last time he played his guitar, but he remembered how much he loved it. Once he made it to his tent, he picked up the instrument from the side of his bed and ran straight back to Pomni, the little girl was playing with Kovu’s mane before gasping with excitement when she saw the guitar.

“Okay, it’s been a while,” Kaufmo told her while tuning it, “But I think I remember this.”

He began playing a simple chord, rummaging through his mind before landing on a song he hadn’t sung for anyone.

You can't take my past

You can't take my history

You could take my Pa

But his name’s a mystery

Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping

Oh nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping

“Wow!” Pomni looked absolutely awestruck, it was the cutest thing in the world. “That’s so cool!”

“It’s not finished yet,” he admitted bashfully. “I haven’t really had the time to.”

“I can help finish it?” Pomni suggested shyly, “And maybe…you could teach me too?”

Kaufmo’s eyes widened, not only had he not played for someone in so long, but it was the first time a person asked him to teach them. For the first time, someone didn’t want to now the clown that Kaufmo played, but rather the part of a person that the ringmaster had forced him to bury so long ago. “Yeah,” he nodded, “I think that can be arranged kiddo.”

He carefully placed the guitar on her lap, the instrument was comically big for her little body, but she managed to hold it properly. She giggled with excitement as her guided her hands on where to go. “So, if you put your fingers here, it makes a makes a C chord,” he told her, her fingers making the shape and strummed the strings, her face brightening after playing her first ever note. “Atta girl, and just make this shape and you’ll get a G chord.” He shifted them again, grinning as she played the second note.

“I’m doing it!” she exclaimed.

“You’re doing great kiddo,” he grinned, “Now, have you got any ideas for lyrics?”

The child nodded so fast that he was afraid she’d hurt herself. With a gentle voice, she began to sing.

You can't take my charm!

You can't take my humour…

Twenty Years Later

Kaufmo hummed cheerily as he walked through the inn the rest of the cast and himself were staying in. They were here for the rest of the week to perform, but everyone had really wanted to explore the rest of the town. And who was he to stop them?

Ragatha had wanted to see if they had any good treats for her lions, Zooble wanted to buy some flowers for Gangle, and Moon and Sun had wanted to wander with everyone and see the sights. Kaufmo decided to stay, wanting to take the day to rest. However, there was one person who didn’t say anything about wanting to go or stay.

Pomni.

Despite last night’s fiasco with the prince, she seemed to be in a good mood. He was heading to her room, just to check up on her and see if she wanted to go out as well. He was about to knock when he heard the faint strums of a guitar and a female voice singing along with the tune.

My mother says I have Irish eyes

Irish eyes, Irish eyes

My mother says I have Irish eyes

They go ever so blue under stormy skies

But they're never so blue as when I let them cry

Kaufmo smiled, Pomni’s voice was always so heavenly whenever she sang. Every song she wrote, he would always be excited to hear. He cracked the door open a little, seeing her standing with her guitar in hand as she sang. She wore a simple shift with brown stays adorned with pink stitched flowers and a light green skirt that reached her black boots. She looked a little bit like spring itself.

My father says I have English hair

English hair, English hair

Brown like the bark of an oak somewhere

Like the bed of a lake where the hemlock grows

Like the thorn in the stem of an English rose

She began to twirl happily, dancing along with her song without a care in the world.

I'm a map of the world and the ones before

One foot in sea and one on shore

Every step, every hope flung high

I'm a map of them all with my Irish eyes

She jumped, whipping round when she heard the sound of clapping, only to soften when she saw that it was Kaufmo standing at the door. “Don’t scare me like that,” she giggled, putting her guitar away.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you kiddo,” he said, “Is that a new song?”

“Yeah, I began to write it when we were on the road,” she confirmed, “Decided to give it a whirl before I went out to town.”

“You’re going out?” Kaufmo asked hopefully. Pomni wasn’t normally someone who liked to be out in busy places when she wasn’t performing but seeing her actively wanting to go out was quite a big step for her. While it left him protective, it left him proud of her as well.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “Gangle wanted to go look and see the dresses here so I wanted to go with her as well. Ragatha and Moon should be with us as well.”

“I’ll come too,” Kaufmo said, “Just in case you want to leave early and come back.”

“Kaufmo,” she sighed, “I’ll be fine.”

“I have no doubt about that,” Kaufmo reassured her, “It’s just, you know…It’s always going to be my instinct to protect you.”

Pomni smiled, walking over and wrapping her arms around the clown, with Kaufmo doing the same. “I understand, what we went through was…its over now,” Pomni said, “I wanna be able to go into towns without being terrified of who I run into, enjoy my time with my family. With my Pa.”

Kaufmo patted her cheek, she never failed to amaze him. “Well then, what are we waiting for?” he asked, “Let’s go have some fun.”

Pomni patted his hand back before Kaufmo let it fall to his side, both of them leaving the room and heading downstairs to greet everyone else before going into town.

Jax paced back and forth in the dining room, dressed in a simple white blouse, blue waistcoat and black slacks. The room had been cleared earlier after breakfast, but he needed the space to pace and think about his plan to woo Pomni. She was going to be tricky – if her outburst was anything to go by – so he had to tread carefully about this. Motley watched the prince go back and forth, the kitten perched on the table experiencing the most brainstorming that Prince Jax had ever done in his life.

How would one win over the heart of a spitfire? A being so beautiful and entrances you with its song and dance but can easily scorch you if you make one wrong move. But it was that danger that pulled him closer to her. Only a woman like her deserved the best when it came to courting. But where to start, what should he do?

Queenie and Kinger watched their son’s pacing from the slightly ajar door. The staff had alerted them of the prince’s peculiar behaviour, so they wanted to investigate it for themselves – from afar of course.

“I still can’t believe it,” Kinger muttered, “Never would I have though the day would come where Jax would be so entranced by a girl.”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Queenie mused, “I’m not surprised it was the jester that stole his heart. She does seem to be such a darling. Although, I will admit, I am slightly concerned with what Jax has up his sleeve with this one. His mind is quite…devious after all.”

Kinger hummed in agreement, “That is true. He always has these great plans when it comes to playing tricks on the servants or his escape attempts. Part of me doesn’t want to know what type of plan he comes up with for courting her.”

“Yes,” Queenie nodded, thinking to herself for a moment. The jester, Pomni was her name she believed, seemed like such a sweet young woman. While she was glad her son was in love, Queenie was completely aware of Pomni’s outburst with him they other day (after all she was outside tent when it happened, and was able to hear every single word). “How about you let me handle this Kinger dear? I’ve had my experience when it comes to men falling to a woman’s feet before. I could help correct him with the proper ways of how to win a girl’s heart.”

Kinger blushed, memories of himself as a young prince falling for a lord’s daughter many moons ago flooding back to him like a tidal wave. “Uh, y-yes darling,” he stuttered slightly, “I believe that would be for the best. The last person he needs advice from is his old man who laned face first into mud when trying to court the person he admired.”

“But I fell in love with you because of that dearest,” Queenie teased, giggling at Kinger’s flustered expression. “Now, if you excuse me. I have a son to steer away from making a fool of himself.”

“Good luck,” Kinger gave her reassuring thumbs up. Truth be told, when it came to Jax (especially since he was in love) she probably needed that luck.

Queenie took a breath, opening the door further and entering the dining room, though it seemed that Jax didn’t notice her presence, still caught up in his planning and muttering. Motley did though, letting out a happy mewl and ran over to her, climbing up her cloak and settling himself in her arms. The queen let out a small laugh, running a finger over his head as she walked up to her son.

Jax jumped as soon as he heard the sound of a throat clearing, exhaling when he saw that it was only Queenie. “Holy shit!” he cursed, placing a hand on his chest, “You scared me!”

“Language young man,” Queenie reprimanded him, “I just wanted to see if you were alright, the servants said that you haven’t left this room since breakfast.”

Jax sighed, the moment word about anything happening to him got out, his mother would instantly be by his side to make sure he way okay. It was one of Queenie’s most admirable qualities. “Yes, I’m fine mother. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“I see,” Queenie hummed, her eyes giving off a teasing glint. “It’s definitely not the jester from last night’s performance.”

Jax was so sure that his fur had changed from a periwinkle purple to a cherry red as he whipped round to face his mother, a smug look curved upon her features as she eyed her son knowingly. “M-mom!” he nearly choked on his words.

“Careful now dear,” Queenie chuckled, “The last thing we need is for our heir to suffocate on himself. Besides it was quite obvious, you immediately trailed after her like a loyal pet the moment her performance ended and are still infatuated with the girl despite her verbal lashing with you. Yes I’ve heard it, I’m sure most of the kingdom did too.”

“I can’t help it,” Jax rubbed the back of his neck. “The moment I heard her singing, my soul was bewitched. I had to listen to her song, her voice was telling a story and I wanted to learn it word for word until she’s ingrained into my memory. And her beauty, I don’t think I’ve met another person who radiated starlight just as much as she did. She’s a book that I can’t put down, I need to know more about her! I have to let her know that she’s the one for me!”

Never in all her years did Queenie think her son was capable of being bashful. Everything about Jax, from the way he spoke to the way he strutted down the hall screamed nothing but self-righteous confidence. What type of magic tricks did Pomni possess to reveal this new side of the prince? “Well, well,” Queenie breathed, “It seems that you’re very taken with this girl.”

“Oh, she definitely stole my heart and run off with it,” Jax sighed, “I just need to know what to do that will make her realise just how perfect I am for her!”

Queenie cringed, she had a feeling this was coming. The last thing Jax needed was his ego sabotaging any chance of Pomni liking at least a quarter of him back. After all, it was his arrogance that made him receive her angry and biting tone with him, if he continued down this road he would ending up kissing any plans of courting her goodbye. “Now Jax, I understand the butterflies that come with meeting someone that has you ‘bewitched’,” she spoke carefully, hoping that her son’s head wasn’t already full of outlandish plans already. “However, Pomni has already made her opinion of you quite clear. I will support you if you want to make amends with her, however I will put a cease to that if you try and force her to become yours.”

“Force her?!” Jax gasped, flabbergasted at his mother’s suggestion. Women would throw themselves at him without Jax doing nothing more that blink, how on earth did she think he was going to force Pomni to be his? “She’ll come running to me when I show her how charming I can be, before she leaves she will practically be begging me to marry her. It’s just as easy as that.”

“Jax,” Queenie shook her head with a disappointed frown, “Are you even listening to yourself? You barely know anything about having these types of feelings, how on earth do you plan on courting a girl if you don’t take them time to access yourself first?”

“Well judging how you and father say sappy crap to each other all the time and don’t end up gagging by how overly sweet it is, it’s probably not that hard,” Jax shrugged. His heart sunk at Queenie’s crestfallen expression. He went too far there. Motley gently purred into the queen’s chest, providing comfort for her hurt state.

Despite the saccharine display his parents put on, Jax could tell how much they treasured their love for one another. To insult their bond was an insult to his mother as well, and he hated making her feel awful. “I…mother forgive me,” Jax exhaled slowly, “I got caught up there, I didn’t mean that-”

The door burst open as a guard entered into the dining room, “Your highnesses. The markets have new products after the recent shipment. Would you care to be escorted into town today, or shall I have the servants search for something that you need?”

“I, I suppose it would be nice to go into town today,” Queenie turned to her son, her eyes giving a soft forgiving shine. “What do you think Jax?”

They were okay, Jax nearly sighed with relief. Seeing his mother upset was his own personal torture, and he hated every bit of it.

“I also wanted to inform you that the circus cast from last night are also in town today,” The guard informed them, “In case you have any words to say to them for their performance.”

Jax practically beamed at that, his grin nearly splitting his face. He cleared his throat, putting on a suave look and straightened his back. After all, he had a jester to court. “Well there’s no harm in saying hi to them, now is there?” he smirked, “I think a little trip sounds just delightful.”

Queenie paled. She recognised that smirk, Jax always wore that smirk when he was up to no good. “Jax…” Queenie drawled warningly.

“Go alert my father that we plan to leave as soon as possible, in case he wants to join,” Jax commanded the guard.

The soldier in question raised a brow at that, familiar with the young prince and his antics, before turning to the queen for her verdict.

Queenie sighed, once Jax’s mind was set that was no point in trying to change it. Besides, she really wanted to go out today. “Inform Kinger that we plan to leave soon,” she said, “I would hate for him to miss out on this.”

“Yes, your majesty,” the guard bowed, turning on his heel and walking out the door.

Queenie gave Jax a glare, a silent threat to not do anything stupid.

The prince gulped, whenever Queenie sent him that look it gave him nothing but sinking dread in the pit of his gut. He had a lot on the line today, not only risking it all to win Pomni’s affection, but also to make sure he didn’t suffer from his mother’s angered wrath as well. “D-don’t worry m-mother,” he stammered, “I promise that I have nothing but good intentions going forward.”

Queenie raised a brow as Motley let out a meow – Jax swore the little shit was mocking him. “As for you,” He picked up Motley and set him on the floor, “You’re staying here. The last thing we need for you is to get lost and become someone else’s pet.” Motley mewled, pawing at Jax’s leg with a pleading look on his face. “Nope, I’ve made up my mind. Your tricks aren’t working on me today.”

He turned to his mother, offering his arm out to her, “Shall we?”

Queenie sighed, letting out a little laugh at her son’s outlandish behaviour, “I suppose. But you better behave, got it young man?” She nearly growled.

“…Yes ma’am,” Jax whimpered pathetically.

Queenie patted his cheek, “Good. Now then, let’s go find your father before he chases after another butterfly for his collection. We don’t need a repeat of…last time.”

Jax shuddered at the memory, despite his own bug-like pranks, he certainly didn’t want to do what his father was capable of. “You and me both mother,” he nodded.

He hid the dopey grin that stretched on his features the more he thought about the jester, how he was going to spoil her, give her everything she could ever hope for and more, to do anything to make her his and his alone. He couldn’t wait to see her again.

To tell the truth, Pomni was nothing but nerves when to came to public situations. It was different whenever she was performing, she knew that by the end of the day – as long as she put on a smile and a good show – everything would turn out according to plan. When it came to actually being in a crowd full of people, she always felt like she was going to be sick. It wasn’t easy to put on a façade when there was no pre-planned performance. The thought of being around so many people, not knowing what they were like or what they would say, she could make one slight mistake and everything could go wrong.

She was a bit glad that Kaufmo insisted to come along, to read the signs on her face in case she had to get out of here. But another part of her felt guilty for doing that. She wanted to enjoy herself put in public, to not fear the next person coming here way, to not fear if they had any other ulterior motives. Why did her mind have to be like this? And she hated how she always dragged Kaufmo down with her, he deserved to have one day where he wasn’t constantly worrying over her, how did he not see her as a burden? She just wished could be…normal. But someone like her could never be normal, not in this lifetime anyway.

Still, she wasn’t going to waste her time dwelling on misery, life was too short for that. She remained glued by Moon and Ragatha’s sides, Kaufmo trailing behind them like a guard dog (a rather colourful guard dog but the intention was clear). She wanted to have fun, have a day to just be Pomni, not worrying about the performance for tonight and if it was perfect enough. That was for later, this was now.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Sun marvelling over cakes at the window of a bakery, his mouth watering at each flavour presented through the glass. Gangle and Zooble were at a flower stall, with the latter buying a rose the same colour as the ribboned woman and gifting it to her, making Gangle blush. Pomni smiled at the couple, maybe one day she would find someone to share a bond with like Zooble and Gangle.

She heard a small gasp, turning she noticed two young girls pointing at her while whispering excitedly. Pomni shook her head fondly, they must have recognised her from the show the other night. She gave them a small curtsy, the children become even more excited before bounding over to her. She was a little bit nervous with the sudden closeness and enthusiasm from the children, but Moon and Ragatha were behind her, making sure she was alright.

