#((randall himself will do his best to make sure of that!))

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"Maybe..." Randall murmured, still perplexed by Renfield's reaction-all the time he'd known the little guy, he'd been friendly to everyone, even people who didn't like him. Minnie constantly scooted him and the other strays away, but Renfield adamantly rubbed up against her legs when she was out on the sidewalk, undeterred by her dislike for him. So for him to just randomly get all worked up about someone he'd never met before was just...odd.

Still, he tried to brush it off-he also didn't miss the way Emily put on a smile and tried to laugh it off, a part of his heart sensing she was a little hurt by this response. Hoping to make her feel better about it, he said, "I'm sure he's just having an off day; don't take it too personally. I've had cats crawl all over me one day and want nothing to do with me the next, it's just how they are. Renny will probably be back later-maybe he'll be in a better mood by then."

"Since when did you get two lunchbreaks, Randy?"

"Just having a little something extra, Dave," Randall groaned, pausing to grab a napkin as he finished his sandwich, just as one of his coworkers had come downstairs for a smoke break-Dave was one of the more irritating coworkers he had to put up with on a daily basis; he insisted he was just an easy-going guy who liked a good joke, but his jokes were often hurtful and very seldom funny. Considering his idea of comedy was calling Randall "Randy" (which he had never gone by, even as a boy, and couldn't hardly stand as a nickname), it told him a lot about Dave's sense of humor (or lack thereof).

"And can I help you find anything, beautiful?" Dave asked, having noticed Emily and put on a smile, leaning up against the counter, his cigarette tucked behind his ear. "Maybe a date for Friday night? Pretty flower like you shouldn't have to hang out with a real weed like ol' Randy here."

[monayen]

how about something sfw for a change? can you do a ranking of who’s best at cooking?

Cooking Headcannons

➷ Paring - Multi x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - very light mention of consuming blood and cannibalism. that’s about it !!

a/n - i feel like im a bit rusty at pure sfw stuff… but i will try for NNN ~_~ this isn’t a ranking, since a good chunk are either just bad or barely cook. mostly just hcs about food they like, what’d they’d make you, and habits etc. ratmen are excluded cus you know those boys scavenge rather than cook !!! also ignore any mistakes i wrote this really fast

Sebastian

While Sebastian did work at a pizza place for a bit before becoming Randal’s pet, it was just as a delivery boy

I like to think he was in the training process of learning how to make the food, but he got lost before he learned anything skillful. He does have half the recipe for garlic knots memorized though 

A personal hc is that his parents were semi-absent with him (which probably helped lead him to being in the adoption center in the first place), so he survived a lot on sandwiches and microwave meals since they were easy and available

He wasn’t a big fan of it then, but now he craves them a lot. His favorite were the microwaveable kraft dinner mac & cheese cups. Foods like that are a comfort for him, and he’ll love you forever if you manage to get some for him to eat

Luther doesn’t trust him in the kitchen, so even if Sebastian wanted to cook, he wouldn’t be allowed. Deep down, he doubts his cooking skills anyways

Randal

A terrible cook. He has no idea how to properly prepare a meal and his attempts often end in disaster

Randal doesn't understand the concept of recipes or following instructions. He just throws random ingredients together and hopes for the best. “How to Basic” levels of culinary skills

Despite his terrible cooking skills, Randal still insists on trying to make meals for people (or you) to try. Truly believes he's good and everyone else just can’t handle his exquisite tastes

Once, Randal tried to make surprise pancakes for breakfast. He used baking powder instead of baking soda and the pancakes turned out hard as rocks. He still ate them anyway, breaking a couple of his teeth in the process. Don’t worry, they grew back by supper

He used to try to cook at least a couple times a week, but Luther banned him after he 

somehow managed to set water on fire on the stove. Now he’s restricted to just the microwave. Which is alright, just remind him to add the water in his instant noodles before they explode

Randal will also eat almost anything if it's covered in enough sauce or condiments. He's been known to put ketchup on his cereal and maple syrup on his pizza. Swears by it, will probably make you try all his weird food combinations

Satoru

This little show off!

Cooks and bakes purely to give it away to you or Randal. He doesn’t even eat them himself, always insisting you try his new recipe

The reality is that he steals most of his ideas from cookbooks. While he has the skill to execute them, coming up with his own dishes and perfecting them is a bit beyond him—but that’s a secret he keeps to himself!

He’ll sit there, watching closely as you eat his carefully prepared food, studying your reactions and asking if it’s good, like a chef waiting for feedback

But he’s memorized what you like already, and he makes sure to tailor his dishes just for you, hoping to earn your praise when the flavors hit your tongue

Exceptional at chopping, so fast at it you worry he’ll cut a finger off or something if he’s not careful enough. A part of him doesn’t mind if you taste something that has a little bit of his blood in it…

Doesn’t exactly have a favorite meal or food, he likes whatever you like :) is a bit partial to Japanese cuisine though, especially sashimi

Nyon

Nyon's cooking skills are quite limited. As a catman, his preferences lean more towards raw meats and simple  foods. Or whatever Luther gives him

Doesn’t mean he doesn’t like a good home cooked meal, but if you put him in a kitchen with every ingredient and tool that could potentially make something avant-garde or delicious… he’d probably just end up making hard boiled eggs

He does have an odd skill of picking though. Pickled cucumbers, onions, beets, all in unlabeled, merky, mason jars. Has a goal to pickle everything that can be pickled, just to try

Keeps a stash of it in the pantry and munches on them when he gets high. Will share if you ask (he kinda wants you to, pickling takes practice!) 

Nyon has the stance that he’d much rather wash the dishes and put away the ingredients than actually prepare the food, as it’s a lot of effort and stress on his part that’d he’d rather avoid

Nyen

Really only ever cooks for himself. Not a fan of sharing and to be honest… you probably wouldn’t like what he makes anyways

Lots of slabs of undercooked chicken and beef, barely seasoned because “it doesn’t need that.” Protein buff, but not keen on eating beans… or eggs… or fish… Okay, usually just eats chicken to maintain his muscles

Unironically picky, doesn’t eat a lot of what isn’t what he usually eats. If you give him a plate of pasta or something, he’ll just stare at it like you handed him a severed cow head. Even Luther knows this, making sure he keeps the fridge stocked with Nyen favorite foods so he’s in the best condition to get through the day!

Does have a small sweet tooth, so you can coax him into baking if he’s in a good mood. His favorite are raspberry muffins :)

You still might have to do most of the work, but he’ll mix shit and keep track of the dessert in the oven for you. Don’t ask him for anything else—just hand him a muffin and clean up the mess, okay?

Luther

Quite the chef! 

He’s domestic, and even though Randal always begs him to get fast food to eat, he always prefers to make something at home

Uses “passed down” recipes. Passed down from who? Who knows. He keeps them all in a little old notebook, pages yellowed and worn out. The last ingredient in all the recipes is always “love ♡”

He’s also a big fan of those southern mom baking shows, especially during the holiday season, he’ll bake like a madman!

Likes nature, so he does have a small garden in the backyard of the house he’ll tend to when he has the time. Specializes in exotic vegetables you probably aren’t used to eating. Ask him how his kohlrabi harvest is going, he’s quite proud!

The type of humanoid to surprise you with your favorite meal after a long day. Makes enough for everyone, of course, but Luther puts in effort to see the smile on your face when he presents you with it at the dinner table

He does expect compliments after you eat any of his food, even if it’s something as simple as scrambled eggs. It means a lot to him, so don’t forget to do so. He might take it the wrong way if you don’t 

Luther swears up and down that he’d never eat a human. Cannibalism is wrong! But he did get very close to once… just to “expand his pallet”

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

How do you think Fuegoleon would react to hearing that his s.o. wants to pamper him (massages, hair brushing/care, manicure, etc) on one of his days off or maybe for his birthday?

This would have been so perfect for his approaching birthday, but I couldn't contain myself~

I hope you like this as well!! ^^

Pairing: Fuegoleon x reader Fanfic type: Oneshot Genre: fluff/romance Length: ~1.4k Contains: some suggestive themes, flirting, otherwise just fluff and general

August. The month of harvest, and the last summer month if one looked at the calendar. Since warmth could carry well into autumn depending on the year, but it didn’t mean that it’d be a cold month by any means. Oh no. In fact, a lot of the times, the first weeks of August were the warmest.

Just like your dear husband.

Warm, hard working, and the light of your life.

Those were some of the reasons why you wanted to do something very special for his birthday this year. Show him some of the care and love that he showed you.

And if you were being perfectly honest with yourself, he wouldn’t take time for himself and arrange something pampering, even on his own birthday, for himself. Or maybe he’d take a long bath. But that’d be it. Not much different from a regular Saturday or Sunday.

But he deserved more. He deserved a lot better in your eyes.

However… arranging for a massage or another kind of a spa treatment didn’t exactly seem right. Because he had told you many times that after a long work day, he just wanted to be home and relax.

If he’d be in public, or among strangers, he’d have to upkeep that image of a squad captain still. Which, granted, came somewhat naturally for him after all these years, but it was still a job description and not real relaxation.

Which was why an evening at home would be the best. Just the two of you.

You could fix him a bath with some nice bath salts and a soap, massage his scalp and shoulders. Then maybe dinner in your living quarters… brush his hair, maybe a scalp massage at the same time… Something nice, intimate, and something that would show just how much you loved him.

So. You set out to device a plan.

First, you’d arrange his work schedule to be free for the day. And to do that, you’d need Randal’s help, but he’d most likely agree. Then, make arrangements with the staff to deliver food and drinks into your quarters. Buy a new bath salt, preferably something with lavender. Get flowers and candles, and make sure that there’d be a lot of fluffy pillows and blankets close by, so that if you’d snuggle onto the balcony to admire the stars in the evening, you could make yourselves comfortable easily.

Yes. That sounded perfect. Something special and nothing overly special at the same time.

Randal happily agreed with your plan to clear Fue’s schedule for the day, and being the vice captain made it easy as well. Some of it was helping out the squad members in their training routine or have a discussion about where they could improve on, and find concrete ways to do that. Which admittedly was  great help to a lot of them, but not doing those discussions for one day wouldn’t be the end of the world, and the knights understood it. In fact, they happily agreed to relinquish their discussion time slots, while not mentioning it to the captain. Because it all needed to be a secret, of course.

The staff also readily agreed to our requests and plans, suggesting his favourite meals to be prepared for the day. Which was perfect. They gave you a time table suggestion for meals to be delivered, so that you wouldn’t need to focus on requesting the dishes and then waiting for them, but there’d be a set time. Of course you could always call for a butler or a maid, if there was a need for something more.

And then all there was to do, was to acquire the bath salt and a new bubbly soap. Which seemed to be the most difficult part of the task, because there were a lot of good scents. But in the end, you settled for one that had lavender, cedar, jasmine, amber, musk and wood.

It sounded very elaborate for a bath salt, but it was perfect. Light, airy, but still heavy enough to suit him. Of course the final verdict would be made on the day in question, because that was the only time when you’d for sure know if it’d suit him, or if he’d like it. But there would be no way of changing the course of action at that point, because drawing another bath with another salt seemed… troublesome and excessive, which would be away from your time together.

So. You chose one, and kept it at that. You’d make it work in the end.

Now. All that was left, was to tell Fue about your plan.

But because it was a surprise, you waited until the 4th of August.

Just popped into his office during the afternoon, to announce that he’d have the next day off.

He looked at you with a raised brow, as if you had been speaking out a sentence that quite frankly didn’t make sense. Because he had been looking at his own calendar, all the times and events and meetings that he had written down by himself so that he wouldn’t forget. And it was anything but empty.

But it was the version that had been kept as it is, while clearing the schedule as a surprise.

“No Sir,” Randal entered the room. “I have cleared your schedule from work related matters for the day,” he confirmed. “And the squad members who would have had their performance evaluations tomorrow, readily agreed to have them postponed.”

“And I took care of the rest,” you told him with a proud, smirking smile. “Though there wasn’t a lot to clear, since your work schedule took most of it, and you didn’t plan anything for the evening anyways.”

“Meaning that you do, indeed, have tomorrow off, Sir,” Randal gave him a pleasant smile. “You remind me frequently about taking time out, and unwinding. I suggest you’d do the same, Sir,” there was a bit of a tease in his tone. One that wasn’t too common from Randal. But it was fitting for the moment. “You’ve earned it.”

Fuegoleon’s eyes shifted between you and Randal for a moment, until his gaze fell, eyes closed, and a smirk rose to his lips.

“I see you’ve been… conspiring,” he uttered, but the smirk, nearly a grin, on his face, and the amused shake of a head he gave, spoke of the tease and the joke in the statement.

“Well, someone has to conspire to pamper you from time to time,” you teased back while crossing your arms. “Because you don’t do it willingly.”

“I do,” he protested while glancing at you from under his brows, as the smile still lingered.

“You pamper me,” you clarified. “And I don’t count the weekly long baths as exactly pampering here.”

“They are,” he mused.

“Not pampering enough,” you mused right back.

“You’re impossible,” he half sighed, half chuckled, as Randal smiled to himself and left the room without another word.

“Impossibly in love with you,” you teased, while taking a few, long, slow, seductive steps closer to his desk. “Which is why I have the entire day planned for you…” you uttered, nearly purred… bit your lip and allowed your eyelids close half way… “We’ll sleep in first, then have breakfast in bed, a long bath… and a massage, I’ll brush your hair, then dinner in some point, and in the evening we’ll curl up on the balcony with blankets and pillows to admire the stars…”

His gaze cascaded over you from behind the desk, as if he was savouring every word, or simply admiring your beauty. As if he was perfectly content with just listening to you, looking at you, being in the same room as you, as his mind was in a daze.

“Sound exquisite, my love,” he uttered with a whisper that seemed to vibrate through his heart strings. “Thank you,” he added, as if an afterthought.

“You’re welcome,” you gave him a small nod while leaning against his desk. “I hope the plans live up to the expectations.”

“I’m sure they will.”

“Mhm,” you uttered. “But just in case, maybe save the thanks to tomorrow?”

“I will give you many.”

“I see.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm.”

Silence settled into the room, as you gazed into each other’s eyes, filled with love and affection and something so light and tender that you couldn’t name. Perhaps a blessing from the high heavens.

But… what it was, didn’t matter. Just the feeling, which made you feel light and warm, like everything was alright with the world.''

[daryltwdixon]

The Ruins of Us: Chapter 25

Summary: you finally make your way to talk to Randy, but the situation turns dangerous when you get caught. During a flashback, Daryl sits with you by the quarry, before Shane or talks of college, and as you talk and laugh, he finds himself overwhelmed by unspoken feelings for you. 

warnings: Shane is pretty scary in this one, no other warnings apply. as always lmk if I forgot any!

