#GRAND BLUES YOU MAD LADS

[icharchivist]

yknow im okay with seofons balls getting shattered but #2143 brought back summer belial to have his balls used as target and im NOT okay with that!

I DID NOT EXPECT THE SUMMER BELIAL USE IM BEING TAKEN THE FUCK OUT

Seofon caring for Belial's balls in term of PR only to then go back into whoring Belial out to spare his own balls is TRULY A STORY FOR THE AGES IM LOSING MY MIND

[hannahssimblr]

“Do it, just do it.” 

“Okay well stop moving around all over the place then will you?”

“Jen, wait, maybe-”

“Uh, guys, is there going to be blood?”

“What the hell? No of course there won’t be blood, shut up Joe.”

“No I’m just asking ‘cause like, my ma got mad the last time youse were over when one of you spilled blue powerade on the carpet so…”

“I said there’ll be no blood, relax.”

“Well I’m just saying that I might faint if I see blood, because this time at school before some lad in my base class threw a whiteboard eraser and it hit my face and my nose bled and then I blacked out in the boy’s bathroom and nobody found me for like ten minutes, even though, like, to me, like it felt like no time at all was after-”

“Oh my God, Joe, if you don’t shut the fuck up I’m going to stick this thing crooked.”

“Um, try not to, please.” 

She grabs my chin and holds me still, “Then don’t move, and Joe,” She jabs a finger in his direction, “Not a word from you, I’m dead serious. Right,” Her tongue pokes out the corner of her mouth as she eyes my ear with determination. The ice she’s holding melts a trail down my neck and into the collar of my t-shirt and I don’t dare react. “Has that gone numb?”

“I dunno yet.”

“Probably has,” She tosses the cube into Joe’s sink with a metallic thunk and positions the needle on my lobe.

Shane pipes up from the table, “any blue powerades going, by the way?”

“Shut up!” I can feel her hand trembling, and the sewing needle rasps against my soft virgin skin. She exhales slowly, “Okay, one, two…” she hesitates and my eyes follow her movements nervously as she pushes her hair behind her ears and then leans for a closer look. She’s so close that her shaky breath feathers against my cheek. Take two. “Okay, okay, seriously this time. One, two…” I feel it. I hear it. And a grunt of disgust comes from the back of her throat as the needle pieces through my earlobe. “Oh, God,” There’s silence. My eyes screw shut as I wait for the pain.

“Does it hurt, Jude?” Joe sounds queasy.

“Why? Does it look like it should hurt?”

“I told you it doesn’t hurt,” Jen dismisses, “...but it’s fine, right?”

“I think so. It just feels kinda… hot?” I peel my eyes open.

“Yeah, well, you’re grand, now,” she reaches to the counter behind her, “stud or hoop?”

“Stud.”

“Okay well too bad they only had very girly looking studs in Claire’s Accessories, so I got hoops.”

“Why’d you offer, then?”

She dangles the little purple shiny packaging in front of my face to distract me, “Look at that, hm? Very cool, manly hoops.” 

“Yeah, very manly.” and she fumbles around my ear for several moments trying to get it through the new hole in me, and that’s when it hurts the worst, as she’s tugging and poking and digging her sharp thumbnails in, but I pretend that it doesn’t because Shane and Joe are in the room and sixteen year old boys aren’t supposed to show things like pain and discomfort in front of each other, it’d be weird and socially unacceptable. Vulnerability is illegal among us.

If it were Jen and I alone in this caravan I’d at least be whining at her, if not actually tearing up about the discomfort of it all.

She closes the clasp at the back of the hoop and presents me to the room, “What do ye think?”

“A bit red,” says Joe as he clutches the rim of the sink with milk white knuckles “Is it meant to be that red? That’s not bleeding, is it? Ah Jesus, I don’t think we should have done this…” Shane glances away from the olympic basketball game on the TV and huffs out a laugh. “Gay ear,” he says. 

Jen pauses, “Gay ear?”

“Yep, ‘tis the gay ear.” 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Obviously, like, you’re after piercing the right lobe; the one that you pierce when you want all the other fellas to know that you fancy them or whatever, like, I dunno. I just heard that some place. Shoulda pierced the left.”

I tug on it self consciously though it’s tender. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Lads on the football team probably, look,” He crosses his arms with authority, “I go to an all boys school. I know what the Gay Ear is.”

I look up at Jen and tell her that I don’t mind that it’s the Gay Ear.