She was fine, all she got was a fright. “Hello,” she waved at the two girls, “Hope can I help you?”

“Hi miss!” The first girl squealed, “You were so pretty last night!”

“Why thank you,” Pomni cooed, “Did you two enjoy the show?”

“Yeah!” the second girl cheered, “You were my favourite! You were so sparkly and twisty!”

Pomni giggled, they must have been referring to her costumes and her dance flexibility on the aerial silks. It was the main highlights of her performance and what boosted audience numbers. She wasn’t surprised that the girls liked it so much. “I’m so glad you two had fun,” she grinned, her chest fluttering at the girl’s collective beaming faces.

“What you like one of our flower crowns?” the first girl asked, “It has pretty daises!”

Pomni placed both hands to her chest in a flattered manner, “I would love to have one of your flowers crowns.”

The girls jumped with glee, fishing into one of their satchels and pulling out a delicate daisy chain tied into a circle. Pomni lowered her head as they placed it on her hair, the whole interaction made her feel giddy and warm. After all, who didn’t love flower crowns? She never got to do that at their age, so there was something bittersweet having a chance to do this now. She was about to open her mouth to thank the girls for their gift, when a loud and brash voice made her flinch.

“I knew a crown would look good on you,” Prince Jax’s voice made her wince, “Just have it in gold and you’ll look like a real princess.”

Pomni took a breath, plastering on a face of fake kindness and concealed annoyance as she turned to the prince – Moon and Ragatha were protectively standing on each side of her as Kaufmo stood from a distance, ready to intervene in case anything happened. “Prince Jax,” she spoke through gritted teeth, “To what do I owe the pleasure.”

“Your presence is enough for that little lady,” he grinned as she bristled at the nickname, “I was just making my way through town and decided to stop bye and say hi.”

“Well, now you did, so you can go now,” Pomni rolled her eyes and turned to face the girls again. Moon and Ragatha smirked while Kaufmo’s chest puffed proudly.

Jax faltered a bit, he didn’t want this conversation to end so soon! He ran up to her, dodging the ragdoll and Moon, ignoring Kaufmo’s icy glare and shoved himself in front of Pomni’s eyeline. “If you like, I could get you a little souvenir,” he offered suavely, “After all, daisies die pretty fast. Kind of a pathetic gift if you ask me. A little gold chain with a diamond would like nice around that pretty neck of yours.”

Pomni scowled at him, her anger growing more as she heard the two little girls’ sniffle at his insult. They were young, yes, but she knew about much effort must have gone into making this crown. And the fact that she never got to do this as a child only added fuel to the fire. “You have some nerve insulting the talents of your people,” she poked him harshly in the chest as a look of fear spread across the prince’s face. “This is a gift made from the gentle hands of the next generation of your kingdom, don’t you dare degrade this is present in front of them. And even if it were to die quickly, it only means I must cherish it more before that happens.”

“I-um,” Jax stammered, he was barely a minute into talking with her and he was already screwing up. He had to try a new tactic. With quick thinking, he ran over to the flower stall, blindly picked up a bouquet, slammed a few coins down and ran back over to Pomni. “Here,” he shoved the flowers into her face, making her splutter. “As an apology.”

After Pomni regained her bearings, she took a proper look at what was shoved in her face. Taking a note of the flowers in his hand, she gave him a deadpanned look, “Orange lilies and yellow carnations?”

Jax gave her a smug grin, looking as though he won the lottery, “From Prince Jax himself. You’re welcome.”

“They literally symbolise hatred and rejection,” said Pomni. Jax’s face fell, as though lightening struck through him at the realisation. “I think I’ll stick with my daisies.”

With that, she gave him a tight-lipped smile and walked away – but not before giving the two girls a warm hug and reassuring them that she loved her new flower crown.

Jax was about to go after her, until he was stopped by the death glares of Ragatha and Moon, as well and a tight grip on his shoulder. His eyes followed the hand attached to the arm, all the way to the furious gaze of Kaufmo. “I don’t give a damn if you’re royalty or not,” the clown growled, “But you will not disrespect my kid in front of me. Do I make myself clear?”

Jax gulped, the last thing he needed today was to be murdered by an overprotective clown, “Yes sir.”

“Good,” Kaufmo took his hand off, brushing it on his suit and walked away to find Pomni, Ragatha and Moon in tow.

Jax let out a breath, he never knew clowns could be that scary. He froze at the sound of a throat clearing, he groaned as he looked at Kinger and Queenie, disappointment etched on their faces with the royal guards standing behind them. “I ask for one thing Jax,” Queenie muttered, “One thing. For you to behave, and this is what you do?!”

“To be fair…this is me we’re talking about,” Jax gave them a nervous chuckle.

The couple’s expression didn’t change. “Come on,” Kinger sighed, “You’re sticking with us for the rest of the day.”

Jax whined, crossing his arms as he followed his parents and the guards. Queenie stuck by his side though, leaning up to whisper in his ear, “You know, the next time you want to impress a girl, keep the snide comments about simple gifts from children to yourself. You aren’t going to get anywhere if you keep up that attitude.”

Jax grumbled under his breath. But his mother did have a point though, they were just kids, he didn’t have to stoop so low. His stomach churned, hearing those whimpers from those little girls struck him in the heart, how could he be so cold-hearted? “You’re right mother, that wasn’t the best choice of words,” he admitted. Queenie’s eyes sparked a little bit, perhaps her son was finally taking the right step- “That’s why I’m going to spend so much fortune on Pomni and gift her anything she could ever ask for without commenting on the boring stuff she likes!”

Queenie’s face fell. Nope, Jax was still up his own ass.

The minute Jax was back in his room, he started writing a list. He wrote down everything he knew about how to woo a woman, and as someone who was quite popular with the ladies, he felt pretty confident with his abilities. Truly, he was a master of his craft. Once he was satisfied with his plan, he got to work, with Motley watching the trainwreck preparing itself from afar.

Firstly, he went to the best broker he could find and purchased the most beautiful, one-of-a-kind diamond that he had ever seen in his life. It was just as striking as Pomni’s perfect eyes. He had a servant deliver it to her, content that within a day’s time she would be coming to the castle to visit him. However, the servant had come back and instead of his jester, he returned with news that Pomni had sold the diamond to a local jewellery shop, where it was smashed to pieces and turned into lovely necklaces for the other women of the village.

Okay, so she wasn’t a fan of shiny things. It doesn’t matter, he still had a few plans up his sleeve.

Next, he took out a deposit of his spendings (it was at least enough to buy ten castles) and requested it to be sent to Pomni in her name for her to do what she pleased with it. His heart skipped a beat when he found out she accepted it, only for him to choke on his tongue when he found out that she had donated it all to the orphanage of the village. The only thing he received from her was a note telling him to ‘do something beneficial with his spendings since he had so much of it’.

He swooned over the fact that his little jester was so charitable, but he couldn’t ignore the irritation that came with it! He was going further beyond for her, yet she wouldn’t even spare a glance at him. What else did he have to do to make her notice him?!

It continued like that, he would send her the most lavish, expensive gifts that would make any man or woman swoon, and every single time she either gave it away or returned it. Jax was starting to get on his last nerve, she was going to notice his affections one way or another. He still had one more plan, and if this didn’t work (which it would!) then he was truly at a loss.

The next day, he gave instructions to the royal announcer. A royal banquet was going to be held at the castle tonight, with Jax wanting nothing more than to have Pomni to be his plus one for the evening. Maybe it was a bit of a jerk move to announce this publicly, but he was just so desperate to see her again, he was willing to do anything just to catch a glimpse of her lovely face.

He awaited patiently, so sure that his plan was going to work. When the announcer came back, there was a smug grin on the prince’s lips, expecting for him to say that his jester would be attending tonight. However, the situation was much more different than the prince had hoped. When the news went out to the public that Prince Jax wanted to invite Pomni to the banquet, she had merely given the announcer a simple bow and replied:

“I appreciate the invitation, but I will have to decline the prince’s offer and his lack of planning ahead.”

Jax felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach.

She rejected his invite! In public no less! It was one thing to reject an invite to such a regal occasion, but to reject a royal? That was the biggest humiliation that anyone could ever do to royalty! It would leave a mark on his reputation! The only prince known in all the lands to be rejected for all the kingdom to see.

And this is where it left him now, alone at the banquet, swirling a glass of wine as he mumbled to himself. “It was the diamond, I should’ve gotten her the ruby,” he muttered under his breath, “Diamonds are overrated anyways. I don’t understand, I’m great with courting, how could anyone-”

“You know, you can tap a cocoon as many times as you want, the butterfly still won’t come out,” he jumped at the sound of his mother’s voice as she walked up to him.

“Mother,” he gasped, “You can’t keep surprising me like that!”

“Just like how you can’t keep pushing this girl to be with you,” Queenie crossed her arms over her chest, “Honestly Jax. Out of all the ideas you have had in your entire life, announcing to the public to make Pomni join you for tonight has got to be your most ridiculous one yet! Honestly, I don’t blame her for rejecting you, someone had to hit you with common sense eventually!”

“I-I, but!” Jax stammered, but deep down he knew his mother was right. Karma had to hit him eventually, and it hit him with the most alluring, beautiful, one-of-a-kind songbird that fluttered into his heart, only for her to be completely out of his reach. He sighed, “I just… I never felt this way for anyone before.”

“Really?! I couldn’t tell with the way you were constantly making a fool of yourself!” she ignored Jax’s gaping mouth towards her, continuing her speech. “She has expressed to you multiple times that she isn’t interested with what you have to offer Jax! Either you cease these attempts or you actually find something that will let her see you in a different light!”

“How?! If this is all that I can offer her, then it’s already too late for me. You know it, you see it! I’m nothing but a reckless prince who keeps ruining things for myself,” Jax’s shoulder’s tensed, taking a breath while feeling his heart twist in his chest as his eyes drifted down to the ground. “For the first time something finally good came my way and I already messed it up. But I don’t want to let her go.”

Queenie’s shoulders sagged, her face twisting somberly, “You already have so many good things Jax. I wish you could see it too.”

Jax was about to open his mouth to ask what she meant, but Queenie was already walking away. He stared at the wine in his cup, watching the bubbles rise to the top. Through the glass, he could see the other guests spying on him, whispering to one another while pointing at him.

He knew they were talking about his most recent blunder with Pomni, and as much as it hurt, it wasn’t the first time the upper class had gossiped about him. Even before his pranks, before his reputation as the ‘disaster heir of Laphria’, ever since he was a child every lord, duke and count always had their opinions and comments about of him, none of them friendly.

Jax scoffed at them, he didn’t care. At least now that he was older he had a reason for them to talk nothing but rubbish about him, instead of simply being a child.

He took a swig of his wine, it was going to be a long night.

My nana says I have travelling feet

Travelling feet, travelling feet

Slippers for princesses don't fit me

But I dance to my own drum, bright and bold

And my travelling feet always get me home

Pomni strummed her guitar in the dressing room, fully decked in her costume and waiting for the performance to start later. She always got nervous before a show (especially after the public invite she received from the prince) but her music always calmed her down.

My sister says I've a restless soul

Restless soul, restless soul

Easy to catch, but I'm hard to hold

Like a song on the wind that you caught one day

I get under your skin, then I slip away

Gangle, Zooble, Moon and Ragatha were in there as well, adding the last touches to their costumes while listening to Pomni’s song. The girl had come a long way, for better and for worse, but her music was one of the things that gave the circus members hope. After what they went though, they could all use it.

I'm a map of the world and the ones before

One foot in sea and one on shore

Every step, every hope flung high

I'm a map of them all with my Irish eyes

“That’s coming along really well Pomni!” Gangle clapped as Pomni finished up.

The jester smiled, resting her head on the side of her guitar as she faced the rest of the group, “It still has some polishing but it’s becoming a new favourite of mine.”

“I’m glad you have something to focus on after that whole mess earlier,” Moon sneered at the memory of the announcer, feeling nothing but fury at the prince for trying to pressure Pomni to join him. “It took bravery to decline such a heavy offer Pomni.”

Pomni cringed, “I don’t understand, what on earth does the prince see in me for him to keep running back! I mean, you’d think he’d take a hint after what I said to him the first time I saw him! But no, he just wants to keep being annoying. Ugh, men are the worst thing in this realm.”

“Agreed,” Ragatha nodded, “Men are only born with half a brain with not a lot going on in there.”

“I don’t know,” Zooble shrugged, “Granted, women are better. But you seem pretty passionate about someone you find annoying Pomni.”

“W-what?!” Pomni stuttered, nearly dropping the guitar, “What is that supposed to mean?!”

“You know, if you really hate him Pomni you wouldn’t be talking about him this much,” Zooble grinned, crossing her arms over her chest.

Gangle gasped, an excited grin gracing her mask, “It’s true! Pomni, you can say you like him, we won’t judge!”

“I-I, no! I don’t like him! That’s absurd!” Pomni stuck her tongue out in disgust.

“Exactly, there’s no way that prince even deserves Pomni,” Ragatha nodded.

“Honestly, you and Zooble might be so head over heels with one another that you both are making up stories in your head!” Moon frowned, shaking her head.

“Or maybe we’re able to see the obvious,” Zooble chuckled.

“No! No! You don’t see anything!” Pomni squeaked. “Besides, Jax is not my type at all! He’s so loud and rude. And has a terrible sense of humour. And struts as if he owns the place. And he has untamed, wild eyes…that shine. And he’s always smiling no matter what’s thrown his way. And his smile, its so…” She trailed off, whipping her head up when she noticed Zooble’s shit eating grin, Gangle’s giddy face and the shocked looks that Ragatha and Moon shared. “…It’s so annoying! I mean come on!”

Her eyes darted between everyone, no one was buying her excuse. “I’m getting some air!” she huffed, setting her guitar down and running out of the dressing room.

Once she was at a good distance, she climbed the nearest rope connected to the ceiling, balancing and swinging on it slightly before jumping onto a nearby trapeze swing. She sighed with relief, despite her anxiety, the vertigo from being up so high was enough to distract her. She smiled a little bit, from up here she could see half of behind the tent and the audience were starting to flood the seats.

Her mind went back to what Zooble said, more so what they said about Jax. Her?! Like him?! How could she ever like him?! They were so different and he oozed nothing but a ‘higher than thou’ attitude, something she despised. She hated him, yup that was her final verdict, she hated him.

But unfortunately Gangle was right, she couldn’t get him out of here head.

She groaned, why couldn’t the rabbit prince get out of her head?!

“Did you hear about Prince Jax?”

Pomni perked up, looking down at the crowd. There was a group of young adults around her age, from the fine fabrics and jewels they wore that had to be belonging to quite prestigious families.

There were two young women and men, each one of them wearing vicious smirks. “This has to be his most embarrassing blunder yet.”

Pomni frowned, she didn’t like their tones at all.

“As if he wasn’t an embarrassment enough,” the first man sneered, “Honestly, I can’t believe that the crown will be going to him.”

“Marriage into the crown is the only saving quality of that man,” the first woman giggled, “That and his parties.”

“Imagine how low you have to sink to be like that,” the second man cackled, “Only being good for parties and nights in the sheets.”

The second woman whacked his arm with her fan, “Don’t talk about such topics in public!”

“He isn’t wrong though,” the first woman pointed out, “He was so desperate to lose his virtue, such a pig!”

Pomni’s heart sank. She only heard the village talk about the prince, his recklessness and pranks and all that, but was this how the upper crust talked about him? He probably had to spend every day with these types of people coming into the castle, did he hear every bit of it in the hallways?

“What else do we expect from an orphan bastard,” the second man sneered, “Only taken in because the royal family felt pity for him. Only one with peasant blood could act so foolishly.”