X flashforward x

The barn is quiet, save for the distant murmur of Shane and Andrea’s hushed conversation outside. You know this could potentially be a terrible idea, but you needed to know. Needed to talk to Randy yourself. The wood of the barn slat wall creaks as you lean against it, walking along the side to the back door. You glance back one last time, making sure Andrea and Shane are still distracted before slipping inside. The scent of old hay and dust fills the space, your footsteps soft on the dirt floor as you make your way to the center of the barn.

The midday sun peaks through the gaps where the wood has rotted in the ceiling above as you take in the sight of him. Randy sits tied to a wooden post, his bruised and bloodied face twisted in discomfort, but when he spots you, something flickers in his eyes—hope. He straightens slightly, doing his best to look less like a beaten man and more like someone worth trusting. His brown puppy dog eyes are alight with enthusiasm as he looks at you.

“You came back,” he says, his voice soft, almost grateful. “I was hoping you would.”

You cross your arms, standing just far enough away to keep your distance. “I need answers.”

“Look, I’m not like those other guys. I’m just trying to survive, same as you.”

You study him, not moving an inch. “And that’s why you were running with a group of men who tried to kill my people?”

Randy lets out a shaky breath, his expression carefully constructed to appear sincere. “I didn’t have a choice, okay? Your guys shot first–killed a couple of our guys!-- but then the dudes I was with left me there to die, man! I’ll take you guys to them, explain what happened. No one’s gonna get hurt, we can all work together!” he’s trying to keep his voice down, you can tell, but his words are desperate.

You narrow your eyes, the alarm bells ringing in your head. You can’t tell what to believe. The Randy you remember from the overcrowded house party was goofy, sweet, maybe a little dumb. But this world changed people. 

“These guys here, they don’t listen to me,” he insists, his voice rising, “But you will. I remember you, Y/N. You were always so nice. Real pretty too, still are.”

“You don't even know me, we met one time, Randy,” you roll your eyes, “I was drunk and needed a distraction. Now tell me where your group is.”

His face falls for just a second before he scrambles to recover. “I–I don’t know. We moved around a lot. Please don’t let them kill me, Y/N. I know they’re gonna,”

His eyes dart toward the door, where Shane and Andrea’s voices still carry faintly in the distance. His tone softens again, trying a different approach. “Look, you seem smart. You gotta know I’m not the bad guy here. You help me, and I’ll owe you one. We can both walk away from this.”

You take a slow breath, your arms still crossed as you keep your eyes on him. You hated the idea of him dying just because no one knew what to do with him. But he knew too much, knew too many people here in the group. Knew where this house was, from what Rick said earlier. “I don’t need anything from you, Randy.” you finally say, softly.

Before he can respond, the barn door creaks loudly, and your body alights with shock, freezing you to the spot as you see a tall figure in the doorway, the gleam against him bright from the sun. Shane’s voice cuts through the quiet, rough and edged with suspicion. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

Your heart skips a beat as he steps into the barn, his gaze locked on you, then flicking to Randall with a barely restrained fury. Andrea is behind him with her eyes wide, both hands on her gun that she holds down at the ready. Shane’s eyes narrow as he takes a step toward you, tension radiating from every movement. His eyes flick back to Randall, and the shift in his demeanor is immediate—his shoulders tense, jaw clenched. He stalks toward him, the sound of his boots heavy on the barn floor.

“What the hell did you say to her?” Shane growls, his voice low, dangerous. His hand goes immediately to his gun, bringing it to Randy’s face, and the kid whimpers and whines, pleading with him.

“Shane, enough!” you yell. Andrea is up by you, ready to act, but still telling Shane to stop as well. 

“N-Nothing! I didn’t say anything!” he stammers, standing up in fear, his voice shaking. “I was just trying to talk, that’s all.”

“Just tryna talk?” Shane repeats mockingly, his tone dripping with contempt. He leans in close to Randall, his face inches away from his. “If I find out you said something you shouldn’t have—if you tried to pull anything with her—You’re gon’ wish I left you out on the road earlier,”

Randall’s whole body trembling as Shane takes a step back, holstering his gun and looking at you. 

“I swear, man, I didn’t—” Randy stammers.

“Shut up,” Shane snaps, cutting him off with a glare before turning on you again.

“Get back to the house,” he tells Andrea, not taking his eyes off you. She looks between the two of you for a short moment, before running out of the barn. Now it was just you, him, and Randy. The anxiety you felt skyrockets to fear.

His anger is setting the room ablaze, his eyes furious as he strides toward you. Your body still feels frozen, cold chills keeping you in place as you wait for his reaction. Before you could move, Shane’s hand closes around your arm with a vice-like grip, yanking you away from the scene. His fingers dig painfully into your skin as he drags you behind the barn, out of sight, out of earshot. The isolation hits you, and your heart pounds faster as he pushes you up against the side of the barn, wood digging into your back.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Shane growls, his face inches from yours. His breath is hot, reeking of anger and frustration, “you sneak in here, talking to him behind my back? Are you stupid?”

You try to pull your arm free, but his grip tightens, and a flicker of panic sparks in your chest. “I was trying to get answers,” you say, your voice steady, but the tremor of fear rises beneath the surface.

“Answers?” Shane’s laugh is sharp and humorless. “All he’s gon’ do is try to manipulate you, say all the nice pretty things to you to get you to cave–to let him go off to his group. You know what could happen to you if all those guys come around here?”

His face is close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating off him. He isn’t just angry—he’s furious. And it scares you. Your brows knit as you feel his hand tighten around you, “Shane, let go,” you say, your voice more shaky than you intend.

But Shane doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans in closer, his grip like iron on your arm. 

“You think you’re tough, huh? Think you can handle whatever comes your way? You don’t know a damn thing, Y/N. You’re playin’ with fire, thinkin’ you’re untouchable. And you know what? It’s always me—me—pullin’ you out of the shit you get yourself into. You think you’ve been handling things? No. You’re lucky I’ve been around to clean up your messes. But keep pushin’, and I won’t be there next time. You’ll wish you’d listened.”

Your heart pounds, and for the first time in a long time, your toughness faltered. He’s bigger, stronger, and angrier than you’d ever seen him. When you didn’t answer, he just went on, getting more and more angry with each word.

“Always so reckless. So stupid,” Shane sneers, each word dripping with contempt. “Always messin’ in things that don’t concern you. When you gon’ learn to keep your mouth shut and stay out of the way?” His other hand slams against the wall beside your head, the sound sharp and sudden, making you flinch. 

“Shane,” your voice trembles, “You’re hurting me.”

Shane’s hot breath is still on you as he glares at you and you’re trying to back away from him, but it’s no use, of course. He has you trapped against the wooden wall, the nails between slats now digging into your back from trying to get as far away as possible from him. You weren’t sure how far he was about to take this. His hand on you is like a hot iron brand, and the other one cages you in over your shoulder and by your face. He has you right where he wants you, pinned to the wall, and for a flash of a moment, prickling in your spine has you fearing for your life.

“You’re gon’ wanna let her go now,” a low voice comes from around the corner of the barn.

Shane’s head snapped up, and you turned to see Daryl standing just a few feet away, crossbow raised, his expression cold and controlled. His eyes were fixed on Shane, the tip of his bolt aimed at Shane’s face as he circled around to face you.

Shane’s mouth curled into a bitter smile, an ugly laugh slipping out as he took in the archer, “Aw, ain’t this sweet,” he leered, “The best friend trying to stick up for ‘er after she nearly got herself killed. Typical,” he laughed again, his voice dripping with mockery. “Never could keep her out of trouble, could you, Dixon? Hell, last time you left, I thought she might actually do well for herself, and look at her now. Attached at the hip again, back to doin’ the same ol’ reckless shit with you. But we both know how this ends. You’ll walk away again—leaving her to me to pick up the pieces.”

Daryl is silent as he keeps the crossbow up, pointed at Shane with a hunter’s precision and stillness. Shane just shakes his head, a breathy, cold laugh escaping as he lifts himself off the barn where he’s caging you, and walks off. You watch as he makes his way back to the house, scrubbing his hand on the back of his head and stalking off.

The Shane you knew—the one who used to protect you, the one who was always in control—is slipping further away. That wild look in his eyes, the way he’d grabbed you… You’ve never seen him like that before. And the worst part is, you didn’t know if this was the last time it would happen or just the beginning.

Daryl immediately drops his bow when Shane is a good, safe distance and throws it to the ground, coming to you. His hands hover over you as you close your eyes, trying desperately to calm your breathing, keeping in the tears that threaten to fall. You’d never seen Shane get that volatile. Never actually try to hurt you. Well, that wasn’t true though. The moment he had you pinned at the CDC rings through your mind again, a shiver raking through you at the memory now.

“Did he hurt you?” Daryl asks quickly and quietly, studying your body, your face, while his hands brush over your skin. You grip your arm where it feels like you were branded with Shane’s handprint, trying to soothe your skin, or maybe just soothe yourself. You feel your lip tremble, but bite down on it hard until you start tasting the metallic lingering of blood.

“Hey, hey,” Daryl whispers, you can feel his soft breath over your face, his hands finally coming to rest on your face. Your eyes flutter open to look at him, and the only thing that is keeping you from losing it are his blue eyes on you. You hold onto them with your gaze as you still try to steady yourself. 

His touch is tender, a stark contrast to the violence that had filled the air just moments ago. “Shoulda let that arrow fly,” he muttered, his voice thick with a protective edge.

You let out a humorless laugh, but then swallow hard and shake your head, the warmth of his touch sinking into your skin as you look away, “I don’t know what’s happening to him,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “He’s… different.”

Daryl’s jaw tightens, his expression hardening briefly. “Why’d you have to go in there? I told you to stay away. And with Shane out here–he’s dangerous, Y/N,”

You feel a knot forming in your throat as everything hits you. For a moment, you feel like your walls are crumbling, like the tough exterior you have tried so hard to keep is falling apart. And Daryl—he’s the only person who could ever see through it. He seems to read your mind, because he’s bringing you in close, wrapping his arms around you. You let him, and you rest your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent deeply to ground you. Your arms come up under his, gripping the back of his shirt.

When he pulls back, he keeps you in his arms, studying your face again, almost like his wheels are turning quickly, unsure if he should do what he’s thinking of. You tilt your face up, parting your lips, inviting him in, anything to take you out of the moment you were just in. He seems to understand, and leans in and presses his lips softly to yours. The fire that had ignited between you so many times before flickered back to life, and your lips melded together slowly, the tension in your body disappearing. Everything dissolved into this embrace, and you wonder briefly why either of you had waited so long to let this happen. 

When you finally pull back you stay close as you try to catch your breath. You lean your head forward and he kisses your forehead, his hand lingering on your neck, his thumb softly tracing the curve of your jaw as his breath comes out in short, uneven bursts.

“Can’t stand seein’ you like this,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, but filled with something tender, “We can’t keep stayin’ here like this,”

You close your eyes, leaning into him as his words sink in. You know he means he wants to leave the camp, the group. But as much as Shane scares you, the numbers you have here are safer than heading out alone with him, “I don’t want to be scared anymore,” you whisper, barely audible, but you know he heard you.

“You ain’t gotta be,” Daryl whispers back, his voice full of quiet promise, “Not anymore,”

The moment stretches between you, the warmth of his touch and the feeling of safety that came with it. Here, behind the barn, out of sight, with just the two of you, you finally did let yourself believe you would be safe as long as you had Daryl.

X flashback x

Daryl

It was one of those quiet nights, the kind where the world seemed to slow down. The moon hung low over the quarry, casting a pale glow across the water as Daryl sat next to you, an empty pizza box between you two. You were talking about something that had happened earlier, laughing as you recounted the story, but Daryl wasn’t really listening anymore. His focus had shifted—he was watching you, not the stars or the quarry, but you.

This was how you spent a lot of your nights, just the two of you hanging out like it was nothing. But tonight, something felt different. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t put a name to it, but something had shifted.

You turned to him, your smile easy and bright, the kind that always made something stir in his chest. “Can’t believe you actually finished more slices than me,” you teased, your voice light and playful.

Daryl barely registered the words. His eyes were locked on your face, on the way the moonlight softened your features. Something inside him twisted. He wasn’t sure why, but everything felt more intense tonight. The way you smiled at him, the sound of your laughter—it hit him harder than usual, like a punch to the gut.

You wiped your hands on a napkin, still smiling as you leaned back, content. But there was a softness in your gaze when you turned to him again, a quiet calm that made his heart beat just a little faster.

“It’s nice out here,” you had said, eyes drifting up to the stars. “Quiet.”

Daryl nodded, but his attention stayed on you. He’d never really let himself dwell on how much he enjoyed nights like this, just the two of you. But now, the thought of it ending at any time soon was pressing on him in a way he couldn’t shake.

You had caught him staring, your smile faltering just a bit. You tilted your head, a playful curiosity in your eyes. “What?” you asked, your voice soft but teasing. “You look like you just swallowed a bug or somethin’,”

He swallowed, his throat dry. He didn’t know how to explain it. Didn’t even have the words. All he knew was that being around you felt right, like it was where he was supposed to be. Always had been that way—you were the only person who didn’t expect anything from him, who didn’t judge him, and for once, that thought scared him.

You held his gaze, the silence between you going on what felt like forever. The teasing grin slowly slipped from your lips, replaced by something more serious, more uncertain. Your eyes flicked down for a second, just enough for Daryl to notice, and something clicked in his chest—you had felt it too.

His heart pounded harder, his palms suddenly feeling too warm. He thought about closing the distance between you, thought about what it would be like to lean in, to feel you close. The idea had crossed his mind before. The first time he didn’t even think twice but leaned in while he watched you from the kitchen counter, making up some excuse about seeing it in a movie once. But tonight… different. Like it actually meant something. This wasn’t the same careless move he’d make as a kid, this was real.

But he stayed frozen. His mind screamed at him to stay put, not to push it, not to mess things up. He couldn’t even name what he was feeling, let alone act on it. His gaze lingered on yours for a split second before he tore it away, breaking the silence– his voice rough and quiet, “You gonna eat that last slice?”

You had blinked, the tension easing just a little as you glanced at the pizza box, a small, confused smile creeping back onto your face. “You offering it up?” You had teased, though your voice softened, like you were still recovering from whatever just passed between you.

Daryl shrugged, his heart still racing, but his voice calm as he nodded toward the box. “Ain’t hungry.”