“That’s for life though,” Joe pipes up unhelpfully, “You’ll always have that hole in your ear now, so even if you take the earring out everyone is gonna see that you have your right ear pierced and they’re all gonna think-”

“I don’t care if they think I’m gay. What does it matter?”

“Yeah but you’re not gay, and it’s the Gay Ear,” Shane argues, “That’s the point. You’ll end up confusing everyone, and men won’t know what to do when they see you out and about and all that.”

“That feels like kind of a backwards, 90s thing to say, honestly.”

“Nobody’s being homophobic, fuck sake. It’s just the code.”

“Well it’s pierced for life now, isn’t it? What the fuck do you want me to do?” 

“Christ sake,” Jen seizes my shoulder and yanks me back into the seat, “Pass me that ice, Joe, I’ll just do the other side then and you can all shut up annoying me about it, alright?”

“Fucking Gay Ear, who comes up with that shite?” she mutters to herself, and pushes the mostly melted cube to my left lobe so we can start all over again. 

~.~.~.~.~

Afterwards I squeeze into the tiny caravan bathroom to look at myself in the mirror. My ears are furious red, but at least the hoops are even. I think. Jen has given me table salt from Joe’s kitchen cabinet to wash them with, and I do it, I fill one hand with limey water from the taps and pour a random amount of salt in with it. I don’t know what I’m doing, but it's fine because if they get infected I'll just take them out. I’ve never seen another boy with both ears pierced, but that’s fine too, because I’ll just pretend it’s a trend from America that nobody else has heard of yet. 

When I come out Jen turns away from the television screen to look at me.

“Looks okay,” she says.

“Yeah,” I catch sight of the clock behind her and realise that our ear piercing activities sliced only thirty minutes out of this long, empty July afternoon. “So, um, what now?”

“Any more bright ideas?”

I shrug, “I dunno. We could go play tennis?”

“Kids club is at the boat club until six and my sister is always hanging out with those inbred looking fellas at the one in the caravan park,” Shane says, “So no.”

“Joe, do you think your brother could go buy us cigarettes again? We could smoke up by the-”

“Nah man he’s working today.”

“Well the olympics are on so I suppose we could-”

“I couldn’t be bothered with sports,” says Jen, “nor do I want to sit here pretending to care. And now we’ve done all we were meant to do today and there’s nowhere else to hang out…” She looks at me for help as though I’m supposed to know how to keep three bored teenagers entertained through another endless summer day smack bang in the middle of a recession.

I sigh and throw my hands up in defeat, “Well… I dunno. Will we shave my head?” 

Prev // Next

[sylvienerevarine]

hi I wrote another Oblivion short story about Sacha and the Adoring Fan (or Ben, as he's known in the Sylvieverse). you know that thing where your surrogate mom becomes a terrifying demigod. very relatable.

-----

Benirus Manor was short on insects in the winter months, and so Benethir was understandably surprised when the first violently-purple butterflies swooped through the sitting room. Surprise gave way to bone-deep fear when the insects multiplied, seemingly out of nowhere, until they formed a vast, swirling cloud that produced screeching not-quite-music. Out of this cloud stepped a tall figure in a purple waistcoat.

Benethir knew about Sheogorath, of course. His parents had taught him a few useful things before they’d died. What he didn’t understand was why Sheogorath now had the blue-gray skin, sharp nose, and wavy dark hair of his erstwhile employer and guardian, Sacha Llervu.

“What’s that look for?” the god of madness demanded, eyeing Ben’s dropped jaw and wide eyes. “Oh, right, the butterflies. Bit of a different mode of transport for me, but it’s good fun. Now, come on, don’t tell me you don’t recognize me when I’m dressed well for once.”

The notion that Miss Llervu somehow was Sheogorath was impossible to consider, so Ben didn’t consider it. “You’re lying. You stole Miss Llervu’s face, somehow, and you’re trying to make me lose my mind. It won’t work.” Unless it already has. 

“I get it, you’re confused. Trust me, so was I. But I’m not trying to trick you, Ben–I wouldn’t do that. It’s me. Good old Sacha, in the flesh.” She looked at one slim gray hand and grimaced. “Kind of.”

Ben folded his arms stubbornly. “Fine, then. Tell me something only Miss Llervu would know.” It was a stupid question–Sheogorath could undoubtedly look into his mind and dig out a memory–but he couldn’t think of a better test.

To his surprise, Sacha’s face softened. “You used to draw pictures for Agronak, before he died,” she said quietly. “They weren’t masterpieces, but he loved them. Used to hang ‘em up around the Bloodworks, and Owyn was always peeved about it, but didn’t feel like he could argue with the Grand Champion. Good times.”