Pomni saw red. That was the final straw. To think so lowly of someone just because they had no blood relation to royalty, out of all the things to not like about the prince, that was what they hated the most?! He couldn’t control not being born into status! And each comment that they made was an indirect insult to the king and queen taking in a child from the kindness of their hearts!

In fact, having this knowledge made her understand Jax a little bit more, was this why he acted out the way he did? From hearing these comments all the time? After all, she knew better than anyone about being taken care of by someone with no blood connected to them, she didn’t know if she would even be here today if it wasn’t for Kaufmo.

She glared at the ignorant cluster below her, she wasn’t going to let them get away with this.

She looked up, on the platform next to Moon and Sun’s tightrope, she could see the bucket of water that was typically dumped onto Kaufmo’s head at the beginning of his act. She titled the swing, giving it a bit of momentum before swing over onto the tightrope. She jumped, balancing carefully before tiptoeing over to the platform. She picked up the bucket of water, searched for the group again before dumping the water over them, soaking their clothes and makeup.

They let out ear-piercing screeches, demanding who did this. Pomni jumped back onto her swing, hidden in the shadows as she bit back a giggle. That would teach them a lesson for their vile little words.

She froze when she heard a throat clear, looking back behind the tent, she saw Kaufmo with his arms crossed while frowning. Damn it, he saw what she did.

“Uh…the water was dirty?” she gave him a nervous laugh.

His face didn’t move a muscle. Oh I’m in big trouble “I’m sorry Pa.”

There was so much smoke.

So much fire.

She couldn’t breathe, the smoke was too much.

There was no one there.

Where did everyone go?

She couldn’t be alone.

She can’t be alone.

“Ma!”

There was no answer.

No body

No life.

“Ma where are you?!”

Pomni woke in a cold sweat. She took in her surroundings, she was in the inn, sleeping after another show. She wasn’t a five-year-old girl anymore, she wasn’t stuck in a burning town with faded memories. She was here, she was safe.

She rubbed her face, the nightmares would always change, but they would never become dreams and they would never go away. There had been nights while she was more than willing to sacrifice her sleep, but it only resulted in passing out during the middle of the day. Nothing but a viscous cycle that she couldn’t escape from.

She contemplated getting her guitar out, but she didn’t want to risk waking anyone. She hated it when she got like this, she was nothing but a burden that everyone else was forced to carry. She was weak and stupid and a coward and-

Smash!

She screamed when the glass of her window smashed, a hooded figure climbing in with a knife and rope.

Pomni’s stomach sank. No, no I can’t go back.

She reached under her pillow, pulling out a knife of her own. The hooded man came forward to hit her, she blocked his attack and kicked him away. He let out a yell as he was pushed back. Pomni jumped off the bed as he began to stand back up, slashing her knife on her arms every time he lunged to her.

She raised her knife again, only for her door to be kicked down by another figure. They grabbed her arms, forcing her to drop the knife. The first stranger handed the rope to his associate as they reached into their pockets for something else. “Thought you had her under control,” the second figure spat.

“Don’t blame me,” the first one retorted, “Caine didn’t say how much of a spitfire she was.”

The name sent a shiver down Pomni’s spine. “Help! Somebody hel-” her cries were cut off when the first figure wrapped a gag around her mouth, muffling her screams.

“The pay before make up for this,” the second growled, “I got every mind to cut this little bitch’s fingers off.”

“Easy, Caine said he wanted her in one piece,” the first told him, “Just keep your eyes on the prize and we’ll be fine.”

Pomni heard more screams and crashes coming from outside her room. The others, they were in danger to. She tried to escape from her captor’s hold, but they were too strong as they wrapped the rope around her wrists and dragged out of the room.

She paled as she saw the rest of the circus crew being dragged out of their rooms, with staff members of the inn trying to stop them. In the midst of the ruckus, her captors managed to drag her away and outside into the pouring rain. The first figure pulled him onto his horse, with the second one hoisting Pomni behind him.

“Remember,” the second one spoke, “Meet Caine in the middle of the woods, that’s where he’s doing the pick-up.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” the first nodded, whipping his reigns and taking off.

Pomni could only struggle as she watched the inn grow smaller and smaller, while her heart spiked and panic washed over her.

She can’t be a prisoner again.

She can’t let that happen.

She won’t let that happen.

The royal family was awoken in the middle of the night, an emergency was afoot and it needed their full attention.

Jax rubbed sleep from his eyes as he followed his parents into the throne room. This had better be good if he was rudely awoken.

“Your majesties,” a guard bowed, “The innkeeper has requested immediate help, her inn is under attack.”

The fur on Jax’s neck stood, that’s where Pomni was.

“Word has it that they call themselves the gloinks, a group of bounty hunters that has raided many kingdoms before,” the guard continued, “We managed to send over as many as we could to arrest them and they managed to intervene before anyone was hurt. But one already got away with a victim.”

No, no, no, no, no, no. Please don’t tell me its-

“They took the jester from the circus.”

Jax was numb, the rest of the world falling silent.

From the corner of his eye, he could see his parents worrying and giving out instructions of what to do. But Jax? He already had a plan. Get Pomni back.

And so, he ran.

“Jax!” Kinger yelled out to him, “Jax!”

“Jax where are you going?!” Queenie shouted.

He ignored them, he had to. Someone kidnapped Pomni, and they were going to pay.

He ran all the way to the stables, pulling a nearby coat off the rack as he took out his horse. He didn’t bother with a saddle, he had ridden plenty of times without one. Maybe he would get in trouble for disobeying his parents later, but he didn’t care. What mattered right now was Pomni’s safety.

He took hold off his horse’s mane as he took off, running out of the stables and towards the gate.

“Open the gate!” he shouted to whoever was there.

At his command, they opened.

“Come on boy,” he told his horse, “We gotta go!”

The horse galloped faster and faster, running past the gates and into the town.

He had to pick up the pace, Pomni’s captor was probably reaching the edge of the village. There was one thing he knew, tonight, he was getting Pomni back.

Pomni struggled with her binds, her kidnapper’s horse was starting to near the forest. She couldn’t go back to Caine, not when freedom was at her grasp. She closed her eyes and focused, blue mist levitating from her hands. She focused on the knot on the rope, letting the mist carefully pull it out. It took time and patience, but she managed to get it to slip out.

She pulled the rope off, taking the gag off and was about to jump off the horse when an arm grabbed her. “Oh no you don’t!” her captor growled, “You ain’t getting away that easily!”

“I’m not going back!” she screamed, “You can tell Caine to go fuck himself!”

She raised a hand, scratching him in the face, leaving behind three bleeding streaks across his skin. “You stupid cunt!” he screamed.

He struck Pomni across the face. The momentum sending her off the horse, hitting the back of her head on a rock. “Fuck!” he jumped off, going over to her, “Shit, Caine’s gonna kill me!”

“Not before I kill you first.”

A fist grabbed the back of the captor’s hood, and he met the striking yellow and furious eyes of Prince Jax. He swore death was staring right back at him.

Jax used his other hand to grab the captor by the throat, lifting him above the ground. Jax grinned as he watched writhe in pain, scratching at his hands for air. He felt no mercy for this son of a bitch, he put his filthy hands on Pomni. He was going to pay. He slammed the captor against a tree, his head collecting with the trunk as he passed out. Jax threw him to the ground, he would deal with him later. There were more important matters at hand.

“Pomni!” he rushed over to her, kneeling to the ground and putting her head on his lap. When he pulled his hand away, his heart twisted as the sight of blood on his fingertips. Carefully lifting her head, he saw a nasty gash bleeding in the back of her head. He had to get her to a healer and fast. He pulled his jacket off, tearing off a sleeve and wrapped it round her add, making sure it applied pressure to the wound and ceased the bleeding.

He slid his arms under her waist and back, pulling her into his embrace and let her head rest on his shoulder as he stood. He carried her over to his horse, lifting them both up as he cradled her. He could see the rest of the guards coming, they could deal with her captor. For now, Pomni needed medical attention.

Without missing a beat, his horse tore off back to the castle, Jax keeping one hand on his mane and the other wrapped around Pomni to steady her. “Come on boy, come on!” he grunted, the horse snorting back as he ran as fast as he could.

Relief flooded him the moment the castle gates were in sight, opening at the first sight of the prince. Jax jumped off the horse as he slowed to a spot, keeping Pomni in his arms as he ran to the doors of the castle.

The guards positioned outside immediately opening the doors once they saw the royal and the injured jester, not wasting a moment so he could get her inside.

“Medic! I need a medic!” Jax yelled out, running up the marbled stairs.

The servants rushed out at the sound of the prince’s voice, gasping at the sight of Pomni and led them both quickly to a guest room.

Jax gently lay her on the plush bed, a few maids rushing over with bowls of water and towels. “She hit her head,” he told them, “I tried to add pressure to stop the blood but I’m not sure if it did enough.”

He unwrapped the makeshift bandage, tossing it aside before grabbing one of the wet towels to press it against the wound. A maid took it from him, pressing against it instead. He didn’t want to stand there doing nothing, Pomni was hurt and he was hanging around like a useless fly. “Blankets, do we have blankets?!” he turned to another servant, fear and desperation in his eyes.

They must’ve noticed, for they didn’t waste time pointing to a nearby cupboard. Jax rushed over, pulling out every blanket he could find and placed it on Pomni’s shivering body. “Hang in there Pomni,” his hands began to shake, there was more blood. He couldn’t lose her, not after treating her the way he did. His mother was right, now he was paying the price.

A doctor rushed in, medical bag in hand and ready to get to work. Jax’s stomach flipped when he heard Pomni letting out a whimper in her unconscious state. “Be careful with her!” he growled.

He felt a hand pulling him back by the shoulder, he flinched, shoving it away, only to soften that it was his father with his mother behind him. “Pomni is in good with hands with the doctor,” Kinger placed his hand back on Jax’s shoulder, “You got her here in time, let him do his work.”

“I can’t do nothing,” Jax interrupted, “Not when she’s hurt like this! I have to, I need to-”

“Ma,”

Everyone turned to the voice. Pomni wasn’t awake, but a tear slid down her cheek as she shifted in her slumber. “Ma,” her voice cracked, “Ma I’m stuck. Where are you?”

Jax’s heart shattered into a million pieces. Seeing and hearing Pomni so vulnerable, stripped of the glam and sass she wore, leaving behind a broken and frightened person instead. It made the guilt ten times worse. He felt himself sway, his head was pounding and his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest from how hard it was beating. Queenie immediately noticed, already wrapping her arms around her son and led him to a cushioned chair in the corner of the room.

“Pomni, she needs my help, she…” he murmured.

“Shh, it’s okay, you’ve done enough,” Queenie reassured him, running a hand over his ears, “Rest, she’s going to be okay.”

Jax wanted to protest, to insist that he was fine, to be by Pomni’s side. But the promise of sleep was too strong to ignore. And so, he shut his eyes. He’d wake up later, then he would help Pomni.

Kaufmo couldn’t stop trembling. When the inn was under attack, he was roughly grabbed out of his bed and shoved against a wall, leaving him with a bleeding forehead and a black eye. The blood was ringing in his ears and his vision was blurred, but what he did notice was Pomni screaming and tied up as she was dragged away.

He wanted to reach out for her, to give hell to those who hurt his kid, but the pain was too much and his attacker was too strong to escape from. Just hearing the cries of his family, and the fear of…him finding them. It was too much.

He thanked whatever god was up there when the palace guards came, saving them from the gloinks. But it was short-lived, with Pomni being the first thing on his mind. Out of everyone in the circus, it was his kid who had the highest bounty on her head.

He nearly cried when the news of Pomni being safe at the castle arrived to him, but what shocked him was who saved her. Prince Jax. Never in all his days did he think that the arrogant prince would care for anyone’s wellbeing other than his own. Nevertheless, Pomni was Kaufmo’s first priority, he wanted to get to the castle as soon as possible.

And this was where he stood now, in the throne room with the rest of the circus behind him, all praying for Pomni to be okay. The king and queen trekked into the room, Kaufmo running as soon as he saw them. “Where’s Pomni? What happened to her? Is she okay?” tears were streaming down his face, but he didn’t care, his kid was all that mattered.

“It’s okay,” Queenie spoke, “Pomni is safe, she hit her head but we had a doctor attend to her and she is recovering in a guest room.”

Kaufmo let out a giant sigh of relief. All tension leaving him the second the news was told to him. Pomni was okay, they got to her in time.

“However it does leave a question,” Kinger said, his tone serious and avoid of any other emotion, “Why were the gloinks targeting Pomni directly? What’s going on with you all?”

Kaufmo paled, the rest of the circus matching his expression. They had a feeling that after what happened, this question would arise. After all, this wasn’t a normal attack. The gloinks were infamous for their bounty hunting, always demanding the highest pay for whoever that had to go after. So why go after a simple jester?

“Kaufmo?” Ragatha walked towards him, placing a hand on his back, a silent question if he really wanted to get into this mess.

“It’s okay, they have to know,” Kaufmo took a breath to prepare himself, he could so this. “Our circus wasn’t always like this, and I wasn’t always the ringmaster. Many years ago, I wanted to be a clown for my whole life. Performing in a circus was always my dream. But no matter who I went to, they would never hire me. I was going to give up until I met a man named Caine. He was starting a circus of his own and he had everything, except a clown. He practically hired me on the spot, I was so excited that I was willing to look past any warning that were blaring.

It was fine at first, the audience liked my jokes, it was good pay and I got to travel all over the land. However, after a year of being there, I was ready to go home and see my family. But when I tried to leave, that was when I saw Caine’s true colours. The moment I stepped out of that tent, I was attacked by Caine’s hunters. It was then when I learned that no one could leave, and even if you tried, Caine would send his men after you. Either you get attacked, but if you attempted to leave multiple times…I know many members who chose death rather than stay.”

“That’s how Caine tricks people,” Moon spoke up, “He offered me a home for me and my brother. I even fell in love with him. But when I saw what he was doing, I tried to get help. I made it about three feet before his hunters came after me.”

“He said he would help my family,” Ragatha rubbed her arm nervously, “We were poor and he said he would pay for anything as long as I stayed in the circus. I haven’t seen my family in five years.”

“I wanted to run away with the circus, escape from the harm that was in my town,” Gangle sniffed, Zooble wrapped an arm around her, “I never thought how much worse it could get.”

“It went on like that for so long,” Kaufmo continued. “For years we were nothing but puppets for Caine as he fed off our talents. If we weren’t sleeping, we were either rehearsing or performing. And if we showed the slightest sign of fatigue, he’d unleash his fury on us. It only got worse when Pomni arrived. Pomni…I’ll let her tell her story. But she was the youngest out of all of us. She was five when Caine stole her. I took her under my wing, protecting her from Caine. But Pomni was different than the rest of us, her talents are…unique to say the least. It was what attracted audiences however, and as long as Pomni had that power, there was no way Caine was ever going to let her go.

“That was where I came in,” Zooble spoke up. “When the circus arrived in my area, I already had my suspicions. That was when I met Gangle, she told me what happened and I knew I couldn’t do nothing. So I came up with a plan to get them out. I would pretend that I wanted to be in Caine’s show while trying to get everyone out. It took a few buddies of mine and some help from my village, but it worked.”

“We managed to get the enforcers of the town and alert them of what was happening and then managed to detain Caine…at least for a while,” Kaufmo’s face fell. “A while ago, we heard news that Caine had managed to escape, but what really scared us the most was that he didn’t want any of us. Just Pomni. She was irreplaceable, so we’ve been on the run ever since. As long as Caine’s out there, none of us are free.”

Queenie and Kinger stood there, shellshock keeping them frozen in place. How could anyone react any differently to that information?! They wanted to so badly to ask about Pomni, but they knew that they shouldn’t pry her story from others. It was hers and only hers to share. “I appreciate you telling us this, I can’t imagine what you all have gone through,” Queenie told them, nothing but kindness and sincerity in her tone.