You chuckled, grabbing the last slice and taking a bite, but the mood had shifted. The moment had passed, but the weight of what almost happened lingered between you, unspoken but heavy. Daryl shoved his hands into his pockets, watching you eat, trying to ignore the knot tightening in his chest.

[corvuserpens]

I have a take that might be lukewarm at best and boiling at most, but:

Captain Flint has ALWAYS cared about the Walrus crew.

Hear me out.

Many of the characters in Black Sails have this perception of Flint as kinda aloof, distant and reserved, and he DOES prove time and time again the lengths he's willing to go to accomplish his goals regardless of the welfare of his crew. I mean, by the time the show is done, only three original members of the Walrus make it out alive (RIP to our girl, she put up such a fight until the very end). Everyone else is very much dead.

But like, remember the episode when they beach the ship to scrape the barnacles off the hull and make her faster and more nimble before the Urca job and some crew guys tie off the ropes on the wrong fucking trees before going off to the fuck tent for Gods know how long? And then the trees get uprooted under the weight of the Walrus while Randall and Morley are under there and Randall gets stuck UNDER AN ENTIRE SHIP AND IS ABOUT TO GET CRUSHED TO DEATH??

Who was the first among them to run under that ship while everyone else, including Billy Bones, the Eternal Defender of His Men™ (until season 4 that is lmao) scramble to get away and save themselves?

Flint did. FLINT.

He rushed in there without thinking in the hopes of saving at least one of the men under there, despite the danger to his own life. And if it hadn't been for him and Silver, both those men would have died. He saves Randall's life by cutting off his leg, which takes a looooong time, and hauling him away just in time before the rest of the ropes give up. Poor Morley though, he died trying to save Randall too.

And like, throughout the show he's always making decisions that he knows will save the most lives, as difficult as they might be for everyone else to accept later. He's the captain after all, it's his job to make the hard decisions. He'll always sacrifice the few to save the many, but that doesn't mean he doesn't give a shit about them. There are exceptions of course, like Mr. Singleton and Mr. Gates, whom I will never forgive him for bc Flint deprived us of the joy that is Mr. Gates for the remaining three seasons and he was the GOAT, but back to topic - note that both those men severely threatened his position as captain and therefore his suicidal revenge mission against England before he murdered them. It's like Silver himself says later: he only wants things done so long as they are done HIS way. But that's a conversation for another post.

Which brings me to the whole "did he or did he not push Billy overboard that night during the storm" question.

Personally, I don't think he did. He had every reason to do it, of course: Billy found out about Miranda and how she was pushing for a pardon to be given to Flint so the two of them could go to Boston and live the rest of their lives in peace, and if the crew found out about it, Bad Things would follow. Then Billy slips and Flint reaches out for his hand just in time to stop him going overboard (on an aside, I love that the writers didn't let the audience see what happened next, leaving all this doubt about what actually happened). Even Billy himself recounts later that he's not sure whether his hand slipped from Flint's or if Flint simply let go.

In my opinion, and this is just MY opinion, I believe he did try and haul Billy up and save him because up until that point, Billy was going along with Flint's plan. I mean, he lied to the crew about the blank page taken from Singleton's body and he knew about Miranda's pardon plot and the Maria Aleyne story for at least one episode. If he was going to tell the crew, he would have done so already. Saving Billy's life would have been a risk, sure: Flint would have to trust that Gates would convince him to keep his mouth shut and that he would obey. In fact, I'd argue that saving Billy's life would be much more advantageous in the long run than letting him drown at sea. Flint is a master strategist and would have taken all these things into consideration before making a decision.

Maybe that's why he ended up failing in saving Billy: he was so preoccupied trying to decide the more desirable outcome that Billy just... slipped and fell. And as we see as the season continues, Billy's "death" brought more problems than it solved. It wore out the crew's trust in him as captain, it destroyed his relationship with Gates and put in jeopardy the entire Urca mission and his plans for a war against the British Empire.

I guess, it doesn't really matter whether he intended to save Billy or not. Everyone thought he had let him fall or even pushed him. Given his past actions, who could blame them? The lies, the falsehoods, the secrets... They all had a cost, and this was the straw that broke the camel's back.

What do y'all think? Sound off in the replies/reblogs/tags.

Still, TL:DR - Flint always cared about his crew no matter his decisions and worst impulses, and that's the hill I will die on!

[loupy-mongoose]

A Rundown of Randall Linden

WARNING: This post contains heavy themes and mention of death. It also very much spoils my comic, which you can read here. (If the link doesn't work, try clicking and dragging it to the URL bar.)

I thought I'd make a fact sheet about Randy, now that the truth of him is out. I’ve understandably gotten a lot of questions about it, so I hope this clears some things up!

-The real Randall is dead. I'm leaving it up for interpretation whether Mo copied or downright took his memories, leaving the human an empty husk. (Personally I feel like the husk option is a little kinder.)

-Present day Mo-turned-Randy has limited memory of the event, but has pieced together the truth. He has mostly accepted it, and is trying to make the best of it. He still goes by and generally believes himself to be Randy.

-The transformation is NEARLY total, with a few memory mix-ups. For example, Randy couldn't remember at first what color his eyes were supposed to be.

-Akoya and Lavender both know, as does Randy’s mother.

-Despite having accepted what happened, Randy still suffers self-doubt and anxiety, sometimes not knowing who he is or is supposed to be, or fearing he’s not doing the right thing.

-The pain present-Randy suffers is a phantom pain; it's there because he believes it should be due to the circumstances of the memory transfer. (Shout-out to one specific anonymous theory-sender and later @raven6229 for getting that one!)

-Randy is afraid to die because he isn't sure what his soul situation is. He believes in an afterlife, but doesn't know what will happen to him when he gets there.

-Present day he doesn't like Ghost types or sudden loud noises.

-Randy knows Flamethrower, but doesn’t like using it. He learned it to help round out his team’s advantages.

-I imagine Randy and Mo to have different voices (with Mo sounding like 2012 Rafael from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles). When Mo turned into Randy, the voice changed to match Randy's.

-While Randy needed glasses as a human, Mo's eyes were fine. So when Mo became Randy, he lost the need for glasses.

That's all for now. I know there may be more, so if you have a question unanswered here, let me know and I'll see about adding it.

[coraniaid]

The actual reason Season 3 has Buffy decide that Angel (who killed a large number of people over a long period of time, on purpose, and vocally enjoyed doing it, and only stopped because of magical nonsense that cannot apply to Faith) rather than Giles (who killed one person, sort-of but not entirely by accident, and obviously regrets it though he mostly prefers not to talk about it at all) was the best person to talk to Faith (who has just killed one person, sort-of but not entirely by accident, and obviously regrets it thougb she's currently loudly refusing to talk about it) is, presumably, one or more of the following:

The writers know where Faith's arc is going this season and are trying to set up more parallels between her and Angel

In a few episodes time Angel will be leaving for his own spin-off show, and people are more likely to watch that if Angel gets more screentime this season

Giles has more speaking time than Angel this season anyway, so they may as well give Boreanaz something to do here

The writers don't trust the readers to remember what happened in Season 2

The writers themselves don't remember what happened in Season 2

[Surely not, but ... maybe?] the writers really do think that killing one person, by mistake, when you've been told repeatedly that your destiny and entire purpose for being is to spend most of your short life killing monsters that look just like people, and you have been killing such monsters all night, and you know there are lots more out there, and something that might be a monster wanders up to you in the dark and ... oh, no ... is, somehow, closer to being a centuries old serial killer who loves to murder for fun than it is to accidently getting your friend killed while recreationally summoning an evil orgy demon [I mean, the writers of Ted seem to think a teenage girl defending herself from an abusive adult man means she deserves to go to prison unless she can prove he was a robot, so we can't rule this one out, however absurd it appears]

But in-universe, what is exactly is going on in Buffy's head that makes her think Angel is the right person to help Faith? Buffy found out about Giles past as 'Ripper' only last year, and it was brought up again earlier this season in Band Candy (though, notably, the writers already seem to have forgotten that Giles' 'Ripper' phase didn't happen while he was a teenager). Buffy herself thought that she'd killed a man last season, and Giles's own unwitting role in a man's death was brought up then as well: in fact, the police detective who interviewed Buffy and Faith after Finch's death also investigated Buffy for murder last season (twice!).

Why isn't Buffy talking to Faith about Ted? Why hasn't she asked Giles to talk to her about Randall? What makes her think Angel could possibly help? Is it because Faith brings up Angel first ("I can't pretend to investigate [Finch's death]", "Oh, but you can pretend that Angel's dead when you need to protect him?")? Yes, Faith tells her she doesn't want to bring Giles into it, but she says she doesn't want anybody else involved.

(It can't just be that Angel has the strength to restrain Faith, since the way the episode is structured means Buffy must have asked Angel for help before either of them knew he needed to chain her up.)

And yet, when Buffy finally admits the truth to Giles, there's no point where she acknowledges Giles himself might be in a good spot to help Faith. Buffy suggests she could talk to Faith again, or that "one of the guys" could, and ultimately settles on Angel (she must have asked him before he turns up at the motel and finds Faith attacking Xander: I doubt he was dropping in for a social visit) but there is literally no suggestion that Giles might have some relevant personal experience to bring to bear here. Why does Buffy not even consider asking Giles to talk to Faith? Does she just assume Giles's values "not talking about his past" more highly than "helping a Slayer he's supposed to be taking care of"?

(I've complained before about Giles himself not volunteering for the job, and to be clear I do think as the adult in the room Giles is more responsible here for Faith's wellbeing than Buffy. He has a duty of care to her than Buffy, still only a teenager herself, simply cannot be expected to match. Why does the man who -- less than six months ago! -- made a deal with the Council to "look after" Faith until she got a Watcher of her own, and who (as per Doppelgangland later) still considers himself qualified to make decisions about what missions she does and doesn't go on, tell Buffy he had to pretend to believe Faith's story because he "needed to make her think I was on her side". I mean, isn't he meant to be on her side? Why does he tell Buffy he "needs more time" to decide what to with Faith? He'd already ruled out getting Wesley or the Council involved, the only other adults who might be able to help -- he's already decided that this is something he should have some involvement in, despite having been fired as a Watcher; he's still acting as somebody who has the authority to make those calls -- so what exactly is he waiting for?)

Still, what's odd here is why Buffy just ... doesn't even seem to consider it. She's been trying to talk to Faith for most of the episode and not getting anywhere, so ... fine. It makes sense to ask somebody else for help, and it even makes sense that (when she does) she more or less completely defers to their judgment about what to do next. She's been trying her best and it doesn't seem to have been helping. Why not let somebody else take charge? But why Angel of all people?

I don't think this was what the writers were going for, but Buffy's entire thought process here seems to be "oh no, my 'good friend' Faith, the girl with whom I share a connection even my best friend could never understand, has killed somebody! This means she's in the same position I thought I was last year going through the same thing my Watcher did when he was just a bit older than her just like my boyfriend."

[johannestevans]

Rescue Dogs

Do you like traumatised young men with no sense of agency or bodily autonomy? Of course you do.

Do you enjoy a narrative where the once-chosen one has to live with not being chosen anymore, not being important anymore, no longer being the hero everybody wants and needs? Do you enjoy a narrative where, having been chewed up and spit out by their destiny, that ex-hero wonders if they should ever have been a hero at all?

Do you like the idea of the aforementioned mentally unstable young man stalking his ex-PE teacher, who he tried desperately to get to fuck him at school, but never would? Do you like the idea of that ex-teacher, lonely and isolated and miserable and more than a bit self-loathing, finally giving in and actually fucking him?

Do you like reading about abuse victims trying to come to terms with everything that's been done to them? The ways in which they've been failed - and the ways in which their instinct is to fail others? Do you like seeing characters who are utterly fucked up by being CSA victims, but are trying their best anyway?

Do you like when one member of an honestly fucked up and unbalanced relationship is trying desperately to convince his more vulnerable partner to seek help? Go to therapy? Realise that he deserves better?

Do you like it when men identify just a bit too much with abused dogs?

If the answer to any or all of the above is yes, I think you might really like my serial, Rescue Dogs, which is about all that shit and more, and you can read it online for free!

Rescue Dogs

Rated E, M/M. Cecil Hobbes finally gets Valorous King to try a new adventure: therapy. Cecil Hobbes, an ex-PE teacher disgraced and looked down on in his hometown, has a new partner: Sir Valorous King, a knight of the realm, once a child of prophecy, and Cecil’s stalker. A few months into their relationship, Cecil finally convinces Valorous to see a therapist, on the condition that Cecil attend one himself.

Read on Ao3 (free) / / Read on Medium (paid) / / Read on WorldAnvil (free)

Want to give it a try?

First chapter is here:

It wasn’t accurate to say that Cecil Hobbes had never lived with someone in his house before. Of course he had – he’d never been married in his life, and by definition none of his relationships really lasted more than two or three years, but he’d had lads in his house, over the years, here and there.

For a few months at a time, he’d had old army mates stay in the house while they got back on their feet and found a job elsewhere; he’d had lads whose families had kicked them out, or who couldn’t make up money for rent on their own flats.

And he usually had dogs, tended to have at least one, sometimes two or three.

Cecil was a man who liked to be on his own, but to be on his own didn’t mean that he needed to be the only person around. He’d grown up in a crowded house as a young lad, a lot of his older brothers still around – then they’d all gotten jobs, Randall and Vic had died, and suddenly it had just been him in the house with his mum and dad, and it’d been… Odd.

In the army, though, you were never on your own even if you were on your own, and it was the same once he was teaching.

But he’d never—

It was his house.

He’d bought it, took out the mortgage as soon as he’d started teaching in Lashton, and he’d put all his savings into it to make sure he could fucking pay off the thing – which was why he had no money now, yeah, but also meant he had a house to come back to once he was out of the nick. Even when there were people in his house, seventeen-year-olds he’d fucked twice and then let sleep in the spare room while they were studying for their exams, or old mates he’d served with who were knocking on doors all around until someone hired them, they were guests, whether they stayed for three weeks or a year and a half.

Valorous King, with whom Cecil Hobbes was recently involved, invited himself into Cecil’s house like it belonged to him too.

The first time he’d come in, it’d had been after drugging Cecil with a poisoned cigarette and knocking him out – the intention had been to make him dinner, dose him with some sort of souped-up magical Viagra, and make sure that Cecil fucked him.