Tears rushed into Ben’s eyes before he could stop them. “It’s you,” he choked out. “I believe you, but…why are you like this? Why are you a… a…”

“Daedra? That’s a long story,” said Sacha. “Here’s the gist: I did a favor for the old Sheogorath, and he decided to retire to the realm of Order and passed the job to me. I won’t say it was an easy adjustment, but here we are.”

“So that’s what you’ve been doing, this entire time? I don’t understand, Miss Llervu.” Ben scrubbed furiously at his damp eyes. “You were a famous knight, a hero, and then you just disappeared. There were all sorts of horrible rumors–people said you’d become a thief, a murderer. Even that you had joined the Dark Brotherhood. Then nothing. People thought you’d died. I just…I don’t understand why you didn’t come back.”

“I didn’t come back because I couldn’t, lad,” Sacha said quietly. “Those rumors you heard…most of them were true. I thought if I did the Nine a favor, they’d bring Marty back, but they didn’t. So I went down a dark path. You wouldn’t have wanted to be around me.”

I always want to be around you, he thought. You’re the only family I have. He didn’t say it aloud–some things you just couldn’t say to Sheogorath.

“But listen, Benny boy, I didn’t just come here to apologize,” said Sacha. “I came to offer you a job.”

Ben frowned. “Didn’t you already give me a job?”

“A better job, ya dumpling. Actually, less of a job, more of a title. How would you feel about being a duke?”

“A…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence, the notion was so absurd. “Of what?”

“Of Mania, naturally. Prettiest part of the Isles, if you like excessive sunshine and rude women. Our old Duke–he was another Bosmer, incidentally–defected when the Greymarch got a little too interesting for his taste, and long story short, he’s dead now. So I thought to myself, who better to take over than my loyal ward Ben?”

“You’re joking.” Ben searched her face, frowning. “Aren’t you?”

“Serious as the grave, duckie. ‘Course, you’d have to move to the Isles, but it comes with a flash new mansion and a good chef and a whole host of interesting neighbors.” Her smile faded slightly. “It’ll be hard to come back here often, you understand, but I’ll try my best to make it happen. You could live a good long life in the Isles, and as for me–well, I’ve got used to having you around, it seems. You’re a good lad.”

Ben hesitated, thinking. The notion that he of all people should become a Duke of Oblivion was…well, it was madness. 

Then again, what did he have in Cyrodiil? A big empty house. Few friends, no family. Living vicariously through brave gladiators going to their deaths in the Arena. He would never be offered an opportunity like this again, least of all from the only adult who gave a damn about him.

“Well, Miss Llervu, if you’re offering me a job, I guess I’d better accept,” he said. It was difficult not to squeal, but he managed it. “Shall I get packing?”

“Not much need, unless you’ve got a few sentimental things to take. We’ve got Oblivion’s finest tailors in New Sheoth, and a good smith besides.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “By the way, with all this going on, I reckon you’d better stop calling me Miss Llervu.”

Of course, she wasn’t Miss Llervu anymore, not really. She was so much more now. Ben allowed himself to mourn for a moment before speaking. “Very well, ma’am. What should I call you?”

“Dunno,” said Sacha vaguely. “How about Mum?”

[magical-girl-coral]

Wyll quest rewrite attempt number 39, take one, featuring a blank tav for self insert reasons.

(spoilers for act 3)

As the party crossed Wyrm's rock, a hellish figure waited for them near the entrance to the lower city. The smell of sulfur was familiar, and yet that was where the familiarity ended. [Tav] prepared their weapon in case it's a new enemy they have to put down. The rest of them followed suite.

Karlach's eyes widen in shock when the figure finally came in full view. A yellow cambion with blue eyes. She signaled her friends to lower their weapons.

"Flo!" She yelled out. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"What? Is it that odd to visit an old friend after they've been away for so long?" Flo asked back, as if this greeting was the epitome of normalcy. "Honestly, you'd think the living world would have better manners than this."

Karlach's expression didn't move an inch. "Cut the crap, Flo. Just tell us what you're here for or fuck off."

Flo huffed in mock annoyance. "And here I thought we could at least have lunch first. Very well." She turned to face the rest of the party. "Mizora is going to kill Ulder Ravengard within the next three days. Whatever he is taken to has him sealed shut enough to keep even the hells at bay, so I'd say you better hurry up."

Wyll eyes widen in terror. "What?" He readied his rapier. "Explain yourself, devil, now!"