“Rest assured,” Kinger straightened up, “We will do everything in our power to make sure Caine doesn’t come near you ever again.”

“But how?!” Kaufmo cried out, “We’ve done everything in our power to get rid of him and he still manages a way to find us! We’re lucky to be alive at this point!”

“Believe my husband and I when I say that Caine will not get away with these crimes,” Queenie informed them. “For your safety, including Pomni’s, we advise you to stay within the castle walls under Caine is no longer a threat. Our soldiers are highly trained to deal with these types of threats. Worry not, your freedom is going to be granted soon.”

Kaufmo opened his mouth and closed it. Freedom? Was it really that possible for him? Would his daughter finally be rid of that monster? Maybe he was getting his hopes up, but by the end of the day, it was still hope. And as long as Pomni was safe, he would take it. “Thank you, your majesties, thank you,” Kaufmo shuddered, feeling a sense of happiness he hadn’t felt in a long time.”

“Of course,” Kinger nodded, “Once Pomni has arisen, we’ll let you see her. As for now, we’ll have your belongings transferred over to the castle. Please, breathe, you are all safe here.”

The circus members looked to one another, was it really possible? Would they finally have a life without fear? All they knew was one thing, as long as Caine didn’t get his hands on Pomni, then they could all finally breathe.

Pomni stirred lightly, her head thundering with pain. She was half tempted to go back to sleep, this bed was the softest she had ever slept in. She eyes shot open, the bed at the inn wasn’t normally this soft. When the bleariness cleared, she could see that she was laid upon the most luxurious sheets she had ever slept in, along with sleek silky pillows that cooled the heat rising upon her flushed skin. As her eyes travelled, they landed upon red wallpaper with embroidered gold stems and leaves, her gaze drifted to the side as she spied some type of curtains tied to each side of the bed.

She lifted herself up into a sitting position, ignoring her throbbing head as she took in more of her surroundings. She was still wondering how she got here, in fact, her memories were just as fuzzy in her. Then, in a flash, it came back to her.

The nightmares.

The break in.

The cries of her family.

The fear of seeing Caine.

The agony of her head hitting the rock…

And then Jax was there. His touch soft and his voice gentle as he lifted her and carried her back to the castle. Jax…saved me.

Pomni turned, gasping faintly as she saw the prince in a chair next to her. The castle she realised to herself I’m in the castle. Jax’s head was resting on the side of the bed as his breathing evenly flowed in and out. She smiled a bit, he looked so innocent like this. Stripped of his brashness and confidence, a small glimpse of Jax was peeking out to her. She was half tempted to brush her fingers through the fur of his ears, but quickly decided against that. He was a prince for goodness’ sake, how improper would that be.

She flinched at the sound of small pattering feet. She had a feeling she was safe due to the heavy protection surrounding the castle, but even that couldn’t keep the nerves at bay. She held the blankets closer to her, as though they would act as some sort of shield. All that worry melted away into awe once she saw the sweet brown eyes of a kitten starting up at her as he wandered into the room.

“Aw!” she cooed, “Hi little kitty!”

The kitten meowed, his tail wagging slowly as he made his way over to the jester. Pomni patted the bed, gesturing for the feline to come up. His claws caught into the sheets, making his way up until he joined Pomni on the mattress. Unable to resist, she scooped his up into her arms, with the little kitten rubbing his head against her cheek as he purred. “You’re just the sweetest little thing, aren’t you?” she scratched behind his ears.

Mew

She pressed a small kiss on his nose, he was just so cute!

Unbeknownst to the duo, the movement and noise that they were making made the prince stir a bit.

Jax let out a low grumble, the back of his neck aching after sleeping in this horrible position. But he didn’t want to leave Pomni’s side for a moment. Just in case she woke up or something happened to her in her sleep. No, he had to be here. Even if he resigned himself to sleep in a terrible way, Pomni mattered more.

He could feel something move next to him, along with the sound of coos and tiny meows. Wait a minute, he recognised those meows. He straightened up immediately, ignoring the neck ache. Pomni jumped at how quickly got up, hugging Motley closer to her.

“You’re awake!” Jax’s mouth split into a relieved grin, “Are you okay, nothing hurts does it? Do you need anything? Another blanket, water?”

Pomni blinked with confusion at the prince’s many questions. He seemed so…sweet? He did save her life, but still, seeing this side of him was so jarring. “Um, I’m fine thanks,” she smiled awkwardly.

He ran to the door, not wanting to waste a single moment longer, “Doctor! She’s awake!”

It wasn’t long before the doctor came in, checking her over and making sure she was alright, informing her about her extended stay in the castle and the search for Caine. However, all her focus seemed to be on Jax. When the doctor asked for a cool towel for her flushed face, Jax was eager to fetch it. When a breeze through the window made her shiver, he was quick to close it. And when the maid was setting up a tray of breakfast for her, Jax dropped everything to help her. Even the servants and doctors seemed perplexed by his behaviour. What happened to the mischievous prince who made sure to make his crudeness his reputation?

When the buzz died down, the doctor informed Pomni to stay in bed and that he would fetch her family.

Her family. They were safe, it relieved some tension that she didn’t even know she had. It was when Jax turned to leave that she did something that puzzled both of them. “Wait!” she called out. The prince turned back, did she want him to stay? “I-I just…why did you save me?”

Jax was taken aback by that question, staring at her as though the answer was obvious, “I couldn’t just let them take you. Bounty hunters invaded my kingdom and kidnapped one of our visitors. Besides, you hold value to your family and circus. They need you in their lives.”

“R-right, well what I wanted to say was…thank you,” her smile made his heart turn to melted gold. So soft yet so delicate and beautiful. It was burned into the prince’s memory.

“Y-you’re welcome Pomni,” Jax stuttered, sitting himself back down on the chair. He gulped, not once in his life did he get so tongue-tied over another person. It was certainly an interesting feeling to say the least. “And I should apologise for sending you those gifts and the announcement in the town square. Please believe me when I say that I didn’t aim to make you uncomfortable. How does my mother put it? My heart can be bigger than my brain sometimes. But I’m sorry that you had to witness it.”

It was Pomni’s turn to be taken aback. She had never heard words so genuine and sincere, especially with it coming from someone she always saw as pompous and crude. She cleared her throat, “I appreciate the apology your highness. It may take me a while to fully forgive you, but you’ve made a good start already.”

“Jax,” he said.

She hummed questioningly.

“Call me Jax,” he clarified.

“Oh! Well, thank you Jax,” she ran her fingers along the kitten’s fur, listening to him purr to fill the pleasant silence.

“Ah, I see you met Motley,” Jax poked the feline’s nose.

“Motley?” Pomni tilted her head.

“My cat,” he clarified.

Pomni let out a gasp, excitement washing over her. “This is your cat?!” she beamed, holding the kitten up to her face, “He’s adorable.” She pressed little kisses over his small face, Motley purring louder at the affection.

Jax grumbled, ignoring the twinge of jealously, “He’s an obnoxious little shit.”

Pomni scoffed at him, “No he’s not! He’s a sweet little gentleman.”

“He broke in here and decided that this place was gonna be his home,” Jax retorted back, “I didn’t get a say in the matter.”

“But how could you say no to this cute face?” Pomni held Motley closer to Jax’s face, the kitten pressing a paw to the prince’s nose.”

“He’s quite…persuading. But you won’t like him when he’s taking a bath, trust me,” Jax said.

Pomni rolled her eyes, cuddling the kitten again. Jax smiled softly, it was sweet to see her bonding with Motley, after what happened she could use this little interaction to help lift her spirits.

They paused for a moment, Jax letting Pomni take small bites of her breakfast while he prepared some tea for her. He had requested chamomile from the maids, it was what helped him for whenever he had a sick day and he hoped it would help Pomni as well. Once Pomni’s plate was cleared, he gently put the mug in her hands and took away the breakfast tray. She hummed appreciatively at the warm drink, watching Jax’s carefully stack everything together and taking it to the door. It was quite the sight to see, a prince waiting beck and call for a commoner. But she wasn’t complaining, it was rather comforting to be taken care of.

Throughout the silence, simple questions being traded back and forth between the two. “So tell me, how do you know so much about flowers?” Jax asked, “You know, after my abysmal attempt of trying to give some to you.”

Pomni laughed, it was quite funny looking back at it now, “My ma-…my family always loved flowers, they taught me everything there was to know about them. My favourite was always roses, it might be cliché but there are so many meanings to come out of one flower depending on the colour.”

“I see,” Jax murmured, even the smallest thing about Pomni meant the world to him. She was just so fascinating.

“And you,” Pomni spoke, “What is your favourite pastime?”

“Well…I have a passion for reading,” he told her, “Ever since I was young I’ve always had a fondness for books about adventures and swashbuckling pirates! Every page was a new journey and I wanted to devour it all! I wanted to live that life more than ever.”

“That does sound amazing,” she mused, “I haven’t been to a library in so long…” she trailed off. Jax’s face fell slightly, reaching his hand out to her. Pomni noticed the sudden change in mood and smiled again, “But it’s alright, I’m sure I will one day.”

Jax nodded, keeping her sentence locked in his mind. He’d have to come back to that later.

Pomni bit her lip, another question had been burning at the back of her mind and it had made her more curious than she thought she should be. She turned to Jax, “I have to ask, why did you want to see me so badly? What did I do that made you so infatuated?”

Jax blinked, resting his arms on his legs as he clasped his hands together. He took a breath, his face serious as he answered her, “I know it might sound ridiculous, and you’re allowed to laugh. But in all honesty, it was your voice.”

Pomni perked up, her eyes wide, “My voice?”

“Yeah,” Jax nodded, “The moment you started singing, I just wanted to know more about you. You were telling a story simply through song, but you were only telling the first chapter. I got impatient and wanted to read more. From the first note, I knew that there was more to you that I had to know. I just…didn’t go about it the right way at first.” He let out a nervous chuckled, only to freeze when he saw a tear slide down her cheek. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend you!”

“No, no, you didn’t,” she let out a choked laugh, wiping the tear away, “In fact, you said exactly what I needed to hear.”

Motley rubbed his head against her arm, offering as much comfort as possible. Jax placed his hand on hers, “Pomni, if I act or say anything stupid just say the word. I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m a massive idiot.”

Pomni giggled, her face twisting into one of mock surprise, “Really, I had no idea!”

Jax rolled his eyes fondly, “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up short stack.”

She snorted, about to say another word when the room was suddenly flooded by the circus members. Each one of them fretting over her and checking if she was okay. “Guys! I’m fine!” she reassured them, Motley scrambling out of the crowd and ran over to Jax.

The rabbit picked him up, giving the circus cast their space as they reunited with Pomni. “You scared me to death kiddo!” Kaufmo squeezed her, “I thought they got you!”

“I’m okay Pa,” she rested her head on his shoulder, “I gave them a piece of my mind before Jax saved me.”

Kaufmo froze, slowly turning to the prince. “You saved my kid?” he asked.

Jax gulped, he still hadn’t forgotten the clown’s terrifying threat, “Yes?”

Kaufmo hummed in thought, it seemed that he judged the prince a bit too harshly. But only a little bit, he didn’t regret chewing him out. “Thank you, your highness,” he gave Jax a simple bow, “It’s good to know that our safety is taken seriously by you.”

“O-of course,” Jax stuttered. He had fought and won battles against much more frightening opponents, how did a clown seem worse than that?

Kaufmo turned his attention back to Pomni, running his hand over her wound and cringing at the sight. He sat on the bed next to Pomni, the girl leaning into her father’s hug as the rest of the circus members watched over them.

Jax decided to take this as a que to leave and give them their privacy. He was just about to head out the room when he was stopped by Pomni’s voice, “Jax!”

He paused, turning back to her.

“Thank you, again,” Pomni smiled at him, “For what you did.”

Jax grinned, feeling a sense of pride fill him. But it wasn’t the usual arrogance he’d come to expect, there was a warmth to it, and a flutter of butterflies in his stomach. Holding Motley in one arm, he gave the jester a bow, “Always. If you’d like, once you’ve recovered, I could give you a tour of the castle?”

“I’d like that,” Pomni nodded.

And with that, Jax took his leave, fully aware of the stabbing glares of Kaufmo, Moon and Ragatha on his back, never did he expect to feel such danger from a circus crew.

Pomni bit her lip shyly, fisting the sheets below her hands before looking up to meet Gangle’s giddy smile and Zooble’s teasing gaze. “So, you got yourself a date with the prince huh?” Zooble chortled.

“S-shut up!” Pomni threw a pillow at him, making them laugh harder. She sighed, that prince really wormed himself into her heart, didn’t he?

Song Credit: Irish Eyes by Rose Betts

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subwalls · 4 months

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happy holidays @chlopieno!! here's your @dreblrsecretsanta! I went for some dadboyhalo and post-pandora dre for you <3 hope you enjoy!

It’s funny, what makes it through the haze of red.

The bigger things—memory, identity, morality—all of that gets lost in the crimson. But something as subtle as the tap-tap-tap of a shaking limb, entirely devoid of context…

Well, that’s small enough to slip through the net.

Bad drifts after that glimpse of lucidity, only distantly aware of the way it scatters the fog until the fading wisps drop him back into himself, all at once. He stumbles, abruptly aware of the tree he’s listed against and the crack of twigs underfoot, and blinks rapidly.

At least he recognizes his surroundings. These woods are familiar, and thankfully not too far from his mansion. Noonday sunlight dapples through the leaves overhead as branches rustle in a passing breeze.

And there’s still that tapping sound.

Straightening, Bad turns in a slow circle, ears straining to pinpoint a direction. “Hello?” he says.

No response. The tapping doesn’t falter, either, and although Bad should probably just take the unexpected win and go home with his head clear, that same clearness refuses to ignore what might be someone in trouble.

Bad hesitates for a beat, less from reluctance and more to check that his will is his own, before stepping closer to the tapping sound.

It’s rapid, but also distinctly wooden in a way that makes him doubt his first assumption of there being a person on the other end of it.

And then he sees Dream.

He sees the most infamous player on the server curled between a bush and a tree, cane laid across a shaking leg that rattles it furiously against bark. Bristling thorns catch on his clothes, threatening to poke through to the skin beneath, though the way its branches stretch almost all the way across his body can’t be anything but intentional.

Dream himself doesn’t seem to have noticed Bad at all. Instead, he stares into the middle distance with a determined furrow to his brow, wearing the exact same look he used to when troubleshooting a particularly difficult server issue.

The memory hits Bad’s chest like an anvil, preemptively flattening any burgeoning protests that might have come to mind after months upon months of hissed rumors and words spat with vile intent.

“Oh,” Bad says, thinking not of wars and arguments but of a glistening lake and rising laughter. He kneels, reaching out a hand. “Dream?”

It’s not until he makes contact, avoiding the brambles to rest a hand on Dream’s shoulder, that Dream flinches and recoils deeper into the bush. The movement dislodges his cane and bloodies him on the thorns, but his eyes have snapped over to Bad now, with a warning edge of danger to them.

Bad lifts his hands, placating. “Hey, hey, it’s just me,” he says. “I’m not after anything, I was just passing by.”

In another time, Dream would’ve scoffed with amusement and quipped back, crooking a grin.

There’s only caution in his frown now, wariness etched in the way he hunches into the brambles. Pinpricks of blood darken on his sleeves and shoulders, slowly growing from where the thorns have bitten through skin.

Rather than point out that Dream’s own paranoia has now hurt him more than Bad would, or that a few sharp nips from a wild bush wouldn’t deter the people who are truly after him, Bad lets his weight rock back. He sits, legs folding on leaves and grass and dirt.

“I’m serious,” Bad says. He keeps his voice level, rather than gentling it; for all that Dream might or might not have changed, he doubts anything even resembling pity would be well received. “I’ve been busy cleaning up my area. Nobody really comes around here anymore, anyway. What are you doing here?”