He’d gotten distracted, though, by the state of Cecil’s house. Cecil’s house, which since he’d come back from the nick had gotten messier and dirtier because he didn’t have many friends any longer and he didn’t bring anyone he fucked home with him: he’d come in, seen it was filthy, seen there were bottles and cans and fag packets everywhere, seen there were piled up dirty dishes, dirty clothes, and like he was a born fucking housewife, he’d just started cleaning it all up.

Cecil had woken up groggy and out of it to a cooked dinner waiting for him in the oven, and his very own infamous stalker telling him he’d done his washing and put out all his bins.

It’d been months since then.

Cecil’s house was cleaner that it had been since he’d fucking bought it, all of his clothes clean and pressed and put away, all of his fucking documents and records organised and put into file boxes.

He’d always been quite a neat guy, depression notwithstanding, and he didn’t actually have all that many possessions in the house, but Valorous took cleanliness and neatness to the extreme.

He kept having arguments with the dog.

“Ruby!” said Valorous, and Cecil looked up from the paper, watching as Valorous came into the house either from work or the gym – he smelt of sweat and heat and his skin was shiny with it, and Cecil’s hands twitched with the urge to pull him up the stairs to fuck him while he was still tired, lick the sweat off his chest.

Ruby had been chained up in a yard for the first two years of her life, was intermittently shouted at and beaten by the family she’d come from, was terrified of kids and other dogs. She didn’t know what to make of Valorous King – she needed a calm, easygoing hand, not a fucking neurotic little prick.

“Why’s your toy on the floor?” Valorous asked, brandishing a squeaky carrot. Ruby was stood on her feet with her head forward, her big brown eyes doleful as she looked up at him, and she nervously wagged her tail. “It goes in here.”

Valorous put the toy in the labelled box – he’d bought her a set of three kids’ toy troughs, split into squeaky toys and plushes, balls, and chew toys. Cecil had only bought her a set of three to see what she liked – Valorous bought her new toys all the time. As soon as he put the carrot in its box, he frowned, getting to his knees and swapping toys between the boxes, putting them where they were supposed to be.

Ruby stayed on her feet, watching him cautiously, and then slowly came forward, reached into a box, and took the carrot out.

“Are you playing with it?” Valorous asked sternly.

“She still doesn’t really get how to play with toys, kid,” said Cecil quietly. “She just likes to hold them.”

Valorous reached out, and it was funny, watching them be nervous of each other – Valorous was careful about holding the carrot by the corner, staying away from Ruby’s mouth.

Ruby dropped the carrot and left it in his hand.

Valorous gave it one squeak, smiling when Ruby’s ears tipped up and her mouth opened in more of a smile, and then he threw it – Ruby watched it sail across the room, politely baffled, and then looked back into the box.

“No, no, Ruby, we’re playing with the carrot,” said Valorous.

Ruby picked up a toy scarecrow and looked at him hopefully.

“Ruby, get the—”

“Good girl, Rubes,” said Cecil, and watched the way her face lit up, her tail wagging a little bit more, her ears perking up even more. She still didn’t wag her tail like another dog might, but they’d get there.

She wasn’t pissing on the floor inside anymore, had mostly grasped that she had to go outside for that, although she still didn’t ask enough for Cecil’s liking, so he was taking her out several more times a day than she really needed – the third or fourth time she’d pissed on the floor in the kitchen Valorous had burst into tears out of sheer frustration, and Cecil had sent him back to bed to keep him from making her even more nervous than she was.

 She’d kept trying to lick his face as he’d scrubbed the tile after, her whole body shaking, neither of them having any fucking idea what to do with each other.

Valorous looked back at Cecil, his face pinched.

“Take the scarecrow,” he said.

“But she won’t chase it.”

“So don’t throw it. Just take it and hold it out to her.”

When Valorous did, Ruby mouthed at the scarecrow’s head, chewing on the corner of it, looked mostly down but kept glancing up at Valorous’ face. Valorous squeaked the toy, and she jumped, but then took the scarecrow by the head and tugged it back, taking it back to her bed and lying down.

“She looks so sad all the time,” complained Valorous, going to pick up the carrot and putting it in its box.

“She isn’t,” said Cecil, and got to his feet, dropping the paper aside. “She’s being rehabilitated, lad. She’s not gonna act like a normal dog for a while – may be that she never does. It’s not her fault.”

“I’m not saying it is! Just— Doesn’t it make you feel bad? Looking at her? And she’s… sad?”

“Broken?”

“She’s not broken,” Valorous snapped.

“No,” Cecil agreed, not smiling but feeling the urge. “Come upstairs, I want to choke you while I fuck you.”

* * *

Cecil worked in a gym three or four days a week – recently, it had been four days more often than it was three, and now and then he even worked five. It was taking time, what with the reputation he had around Lashton at this point, but it wasn’t exactly a big fancy gym where people really gave a fuck who or what he was, and no matter how much some of them disliked him, he was good at training, good at fighting, good at what he did.

Sometimes, people came in and sneered and asked if he was that nonce, and he shrugged and said, “People call me that, don’t mean it’s true,” and put them to work if they didn’t walk out immediately.

Then they’d hear him working with other guys, pushing them hard, and they’d change their tune a bit, ask him for notes.

Valorous King, though, was a cop. He mostly worked murders and violent crime, and despite what an active little fuck he was, he did a lot of his work within the office – he collated data and evidence, put his freaky, analytical mind to contradicting statements and marked them out.

Cecil was fully aware that when Valorous King did interrogations, he got results – he was also aware that when he’d joined up, a sort of shudder had gone through the fucking population, because everyone knew who Valorous King was, and of all the pigs they could go head-to-head with, they didn’t want one like him.

The lad was fucking feral, and everyone could tell that just to look at him, just to talk to him, but when he stood right across from someone and bored holes into them with their eyes, they talked before they even fucking meant to.

He was a celebrity, of course. Sir Valorous King was a knight of the realm, had been since he was a teenager – he’d killed dragons, griffins, wyverns, led armies into battle, fought duels, jousted, had championed arenas across the country and abroad.

The lad had been on the fucking postal stamps in 2015.

“Do you think I should be in an institution?” he demanded when Cecil walked in the door.

Cecil took this in, unzipping his jacket and hanging it up – Ruby didn’t come to greet him because Valorous was sitting on the floor in her bed, and she was laying over his lap, her big blunt head rested on his belly, but her tail wagged as Cecil came closer.

“No,” he said, coming to crouch on the floor, and Ruby leaned forward for Cecil to scratch her big cheeks, but she kept her body in Valorous’ lap, not wanting to let him get up, not knowing when she’d get to sit with him again if she did. “Who told you you should be?”

“Sergeant Stark says I’m a hazard,” said Valorous. “That I’m unstable. That I shouldn’t be around the public.”

“David Stark? He used to beat the shit out of his daughters, and two out of three of them had eating disorders at school. I wouldn’t base your fucking persona on his recommendations. What did you do?”

“Told a witness that she was being a cunt.”

“… Alright,” said Cecil. “Starting to see his point.”

“She was being a cunt. Her daughter’s in hospital, and all she’s fucking talking about is how it’s her daughter’s fault for wearing this fucking dress or going out at night, or what fucking ever.”

“I’m not an expert on police procedure, lad, but I’m pretty sure regardless you can’t go around calling witnesses cunts.”

He leaned forward, burying his face in the top of Ruby’s head, squeezing her, and Cecil kept a careful eye on her body language, making sure she wasn’t stiffening up or uncomfortable, but she was surprisingly okay with being held and hugged, and Valorous never did it for too long even though he wasn’t too great with dogs.

“Of course,” said Cecil, “you knew that. You knew he’d react like that, that no one would think it was justified.”

Valorous shrugged.

“You want to take the dog for a walk?”

“Do we have to muzzle her?”

“Yeah,” said Cecil. “If we don’t muzzle her and she bites another dog, we’ll have to put her down. Besides, the muzzle is good – people see that she has a muzzle on and they keep their dogs away from her.”

“But she doesn’t bite them unless they get too close,” said Valorous. “It’s not like she runs up to other dogs to bite them – she keeps herself to herself, she only bites out of self-defence.”

“Yeah, but she’s a big dog,” said Cecil slowly. “She’s stronger than most of the other dogs, big, she has strong jaws. She can do a lot of damage that a chihuahua couldn’t.”

“I don’t like how people look at her,” said Valorous. “They look at her like she’s a bad dog, because she’s got a muzzle on.”

“She doesn’t know that,” said Cecil. “She doesn’t give a fuck – she’s a dog, she doesn’t know if anyone’s judging her. All she knows is that she’s allowed to go for walks and exercise, and she’ll be happier with no other dogs anywhere near her.”

Ruby was looking between them, but she didn’t twig what was happening until Cecil went over and took her muzzle off the hook, and then she skittered off of Valorous’ lap and rushed to sit at Cecil’s feet, her tail wagging hard.

Valorous stayed sitting in the dog bed, bringing his knees up to his chest and looking very small, and watched Cecil slide the muzzle onto Ruby’s face.

* * *

It was three in the morning when Cecil woke up, bleary-eyed and not really with it. He didn’t move immediately, just watched Valorous on his feet beside the bed, rifling through Cecil’s end table and collecting what he found there – cigarette packets were dropped into a little plastic bag, Cecil’s long-expired passport was placed aside, bottles of lube and sensation gel and tubes of chapstick and a tin of chest rub were lined up on the bed.

“Jesus, lad. You got OCD?” asked Cecil.

“You’re awake?” asked Valorous, not looking away as he pulled out two empty boxes of paracetamol, flattening them and then tossing them into the bag with the cigarette packets. “You want a cup of tea?”

“I’m not awake,” muttered Cecil, raising his chin and yawning, rubbing at his eye. “Get back in bed, fuck.”

“What’s OCD stand for again?”

“Obsessive Compulsive Disorder,” said Cecil, lifting the blanket up, and Valorous slid underneath on his belly, pressing right up against Cecil’s body, sliding one of his knees in between Cecil’s thighs – it was fucking freezing, and Cecil clucked his tongue, wondering how long the little prick had been out of bed.

“You think I have it?”

He wasn’t even offended, obviously. He was barely paying attention, his eyes defocused, the hand that wasn’t settled freezing cold between their chests on the pillow, his fingers tapping against the fabric.

“Could be,” murmured Cecil. “S’not like I’m an expert. How long you been awake?”

“Dunno.”

“You sleep at all?”

“Sure.”

“How long?”

“Dunno.”

Fuck, but it was creepy when he was like this, barely awake and moving through life in a fucking haze, not really with it – listening but the way that a robot or an enchantment could listen, to follow basic instructions but not really get that you were talking to him, really talking to him.

He’d already cleaned out most of the rest of Cecil’s house, had scrubbed the living room and the kitchen and the bathroom and the spare room from top to bottom, had torn up the fucking carpet in the living room and rolled out a new one, bought new curtains. Everything in Cecil’s house was clean, freshly laundered, free of stains, organised, except the bedroom.

He glanced down at Valorous’ hands, trying to get an idea of how wet or rubbed raw they were, but they didn’t look too bad – he hadn’t been scrubbing anything before he started in the bedroom, or at least, it didn’t seem like it.

The lad must’ve been like this, at school.

Cecil recalled moments in PE classes where he’d come in and be uncomfortably quiet and intense, moments where he scared the everloving shit out of the students that had brains in their heads, and didn’t so much as intimidate the stupid ones until after he snapped and looked ready to beat them up, but he’d still be a little bitchy, a little snappy, still alive.

That had been once he’d been at school, though – maybe in the dormitories at St Idloes, he’d been like that, or at home with the other Kings.

Cecil had never really talked much to Maybeetle, who’d been the pastoral care expert, or the dormitory matrons, and while he’d talked once or twice to the school counsellors as much as he’d done his best to avoid it, they’d never talked about Valorous King, only about other shit in passing, sometimes other students.

And he’d never gotten the impression that any of the other teachers at Idloes understood King as well as Cecil did himself, saw him for what he was – they either thought he was some sort of glorious fucking hero ordained by the king regent, or they thought he was troubled and they were scared to have him in their classroom.

Cecil reached up and put his hand in Valorous’ hair, pulling hard, and Valorous blinked a few times, leaning back into Cecil’s hand and looking at him askance, his lips parting.

“Huh?”

“You have a nightmare?” asked Cecil, and studied the slight darkening of Valorous’ features, the shadow that came into his eyes.

He had blue eyes, obviously, had to be a blue-eyed boy – they seemed normal enough from far away, but once you were up close with him like this, you could see it wasn’t a natural colour, that it was too pure and lacked the texture of colour that an iris was meant to have. It was a crystalline blue, looked more like water than the inside of someone’s eye. There was a note in his medical record at school that his eyes had changed colour from a magical incident, probably the one that laid him up in Camelot that first time, for those months of recovery.

“Mm,” said Valorous, and shrugged his shoulders, but he looked awake now, glancing around the room and shifting closer, straddling Cecil’s thigh and putting his hands on Cecil’s chest, pressing on the flesh, his thumbs sliding over his sternum. “I dreamt that I ate your heart.”

“Oh, right,” said Cecil, unenthused. “Prophetic, do you think?”

“I don’t have prophetic dreams,” said Valorous, with a sort of blunt certainty.

How long had Valorous King been the favourite pet of the king regent?

Since he was thirteen or something, thereabouts, and Myrddin had kept Valorous under his hand, on and off, until he was twenty-four, Cecil thought – when he’d been at school, he’d go off to Camelot for lessons and extra tutelage for weeks at a time, to compete in tournaments and championships, and once he’d finished school he’d been in the army, although never as part of the rank and file.

He’d been in with some of the battle mages, Cecil was aware, for a little while, but mostly he’d be off in splinter groups or commanding smaller units, or he’d be the face on a battle to scare the shit out of whatever poor, ready-to-slaughter cavalcade of sacrifices was ready ahead of them.

No matter what he was doing, it had been with Myrddin Wyllt’s personal attention, until he’d gotten some new student – Cecil had read about her in the papers the last few years, some alchemist necromancer, impossible to photograph without a sort of haze distorting the picture – and lost interest in his old favourite.

He hadn’t asked questions about it, but he assumed that the break-up had come after that, and that was when Valorous had come back to Lashton, thought to be a copper.  

He suppressed his smile, recalling when Myrddin had taken Cecil’s face in his hands and stared deep into his eyes, had told him he had no destiny to speak of unless he chose to make one of himself, and that he had no Sight. He’d only been a lad himself, eighteen or so. It was part of the reason, Cecil supposed, that Myrddin had picked him out of the line-up to use as a fucktoy instead of any of the other soldiers – because he meant nothing to nobody and never would.