Flo grinned. This was obviously the reaction she was hoping for. "You heard me, loves. Mizora is going to kill the grand duke of Baldur's Gate right under everyone's noses. Quite the spectacle if you ask me. Here I thought she knew better than that."

[Tav] couldn't wrap their head around the logic of this decision. It feels so... chaotic, rather the usual lawfulness that devils exude. "But why? What does she get out of this? Wouldn't it be more useful for him to live?"

Flo threw her head back and laughed like a mad hyena. "That's the best part! She fucked up so badly that Zariel has begun to lose interest in her, so now she has to get her hands dirty for the first time in forever."

When she faced the party again, her teeth pierced her smile. "You see, Mizora was originally supposed to just destroy the cult of the dragon seven years ago under boss' orders, but after meeting little baby Wyll Ravengard, she had the brilliant idea of going against Zariel's orders and trick the poor lad into selling his soul to her to "Save" his precious home." She turned to acknowledge Wyll. "The sending stone for an eye was a nice touch though. I'll give her that much."

Wyll just stood there, completely lost to the world, his rapier slowly slipping from his hand. "You... You mean...I.. I never... I never had to..." His breathing was getting worst with every word he choked out. Lae'zel stood closer to him in case he collapsed.

Flo grinned like a shark. "Nope! Fucking none of that was needed! Mizora had just assumed that if she had the son of the duke under her claw, she could slowly influence Baldur's Gate into selling more souls for herself in Zariel's name. Unfortunately, daddy dearest didn't approve of son's new friend, and banished both of them from his beloved home. And now Mizora is trying to fix that mistake by killing Ulder to pressure little Wyll into a new contract. Would have been brilliant if she wasn't so stupid to begin with.

[Tav] was somehow even more confused then they were before. "Why didn't Mizora allow Wyll to tell Ulder how he sold his soul to save Baldur's Gate? Wouldn't have that helped them both stay?"

Crackling like a rabid dog, Flo continued. "Because Mizora herself couldn't say a word about the event. The cult came into power thanks to Zariel not noticing who was selling their soul to her, and wanted to clean up this mess she made without anyone ever knowing she had a hand in it through fucking up her paperwork. Thanks to that, Mizora couldn't speak a word of the cult to anyone, and since Wyll was her little pet, she decided he should share her suffering to avoid a little tongue slip and igniting Zariel's wrath. We were only allowed to speak of this incident a year after it was done, but of course Mizzie just had to leash her favorite a little harder than she needed to. What a beautiful wreck of a conclusion."

Wyll was fully leaning on Lae'zel by the time the story was done, too numb to the world to feel his limps around him with erratic breathing making it all worse. Karlach shielded him from her 'friend'. "That's enough, Flo. You've had your fun, now beat it before I beat you."

Flo hummed. "So be it. This will keep me entertained for days anyway. Tata for now!"

With a mocking wave of a hand, Flo returned to the hells, living only ashes and the stench of Avernus behind her.

Wyll had collapsed on the ground, Lae'zel catching him just in time. [Tav] turned their head in worry. "Shit, Wyll!"

They knelt by his side, bringing cold water to his lips. "Stay with me, alright? We have three days to find your father. We got time."

"That's not it," Wyll wheezed out, "That's not it at all. My home. I've been away for seven years. For nothing. It was going to be saved. She was going to save it. I didn't have to lose my eye. I didn't have to be alone. She took it all from me. Everything. That..That..."

"That cunt," Astarion finished for him. It was hard to tell if he did it out of sympathy, or just as a good excuse to curse someone out to the wind.

Wyll chugged the clown water and gingerly rose to his feet. "I think I need to get back to camp. Or an inn. Just, somewhere to be alone. Get my thoughts in order. Maybe throw up. I don't feel like I know anything anymore."

Shadowheart slung Wyll's arm around her shoulder. "I heard there's a tavern close by called the Elfsong. We can camp there for the evening."

The party had continued forward, with Wyll walking right in the middle of it, being protected from all sides in case another unwanted surprise pops up. [Tav] was in the front with Karlach, a few more questions on the tip of their tongue.

"Why would Flo spill all of Mizora's plans to us? Do you think they have another motivation?"

"Don't worry your little head about," Karlach answered. "Flo is only here for a good time. It's just that her good time usually involves someone else having a shit day from hell. I can see why she did it; if we fail, Wyll will be miserable from not being to save his dad. If we succeed, Mizora will be seen as a fool at best and a useless vessel at worst. Either way, Flo will have her fun."