Silence. And then, in a quiet rasp, “Nothing.”

“Oh, sure,” Bad says, reminded of all the times Dream has pranked and trapped his friends.

“Really!” Dream snaps, and the thin line red scratched across his cheek reminds Bad that things haven’t been that light-hearted in years. “I just—I’m getting resources! You don’t own this whole forest. I can punch some trees if I want.”

“No, you’re right,” Bad says. “I believe you.”

The conversation falters, then. Bad tries to project calm, Dream remains wound-up, and the only similarity in the way they watch each other is the concern.

Bad tries, “Where… where have you been staying?”

“I have a really big house with lots of redstone,” Dream replies with strange speed, as though by rote, and then shuts his mouth with an audible click and a look of frustration.

“Not in the snow?” Bad says, tipping his head vaguely in the direction he assumes the Syndicate to be in.

Dream doesn’t answer, though he slowly uncurls. So slowly, in fact, that it might be more from exhaustion or an adrenaline crash rather than actually relaxing, but Bad’ll take it either way.

For lack of anything to respond to, Bad barrels on. “Well,” he says, “I’ve been here. Working on taking down the vines, cleaning up, things like that. It’s been pretty slow going, actually, ‘cause they’re really stubborn.”

“The vines,” Dream echoes, and squints at him.

Bad fiddles with a stray leaf. “Yeah, from the Eggpire. You know.” Though come to think of it, he doesn’t know how much Dream knows about the whole situation, since he’s been encased in obsidian for so long and Bad’s attempts to make a seedling take root there never bore fruit.

Clearly some of it must have been conveyed to him, but how much and by whom, Bad hasn’t the faintest.

“I thought a bunch of you teamed up to get rid of it a while ago,” Dream says.

Bad shrugs. The Egg is—was—a stubborn thing. The obsidian marking its resting place still bleeds, and though its roots have long since been torn free from the server’s limping heart, whatever sprout it grafted onto Bad’s soul has been slow to follow.

“That kind of thing likes to stick around, no matter what you’d prefer,” Bad says.

Dream bares his teeth in a half-smile, razor-edged. “To your base,” he says, “or to you?”

“Both,” Bad says, quiet. Peeling the rotting, ash-gray vines from his build has led to the phantom touch of something crawling up his arm a little too often for him to delude himself otherwise. He lifts his gaze, then, and meets Dream’s without flinching. “You know how that goes, huh?”

That grim glimmer in Dream’s eyes vanishes, shuttered behind a blank wall, watching him fall right back into that untouchable, unkillable, larger-than-life figure that the server has always wanted to hunt has never made it clearer that it’s as much a layer of armor as iron or diamond.

“Well, it’s easy to figure out,” Dream says, sharp and venomous, but all Bad sees is that boy he’s watched over for years, bleeding into a berry bush.

“Are you hungry?” Bad says, before Dream can work himself into a full rant.

Baffled, Dream stares at him. “I don’t—what?”

“Are you hungry,” Bad repeats. There’s a pit in his stomach, in echo of how he felt whenever he snuck sandwiches into that obsidian box. He isn’t hungry, but he says, “I am, let’s find some food. There’s gotta be some animals around, or someone’s chests.”

He gets up, casually nudging the fallen cane back over to Dream.

It’s a finely carved piece of woodwork, Bad observes as Dream sputters in confusion, no doubt tended to by steadier hands than Dream’s. Something about that, the thought that despite appearances there still is someone out there lending him a hand, eases just a bit of grief from Bad’s shoulders.

“Why?” Dream is saying. “I’m not hungry, I’m really good at surviving on only a little food.”

Technically, that’s nothing new, but only because Dream could have called the game short whenever he liked in the before-times. Bad’s learned something, having come out the other end of a possession: nothing embitters someone like lack of agency.

“Then I’m getting food for me,” Bad says, “and if it’s not a good time for you, then you can save it for later. You said you were getting resources anyway, right?”

“Not that kind of resources,” Dream complains. He’s moving, though, slowly detaching brambles from his clothes, and Bad turns his head aside to hide the faint hope in the back of his throat. “And it’s never going to be a good time, anyway.”

Bad absently reaches over to help hold back some of the removed branches from swinging back and smacking Dream again. “For food?” he says incredulously. “That’s not a good-time-only kind of thing.”

Dream huffs, aligning his cane and pushing himself up. “It doesn’t matter.”

An indignant sound strangles itself in Bad’s throat, but Dream catches it and narrows his eyes at him.

“Why do you care, anyway?” he says. “Why are you—what do you want?”

Bad opens his mouth, doesn’t know how to explain that relearning to live without the Egg’s sweet promises has reminded him of how it all began and the wish Dream has done all this for, and shuts it.

He takes a deep breath to try, though, because Dream is looking at him expectantly, clearly poised to ditch and run at a tick’s notice, and Bad has the gnawing feeling that if he goes, no one will catch up again.

The core of it, Bad thinks, is this: they all want the same thing, in the end, and the squabbling is over the process. Nothing so far has worked, but everything has hurt.

And here is Dream, fresh out of a haze that can’t have been that dissimilar from Bad’s, still hurting, still willing to put his neck on the line for that goal. Where the roots haven’t yet died in Bad’s veins, neither have the chains fallen from Dream’s scarred wrists; here the two sit, and Bad wishes things were as simple as handing his ward a golden apple to make everything better again.

“I want,” Bad says slowly, “for the good days to come back. And they—they do, sometimes. I think they’re happening more often lately. It doesn’t feel like it, but it’s true.”

Dream snorts. “Really?” he says, picking broken-off thorns out of his shirt with painstaking slowness, tremoring fingers pinched tightly around each one. “Seems like nothing’s changed to me.”

“It’s nice weather today,” Bad says. “The sun’s out and everything.”

He’s cautious of bringing it up, unsure if directly calling to the cell’s conditions will set Dream off, but he only tips his head back with a laugh.

“It’s nice,” he says, “but that’s it. It’s just nice.”

“I think you’re hangry,” Bad decides, and doesn’t bother to hide his smile when Dream makes a face at him. “Come on, I think I heard cows over this way. Everything back then was ‘just nice’, right? Let’s get something that’s ‘just nice’ for right now, and you can go back to… whatever, later.”

Looking back has none no good for them, frankly. Bad thinks they’ll do better looking forward.

He hopes they do.

In the meantime, he has this: Dream’s shoulders falling, the tension forgotten as they tread conversational ground they haven’t in years, and the taste of freshly cooked steak chasing away reminders of blood or potatoes or sandwiches. The pinpricks scab over. Bad convinces Dream to wash the blood off his clothes in a river, and gets splashed hard enough to fall over.

When he comes up, spitting water and shooing fish from his hood, Dream’s laughing again. He looks younger, like the kid who fooled around until he stumbled into Bad’s life and let himself be shuffled under a wing.

#dreblrsecretsanta #[holds the two of them] they are. so precious #a lot of this was inspired by what i see as a few ways they echo each other sdkfhsgfk father to son ig haha

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brsb4hls · 7 months

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Adding to the Loki 2 reactions (with spoilers), slightly critical:

*I still like the aesthetic, the set design is great

*trying to figure out if Loki does not quite feel like Loki, because he actually is out of character or because he's in a completely different environment. I mean, he basically went from period piece-like drama and fantasy to SciFi

Plus he actually gets to built connections with other people here (outside of his family), because the show makes room for it, so that's kinda new. And has to be acted out somehow.

*Regarding those connections, I still feel Loki is a bit too emotional and touchy. Might be on purpose to make him more relatable.

(The "she'll be fine" comment after the car crash though felt Loki-ish)

He is more human in the TVA, which is connected to him not having access to his powers there.

I don't have much hope, but it would be neat to see a shift in his and Mobius' interactions once he gets to use his powers more again.

*On Mobius. Intriguing character, still don't completely buy into the buddy vibe. Mobius does care about Loki in a way and there might have been time to built somewhat of a friendship (I don't know, how much time actually passed in season 1).

But imo Mobius still treats Loki a bit like an asset. Their interactions in 2x1 are more about managing. Mobius maneuvers Loki around to keep him out of an unclear situation and in order to get information. He also needs Loki. As an Loki expert Mobius is fully aware how capable and valuable for a fight Loki is. Loki also knows more about what's happening to the time line, so Mobius has to keep him stable and work with him.

I still don't feel he takes him completely seriously. It all seems a bit patronizing.

Otoh Mobius takes a great risk to keep Loki. Might make sense given the overall situation, but is a bit inconsistent.

They should not have forced the buddy comedy imo. I would have enjoyed enemies reluctantly working together way more.

But Loki needs a friend so I take what I can get I guess. And at least it's Owen Wilson.

(I still would love to see Mobius nearly shitting himself over a display of Loki's true power. He is way to nonchalant, which comes with his position and experience of course, but well...)

*Yeah yeah, we all love OB, that's a given

*does time travel in the MCU work like this? Idc, it was funny. The simultaneous conversation with past and present OB was a nice touch, funny and well done.

*was the time slip a one ep kinda deal? Trailer indicates it wasn't. We'll see.

*Hunter B15 being the moral compass, important.

*That TVA council seemed a bit all over the place. What's the course of action apart from finding Sylvie? But yay, Liz Carr.

*So Sylvie thinks Loki's dead-dead? Makes sense, that she would try to built an actual life after everything. The post credit scene was a bit anvil on the head, but I get it in regards to Sylvie's journey.

Btw my guess is Loki will make a sacrifice in the end, but that will probably be leaving Sylvie and Mobius behind so they can have an actual life.

And Loki will be alone again.

It would fit. It would be dramatic enough, but Disney would still keep the character alive just in case. Loki's a cash cow after all.

#loki #loki spoilers #loki disney+#loki season 2 #slightly critical #but I still like the show #hope ep 2's a bit smoother though #ep 1 felt a bit clunky #feel free to argue #I desere it #I'm overly critical lately #maybe tv show oversaturation or smth lol #oh should probs add #anti mobius #just to be safe

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filmnoirsbian · 2 years

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joan, what were you doing when you were 20? what did your life look like? i’ve been having a hard time with growing older so i’ve asking the people around me and i’ve gotten a lot of different answers.

One of the best things about peoplehood is the diversity of even universal experiences. Everyone 20 and up has been 20, but what their 20 looked like most likely won't be what yours looks like. When I was 20, I was struggling a lot. I was living in a new country without any support system, wrestling with undiagnosed bipolar disorder, and extremely homesick. I was also, as it turned out, working illegally for people who were under investigation by the Chinese government*, which in turn meant that I was under investigation by the Chinese government. I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that you will probably not be under investigation by the Chinese government (or any other government) during your 20th year (though, obviously, you could be. Anything's possible). You probably also won't have to sneak your way out of a country in order to escape your domineering employers (or maybe you will! I recommend using an internet cafe so they cannot check your phone or laptop). But you may very well be struggling with mental health like I was, or personal relationships with friends and family like I was, or seeking an escape like I was (I don't recommend fleeing to a different country after only 2 weeks notice). These things, regardless of our differences in place or time or lifestyle seem to be relatively common, which can be reassuring: it means you aren't the first person to face these things and survive and even find happiness.

I'm sorry you're having trouble with growing older. I know that sometimes it can feel as though you were born into a race you have no hope at winning. Being told that life isn't a race, and that you are allowed to move at your own pace, doesn't always offer much comfort. I don't know the circumstances of your life which might make it more difficult than anyone else's, but I can tell you that eventually, for most of us, time stops feeling like an anvil hovering over the head. Maybe this will happen for you at 22, maybe not until 50. For me it happened around 26. Not everyone's mile stones will look like your mile stones. If someone else wins the pulitzer at 20 but you sometimes struggle to get out of bed, that does not make your getting out of bed less impressive. I hope you have a wonderful birthday, and many more to come. And I hope that soon, you get to a place where you can enjoy them.

* this is not meant to imply that being under investigation by the Chinese government is inherently worse than being under investigation by any other government. I firmly believe it would be a largely upsetting and potentially dangerous situation no matter the country. But I only have personal experience with being under investigation in China.

#asks

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sandsorghum · 1 year

Text

03.02.2023

1st fic of 2023, and obviously it's for a very special someone's birthday! I would also like to dedicate this to the person who so graciously and generously encouraged me to keep writing in 2022, in their hands all my scraps and ramblings and odd ends become treasure maps for plots and perhaps even a few things yall can keep a look out for down the road 👀

That individual is none other than @sukunasun. Not only are they galaxy-brained, they're somehow both the comet from which i tailspin and the sextant parsing constellations from the cosmic chaos of my fictitious obsessions. They're both moonbeam and moonshine, without them i would be lost and have to face that most horrible prospect of sobriety. TLDR if you're a JJK fan and not following them wtf are you doing with your existence. Go, be illuminated.

Anyway I wish I had more time to polish up this piece but I didn't want to procrastinate any further, so hope yall enjoy this. Feedback and reblogs greatly appreciated as always!

Studies in Graphite

Genre: High School AU, Humour, Romance WC: 2.6k Point of inspiration

You abhor these afternoon classes. They were despicable especially at the height of summer.

The post lunch haze was extra insufferable, the satiation from a food coma conspiring to coil anaconda like around your bones, urging hibernation. You had anvils for eyelids and the drone of the teacher only added extra weight to them.

But there was one thing helping to keep you awake, a singular saving grace that prevents you from entirely loathing the midday heat which made the hours ooze by excruciatingly. You don’t mind the minutes melting together, the taunt of the second hands’ tick tocks is ameliorated by the way he’s illuminated.

Your classmate sits one desk and several eternities away from you, silhouette radiant against the 4pm sun. The sharp slope of his nose and the jutting edges of his jawline cast shadows in all the right places, delicate strands of his fringe that frame his face begging for a breeze. Still, that forehead remains unfurrowed, even with the bead of perspiration that rolls past his temple, arcing across the high cut of his cheeks to drip down in the hollow of his throat. Your own grows scratchy and dry at the descent of this dewy melodrama, mesmerizing in its mundanity, causing you to swallow hard.

The pen perched upon his lips inspires you to lick your own chapped, cracked ones as he fiddles and flicks the writing instrument around, so his knuckles now rest against that plush bottom lip, joint tentatively pressed in thought to it.

God, how the sun adores Geto Suguru.

And then there were those eyes, brighter than any beam daring to stream in through the windows to challenge his gleaming coal gaze. It appears attentive enough and yet he exudes an aura of boredom. If only that sight might slide a couple inches to his right, where you were. Although, you realise immediately as the thought forms, that’s a foolish thing to wish for - he’d catch you staring, and you’d burn to a crisp in a moment.

Focus, you chide yourself, dropping your eyes to your notebook, graphite grazing against the paper in languid loops and swoops. You could never quite get his expression right, maybe fuller lashes, or a little less shading of the philtrum?

There’s an echo of annoyance in the distance, words muffled by their irrelevance but then you hear the syllables most familiar to you spill from an unfamiliar voice, much closer and quivering with the timbre of amusement. He knows your name? Your sight flicks to the side, and oh, there’s the quirk of Geto’s lips to match your silly little hopes. They tilt further with the incline of his head, and at last you trace the sound of exasperation to your teacher.

“Uhm, sorry sir, what was that?” you stutter, shooting up too abruptly and knocking your textbook to the floor.

With a long suffering sigh, the teacher repeats himself.

“Name the solution.”

“Just one second, Yaga-sensei…” You scramble to retrieve your book, bending down but a pair of hands beat you to it. Suguru passes it to you, mouthing page 56.

You duck your head in an abashed gesture of appreciation, flipping like a hurricane through the pages. You clear your throat, stalling for time as you frantically scan for the relevant question. Suguru hums low, signaling assistance and your eyes dart over to his index, tapping the top right corner of his page. You feel the glare of your teacher barreling towards your bowed head yet you still steal a second to flash Suguru a grateful grin before glancing at where he’s hinted.