Of course, there wasn’t any such thing as someone who had no destiny: even men like Cecil Hobbes had futures, in a literal sense. Knowing Myrddin Wyllt, it could well have been that he fucked Cecil knowing that one day he’d take up one of Myrddin’s leftover protegés – except that neither Cecil nor Valorous would ever have fucked the other were it not for Myrddin in the first place.

Cecil considered himself a man somewhat intolerant of prophecy and future-divining, if not outright allergic.

“That’s for the best,” he murmured. “Of all the hearts you could eat, you’d not want a smoker’s.”

“I’ve eaten hearts before,” said Valorous.

“Still beating?”

“Mm.”

“In the arena?”

“Yeah, but not people’s hearts, not other knights,” he clarified. That was good – thinking about the arena woke him up completely, and he was wide awake now, sitting in Cecil’s lap, his arse resting on his thighs, his expression focused, concentrated, a little severe. Frightening, obviously, but that was Valorous King for you. “A drake’s heart, once, and a chimera’s. I bit into the heart of a mist wolf, and it was half vapour in my hands, and when I bit into it, it really was like biting through thick, thick air. Outside of the arena, not really, but there was a skirmish at Victim’s Peak, and I duelled their company captain. I bit into his heart once he was dead – I didn’t… I never planned to. I didn’t mean to, I mean. The whole thing is kind of a blur, actually, I remember putting him on the ground, and then I just remember snatches – his heart set my mouth on fire when I bit into it, the same way popping candy does, you know when you feel that sharp thrill from it?”

“Victim’s Peak is deadland, Valorous,” said Cecil. “Whose fucking army were you fighting?”

“It’s not deadland,” said Valorous, looking confused, but then his brow furrowed, his lips pressed together. “Fuck,” he said. “Is it? That would explain why I went like I did. I tore through all of them after their captain like they were made of paper – they had to wash me off with a hose before I could go inside.”

“It was deadland when I was there,” said Cecil quietly, gently squeezing his waist.

“It probably still was,” Valorous said now. “Do revenants taste like popping candy?”

“If they do, I doubt anyone’s written it down.”

Valorous looked at Cecil very seriously, all of a sudden, and asked – demanded, really – “When did you first get raped?”

“Uh,” said Cecil, “I was seven. My dad came home drunk, very drunk. He’d made me fondle him before that, suck him off a few times, but that was when he first buggered me.”

“What about your mum?”

“She never touched me.”

“No, I mean… Why didn’t she stop him?”

“She wasn’t really in any position to stop him any more than I was, lad,” murmured Cecil. “The woman was a nervous wreck, and she drank to cope, same as he did.”

“Same as he did?” Valorous repeated, looking abruptly angry. “What, like, he raped you as a coping mechanism?”

“Dunno that I’d put it like that,” said Cecil. “He was a veteran, all his friends had died in the war the first time around, then his first and second wives both died. First one died of cancer, but the second one was gangraped and murdered, that was in the fifties.”

“What war?” demanded Valorous, suddenly petulant, and it made Cecil laugh. Ignoring him, he went on, “You don’t mean World War 2.”

“I do,” said Cecil.

“How fucking old are you?”

“Me, I’m fifty-four,” said Cecil. Valorous opened his mouth, and Cecil said, “He was forty-nine when he got my mother pregnant.”

“How old was she?”

“Twenty-something.”

“Ugh.” Valorous said, making a face, and Cecil laughed again, demonstratively grinding his cock up against his arse. “This is different. You can’t get me pregnant.”

“Don’t worry, baby, we can keep trying.” He filed away the flutter of Valorous’ lips and the slight widening of his eyes in the back of his head, committing that expression to memory, to come back to later. “He was always drunk when he fucked me. Had to be – would sob after, sometimes, cry his fucking eyes out, say he was sorry, that he’d never do it again, that he’d kill himself. He never did – and he whored me out later, which isn’t typically what someone does when they’re really fucking sorry.”

“You’re so calm about it,” said Valorous quietly, staring down at him, very serious, lips pressed together. “I couldn’t be calm about something like that. Am I the first person you’ve told?”

Cecil shook his head. “I went to a group in prison.”

“Group therapy?” asked Valorous, wrinkling his nose, and Cecil stroked his hands over the back of his arse.

“Not really – it wasn’t that structured, it was just a talking group that happened to be run by a counsellor. Most of ‘em were rapists, sex pests, convicted nonces. I remember one lad got upset when I said I only ever fucked legal boys, asked if he thought it made me better than him, and I said, yeah, mate. ‘Course I do.”

Valorous was used to being able to make people uncomfortable, especially by asking questions like this, and Cecil could see he was a little uncertain and uncomfortable with just how comfortable Cecil was, how unbothered he was talking about it, answering questions.

“You never raped any kids?” asked Valorous.

“Nah,” said Cecil quietly. “When I was still a kid myself, I fucked other kids – started when I was twelve, fumbled about with lads my age. Once I was in the army, I fucked a few of the sixteen-year-olds who joined up, but I tried to skew older.”

“But you’d rather fuck actual kids?” demanded Valorous, his voice hard and brittle in a way that made Cecil’s stomach do an anxious flip, even though he had no business feeling fucking anxious about anything.

“Young teens make my cock hard, sure,” he said. “Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven. But I can look at a boy and think about what he’d feel like without turning him into a sex toy, breaking him open. A lad like that is a human fucking being, believe it or not.”

“Me?”

“You? Are you a human being?”

“Would you have fucked me? When I was eleven?”

“I didn’t fuck you when you were eleven, despite having pretty easy access,” said Cecil, arching an eyebrow. “I think that answers that.”

“Why not?”

“You’re offended?”

“Maybe I am,” said Valorous. “I wasn’t a sexy enough child?”

“Sexy enough to wank over, maybe,” said Cecil, shrugging. “Not sexy enough to become a rapist over.”

Valorous’ hard eyes turned gooey, and Cecil felt even more sick, although this time it was worry for the state of Valorous’ fucking head instead of self-loathing. “You wanked over me?” he asked, voice agonisingly soft.

“Not when you were eleven, no. Later, sure. When you were fifteen and started bending over and displaying your hole for me like an aspiring child bride. Did you ever think about what would have happened, if I’d actually fucked you? What it would have felt like to be fucking your PE teacher? Not the sex, lad, not my cock barely fitting in your teenage arse, the way I’d’ve made it hurt, but the secrecy of it. The fear. Knowing I could get you expelled, ruin your life, threaten to take anything I felt like away from you if you ever stopped pleasing me.”

“I was pursuing you,” said Valorous, and Cecil stroked his hands over the muscled globes of his arse, squeezing slightly. “I was a fucking celebrity – I was a hero, the king regent’s own. If I’d asked his majesty to kill you, he would have.”

“That’s what you thought at the time,” said Cecil. “You didn’t know me and him knew each other.”

Valorous’ expression faltered, his lip shifting as he bit his lip.

“And, lad, fuck Myrddin – I had my own reputation for safeguarding as a teacher. If I’d gone to your dorm head and said I was seriously concerned about sexual abuse, he’d’ve been on it like a car bonnet, had you transferred somewhere else, put you in therapy.”

“I would have said that you were the one abusing me,” said Valorous.

“Maybe they’d have believed you,” said Cecil, shrugging. “But I doubt it. Even before you lasered in on any man who’d let you suck his cock in the vicinity, I was known for reporting abuse and keeping an eye out for that.”

“Do you wish you’d done it?”

“No.”

“No?” asked Valorous, and leaned forward in Cecil’s lap, looking down at him. “You never think about it? I was smaller then – bet I would have been tight. You’d have been the first man inside me, first man to fuck me. Open me up. I’d be shaped for you my whole life.”

“Very hot, sure,” said Cecil lowly, aware that his voice was gruff with sex, that his cock was half hard. “But I’d have been the nonce fucking a fifteen-year-old student, knowing what I was taking from you.”

“But I fucked other people, so you wouldn’t have been tak—"

“Valorous,” said Cecil. “I’ve had enough of this, now. I’m fucked in the head, lad, we both are. We want things, need things, that in’t right, not for anyone. The difference being that when you want to scrub something until your fingers bleed, you don’t ruin anyone’s fucking lives forever. Raping a fifteen-year-old, on the other hand, tends to have that effect.”

“It wouldn’t have ruined my life,” said Valorous. “It would’ve been better. I wouldn’t have fucked all them other men, if you’d just fucked me. You would have looked after me better, wouldn’t you? You would have been nice, you would have treated me the way you treat me now. You’re fixing me, aren’t you? Making me better?”

Something in Cecil’s chest felt raw and open and wrecked at the way he said it, the way his eyes were open and vulnerable and wanting, and Cecil wanted to be sick, wanted to scream, wanted to shove Valorous off him, wanted to wrap him in a blanket and put him back to bed, wanted to strangle Myrddin Wyllt with his bare hands.

“Is that what I’m doing?” he asked in a very low voice, aware of the hoarseness in it. “Fixing you?”

“I’m better,” said Valorous, almost defensive. “No one else ever tried to make me better.”

Was he better?

Cecil didn’t think so. Every day he saw Valorous King, he seemed even crazier than he had the day before, but then, he had no fucking idea what he felt like.

“If I’m making you better,” said Cecil, “why don’t you take me up on therapy?”

He’d suggested it before. Half a dozen times, he’d suggested it, that the lad go and see someone actually qualified to have a look in his fucked-up head and try to fix it up a bit. As with every other time before, he scrunched up his nose and his lips and his face, and glared down at him.

“Why?” he demanded.

“Because I’m not qualified to fucking fix you,” said Cecil. “I rescue dogs, not knights.”

“If therapy’s so good, why don’t you go?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Well, nor do I! I won’t go unless you go.”

“You’ll see a therapist if I see a therapist?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine, okay. I’ll go.”

Valorous’ mouth dropped open. “What?”

“I’ll go see a therapist, in’t no skin off my back, s’not like I haven’t done it before. If it means you’ll go, I’ll go too.”

Valorous was looking at him in the devastated, indignant way that he looked at Cecil when Cecil managed to pin him on the floor or get a punch in when they were sparring – Valorous was a lot stronger, faster, smarter, and younger than Cecil was, so he shouldn’t be able to, and he always took personal offence when Cecil managed it.

“But—”

“Going back on your word, lad?”

Valorous set his jaw. “Fine,” he said venomously, and then, in the same spiteful tone, “You can fuck me now.”

“Oh, can I?” asked Cecil, and put his hand around his throat, listening to the way he choked and grinning at the sound. 

* * *

It had to be angels.

Faeries didn’t much believe in the concept of mental illness, not to mention the fact that the concept of therapy to most of them was a bit like going up to a stranger and giving him your name – it was weakening yourself to no imaginable benefit, making yourself vulnerable by giving away your secrets, giving away means to control or overpower you.

But it had to be angels – it had to be people that were guaranteed, as a matter of course, not to trust the king regent anymore than they would anyone else, people who wouldn’t be intimidated by him, people who weren’t vulnerable.

Cecil didn’t kid himself – if Myrddin Wyllt realised Valorous King was getting therapised and took it upon himself to go into his notes or eavesdrop on his sessions, that would be precisely what he would do. Trying to inure the process from Myrddin spying on it would be pointless and stupid to try, and would in fact only encourage him to do so when before he might not have been interested – the really important thing was that when Valorous talked about him, talked about the king regent, whoever he was talking to treated both Valorous and Myrddin as if they were people, not demigods, and acted accordingly.

The last thing Cecil wanted was to put Valorous on a couch, finally have him open himself up a bit, look internal, and say something critical about Myrddin Wyllt or the crown, and be shut down by some fucking royalist who couldn’t stand to hear it.

“Are you taking on new patients at the moment?” he asked quietly.

“You want to make appointments for two people,” said the doctor, looking down at him. Doctor Majok was a tall, slim man with a shaved head – he wore round glasses and a green cardigan over his shirt and tie. He’d been in the waiting room when Cecil had come in, and as his receptionist went over something on the computer with someone else, he’d gestured for Cecil to follow him into his office.

“You a telepath?” asked Cecil guardedly.

“No,” said Majok. “My sisters are, if that’s a concern for you.”

“In’t a concern. Just asking.”

“Paulette Fields told me that a man had been looking for two places as new patients, with concurrent appointments,” said Majok, picking up a teapot and gesturing with it, and Cecil gave a stout nod of his head. “You would be Cecil Hobbes?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you any experience with therapy or counselling before now, Mr Hobbes?”

“Yeah,” said Cecil quietly. “After I was discharged from the army, I had to do some screening sessions with a psych to make sure an injury in my hip wasn’t psychosomatic, but it turned out to be magical damage to one of the nerves. And when I was inside, I was court-ordered to talk through anger management strategies, as well as going to a support group for sex abuse survivors.” He said it through almost gritted teeth, feeling like he was burning himself saying it, but he knew that being honest now was better than being found out later.

Majok nodded seriously, not looking deterred as he passed him a cup of tea.

“And what are you looking for from therapy?”

“I’ve been trying to get the lad I’m sleeping with to come, and he won’t go unless I go,” said Cecil honestly, keeping Majok’s gaze and not breaking it. Majok looked mildly surprised, his eyebrows raising, but he didn’t look angry or disgusted, which was good. “He needs it, I think, because I’m not qualified to… And it’s not like I can’t benefit from it. But I’m here ‘cause he needs to go, and this is the only way I could get him to agree.”

“This is why you want appointments at the same time?” asked Majok. He exuded an incredibly calm, collected air, and Cecil felt himself let out a breath, wondering if it was contagious for mundane reasons or magical ones. “So that you can ensure he goes?”

“Nah, he’ll— He’s told me he’ll go, he wouldn’t back out on his word now he’s said it,” said Cecil. “But if we go at different times, he’ll spy on my sessions while I’m here.”

Majok blinked.

“He— Look, I suppose Paulette Fields in’t the only person who called you. I bet Karen whatever the fuck also let you know we were looking, and that angel counsellor at the hospital, too.”

Majok didn’t say anything, his expression completely blank.

“I was his PE teacher, at school,” said Cecil. “Then last year he was stalking me, and he still does. Stalk me. Follows me around, goes through my phone, goes through records of me. It’s pretty much a guarantee that he’s gonna try to go through your records for his own notes and mine – but if we go at different times, he will listen in on my sessions, and I don’t want that to be the point of this. I want him to focus on his sessions.”

Majok took a sip of his tea, taking this in.

“And I’m a paedophile,” added Cecil, figuring he might as well shove the knife all the way in, while he was at it. “Non-offending, don’t rape kids, don’t look at child porn, none of that. But I’m attracted to kids, teenagers. Just in case that’s a deal-breaker.”

“Is that why you were worried I was a telepath?” asked Majok, and Cecil pressed his lips together.

“Common courtesy, in’t it? S’not like you want that dropped into your head.”

“Distressing thoughts and urges are my profession, Mr Hobbes,” said Majok, almost gently. “I’m not here to judge the thoughts in your head – my purpose is to help you heal from old wounds, to better live with what’s in your head, and arm you with tools to cope with those distressing thoughts and urges.”

“Yeah, well,” said Cecil. “Most therapists don’t want a nonce sitting on their couch, profession or not.”

“Has that stopped you from seeing out professional help before?” asked Majok, sharp as a scalpel. His eyes were so dark behind his glasses they were almost black – it was a very calming colour, Cecil found. “The knowledge that the stigma of your condition might make some offices turn you away?”

“When I was younger, sure,” said Cecil. “But I’ve read up on it. Trauma, paedophilia, sex offences. A lot of it, I read the, uh, literature. Stopped looking, while I was a teacher, because I knew if I did go to someone and got reported, I’d be liable to lose my job.”

“You don’t teach anymore?”

“I got put in the nick for GBH,” said Cecil. “Can’t teach after that – I work in a gym now.”

“And your partner?”

“It’s Valorous King,” said Cecil, and watched Majok’s face. His eyes really widened now, the colour seeming a tiny bit lighter with more light on it, but still very dark, and his eyebrows went right up, his forehead wrinkling.

“Ah,” he said. “I see.”

“If you can’t take us, if you had any recommendations for—”

“We can take you,” Majok interrupted him. “If you’re comfortable, you and I can take sessions together – and we can arrange for Sir Valorous to take an appointment with one of my sisters, if the two of you call us at the same time.”

Cecil stood there for a second. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” said Majok.

An uncomfortable pit formed at the base of Cecil’s stomach, and as Majok stared at him, he drank more of the tea, even though it was hot.

“Why don’t we get some intake forms for you and Sir Valorous?” asked Majok reasonably.

“Yeah,” said Cecil, trying to ignore the roiling nausea inside him. “Why don’t we?”

“Are you frightened?” asked Majok.

“Scared shitless.”

Majok nodded his head, picking up a pen and passing it over with a form, still calm, still on an even keel. “It’s understandable to feel frightened,” he said, “and not at all uncommon. Anxiety unites almost every patient, whether they’re starting therapy for the first time or returning.”

Cecil stared down at the intake form, slowly nodded his head, and filled in his name.

[sparklingmusicofstars]

Hamefura bonus short story : First prince and his fiancée

I'm glad to finally see the kind of relationship Geoffrey and Susanna really have. I didn't do any translation for a while so I hope there aren't any mistakes.

As I, Larna Smith of the Ministry of Magic, real name Susanna Randall, finished reading the report and looked up to find my fiancé, Geoffrey Stuart, asleep on the couch across from me .

By the time I started reading the report, he was lying on the sofa and looking at the portraits of his beloved brothers, but it seems like he just fell asleep.

It's very late and he's probably tired because he's so busy. And since this is Jeffrey's room, he must be feeling a bit out of it. I got up and went to Geoffrey's side to put something on him.

Come to think of it, it's been a while since I've seen his sleeping face. I've been so busy lately that even if I saw him, I would often just hand him a report and we'd split up.

His face looks younger than usual as he sleeps peacefully. For some reason, I remembered the time when we met.

Geoffrey and I met over ten years ago. While I was still pretending to be a tool in front of my father, I was told that I would be engaged to the first prince.

I was already deep into the study of magic, had no interest in aristocratic events, and even left tea parties in the middle so my parents wouldn't find out, and I didn't even know the prince's face. However, I didn't want to become the prince's fiancée or something so troublesome.

I lied and said, ``I'll do my best,'' and asked for a meeting just the two of us. I had the courage to refuse the offer outright.

If things didn't go well, I wouldn't be able to escape my father's physical punishment, but I knew it was better than the trouble that would follow. Besides, if it didn't work out with me all I have to do is talk about the engagement with my other sister.

Then, my wish came true and we had a face-to-face meeting, almost just the two of us.

The person who appeared was a beautiful boy with silver hair and blue eyes, and although he was young, he greeted me with such graceful gestures that I was impressed.

I thought this was the kind of prince a young girl would have a crush on , but it didn't resonate with me.

My first priority is the study of magic, and my goal is to break off the engagement.

It hasn't been announced to the public yet, so I'm sure it'll work out somehow.

When I faced the prince, who introduced himself as Jeffrey Stuart, he greeted me with just a few words.

"I have no interest in anything other than magical research. I don't want to be a queen,"

I said flatly, without any hesitation.

Geoffrey froze, his eyes wide.

This would offend the prince and he would ask for the engagement to be called off. That's what I thought, but a little later, for some reason, Geoffrey chuckled. And...

``I have no interest in anyone other than my younger brothers. I have no intention of inheriting the throne either,'' he replied.

Now it was my turn to freeze in surprise. What is he talking about ? What is this prince saying ? Geoffrey said to me,

"We'd make a good team, wouldn't we ? I'm looking forward to working with you." He said and held out his hand to me.

I was confused and couldn't help but take his hand, and I still remember how Geoffrey smiled so brightly.

That was the beginning of my relationship with Geoffrey

After a lot of persuasion, I ended up becoming his fiancée. At first I was reluctant to accept it, but then he said to me, "I'm going to make it easier for you to study magic from now on." I was soon a collaborator in Geoffrey's plans.

Before I knew it, he had become my most reliable partner.

I gently covered Geoffrey with the blanket as he slept. He still has a lot of work to do.

“Still, relax and rest for a little while.”

I said as I gently stroked his silver hair.

　

★★★★★★

When I, Geoffrey Stuart, opened my eyes, I saw the familiar ceiling of my room. Apparently I was looking at the portraits of my younger brothers and fell asleep on the sofa.

My body is covered with a blanket. Her maid was wearing it, so Susanna must have put it on for me. Susanna had probably finished reading the report and left, and was nowhere to be seen.

I realised that it was already around midnight. I picked up the blanket and headed towards the bed to rest, but someone else was using it first.

"Hey, hey, Susanna. Don't take other people's beds," I couldn't help but whisper.

My fiancée, Susanna Randall, was sleeping soundly in my bed. It was probably too much trouble for her to go home. She has such a rough personality.

Moreover, it was surprising that she covered someone else with a blanket but didn't cover herself with anything.

Her sleepy face is full of sex appeal, and if she wasn't the owner of this bed, she would be in various dangers. There is a limit to being defenseless.

"You haven't changed at all, haven't you ?"

The first time I met Susanna was over ten years ago. A servant told me that my fiancée had been decided.

The other party was said to be a daughter of the Marquis Randall family, a high-ranking member of my faction. I had heard that Marquis Randall was quite ambitious and quite a person, but I could hardly find any information about his daughter.

From my standpoint, there's no way I can refuse the engagement. For now, I thought I'd just play the good prince and get along with him at least on the surface.

On the day of the meeting, she requested, ``If possible, I would like to meet alone.''

When I heard that, I thought that maybe she admired me.

At children's tea parties, I often wear a fake mask and get around, so many girls look at me enthusiastically. I thought that the daughter of the Randall family was one of those children.

When I met Susanna Randall, he found her to be a beautiful girl with a mature demeanor.

Hmmm. I don't think I've ever seen her at a tea party before, but for now I'll play the role of a girl's ideal prince. I thought so and greeted her with elegant gestures, but instead of looking excited, Susanna kept a straight face.

Hmm, her reaction was different from what I had expected. I thought so.

Susanna looked straight at me and declared ,

``I have no interest in anything other than magical research. I don't want a to be a queen.''

I couldn't help but freeze at the sudden and unexpected answer.

I thought she was a common lady, but she turned out to be quite interesting.

It's a waste if this is just a superficial relationship. Thinking so, I decided not to give in and reply with a punchy remark.

"I have no interest in anyone other than my younger brothers. I have no intention of inheriting the throne."

When I said that, Susanna froze.

I told her.

" We'd make a good team, wouldn't we ? I'm looking forward to working with you."

When I said this and held out my hand to her, she squeezed it back in an involuntary way.

I still remember how happy I was.

That was the beginning of my relationship with Susanna.

After that, I checked out her situation, made some good points about getting engaged, and we became officially engaged, She seemed reluctant at first, but then I said.

"I'm going to make it easier for you to study magic from now on".

And before I knew it, she had become my most reliable partner.

I occupied the bed and gently covered the sleeping Susanna with a blanket.

I then get on the other side of the bed and lie down myself.

"I'm glad you're my fiancée."

I said and gently stroked her black hair as she slept beside me.

[romanarose]

Her Hair Reminds Me of a Warm, Safe Place

Marc Spector x Layla El-Faouly

Summary: Marc finds safety in Layla.

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse, childhood trauma, adult dysfunctional relationships, parents permissive of abuse, regular Marc Spector warnings.

************

Marc knew it was a nightmare, but he couldn’t wake himself up. You’d think his nightmares would be about Randall dying or of his mom hurting him or all the horrors he’s witnessed, but it was rarely that. His mind created new scenarios to torment him with.

Steven and Jake couldn’t protect him in his sleep.

When he woke up, it was with a start and tears in his eyes, the memories of the dream slipping through his finger tips, as did any chance he had at processing it or assuring himself it wasn’t real. How can he self-soothe by saying ‘It’s just a dream’ when he might have dreamed of Randall's death? He can’t say it wasn’t real when his back was littered with belt marks? His night terrors were often like this, he didn’t know what they were about, but he woke up shaking.

As he came back to reality, Marc tried his best to orient himself into the real world, and the first thing he registered was curly hair in his face.

Layla.

Marc smiled, breathing out and not bothering to brush it off just yet. It was a comfort to him, the thick curls, the smell of coconut oil, the tickle on his face… it meant he was safe. Layla would never let anything happen to him.

The few times Layla met his parents, they mostly went decent. Layla was friendly, fun, and wicked smart. Elias adored her. Mark new he always wanted a daughter, but Randall’s birth was an emergency c-section and Wendy nearly died on the table, sothey decided to not risk it again. So, when Marc called his dad and said he was married, he was thrilled to have a daughter-in-law, especially someone like Layla. Wendy wasn’t a completely different story, just different.

When you grow up in abuse, there's a few paths you can take in adulthood. Some completely cut contact, but Marc couldn’t do that. Sure, there were his wilderness years, and there were periods of Marc’s life where he was not in contact with his mom at all, but for the most part things calmed down after he left in his teens. As a 20-year-old marine, Wendy wouldn’t even try to lay a hand on him, but her words were almost worse during fights, and it pained Marc that Elias merely tried to mediate, he never really stood up for him. Time went on, and Marc was usually in contact with his mom through his dad if nothing else.

‘Your mom says hi’

Did she?

‘Your mom wanted to send you this recipe you used to like’

Did she really?

‘Your mom likes Layla?’

Does she?

Layla sood up for Marc the way Elias never could, the way Marc was still unable to into his thirties. It wasn’t like every visit was bad, most went well, Layla just countered all Wendy’s snide remarks and things said under her breath. The big fight, the one that left Marc and Wendy out of speaking terms before she died, was because Wendy made a comment, Marc can’t even remember what now, and Layla defended Marc. This lead to Wendy calling Layla and cunt, and Marc finally standing up to his mom; he couldn’t ever say a word to her when she said awful things about him even as an adult, but he’d be damned if she insulted his wife. When Wendy, likely only raising her hand in frustration, made Marc flinch, Layla stepped between them, deadset and determined to protect her husband, moon knight or not.

Marc Spector was Moon Knight.

Moon Knight was not afraid of his mom.

But Marc Spector was.

And Layla El-Fauley was not.

Safety.

Layla was his safety. 

Eventually, Marc rolls over a bit, brushing the hair off his face and turning over to pull Layla close to him, making her stir.

“Marc? ” She always knew when it was him, Jake or Steven. 6th sense, she called it.

“Sorry baby, did I wake you?” 

“A lil” Layla mumbled sleepily. “But that’s okay. You have a band dream?”

“Yeah, don’t remember it though. I’m okay now.”

Layla hummed. “Okay, Are you sure you’re fine? You can wake me, you know.”

“I know.” And he did. Marc wasn’t afraid of asking for help anymore, not from his brothers and not from her. 

“You need anything?” She asked one more time, always looking out for him, always loving him.

He peeked his head out to kiss her cheek, assuring her he was fine. Looking over to the cradle next to the bed, he glanced at their daughter, checking for that steady rise and fall of her chest. When he found it, he laid back down, Marc buried his face in the messy hair, drying the remainder of his tears.

“No baby, I’m just fine. Everything I need is right here.”

**************

just wanted to write a lil drabble for my Marcy Marc and wifey Layla

tagging a few who may be interested

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @howaboutcastiel @eyelessfaces @jake-g-lockley @whatthefishh

[sinsandsweetness]

Aggravate (sex and zombies- chapter 16)

pairing- (Daryl x fem!reader)

summary- No one gets you worked up like he can.

warnings- 18+ content. Smut, hate sex with Daryl, degrading, outdoor sex, zero aftercare whatsoever... so just tread lightly...

note- @rickswh0r3 here u go luv. hate sex with Daryl as requested. **This is one last flashback chapter before I start to wrap this work up. Basically just a little bit of context for the fight that was mentioned in chapter 2. I did originally want to add this chapter, but my timeline errors were irritating the hell out of me. So let's just pretend that I didn't make any... or at least that the time spent on the farm was more drawn out than in the show. This scene doesn't entirely add to the plot but hey... it's more smut. And that's why we're all here, right?

You hadn’t went out with the intention to be kidnapped. You just wanted to help the group. Restock the medical supplies that they were wasting on Randall. Supplies that you thought Lori would eventually need. That anyone could end up needing. 

And now you were fighting. Again. With Daryl and his moody little temper, always getting the best of him. Caring a little too much about his new favourite member of the group. One who’d do him all the sexual favours he wanted as long as he reciprocated. And he did. Fuck, did he ever. 

During your trip into town, you’d had a very unfortunate run in with the rest of Randals group. Some of them at least. Granted, you had been pretty stupid, going out on your own. But everyone makes shit decisions now and again. 

You weren’t even sure how you managed to escape. Pure luck if you had any real guess. Climbed out of the window while the lead guy was distracted, and you didn’t stop running until you collapsed in the woods, along the fence line of the farm. The lights on inside the house, everyone probably getting ready for bed. It was dark and you were coated in walker blood. Zip tie marks that had rubbed your wrists raw. Daryl was really unhappy when he noticed those. Immediately his mind wandered to the worst. Assuming that those men had done things to you. Gross things. Things he wanted saved for himself only. Not that he would tell you that. 