Perfect! You actually knew this one for once.

Triumphantly you raise your head, reciting in a voice loud and clear, “Here we can apply Pythogoras’ Theorem, which is a squared plus b squared equals…”

You trail off noticing your teacher’s perplexity at your unwarranted confidence, though it switches to irritation in a moment.

“If you’d like to join us, we’re on page 89,” he says in a clipped tone.

“Ah, right. Sorry…” your fingers fly through the pages.

“...of the geography textbook,” he adds after an unnecessarily cruel pause.

It’s not the tittering that swells over the rest of the classroom that make your ears burn scarlet, it’s the stifled snort from the side. Your entire body freezes but your eyes snap to the left, rebelling against your better instincts. And now you’re really scorching, regarding the way Geto Suguru has clasped a palm over his mouth to choke back his chortles, but you see them wracking his body, belly tensing and convulsing with slight shudders.

Amidst the inferno of your infuriation and shame, any gratitude towards Geto goes up in smoke. Still, some small part of you appreciates the view before you, his eyes glittering with mischief, attention fully on you and your seething stare, as you expect embers of embarrassment to spark where your fingernails bite into your palms. Alas, even the gasoline fumes of his grin don’t ignite any real flames in your hands to char that stupid smirk off him.

You’ve heard the rumours, Geto Suguru was pegged to be the next valedictorian.

But now, for a fact, you know he’s also made it to the top of your list of Handsome Assholes Not to Trust. Ever.

As you slump back into your seat, dignity shriveled, you barely register the exasperated sigh of your teacher.

“Would anyone else like to volunteer the answ- oh great.” His grumble gets cut off by the shrill of the bell, indicating the end of the period and thankfully, the school day.

You haul up your books and hurry out to the corridor, deliberately ignoring Geto calling after you, despite how sweet the syllables sound ringing out from him.

You yank your locker door open, snatching your bag and stuffing everything into it haphazardly. You had to get off campus as quickly as possible but - your pack feels less bulky than usual. You’re missing your notebook. Shit, it had all your assignments - or more accurately the distractions from your assignments in it. You rummage through files and folders. Of course your bag chose this precise moment to unfathomably transform into a black hole, of course -

“Looking for this?”

And of course Geto Suguru had to be the one holding up the very thing you were looking for, bemusement twinkling in his eyes. As he strides toward you, you wonder if the inexplicable cosmic phenomena in your bag could swallow you up first.

It doesn’t, naturally.

“Hello,” Geto says, unnaturally chipper. “You dropped this just now.”

You can tell by the sparkle in his eyes the worst has happened, he’s already rifled through it.

“Give it back,” you snap, holding your hand out. Geto’s a good several feet taller than you, you’re not about to humiliate yourself in front of him a second time today by treating him like a basketball hoop.

He waves it back and forth anyway, seeing if he can get a rise out of you. And sure, if someone popped an old-fashioned thermometer in your mouth, the mercury would be rocketing up.

“You’re so quiet, I always took you for the diligent, studious type ya know? Turns out you’re quite the day dreamer, aren’t ya?”

“Give it back,” you repeat with pitch-perfect stoicism.

“But I wonder what you dream about at night,” Geto muses, as if you were mute. “Or should I say who?”

That thermometer under your tongue has turned into a cat’s claw.

He presses the spine of your notebook to the corners of his mouth in mock contemplation, and your mind screams louder Don’t say anything! Just make him submit with your stare. Your brain always provides the best advice.

That your mouth just doesn't abide by.

“That’s none of your business. Probably nightmares of Yaga-sensei, thanks to you.”

“Sorry, sorry. You were just so perfect…”

“Excuse me?” You’re caught wholly off guard by the combination of Geto’s half-assed apology and what seems to be his entirely sincere compliment.

“For my plan,” he elaborates, advancing toward you. Your heart skips a beat for every step Geto takes closer to you.

“Class was almost over, I just needed an incident to make sensei forget about giving us homework. Or maybe, a few more minutes to help me get through the day,” he hums, voice dropping low. You don’t need to lean forward to hear Geto, with how he’s looming over you now, your body caged between the locker and his arm.

“Either way, you were the perfect distraction.”

“If you want to express your thanks, you ought to return my property.”

You clutch your bag to your chest, trying to form some sort of shield between you and the hot gust of Geto’s chuckle. Or perhaps it’s a sound barrier, so he doesn’t detect the drumming of your heart; you have a hunch that’s futile though.

“Your property? See, I don’t know about that. Sure, you bought this book, but the intellectual property inside, the likenesses of certain images, that I certainly don’t remember authorizing the replication of...”

“You gonna stand there and lecture me about...about copyright infringement?” You huff, incredulous.

“Well, no,” Suguru cocks his head, contemplating your retort.

“I suppose involving you in my earlier stunt is payback enough.”

“Payback?”

“Mmhmm, for invasion of privacy.”

“You’re the one who went through the contents of my-”

“You must have taken a picture of me without my permission,” Geto frowns, as if disappointed that you’d try to fib so pathetically.

“I didn’t!”

“Hm? How else do you explain the quality of your art? You must have had some sort of reference, or sneaky recording.”

“I- I did no such thing! I just drew you from memory and thought about your face a lot!” You yell, composure shattering like glass. You see Geto’s smug victory reflected in its shards.

Too late you realise the outburst his accusation triggered is just what he wanted.

“All that from memory? It’s awfully accurate, that’s impressive.” Geto murmurs, and you’re taken aback again by how much he means his praise.

“You honestly think that?” You mumble, temporarily forgetting the original transgression that allowed him to have any opinion of your work in the first place.

Geto nods, holding your gaze level with his. “Although you probably shouldn’t doodle in class so you can avoid humiliating scenarios.”

“Oh yea, and what should I call this then?”

“Well, we’re technically outta class now, I can’t give you any guarantees there.”

Your breath hitches with the slender finger that Geto slyly slides beneath your chin, tilting them so your mouth is perfectly angled to meet the one you’ve been fixated on for months, breaking in dozens of 2B pencil points on their outline, the precise shape of their smirk remaining elusive. Now, that you had an up-close study though…

“I - um - I suppose I should concentrate during lessons more,” you admit, “Art’s not a real subject anyway…”

Geto’s lips twitch downward in the same motion he arches a brow.

“Not real?” There’s a huskiness, a promise, a risk to his rhetorical inquiry.

“This subject doesn’t feel real to you?”

Suddenly, a weight collides against your mouth, Suguru’s scent invades your senses - but not his taste; something feels wrong. There’s just the texture and flat flavour of wood pulp, no warmth of flesh or curve of a wicked grin crashing against your lips, certainly no wet muscle stroking along them, probing aggressively for entrance.

You had cinched your eyes shut to brace for the impact of your first ever kiss but they fly open again to investigate the abnormal sensations, so foreign to your fantasies. You’d always anticipated some degree of incongruity with reality but this wasn’t how any man’s mouth should feel, definitely not Suguru’s. You would know, after all, you had devoted a...not insignificant amount of time and mental capacity considering what his in particular might feel like.

The cunning bastard’s gone and slipped the notebook between your mouths, the pages pressed between lips. Fortunately (or unfortunately?) the notebook’s less thick than when you’d purchased it. In your exasperation you’d torn out dozens of pages of failed starts and imperfect sketches of Suguru. And now, you’re further frustrated by the irony that if only you’d ruined more of your drawings, the individual you’d based them on would perhaps have been able to give you a proper kiss, damned fantasy obstructing reality.

But even now, you feel his heat, his hunger.

This close to him, your noses are brushing, foreheads bumping. Obviously you can’t see the smirk etched on his mouth blocked by the notebook, but it’s traveled to his sparkling eyes, mirth apparently finding permanent residence there. You think it probably is unlucky after all, for the pages to be so thin, you wouldn’t want anyone catching you and Geto Suguru making out (not making out?) in the school hallways, that would be-

“Oiii Suguru, I’m finally freaking done! Let’s head to the arcade, I’m gonna smash your Street Fighter record!”

You glimpse a shock of white hair and dark sunglasses, and hurriedly shove Suguru away.

“Oh. Is there another record you’re more interested in setting?”

Suguru shakes his head at his best friend’s snarky comment. Birds of a feather, you think, dazed at the close shave. You barely register Suguru curling his fingers around you, but the light squeeze of his hand sends a bloom of warmth rushing through your body.

“I was just swapping notes with her,” Suguru responds nonchalantly.

“Yeah? Looked more like you were swapping spi-”

“How about you get some practice rounds in first, you could use the head start.”

“Now you’re telling me not to dawdle? After spending all semester sighing about…”

Your schoolmate squints at you, then his friend, then back at you. His face is inscrutable beneath his shades, but Suguru seems to have picked something up.

“Give us a few minutes, Satoru. Alone.”

He clasps his hands behind his head, scoffing, “Right, because that needed emphasis.”

“Whatever. Bring enough change later, no excuses for copping out this time,” he drawls, drifting back down the hall. You turn back towards Suguru.

“Street Fighter?”

“It’s an ongoing bet. Long story,” he responds with a vague gesture.

“Right.”

You lock eyes with him, curiosity ballooning, the question you’re so tempted to ask stretching the silence even tauter. For once, your muse studies you instead, patient and observant.

Slowly you ask, “Was I really that obvious in class?”

Suguru shrugs - or attempts to, the jerky movement of his shoulders syncing with the grin splitting his face. “Nah I just have extraordinary peripheral vision.”

You bury your face in your palm, fingers valiantly attempting to dam back the flood of blood to your cheeks.

“You know, I wouldn’t have noticed if the resemblance wasn’t that striking.”

You shoot a glare at him. “Are you humble-bragging about your looks right now?”

He laughs, an unfettered full-throated ribbon of sound reverberating in your bones. “Not intentionally. I just meant, you’re talented. You should keep it up.”

He notes the incredulity wrinkling across your expression and his smile widens.

“In fact,” he taps the hand clutching your notebook. It’s light and playful, but there’s a touch more tenderness in his tone, “if you want to keep improving your drawing skills, next time just ask me to be your model, all right? I can’t promise I’ll sit still the whole time though.”

Airily, too daringly, you reply, “I don’t expect you to.”

Suguru’s eyes glint, in recognition of your challenge.

Since that day, you've stopped tearing out the pages.

Not that it really mattered how thick or thin your notebooks were when the pictures leaped out of them at you, that same charcoal gaze turning your skin to canvas; His very own work of art, a portrait to savour in private.

#geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #suguru x reader #suguru x y/n #suguru x you #jjk suguru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #geto x reader #geto x you #sandsorghum #that drawing of him is 100/10 #isn't it so SO gorgeous #it makes me insaNe

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ask-de-writer · 5 months

Text

About NORE’S CHOICE :

Parts 8 to 10 of 10 : MLP Fan Fiction

@nevermord READ, LIKED, REBLOGGED

and COMMENTED on

NORE’S CHOICE

Parts 8 to 10 of 10

MLP Fan Fiction

Of NORE’S CHOICE Parts 8 to 10 he said :

Of Part 8 : In teaching the Rom how to fuse these wodden pieces together, and learning how these horses hold things with their own version of magic, It makes me wonder. Does magic simply pass through all things at an atomic or molecular level, or are there some materials that would block even magic itself, meaning that ponies or horses couldn't lift it or move it?

In my AU, magic is fundamental. No such material exists. That was an error on the part of the Creator Titans. The whole world had to be made to follow basic laws of physics. The manipulation of magic, by ponies and other races, goes in direct violation/alteration of basic physical constants on a very small scale. This really didn't matter much, until there were millions and later billions of such events. The physical errors caused rapidly became huge.

Collectively, they work to cause major problems with the world, damaging its physical equilibrium and eventually rendering the world uninhabitable for its beings. Celestia and Luna were created by the Titan of Life Creation and given both the powers and the knowledge to make the necessary corrections to keep Equestria a safe place for ponies and others to live.

Of Part 9 : The soon-to-be Rom learn about pony weather teams and why they do not send the rains over Celestia's Anvil.

Marchhare learns more about the customs and music of these wonderful horses, and falls in love.

This was a fun, wonderful chapter.

Also, I just might have a little gift to post for you tomorrow, old friend. :)

Right. It is usually a matter for complex international diplomacy to send rains or set up weather control for other nations. In this case, due to the paired emergencies, the salvaged cloud systems were sent to and did break the drought in Gyptia.

Marchhare, as you observed, learns more about the customs of the band and realizes the importance of both music and dance to his new friends. And, as you observed, falls in love, though Nore had to sort of hit him over the head to make him realize it.

Glad that you enjoyed it.

Got your present and it was delightful! Posted it for all to read.

Of Part 10 : While their path will not be free of strife, the Rom have a very bright future before them, full of hope, love, music and dance. I do love this origin story, difficult though the journey may have been for them. It was more than worth it in the end!

Got to agree with you in every particular! This was the first section of the ORIGIN OF THE ROM. The next section is already in the queue.

#@nevermord #NORE’S CHOICE #Parts 8 to 10 of 10 #MLP Fan Fiction #Written by De Writer

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randomishnickname · 8 months

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I want so desperately to live a life i can be proud off. To feel as if it mattered that i inhabited my own skin for a while. Feeling as if I’m rotting alive again, too weak to change things but unable to resign myself to my current circumstances either. The thought of having to do this for much longer, for months years decades more, is staggering. Never thought that my body would be the thing stopping me from moving on towards my goals. My body was always the thing I had going for me when my mind was fucking broken, a source of pride and comfort. Depressed as shit but at least I can throw my back into some good labor, enjoy the endorphins of a good workout and such. And now the mind is, for once, finally willing but the flesh is not… I dared to dream too much those last two months and now realizing it’s all probably out of reach feels like someone dropped an anvil on my head. Really hard to accept the damage is irreversible, that I’ll always be in some level of pain and discomfort and struggle with that shit for the rest of my life. That some things just can’t heal and once it’s broken it’s broken. I feel trapped in my body in a way I’ve never experienced before. Vague sense of disgust and resentment at my own body, an urge to punish and self-destruct. I feel gross and feeble. Crying in public at the library again like good old times. Might also just be the PMS talking but hey.

#in other words: bad news at the doctor's #rant #personal #depression #misusing tumblr as my diary again

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a-shrieking-cloud-of-bats · 1 year

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Some basic info for people just getting started with DF with the steam version; I’m not super far into it yet so no commentary on the new UI, but if they did it right it should be much easier to parse!

Important to actually enjoying your first game of dwarf fortress

- don’t forget the anvil; your embark starts with one, don’t take it out and if you do put it back in because it’s required for everything that has anything to do with metal.

- Embark in an area with soil so you’ll have an easier time starting a farm. Making a farm on stone is a whole process of wetting the rock, usually with water sourced from a river, installing floodgates, etc and while it’s not super difficult, I’d imagine it can be a little rough if you’re struggling with the basics.

- Embark in an area without an aquifer. They’re all over but they are a royal pain to get through and offer comparatively little benefit if tamed. There’s a way to mod them out (on the not steam version anyway; I don’t know why steam would be any different as I saw it loading RAWs when I started but a disclaimer as I haven’t actually fussed with the files yet so I Dunno Man.)

- A drawbridge is a way to completely lock out the outside world in most cases. It’s worth installing one on your main entrance once you get your feet under you, even if they’re sort’ve finnicky. Close it if trouble rears its ugly head and you will (probably) be safe, and with any luck the trouble will walk off on its own time.

Meta Talk Nonsense, feel free to ignore these but if you’re looking for a bit more additional guidance then here you go; though I stress that the game is more about the journey then anything so completely removing any sort of personal element from the game is a great way to ruin it.