It’s why he was so worked up. Deep down, he knew you meant well, trying to go on the supply run. But you’d executed the plan very poorly in his opinion. You should have asked him to go with you. You argued back, saying that he was too busy beating the shit out of Randall to notice that you were gone in the first place. That only made him more mad.

Regardless, he was pissed. You’d explained everything to Rick and Hershel, and they weren’t really that mad. Mostly just glad you’d made it home safe. You were positive that Randalls group didn’t follow you, but Shane wanted extra lookouts just in case. Prompting him and Andrea to be in charge of watch for the next few days, while they “felt things out”. 

Worried about you, angry from the weeks events and only getting more worked up by the hour, Daryl decided to go on a walk to find you. Since you hadn’t showed up at the tent after speaking with Rick and Hershel at the house. Eventually, he caught you behind the barn, trying to get some air and space from him and the rest of the group. Said he’d heard you. Said you couldn’t be quiet if it would save your life. And that’s how the fight started. You tried to block the really nasty bits out, but he really lost it on you this time. 

“The hell are you cryin’ for huh? You’re the one who ran off like an idiot!” Daryl swung his arm towards the woods, the action making you flinch. 

“I was trying to help, I-"

“What you did was stupid. Puttin’ us all in danger. Do you realize that? Rick and Lori… they’d never say it. But you know it’s true. Everyone’s at risk now if those guys try and find you- Find us.” Daryl was pissed. You’d never seen him this mad before. Maybe when Rick left Merle on that roof in Atlanta. Yeah that was definitely worse. But now, the anger was directed at you. And honestly his yelling wasn’t helping anything. It just made you want to shut down. Made you feel like shit. More than you already had. 

“You are so useless you know that? Always havin’ to clean up after your shitty decision ma-“ 

“My shitty decision making?! What about you? Getting kicked off a horse like some idiot.” He really didn't like it when you would talk back, so you made sure to do it as much as possible.

“‘Least I was actually doin’ something. I had a lead on that girl!” 

“You didn’t have shit, and you know it!” 

“This ain’t about me, dammit, you can’t even admit what you did was stupid!” 

“I feel bad enough already! Can you just drop it?!” You were trying not to yell, but he was really getting you worked up. Blowing the situation out of proportion. It wasn’t that big of a deal. You were still alive and well.

“You shoulda just stayed there. Shoulda never come back... puttin' us all in danger.”

Your chest hurt at that comment. Seriously, how could he even say that? 

“I can’t fucking stand you!” You finally spat. Fed up with his shit. He couldn’t have meant that, right?

A moment of heated silence passed between you. Within thirty seconds, he had you pushed up against the back of the barn, mouth smashing against your own, bumping teeth and grabby hands. Practically tearing your clothes off. 

“Daryl- get ugh-“ you pushed at his chest once you fully processed what was happening. 

But he didn’t stop, instead he just pushed you further up against the barn, the paint chips and slivers of wood catching on your shirt. Your pants already being shoved down your ass. You struggled against the hand trying to get in between you, and once he had enough of your squirming, he decided to just shove you face first into the wall. 

“Quit whining.” He grumbled into your ear and you could feel his hard on poking you through his jeans. 

“You know what they coulda done to you huh? Those guys out there?” His hand was cupping your cunt through your panties, massaging at your clit through the fabric. 

“They coulda hurt you in so many ways, baby.” Your panties being tugged down to join the jeans around your knees. “Woulda been a hell of a lot meaner than me, I’ll tell you that much,”

You whimpered at the thought. 

“Is that what you wanted? To get all roughed up by some strange men? Am I not doing enough for you? You need a whole gang of guys to fuck you?

“No you-“ interrupted by your own moan, his fingers were inside you now, and his lips brushed your ear as he continued his lewd commentary. Though the further he got with his fingers, the less you actually wanted to object. 

“No? I’m not enough for you? Is that what you’re saying?” He clarified, his grip on your waist getting more aggressive by the second. 

“Ow, no! You’re enough- you, ugh- you do so good Daryl. You’re so good to me…” you whined the last bit. A little shameful of how pathetic you sounded. 

“That’s better.” He whispered, replacing his fingers with his cock. The new warmth between your legs pulling a gasp out of you. “Can’t fucking stand me huh?” He mocked you. “You’re fuckin’ pathetic, baby. Always have been.” 

He fucked you hard enough your knees threatened to give out. Though his grip around your waist would have held you up if you’d actually failed at standing on your own. You didn’t even register the whiney pleas coming from your mouth. But Daryl didn’t miss it. Never would he miss the opportunity to humiliate you. 

“Sayin' 'please' like a good girl? You really are a cumslut, aren't you. Can't believe how easy it is to break you.” 

His words stung, but the feeling of him pounding right into that spot that made you see stars, quickly made up for it. 

“Daryl wait-“ you could feel your orgasm approaching already, embarrassingly fast for how angry he had made you. 

“Shut up,” he grunted, sticking his fingers into your mouth, tasting your creamy substance on his digits. He kept them there as he fucked you against the barn, too horny to care about anyone catching you. He always got so hard when you’d fight. Maybe he just liked seeing you cry. 

You couldn’t help but gag and moan, and that made him snap his hips even faster, the sound of skin smacking against skin, filled the air. 

“Mpmhh,” you muffled around his fingers, spit starting to run down your chin. 

“What’s that sweetie? Can’t hear you with my fingers in your mouth.” 

He was being an absolute asshole. But for whatever reason, your body loved it. You clenched around him and could feel your own cum running down your leg. The orgasm hitting fast and hard. Eyes rolling back as you tried not to moan any more. Didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. 

“Shit,” he gasped, pulling out and cumming all over your ass, some of it dripping right into your panties. His fingers leaving your mouth with a string of spit. He didn’t wait long before he turned you back around and pulled your panties up. Followed by your pants, his seed dampening the fabric, all sticky against your skin. 

“Daryl-“ you tried to scorn him but he didn’t care. Buttoning up his own jeans and then running a hand through his hair. 

You were both still fuming. Flushed faces and heavy breathing. And though the sex was good, your feelings were still hurt. Not knowing the difference between what he said and what he meant. If there was any difference for that matter.

“You can sleep in the trailer tonight. Dale said there’s room.” He told you, and started walking away to his own tent. The one you usually shared. 

You just stood there, unable to move, weak in the knees and thighs. Dried tears down your face and the feeling of his cum in your underwear. What the fuck. 

“Fuck you…” Your voice cracked as you tried to call after him, thinking he probably wouldn't even hear you. Wether he did or not, he refused to acknowledge you.

“You alright?” The voice behind you made your spine straighten immediately. Ah shit. Terrible timing.

“I just thought I heard something… is everything ok?” You glanced over at Rick, a confused expression on his face.

You sniffled and wiped your eyes with your sleeve. “Yeah - uh- sorry just-“ 

Rick seemed worried. Rightfully so, given your last 24 hours being a total shitstorm. And now, walking in on you freshly fucked and left to cry behind a damn barn. Though you weren't sure if Rick realized that. Maybe it just looked like you were sad. 

“Just a had a little… argument. That’s all.” You looked down at your hands, picking at your nails. Argument. Yeah, that’s what it was. 

“Daryl?” He confirmed, approaching you slowly.

“Yeah.”

“He was worried about you, y’know,”

“Oh I’m sure.” You attempted at a laugh but it came out more like a sob then you intended. 

“He was. Wouldn’t stop pacing around. We were gettin' ready to start searching the woods.” 

You gave him a weak smile. 

“It’s been a long day. You should get some rest.” He grabbed you by the hand, all soft and gentle, and led you back to camp. Why couldn't Daryl ever be soft and gentle. You couldn't help but think how lucky Lori is. To have a husband with such a kind heart. Such a pretty face and a genuine smile. So opposite of the guy you'd let drag you to his bed for the past few months.

The whole walk back to the trailer, you wanted to cry. And you also had the overwhelming desire to punch something. Daryl could always do this. Make you feel all hot and cold. Well, truthfully, it was him that was hot and cold. You were just hot and bothered. Intoxicated by him one moment, and torn to pieces the next. 

No one else could ever get you as worked up as he could. 

[dyshonor]

Emma had already bought him a gift.

But Emma had not bought him a gift.

She didn't really know what he liked. She hardly knew him, in all honesty. With the frequency with which she saw him, most probably wouldn't judge her for not getting him a gift at all. But Emma would. Because that was Randal, even if it wasn't the Randal that she knew. It was the Randal that'd become her Randal, right? And a future friend is a friend all the same.

(it'd be lonely, wouldn't it? to not be acknowledged, for the crime of not yet being who you will be someday?)

She knows from their time in Valentia that he's not a fan of sweets. Did he like sweets when he was her age, and grow out of it? Or had that always been how he was? Randal as he was now was kind of the opposite of the Randal she knew—but not completely, not so thoroughly that she felt it an obvious assumption. Best not to risk it. That left cookies or cupcakes out of the question, though. Does she find somewhere that'll sell her a bottle of whisky if she asks with wide enough eyes?

...she's not sure she wants to encourage that.

"Randaaaal!"

The young trainee hadn't relied on her pegasus today, and so she'd resorted to searching for him on her own quick feet. She's quite lucky to have found him at a reasonable hour. Quite lucky to have found him at all, really. And yet it is carefree the way she rocks on the heels of her feet when she finally stops beside him.

"It's your birthday today! Did you forget?" Probably not, given how high and mighty he tried to act, but at the same time, she could hardly imagine how confused his sense of time must be. Emma herself had a hard time keeping track of it, now, and that was without the sort of complications Randal had dealt with. "I looked all over for a gift for you... but, um, I realized I don't actually know what you like."

And with complete familiarity, she grabs him by the wrist, pivoting on her heel to pull him along.

"So you're gonna come with me, and we're gonna hold a party with everyone!" She'd already asked Poe, Niamh never said no when Emma invited her to festivities, she bet she could swing Alice if she begged... "Then I'll get to know you better, and we can get you gifts next time. I got a cake for us and everything!"

She knows he's not a big of sweets—but it felt wrong to have a party without a cake.

"I hope thirty candles is enough."

-- RANDAL HEARS THE CRY from afar and feels his shoulders tense. It is with an incredible amount of self-control, cultivated after hours of meetings and handshakes with well-to-do usurpers, that he makes them ease when she rocks up besides him.

His birthday? Well he hadn't forgotten it- in times once-recent, it was an opportunity to force political rivals in front of you- but he had certainly not expected anything to come of it. It was a day to keep in mind, a day to procure fake, obligatory showcases of love.

He does not expect much. Emma loved that dastard, and she surely would have wanted to spend his 'birthday' with him. Knowing her, she'd likely been planning something for months. If this was some sort of scrambled coping mechanism, then he was far too miffed to let her down gently. No, before she's even finished stating her intentions, Randal has opened his mouth and-

A pause. "For... me?"

Well, she knows Randal- not him, that dastard, they were the very same but not him- but she still takes the time to clarify that she doesn't know what he likes.

What he likes.

He opens his mouth, closes it. The insults that come pre-baked with his tongue falter and wither. It is such an unabashed display of kindness that it leaves him without words.

By the time he finds himself, Emma has yanked his wrist and sent them spinning. "Wh- wait a second--"

The words coast over his head in near-numb fascination. A party, with 'everyone', whatever that meant. For him? As in, him? Surely at least some of them were there for the dastard, for that person they were surely waiting for him to slip back into, but it was being organized for the presentation of his sake...

He bites his lip. This is stupid to get excited over. No matter his age, he is an adult, and an adult that is seeking to strike out on his own and far away from this place that that dastard has brought them to.

(but is it wrong?)

Randal trips and catches his balance as Emma rambles on, full of promises of gifts for next time. Next time?

(he is not going to stick around forever. he is going to blink and that dastard will take his place back, as he has every right to. randal: the one who stands with a face clear of stubble, the one with hair still short enough to curl at the nape of his neck, the one granted a fresh nomer of 'wicked knight', will flash by with hardly anyone to remember him by.

he will be that dastard, that person actually worth being around, and he will be as good as dead. he is not so delusional as to think that he can actually keep him at bay forever- he does not know if he wants to.

so. if, like everything else that he has stumbled through, this doesn't matter anyway, why can't he indulge?)

His face twists into a pout.

"Thirty- I'm not that old!" he sputters. "I'm twenty! Something! Nowhere close to thirty, or if you're going for that old dastard's age, then--"

(maybe, if he's lucky, there really will be a next time. for him.)

[devilsrecreation]

Ya’ll I’m not gonna lie, I’m actually thinking about making a Monsters Inc/University oc

I did this monster oc challenge from tiktok a while back and now I’m like “yk what? Let’s make them a monsters inc character”

Everybody meet Atlas

-They’re kind of a mix between a sea monster and a scorpion except their species can go on land and in water

-Randall’s childhood best friend and went to MU with him

-Met Randall in elementary school when he was getting bullied and they (formerly she) beat the bullies with a book

-Used to be a feisty and sassy little shit who would gladly pick a fight but has since matured and become more of a hippie…who would still pick a fight if you messed with their friends. Their heart is in the right place, they just don’t make the best decisions

If you don’t believe me, this was Atlas’ reaction when Randall was kicked out of ROR

- Was a business major in MU but didn’t know what kind of business they wanted to run

-Friend of Art and Squishy during the events of MU (they think Art’s funny and they must protect Squishy at all costs)

-Was NOT proud of Randall when they saw what ROR did to Oozma Kappa at the party and they even confronted Johnny about it

To be more specific, after OK ran out, they (having been a new friend of Art) stomped to ROR and was all “What the hell did you do that for?! What have they ever done to you?!”. After Johnny and Chet told them some bs excuse like “Lighten up, it’s just a prank” and “They’ll never be scary, anyway”, Atlas told them that while they aren’t the scariest monsters around, they’re still the nicest, most hardworking people in school if you got to know them. “They’re better monsters than you jerks will EVER be!”. Then Johnny would say something even more condescending and douchey that ultimately gets himself punched in the face (and Chet punted across the room).

Thankfully, Randall camouflaged himself to avoid both the verbal beating and the embarrassment (cuz if ROR figured out he and Atlas were friends, he’d be kicked out of the fraternity for sure). But he did show himself when Atlas was leaving and the two had a little spat. Randy begged Atlas to just let it go while Atlas argued how wrong it was to do them dirty. It gets to the point where Atlas does the somewhat cliche “You’re not the person I remember” thing, which sours their friendship

-It’s okay though, cuz after Randall gets kicked out of ROR post Scare-games, he goes back to his old dorm and sees Atlas as his new roomate. They make up and still remain best friends to this day

They also made their friendship known to ROR, who are now afraid of them due to Atlas kicking them where the sun doesn’t shine. Nobody messes with either of them now

-I’m thinking Atlas gets banished sometime before the events of Monsters Inc. They were a secretary in the company (either working alongside Celia or they worked on her days off) and somehow found out Waternoose’s true colors after catching him doing something to “save the company” (it wasn’t the scream extractor but it was definitely illegal). Instead of reporting it to the cops or something like that, they decided to confront Waternoose themselves, leading to a fight where Waternoose ends up pushing Atlas through a door, thus banishing them. They eventually get un-banished after the events of MI, but oh boy is Randall in for a surprise

Living in the human world (in a bayou to be exact) is the reason they went from a little shit to a hippie

They have sort of a reputation, where they’re known as “The Beast in the Bayou”

-They can live anywhere as long as there’s a body of water nearby. Whether it’s the ocean or a lake or a river or even a creek in a forest, as long as there’s water, they’ll be just fine

-That tentacle hair can move on its own. It has done some damage

-When they (and possibly Randall) get un-banished, they once again become a receptionist

Or maybe they own a hippie boutique, haven’t decided

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

To spoil you, Fuegoleon 2, 4, 7, 8, 9, 12, 15, 17, 18, 20, 23 and 25 for the ask game (sorry, I went a bit overboard^^')

FUE FUE FUE FUE

(7,8,23 and 25 have already been answered ^^)

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

That he builds people up! He's the definition of a good man in my books, and one with true strength which comes from lifting other up, rather than push them down. If I could be half the woman he is a man, I'd be happy.

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

I find these very difficult for some reason, but ... hmmm... actually, I wonder how he'd fit into FMA. I imagine he might get well along with Alexader Armstrong, and would find a talking point about strong older sisters.

9. Could you be roommates with this character?

...Maybe? I find having roommates a bit awkward, and it's different from moving together with someone that you are attracted to. I feel like this might get messy, unless we'd both either develop feelings for each other, or not. I could probably be roommates with him, but I also think that it could get messy. I just prefer either living alone, or then with a partner.

12. What’s a headcanon you have for this character?

I headcanon that sometimes, not often, but sometimes, when he is at his lowest, late at night, he ponders about getting back at William. He thinks about what it'd be like, to get some retribution, a sense of justice, even if he'd have to grant it to himself. At the end of the thought, he always concludes it not to be worth it. But the thought lingers. And it occurs to him, from time to time. He deems himself human for having such thoughts, but he also deems himself sensible enough to keep it as just a thought. Even if there might be some that couldn't blame him, if he did.

15. What’s your favorite ship for this character? (Doesn’t matter if it’s canon or not.)

Can... can I say my own? Because I am VERY biased towards it, because it brings me joy. As in, I will support anyone who wants to make an OC ship with him too, but my self-indulgent content is in Fue/Oc content. If not with an OC, then... hmm... Hmm... Maybe... uhh.... Fragil? She's a hard worker and cares about the people around her, but also has a gentle side to her.

17. What’s a ship for this character you don’t hate but it’s not your favorite that you’re fine with?

I once saw someone in passing shipping him with Charlotte? So, perhaps that one? I'm indifferent towards it, so I can't say that I hate it, but it's not my favourite. And I'm fine with it.

18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

I adore his relationship with Mereo. I think that these two have such admiration and respect for one and another, even if Mereo doesn't say it out loud. She's a woman of action, and struggles to give verbal affirmations, but the things that she does say, like "there are people who'd never let me forget it if I was defeated", or along those lines, show that she is thinking about her family, her little brothers and the CLK. She feels that she needs to protect them, but also that she needs to drive them to be strong enough to fend for themselves, if all hell breaks loose. And Fuegoleon, who is very verbal about his admiration for his aneue, clearly adores her. He looks up to her. And to him, Mereo will always be the brilliant older sister, who seems to understand what to do intuitively, whereas he has had to study for it. I just love these two. They have such amazing dynamic, and they fuel each other up, despite the bickering. And the bickering is there, because... they're siblings, and only 2 years apart. Of course they bicker.

20. Which other character is the ideal best friend for this character, the amount of screentime they share doesn’t matter?

Hmm... I think that him and Randal could actually be really good friends. As in, sure, they've worked together for many years, and judging from the way they interact, I think it'd be safe to say that they are on some level of friendship. But I also think that one of @/cradestoryteller 's fics (if my memory serves me correctly) in her series "100 ways to say 'I love you'", I saw some of that friendship and it really made sense to me. I chose to take the "I love you" as a platonic one, because I believe that it's okay to A. say "I love you" platonically to one's friends (at least in English, because different languages have different connotations when it comes to the word 'love') and B. it's always okay to show that you care about your friends. They're both calm, reasonable and responsible gentlemen, who care for others, so I think that they have a lot in common. They also take time to asses a situation without charging head on. But I feel like Randal might make more jokes. That's not to say that he would be making too many, but relatively more than Fue. So, there'd be a kind of a difference as well. So, I think that Randal is a high contender as Fue's best friend.

[amunyan]

Love me, not him! (1/?)

(Sorry for all the writing errors at this point…🥴 English is not my first language… but I try my best… 🥺 Writing is my one favorite things to do… and creating fanfictions around my favorite Charakters...😅👉👈)

Sadness and the feeling of helplessness floats throw your body every time you see him. Like cold hands craving up your Body to reach your breast and lungs. Put you into a cold hug, to make you unable to breath. Lying one Finger after another on your heart, which is only beating for this man, only to split it into pieces of shreds.

On the very first day you couldn’t help bursting into tears. Seeing Fuegoleons unconscious body, his right arm missing. Without any sign that he will wake up any time soon. And with every passing day the faith for his return fades o away more and more...

Your tears have gone dry a while ago. Live must go on. After all, you are not only just the girl so close to the Capitan of the Crimsons Lions, the man everyone admires, or a part of the Magic Knights. Being one of the persons Fuegoleon trusts the most, made you his right hand – his dearest assistant – he leaves the papersuff to. Being Magic Knight is an ordinary after all Job you do for a living - most of the time.

So, while the Capitan is fast asleep, it was your job to support the Vice Capitan, Randall, with the governance of the order. But you also know that there were other plans of who should do this job; Fuegoleons sister, you never expected to do so...

Still hoping for Fuegoleons return, you help Leo out with his training. Even if you are not a good fighter, due to your Magic-Power – Gemstone Magic - you are very skilled in defense. And there could be worse than being the punching bag for the youngest of the Vermillion siblings.

„You can go harder on me, Leo. Come on, you are not even tickling me“, you called to him, knowing your Diamond Skin-Armor could take the heat of his flames.

Leo also starts screaming, pushing himself further, but he was clearly in a disadvantage compared to your magical attribute. And not only this.

„I could easily attack you right now. Your guard is always down when you are fighting. This is not good...“ To clarify his situation for him you cast your only attack spell knowing – JuwelClare - and a dozen of little shiny gemstones appeared behind you. Hanging threatening in midair, although they were shining like beautiful crystals, pointing at Leo who orders you to try attack him.

„I can stand it. Come on – don’t go easy on me, (Y/N)!!“

„As you wish“, you mumbled, knowing that your power would never be enough to hurt Leo badly.

But as you start your attack something feels odd and a unnatural heat flows throw your Body. It burned. It felt like being stapped with a spear that was on fire in the hips, where the pain was the worst.

You weren’t able to finish your attack. Not even holding it up and the jewels disappeared. As a further Attack hits you in your back, you fell to the ground. Being unable to move for the next seconds. Leo was looking behind you with eyes, wide open of fear.

„This is not good“, you told yourself as you turned around. Expecting the worst, but not her.

„I caught you off guard, (Y/N) – again”, Mereoleona was looking at you. Not sure if she should be amused or furious, while her red Hair was floating in the wind like the mane of a lion.

„Sister?!” Leo was looking at her with disbelieve and eyes still full of fear.

„Didn’t expect you this early...“, you replied quietly. „Also not to attack me as a greeting...“

Mereoleona Vermillon. The oldest daughter of the Vermillons. A women you never grown to like in the past years knowing her. More like the opposite. You always were a sort of afraid of her and her berserk -like powers. Her brutal character and the way she shamelessly attacks you whenever she sees her chance to. Or... not keeping her distance. She is no comparison to her kindhearted brothers. Mainly Fuegoleon, who always makes sure to treat you with respect and the necessary distance.

„No? I thought I should teach you a lesson. You can't tell Leo to be carefully and be negligent yourself.”

You stood up from the ground and clean your clothes a little. Being embarrassed by her harsh words.

„Don’t be so mean to her“, Leopold came to your aid. „She is a good knight. She is getting stronger. No. She… she is strong!“

These words, which should help you, made it even worse. They put a smile on Meroleonas lips, asking for a real fight.

„No way“, you were screaming in your head. „She is way too strong for me. But... I’m also too much of a proud mage to refuse. And...“

Remembering that Mereoleona never used her full powers in your last fights, you agreed.

„As you wish, (Y/N). But make sure to try really hard!“

„I will“, you respond with your hush voice.

But only seconds later you regret your decision, as her burning mana starts flowing around her body. Wraps her in flames and makes your body trembling on the inside.

„Oh dear... She is getting stronger and scarier every time I see her...“, you thought to yourself.

But not only her powerful mana made you scared. Also her combat-style; Different like most of the other mages she fights with her bare hands, covered in her magic flames.

Despite it you still want her to start the fight and only moments later, within a blink of an eye, she stood in front of you. Ready to punch you.

„ Diamond Skin-Armor “, you whispered and manage somehow to douche her Attack.

„I see - your reactions got quicker compared to last time.“

„You gave me a hard time back than“, you answered as the battle continues. You managed here and there to evade her fists, but not always. She hurt you badly sometimes that blood was already dripping from your nose. Also; you couldn’t hit her one single time. You were not even getting a chance to cast even your attack spell.

This situation renders your tactics to stand a chance against her – letting her hit against your hard armor till she gets tired – useless.

„Damn it. I never was a match to her from the beginning of this fight.“

„Already giving up, (Y/N)?“

It would be easy to do so. But...

„No”, you screamed at her as loud as you could, resulting in Mereoleona to go for her next punch. You try to resist against. Rising your arm for defense.

„ Diamond Skin-Armor...“, you mumbled again, putting all your power in it. Maybe it would enough to stop her and stand against her and her powers. Against her fiery mana. But the Moment Mereoleona starts smiling at you, you know you scowled up.

She wasn’t even playing with you for the whole time. Your hope, your diamond defense would keep you safe fades away in the very same moment.

Mereoleona pierced it with a smiling face and a burning pain runs throw your arm and body. Letting you scream and break down in pain.

„(Y/N)?!“ Leo was calling for you. Running towards you, hoping he could stop his sister from massacring you. But there was no need for it. She had stopped anyway, looking down at you with growing concern in her eyes. „(Y/N)? Are you okay?“ She asked reaching out with her hand to help you up. But she broke you. Mentally. She's made a fool of you. Again. The second time within a few Minutes. It brought tears to your eyes. So you slapped her hand away.

As fast as you could you stood up and left the training ground without looking back. Not hearing Meroleonas worried voice saying she went too hard on you…

To be continued... maybe...

[leighiche]

@frser

the walls of lallybroch had always been home , though now ? he finds the walls altered with the passing of time. jenny , and ian not quite as he remembered them ... memories that linger and do not quite match what has happened in his absence , absence there's guilt. an air to jamie that he knows stems from the desire to be once more known to tenants , to uphold his fathers name whose untimely death never quite sat right in heart. the idea of his father watching him as randall unleashed hell upon broad shoulders was enough to weaken any man with a strong constitution. his father had been the only man whom jamie wished to measure himself against. ' are you saying you don't like who i've become ? ' his brows knit as an eyebrow arches , ' claire i cannot turn my people away .... perhaps it is ego that rules me , the want to be everything that my father once envisioned for such a place ' his voice steadfast , stubbornness and pride swell. ' for i can see the past and present within these very halls and i don't think i was ready for such a thing , it's my fault you don't know jenny ... my fault that i have perhaps been drinking more than my fair share - my father's shadow is one that is more painful than i care to admit ' the fireplace etches his features in such a light that make him quite vulnerable , the idea that he is but three and twenty. in later years he'll look back with the knowledge that he hadn't been the best husband , that marriage was more complicated than one could imagine.

' i love you sasanach , i'm sorry if my fear of the past has mixed with the present ' an arm going to rest upon the hearth of the fireplace that resides in their bedroom , a room that had once belonged to his parents , ' what can i do to put you at ease ? '

"The problem isn't who you've become." A young and uncertain husband, unsure of what to do with his time traveling, forward thinking wife - in his position, she's not sure what she'd do either. However, they have grown into their dynamic. They had well before their wedding was ever arranged. No, that's not what she refers to here. He took her past the threshold of Lallybroch and became someone else, that someone is not Jamie.

"Jamie, if I had the opportunity to meet Jenny sooner then who is to say I would have gotten to meet her at all. You wouldn't have been at Leoch, your shoulder wouldn't have been injured. I'd probably be dead in the ditch because Murtagh wouldn't have been there to find rescue me in my confusion." The pieces had fallen just so for their meeting. She isn't religious, never put so much faith in a singular being in that way, but for Jamie and this mysterious connection, this constant need to be near to him that puts a shame to her marriage with Frank and all the love she thought herself capable of wanting, needing, and able to give. "Jenny and I will come to terms with time. I am a sassenach," there's a sting to the word that bites unlike the loving way Jamie says it, "In her home. I will have to gain her trust just as I di the McKenzie's. I only hope that there will be less crass language in the process."

Claire removes herself from the bed. Arms dragging quilt from it with her where she bundles herself up in its warmth. She stands behind Jamie. "It's not the drinking. I think I know my way around a drunk Scot by now. You're trying to be someone you're not." A hand braves the cold, thankful for the comfort of the hearth to keep the nipping cold at bay, and takes one of Jamie's hands. "I stayed to be with you because I love you, James Alexander Malcom McKenzie Fraser." It's an admission that still stings deep in her heart. A spark lit by the gold band she still wears upon her finger, shaming her. "I want you to come back to me, but I'm not sure what would ease me would ease you. What if you told me about your father, I'm sure I would have loved to have met him."