- if you’re bringing gear and a military dwarf on your initial embark, bronze is a good pick; it’s roughly equivalent to iron military wise (slightly worse, I think?) and it’s half the price. Iron might be fine, but it’ll take most if not all of your embark points, so if you want to bring anything extra (like animals!) then bronze is probably the way to go. The benefit from iron is significant, but not significant enough to warrant not being prepared for fort development.

- combat actually uses some skills not in the combat tab; notably teacher. Teacher will improve the rate dwarves learn skills from their militia captain. I’ll usually bring a 5 fighter/dodger 5 teacher with me as my starter militia dwarf, just so military dwarves can get some basic education.

- A good general use weapon class is war hammers. They tend to bash through armor reasonably well and have a larger chance to break bones, causing debilitating pain to the other guy, which can essentially be thought of as a win.

- If you’re bringing livestock make sure they can graze, and make sure they’re assigned to a pasture, as they can and will starve to death following dwarves around underground where there’s nothing for them to eat.

- Traps are a great supplement to a military. Dwarves will not set them off on accident (unless they pass out on them), and a boulder to the head can do a surprising amount of damage even to an armored target.

So You Embarked On An Area Without Soil: you’ll need to dig into the side of a nearby river or pond and drain the water through the area where you want your crops. Your farm will have to be underground or at least below surface level as a result. You also need to dig out an area for the water to drain into, (because most dwarves cannot swim and as a result are terrified of walking through even shin high water) and install a floodgate and hook up a lever to the floodgate Before Breaching The Side Of The River Or Pond so you can turn off the water flow when it’s passed over the stone. You don’t need to dump a load of water onto it, you just want there to be a mud layer on the stone, which should happen after pretty much any water passes over it. After that you can make a farm on it.

If you ask me this is worth trying to do even if you have a soil farm just so you know how to do it; it’s a good exercise in how basic mechanisms and water flow works, and it’s hard to mess up so bad it ruins your fort once you have some lower levels dug out.

#bats speaks #dwarf fortress posting #I am not super up to date so I didn't talk about newer stuff #IIRC it's not too horrible #there's also some very complex potential threats in the game and I'm not gonna stick that in a general purpose advice post #Losing Is Fun and all that #also if anyone needs more specific guidance please feel free to message #I have been playing the game for a while #and Love To Talk About Video Games #long post

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bluerose5 · 2 years

Text

A Sense of Belonging

[Yes, I definitely did write this after meeting Zathrian's clan because of all the condescension towards city elves. Darrian just needed some comfort. ;-; ]

Pairing: Darrian Tabris/Zevran Arainai

Word Count: 2,660

Also on Ao3.

It wasn't long after the sun had set when Wynne and Alistair retired for the evening.

Their fire crackled yet dwindled, casting an orange glow over their campsite. The light danced in the shadows, its arms outstretched towards the night sky.

Darrian raised his hands, palms facing the flames in an attempt to absorb whatever heat the fire could provide.

They remained on the outskirts of the Dalish camp, able to see yet unable to partake.

After all, they were outsiders. That much had been made apparent enough.

Before he could delve too deep into such thoughts, a blanket wrapped itself around his shoulders. Darrian startled, glancing up in time to catch sight of Zevran, only to have him burrow underneath the blanket against Darrian's side.

Settling in together, Darrian felt the tips of his ears warm. Zevran leaned his head upon Darrian’s shoulder, their arms wrapped around one another in a snug embrace.

For a moment, they were quiet, simply taking in the comfortable silence between them, their eyes fixated on the flames.

Then, Zevran spoke.

"Something on your mind?" he asked.

Darrian snorted.

"When you say 'something,' do you mean am I thinking about how I had to venture into the Fade to save the Circle of Magi, or maybe you meant the whole part where we cured a human noble with some magical ashes from their dead prophet?"

"Don't forget the part where the infamous Grey Warden threatened to turn his lover into a golem," Zevran deadpanned. "Oh, how I enjoyed that part."

"Well…" Darrian sniffed in disdain. "I was just trying to make a point. That anvil is better off destroyed than in the hands of someone like Branka."

It wasn't really that hard of a decision.

Besides, after all she had done to those entrusted to her care, Darrian couldn't let her get away with it without some form of retribution.

The broodmother still haunted Darrian’s dreams. Every morning he awakened, he could still hear the ominous echoes of Hespith's poem.

He knew it was bad when those nightmares somehow managed to drown out even the whispers of the Archdemon.

Zevran tsked at him with a shake of his head.

"Yes, yes, I know. You made your point perfectly clear in the Deep Roads," he grumbled. "You and your heroic sentimentality."

"Aw, but Zev," he whined, grinning in spite of himself. "I thought you adore my heroic sentimentality, though."

When Darrian poked his bottom lip out into a pout, Zevran rolled his eyes at him with a fond smile.

"Perhaps a little," he allowed, leaning in to brush his lips along Darrian's. "Besides, I would say that you more than made it up to me back at camp."

How he delighted in watching that soft dusting of a blush spread from Darrian's ears to his cheeks.

"I only live to serve," Darrian joked, stealing a quick peck.

Zevran might have stolen one of his own in turn, and then another. This time, lingering.

As the kiss grew longer and more passionate, Darrian beamed each time one of them would pull away a little, only for the other to chase after their lips. Zevran could feel how Darrian’s lips curved against his with joy, unable to keep his heart from racing in response.

When they eventually parted, gasping for breath, Zevran chided, "Hey, now, that's my line."

"So you keep saying," Darrian sighed. He leaned his forehead against Zevran’s, dark brown eyes trained on golden brown. "But you do realize that I destroyed the Anvil because I abhor the thought of taking away anyone's free will?" He stared pointedly at Zevran. "Yours included. You always bring up your vow of service, yet you know I wouldn't ever hold you to that—"

As soon as Zevran tensed, Darrian knew that he struck a nerve. Zevran pulled away, grumbling while he crossed his arms over his chest.

"There you go again with that," Zevran said, his attempt at a casual, relaxed tone tainted by the underlying tension that always seemed to worm its way into his voice when they had this conversation. "You must really want me to leave if you're so eager to release me from my vow."

Darrian frowned.

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Is it not?"

Darrian let out a frustrated groan, taking Zevran’s hand in his with a firm squeeze to demand his attention.

"Of course not," Darrian stated. "I just want you to realize that I want you here because of reasons beyond some vow of servitude."

“Ah, yes, but the problem lies within this simple fact.” Without warning, Zevran shoved Darrian back against the ground. He climbed into Darrian’s lap, straddling his hips with a coy smirk. He stole the blanket and draped it over himself, its soft folds cascading down around them both when Zevran leaned in to press a kiss beneath Darrian’s ear. A shiver shot down Darrian’s spine. Goosebumps spread out across his skin. Zevran’s words fanned out over Darrian’s throat like a sweet, gentle caress. “I happen to enjoy serving under you, amor.”

Darrian had to sink his teeth into his bottom lip, biting back a needy whimper when he felt Zevran’s fingers tease at the sliver of skin between his shirt and his trousers.

The instant Darrian squirmed beneath him, Zevran chuckled fondly.

“I–Is that so?” Darrian breathed.

“Mm-hmm…” Trailing off with a low hum, Zevran delivered a playful nip to Darrian’s earlobe. Darrian jolted when Zev gave it a sharp tug, followed by several kisses to soothe the area. “Then again, I’m not exactly a picky man. I enjoy servicing you from the top as well.”

Darrian couldn’t hold back his snort at that, covering his burning face with his hands as he fell into a fit of snickers and giggles.

Zevran watched him in awe. Bracing his hands upon Darrian’s chest, he sat back in his lap to get a better view of him, tracing idle patterns through the fabric of his shirt.

“That was terrible,” Darrian laughed, peeking at Zevran through his fingers. His eyes glistened with tears of happiness, sparkling with endless joy. It was so rare to see him in such a state. Zevran couldn’t help but to savor the moment, committing it to memory. “You insatiable man.”

“What can I say?” Zevran gave a half-shrug. “You bring out the best in me, my dear Warden.” He hesitated, but then reminded himself that he didn’t have to. Zevran knew well enough that any feelings he held for the Warden were returned in kind. “Just so you know, the reason why I’m so attached to my vow is because I absolutely adore being yours. I know that I am my own man, especially in your eyes, but there is simply something so irresistible about the idea of belonging to you…”

Stroking his hands up and down the expanse of Darrian’s chest, Zevran stared down at him through a hooded gaze. He parted his lips, desire taking hold of him.

“It makes my heart sing,” Zevran whispered.

Darrian swallowed under Zevran’s intense scrutiny, his breathing shaky.

When one of Zevran’s hands ventured close, Darrian grabbed it before it could move away, holding it to the center of his chest.

Beneath Zevran’s palm, he could feel Darrian’s heartbeat.

Darrian appraised him, admired how the remnants of their fire played off of his golden strands of hair. How the flames illuminated his profile, framing him in a halo of light.

The words slipped free without a thought.

“I love you,” Darrian said. It was a mere statement of fact and not the first time he had voiced such feelings.

Still, his confessions always managed to catch Zevran off guard.

Zevran tensed for a brief second, soon melting against him.

He then swooped in and crashed his lips against Darrian’s into a bruising kiss, fervent and passionate.

Darrian eagerly responded in kind, one hand finding its way into Zevran’s hair while his free arm wound its way around Zevran’s waist.

They panted harshly against each other’s mouths, deepening the kiss until the heat in their veins threatened to consume them.

They only managed to part when the need for air grew to be too much to handle. Even then, while they gasped to catch their breaths, they still managed a kiss or two in between each one.

For a while, they simply sat there, basking in each other’s presence. They whispered sweet nothings into each other’s skin to fill the silence.

But such a distraction could only last for so long.

Eventually, Darrian’s brow furrowed in a way that Zevran was all too familiar with. He stared at Zevran’s flushed, kiss-swollen lips; and in doing so, Darrian carefully avoided making eye contact with Zevran, focused instead on dragging his thumb along his bottom lip.

Usually, Zevran wasn't one to push, but it was hard to ignore when something was clearly bothering Darrian.

He eyed him for a moment before asking, "What troubles you, my dear?"

Darrian blinked owlishly at the question, as if awakened from a daze.

He glanced in the direction of the Dalish camp, contemplating his answer.

"It's just—"

Darrian waved his hand in a vague gesture, fumbling for the right words.

Fortunately —or, rather unfortunately— Zevran knew the disappointment brewing within those eyes all too well.

"It's simply not what you expected," Zevran said, finishing the thought aloud. At Darrian’s weary nod, Zevran sighed, settling in against his side. He laid his head upon Darrian’s chest, his ear pressed against the spot where his hand once rested. The rhythmic thumping of Darrian’s heart welcomed him. "I know that feeling all too well, amor."

Darrian grimaced.

"Yeah," he murmured, stroking his hand along Zevran’s back. "It's so frustrating, though, mostly because I'm upset at myself for getting my hopes up on some childish whim. My grandparents used to always send me letters from their settlement in Llomerryn. My mother used to always tell me great tales of growing up both among the Dalish and among the dazzling cities in Rivain. I thought that they would welcome us, that I—"

"Could have what she had," Zevran stated.

Darrian hesitated, staring up at the sky for a moment, and nodded.

Taking a deep breath, he exhaled through his nose in a huff.

"The Alienage in Denerim…" He chewed on the inside of his cheek. "I miss my family, I miss my friends, but I don't miss the slums. I don't miss keeping my magic a secret or struggling for survival everyday." He trailed off, laughing bitterly. "I was like a wild beast in some of their eyes. A troublemaker, they called me, simply because I didn't want to lay down and accept our lot in life."

Darrian sniffed in disdain, but Zevran remained quiet while he traced patterns along his chest, allowing Darrian to air out these feelings as needed.

"I didn't have much choice to join the Wardens, but I felt so bad because my first thought when I got conscripted was that 'anywhere is better than here!'" He shook his head at himself, clenching his jaw. "Although, truth be told, even being a Warden doesn't feel all that fulfilling at times. It comes with a lot of power and responsibility, don't get me wrong, but the downsides often seem to overshadow the good that comes from it."

"So you don't feel at home in the only home you knew for years, and your sudden, unwilling career change turns out to carry more burdens than you signed up for," Zevran noted. "Then, to top it all off, you finally meet the renowned Dalish that you've heard so much about —the very people that you've dreamt would be your salvation…"

"Only to find out that they think that I'm an inferior 'flat-ear,' at worst," Darrian muttered. "Or in need of their saving and guidance, at best."

"You know," Zevran teased, glancing up at him with a mischievous grin. "This story is starting to sound very familiar to me. I wonder where I've heard it before."

Darrian snorted, running his fingers through Zevran’s hair.

"Are you saying that we're alike?"

"Probably more than you would care to admit."

"On the contrary," Darrian said, "I find it a compliment that you would compare the two of us. I think that's high praise indeed."

Zevran gaped at him, his face lit aflame as it was his turn to become flustered.

Which was saying something, considering the fact that Zevran was never the bashful type.

Leave it to Darrian to conjure such a rare reaction out of him.

Clearing his throat, Zevran eventually found his voice.

"You know," he said, "most people would be utterly offended at being compared to me."

Within the blink of an eye, Darrian had flipped them over with a wicked glint in his dark eyes, smirking at Zevran as he pinned his wrists to the ground. The blanket tangled itself around them, their hips pressed flush together.

"Good thing I'm not 'most people,'" Darrian countered. Soon enough, his expression softened. He reached out and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind Zevran’s ear. The instant his hand was within reach, Zevran nuzzled into his touch. "Besides, it makes sense."

"Does it now?" Zevran asked.

When Darrian leaned in to press his lips to Zevran’s throat, the latter arched his neck out on display with a content sigh.

Darrian’s lips traced along the curve of Zevran’s throat, kissing and nipping at soft skin.

"Mm-hmm…" Darrian murmured. "I know the others have their doubts because you're an assassin, but you make me feel safe. You make me feel special."

"Aha! So my master plan is working, after all."

Darrian flicked lightly at Zevran’s ear, earning a pout from the Crow.

"Ow!" Zevran cried out, ever dramatic. "Amor, please! Why must we result to such harsh blows?"

"As if you haven't asked for worse before."

"Ah, yes, but that was in the context of bringing me to your bed, or tent roll, as it may be."

"Okay, the moment's over."

"Wait," Zevran gasped, wrapping his arms around Darrian in a vice-like grip before he could move away. "I'm not finished listening to you sing my praises."

"Uh-huh." Darrian narrowed his eyes at him. "Will you behave this time?"

"Do you want me to answer honestly?"

"Ugh." Darrian grumbled with a roll of his eyes, but no real heat remained in such a motion. If anything, he was trying to resist the urge to smile at his lover's silly antics. "Right. Well, all I was going to say was that, while I care for the others and all of my loved ones back in Denerim, I've never felt as if I truly belonged anywhere as I do when I am with you."

Zevran melted, all of his playfulness gone, replaced instead by a deep, all-consuming heat.

"Oh, is that all?" Zevran asked. In his attempt to come across as indifferent, his breathless tone betrayed him the second he spoke.

And of course, Darrian picked up on that in an instant.

Cupping his cheek, Darrian stared down at him, taking in every last detail.

A pressure built up within him until the words came spilling out.

"You are my home," Darrian stated. "And so long as you will have me, I will gladly remain by your side. Nothing will come between us."

Overcome by a sudden onslaught of emotions, Zevran dragged Darrian down into a tight embrace. He clung to him, burrowed into Darrian’s arms, as if the slightest bit of distance between them would mean their end. He shoved his face into the crook of Darrian’s neck, carefully hidden from view.

He didn't know what had come over him, but Zevran knew one thing and that was that he needed to hold Darrian close.

He needed him to hear the sincerity with which he spoke.

"Nothing," Zevran vowed, making the promise to both Darrian and himself.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #male warden #male tabris #zevran arainai #zevwarden #zevran x warden #zevran x tabris #bluerose writes #darrian tabris

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desertfangs · 3 years

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Buffy Season 6 really isn’t playing subtle with the whole “magic is now drugs” metaphor, are they? I mean, they could have dropped anvils on our heads and it would have been less over-the-top.

#buffy season 6 #willow rosenberg #wrecked #btvs #btvs: wrecked #smashed #also i might have enjoyed an anvil to the head more #just saying

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

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𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝𝘐𝘐 - 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙚) || sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader

(𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘝) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝𝘐)

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || the finale.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 3.5k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || fluff, angst, implied smut, domestic goodness, more EMOTIONS!!!

six months ago...

Bucky wrung his hands a few times before knocking on your door, feeling his heart beat a little faster when he could hear the sounds of your footsteps on the other side. He'd been dreaming of a day like this for so long— the day he finally acted on this secret obsession he had, the day he stopped fantasizing and started realizing— but all this time, part of him had never really thought he'd go through with it. I mean, there's a pretty big difference between jerking off to videos of dominant women and actually getting spanked, slapped, and choked by a dominatrix after paying her an insane amount of money per hour.

But frankly, Bucky needed a big difference from what he'd been doing. He'd been alone for a little too long, he needed someone else's touch before he lost his mind. And he knew that he needed something more substantial than a hook-up, someone who wouldn't expect him to be dominant at all. Even in a kink-less, vanilla hook-up, there’s still an onus of dominance, that’s what Bucky had realised. He’s still supposed to initiate, to guide, to be fully in control… and he hates how it feels to be in control. He’s not used to it, and it doesn’t feel right, and it just makes him sure he’ll do something wrong. So here he was, standing at your door, hoping you’d take away his freedom to do something wrong.

The latch turned and you opened it.

Fuck.

You looked great. Too great, almost overwhelming. Even better than the pictures on your website.

You looked so much softer than the women he saw whenever he searched up femdom porn (yes, that was pretty much the first thing he did once he figured out google— thankfully he had also figured out incognito mode), but your presence was twice as commanding. Your eyes scanned over him quickly and your face stayed annoyingly stoic.

You invited him in; And since then, you’d had him wrapped around your finger.

Even knowing to a certain extent what he was getting into, he could’ve never prepared for how quickly he’d fall for you. Not that he was exactly new to the feeling, but he thought guilt might eat him alive: because of course he felt awful for developing real feelings for you. You were just doing your job and he was falling into the same trap that probably every dumbass client fell into.

Or maybe they actually knew what they were doing and understood how to separate fantasy from reality. He couldn’t decide which one was worse.

He spent a few hours trying to decide while staring up at his ceiling— certainly a better way to spend the time than being social or taking care of unfinished business, right?

But leave it to you to change everything with just three words. Make me yours.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about those words— or about the way you said them— since the moment you spoke them. He hadn’t stopped changing his mind on if he could really believe you were his or not. He wanted to, more than anything; and in those brief moments he did, he felt a joy that he had no idea what to do with.

He frowned as he turned his back towards the mirror, looking over his shoulder to watch his finger run over the fading scars on his back. They’d be gone for good in less than a week, but he knew you had left plenty of permanent marks on him— just unfortunately not those that anyone else could see. He liked the way these scars looked under your fingertips much more than his; he liked everything about being in your arms.

Since you’d texted him to ask if you could have a serious talk with him soon, he worried he wouldn’t get to feel that again. In fact, nothing worried him more.

He was typically antsy as he waited for you to answer the door— he had been since that very first time so long ago— but this felt entirely different: not as jittery, but a thousand times more anxious.

At first he’d been wishing you’d answer it right away, but then he heard your bolt turn and panic landed on him like a dangling anvil dropping on a cartoon character. Suddenly the last thing he wanted was for you to open that door, to be standing there looking all perfect and shit, to smile at him and greet him and invite him in. He didn’t want it; he couldn’t take it.

But you did it all anyway, though it was obviously and immediately a new situation entirely, compared to every other time you’d done it.

You were dressed differently, still formal but definitely toned down. Nothing sexual, at least not objectively. And your smile, though it still made his heart skip a beat just like always, was noticeably softer and maybe a bit sadder.

He stepped in past you, and you surprised him by sitting next to him on the couch rather than across from him on your chair. “Do you want, like, water or anything?” you asked, breaking the silence for a moment.

“No, I’m fine,” he nodded.

Bucky had gotten pretty good at silence these past few years; it didn’t bother him, in fact he barely even noticed it. But this silence made him remember why everyone else hated silence so much: it was heavy and thick and made him overcome with the need to blurt something out. “Everyone calls me Bucky,” he finally admitted. You smiled.

“Do you want me to call you that?” you asked.

He considered your question, trying to imagine you saying it. “I… I used to think it would be better, but now I like the way you say ‘James’ too much.”

“If you thought it would be better, why did you ask me to call you James?” you pressed.

“Because I didn’t want you to know who I was.”

“I know who you are,” you informed him. “I always knew.”

He swallowed as the pit formed in his gut, glancing away to hide from your gaze. “You did a good job of… of pretending you didn’t. You never seemed scared of me.”

“Because I wasn’t. And I’m not.”

He couldn’t imagine how; but then again, if there was any truly fearless woman, he figured it would be you. “I thought you’d beat me up better if you knew what I’d done,” he admitted, almost smiling but not exactly feeling very happy. “Thought you might want… revenge.”

“Surprised that didn’t make you want to tell me.”

He laughed a bit at that. “Yeah, fair enough.”

You asked him a very different question next, one that made his throat suddenly dry: "Have you ever had something that was all your own?" you spoke gently.

"Not for a long time…" he trailed off, letting his eyes unfocus as he stared down at your floor before finding the courage to look up at you again. “Is that what you wanna be?” he asked, already wishing he hadn’t said anything in case it was too presumptuous, but you just smiled back at him in a shy sort of way.

“Something like that,” you mitigated.

His eyes darted around your face— from your eyes glancing away, to your lips that you gnawed on for a moment, to the little crease between your brows— and he found himself leaning forward before he even realized it. “Can I kiss you?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t answer, you just kissed him first; he was so relieved that you did it, too, that you took control so easily and just let him melt into your kiss. As good as it felt to submit to you, he enjoyed the new freedom he had in this moment as well— the freedom to reach up and grab your waist, to brush his hand over your hair, to tilt his head and deepen the kiss further.

It was hard to define exactly where it went from innocent to sensual to sexual, but by the time you were straddling his lap and running your fingers through his hair, it was definitely sexual.

“I want you,” you breathed against his lips.

“Have me,” he offered immediately, “I’m yours. Always was.”

He breathed in sharply when you moved your hips just right to rub up against his swelling cock through his jeans, making him grip your waist a bit harder. “Good boy,” you whispered. “You’re so good, James.”

He believed you this time, finally.

For your first real date, he took you to Coney Island. Not the classiest affair, and he promised to take you somewhere really nice next, but you didn’t mind. It was jarring to see you in casual clothes for the first time, something summer-y and light which was everything opposite to how he was used to seeing you; but he liked it, and he liked knowing a secret about you as you walked through a crowd of carnival-goers that were none the wiser.

He walked you through the fair and explained how he remembered it, showed you the few things that hadn’t changed much. He bought you a hot dog and even won you a prize at one of the games; that one where you throw a baseball and it measures your pitch speed? Yeah, it’s rigged, but he pitched lefty and it seemed to even everything out. (It’s not cheating, okay? It’s beating them at their own game, literally.)

So with a massive teddy under one arm and his waist wrapped in your other, you two walked through the winding pier, under twinkling lights and over walkways towering over the ocean below. And then you fooled around a bit on the ferris wheel. It was the ideal Coney Island experience, for sure.

Bucky didn’t have a ton of friends, per se, but he was excited for you to meet them. Meeting friends was certainly a step, though; hopefully a step you were willing to take, but he didn’t want to ask you to do it without at least having a title to introduce you with.

“I want you to be my girlfriend,” he finally told you.

“I kinda thought I already was,” you laughed.

And so, with more pride than he might have ever had for anything before, Bucky finally got to take you to meet everyone (‘everyone’ being a mix of his friends and his coworkers, who may or may not be his friends because he couldn’t always tell) and say “I want you guys to meet my girlfriend.”

Of course you were amazing with all of them; you continued that tactful “I know who you are but I’m pretending I don’t to be nice” thing that you’d started with him, and everyone seemed to appreciate it. You cracked a couple jokes, everyone laughed.

You lied about how you and Bucky met, or at least answered very strategically. Everyone at least pretended to believe you.

Afterwards, they all said something about how great you were or about how lucky he was. The only thing he ever said back was “I know.”

Now that he could kiss you without breaking any rules, he never wanted to stop. He hardly ever did, actually. He kissed you basically whenever he could get the chance; you two didn’t even go out much anymore because he wasn’t very good at keeping his hands to himself, but you weren’t exactly complaining about staying in. You were too busy kissing him back, and teasing him mercilessly while you were at it, to do that.

You had already found the fastest way to get him needy and begging, not that any way took very long. If you kissed him while you straddled his lap, wrapping your arms around him and slowly grinding against him, he lost it in minutes. And you really seemed to get a kick out of watching him lose it, just as much as always.

It made him realize that the way you looked at him before, in sessions and scenes together, was a lot less of an act than he’d assumed at the time. He just thought you were a really good actress, or that he was really whipped; and maybe the first was true, and the second was absolutely true, but regardless it had become clear that you had it almost as bad as he did from the beginning. It gave him even more respect for how well you controlled yourself, he certainly hadn’t had much self-control at the time— after all the whole ordeal was about losing control, and occasionally about trying to gain it back.

He didn’t ask you to quit your job. He didn’t want or expect you to; but you did cut down your hours, which gave the two of you more time together.

To be totally honest, part of him got a bit titillated to imagine you with your other clients. He didn’t like the idea of other men touching you, but he smirked at the thought of them begging to touch you and being denied; he liked knowing that you didn’t do with them even half of the stuff you’d done with him when he was your client.

But he wasn’t your client anymore. He was your boyfriend, and he wanted the world to know it.

six months later...

He let you struggle to reach the top shelf for a moment, just because you looked cute on your tip-toes with the tip of your tongue sticking out of the corner of your mouth, before he finally relented and helped you grab the bottle of rice wine vinegar.

“Thanks,” you smiled as he set it in the cart.

After that you let him grab everything, content to stand on the end of the cart and push you around as you reminded him what else you needed.

“We’re out of Captain Crunch!” you remembered as he passed the cereal aisle, pointing to try to get him to turn.

“Yes, and we need to stay that way,” Bucky explained sternly, “that shit is addictive. Only way to avoid it is to not have it in the house.”

You frowned but accepted that he was absolutely right, though you groaned when he took you to the refrigerated section to stock up on chicken breasts. “I swear, you would eat these for breakfast if you didn’t think I’d judge you for it,” you joked.

“What’s wrong with chicken breasts?”

“They’re just so… bland!”

“Not if you season them right,” he corrected.

“Which you don’t,” you rolled your eyes. “Come on, at least splurge on some chicken thighs. They’re basically the same but so much more flavorful.”

“Fine, but no more making fun of my cooking,” Bucky decided, placing the breasts back on the shelf and grabbing two packs of thighs instead. “I’m still adapting to 21st century sensibilities.”

“Right,” you nodded, though he caught your smile in the corner of his eye— you knew he couldn’t exactly claim to still be as conservative as he was raised to be in every way.

Like any well-planned grocery run, it ended at the frozen section where you got some fruit bars and frozen vegetables (you had this theory that frozen vegetables tasted better in fried rice than fresh ones, and so far you’d proven him right) and he got a pizza to have for dinner in a pinch. When shopping alone before, he always did self-checkout to avoid being seen anymore than he had to… he still did it with you, but he didn’t even think about who might be looking at him, because all he saw was you.

You drove for this trip, and he always felt oddly soothed by riding passenger with you at the wheel. He liked to close his eyes and lean back a bit, or occasionally look over at you (but if he did it too much you complained that he was being creepy and distracting you). It shouldn’t be too much of a surprise that he enjoyed the feeling of you taking control, considering everything, but it was one of those little ways that he hadn’t expected. He just felt so comfortable, so safe with you, and never he felt like he was a burden for asking you to take the lead when he didn’t trust himself with it. And that applied to everything— driving, cooking, speaking up in crowds, all those little things that sometimes made him anxious.

There were some things he didn’t have any trouble being dominant about, though. He was very protective of you, for example, and tended to be uptight about how late you went out for walks or where you should be going alone. And he didn’t struggle to ask you for what he wanted— he was getting a lot better at asking for help, specifically.

He used to ask you to say that you loved him, instead of just saying ‘I love you’ himself, because for some reason it was easier to make you do it first. It started as something he’d beg for in the throes of passion, fingers digging into your skin as his eyes watered (as they often did in intimate moments): please, say you love me— jus’ need to hear you say it, please? And you were always sweet about it in return, of course I love you, James, my good boy, I love you so so much. But then he’d ask you to say it whenever he felt like it— he’d come up behind you while you were reading or cooking or something and kiss the top of your head or the shell of your ear and try to act nonchalant as he asked you love me, right?

You’d laugh and roll your eyes before you answered, but it was, thankfully, always a ‘yes.’ Eventually you figured out how often you needed to say it to make him stop asking all the time, which was probably a little too often.

“I love you,” you blurted out randomly as you turned on your signal and leaned a bit to make sure it was safe to make a left— case in point.

“I love you too,” he answered back with a smile.

“I don’t mind saying it so often,” you added, “but you know that I love you even when I’m not saying it, right? I love you all the time.”

It was a simple question, probably mostly rhetorical, but it hit him harder than he expected. “Yeah, I know,” he managed to get out evenly enough that you didn’t notice he was tearing up a bit.

He put the groceries away while you took the trash out; you liked to keep the fridge pretty organized, and it was an adjustment at first, but by now Bucky had it down pat. Before you, he hadn’t even considered that the contents of a refrigerator could be aesthetically pleasing.

Dinner was leftovers in front of the TV— you two were almost done with Frasier, but after that you had ten seasons of Friends to get through. You had tried to encourage him to watch more challenging stuff— you know, True Detective, Hannibal, dark cerebral stuff with arguably more artistic merit than classic sitcoms— but Bucky had had enough darkness in his life that he didn’t need it in his fiction. Maybe he’d find the time to catch up on the last 80 years of dramas and murder mysteries after he caught up on the last 80 years of comedy.

After dinner you were going to do yoga and Bucky, not in the mood to embarrass himself with that, retired to the bedroom a bit early to read his book— he’d heard a lot about this Harry Potter guy and now that he was on the fourth book and could hardly put it down, he understood the hype. He related a bit to the unwilling war hero in its protagonist; most of the time the series enthralled him, but occasionally something would hit too deep and he’d have to put it away for a couple days. At the moment, though, he was in one of the easy parts where it was just about schoolwork and childhood antics.

He instinctively glanced at the door when he heard you open it— he wasn’t sure how long it had been time-wise, but he’d gotten through quite a few pages— but he only quickly looked up at you as you shut the door behind you, before returning his attention to the book he was reading. “So, Bucky…” you began.

“Yeah?” he mumbled.

“James.”

It wasn’t any one thing that got his attention— not just the tone of your voice or the way it got a bit deeper, not just the look you gave him, not just the way the air of the room seemed to shift all at once. It was everything about you that made his body react instantly. He shut the book and set it aside, sitting up straight to look at you expectantly.

And you seemed to notice his instinctual obedience, considering you just barely smirked at him, raising an eyebrow as he spoke his reply: “Yes, Mistress?”

#sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader #sub!bucky barnes x domme!reader

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