[Tav] grimaced. "If this was the best company you could find in Avernus, I don't even want to think about the rest of it."

Karlach snorted. "Trust me, you really don't"

_____________________________________________________________

A few notes:

1). Flo's color choices was to balance out the cambion color pallets. Raphael has red skin and yellow eyes, Mizora has blue skin and red eyes, so Flo has yellow skin and blue eyes.

2). If the party find the iron throne before the the day limit is up, Mizora appears just as they enter it, finding it thanks to Wyll's stone eye. If the party misses the three day mark, Ulder is dead with his soul taken to the hells, so the usual resurrection scroll or revival wouldn't work.

3). The new contract goes like this: Ulder's soul has been claimed by the hells after he was trapped in Avernus along with the city of Elturel. Wyll's new choice is between sending his soul or his father's into enteral damnation.

4). I mostly wrote this out of annoyance when I found out Ulder dies if we go to the iron throne before meeting Mizora at act 3. It's so fucking dumb. Just kill the man before you do your dramatic entrance, you dumb bitch. You'd think her horns pierced her brains with how she thinks.

[bunnyboo77]

The Mad King’s Bride

chapter 2

The great hall was ablaze with light and music as lords and ladies gathered for the grand celebration. The room was elegantly decorated with tapestries and chandeliers, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. Servants bustled about, refilling goblets with rich wine and delicate delicacies. The sound of laughter and lively conversation filled the air as guests mingled and danced to the enchanting melodies played by the musicians. The lords and ladies moved gracefully across the polished floor, their colorful gowns and fine attire adding to the splendor of the event.

Noble houses from all across the land flock to the capital though many had their fears. The promise of riches and gaining alliances that would benefit there house was greater then fear itself. As the lords and ladies arrived in the capital, they whispered amongst themselves about the king's erratic behavior and the tales of him burning people alive for his own amusement. The only way to gain such favour was to present there daughters as possible brides for the king.

Yet, the lure of power and prestige was too great to resist, and they put on a brave face as they presented there young daughters and sisters before the throne, concealing their trepidation behind smiles and courtesies. The tension in the air was palpable, as each guest wondered if they would be the next victim of the king's unpredictable wrath.

Aery who was already bored with the countless lords presenting their daughters to him as though there prized pigs or cows. To him they all looked ugly and untrustworthy just like there sad excuse of a father or uncle.

“Boy another and be quick about it” king spoke raising his gold goblet in the air. The rush of feet made their to the throne with the appearance of a fear stricken boy.

Rich donnish wine was all the king drank as it was considered more frequent than meals.

Making eye contact with the cup bearer though he never before unless he was pulling his organs from there body. The king only noticed that the cup bearer who is normally a young lad was actually a young maiden with doe blue eyes staring into his soul.

Averting her gaze she was about to leave when all of sudden a hand grabs her wrist with such force she almost dropped the jug of wine.

“My king” the young maiden spoke with sweet soft voice.

A moment of silence felt like it lasted the whole night. the grip on the young maiden wrist did not let up as though the dragon himself was holding onto treasure.

“ I did not command you to leave” he said with fire burning in his eyes as he continued to gaze into hers.

Bowing ever so slightly, she whispered “ as a command your majesty”

The king knew he wanted to hear sweet voice moaning out his name as he took her to his bed as his Queen.

Such an obedient maiden she is sweet innocence and pure to the touch of man. The King's gaze continued to fix on the young woman especially her body as though she is small he can clearly see the curvature of her waste underneath her simple dress.

"Do tell me my dear how is it you have become my cup bearer" the king spoke taking another sip of wine.

Not even lift her gaze and she spoke "I'm afraid your your grace your normal cupbearer has been taken ill and I was sent in his place as they could not find a replacement so soon".

Though the king did not care for who served him wine as long as his cup was full probably cared it could have been a horse. This young innocent maiden had intrigued him not only in her enchanting voice but in her appearance. Her eyes called to him like a siren lowering the sailors to their death.

Throughout the night it had been the same seen Lords approaching him as they flaunt their family in front of him while trying to gain favor. Normally the king would not care about such pathetic acts choosing to drown himself in wine to drone out their sad attempts to bootlicking.

“My king it is such a grand night to celebrate your noble house as well as the many great Targaryen’s that came before you” one Lord says all the while his feared haired sixteen-year-old daughter stood beside him. The young Lord's daughter ever so slightly battered her long eyelashes had him.

Taking no notice of the Lord the king continued to stare at his own personal cupbearer. The young lady herself stood quietly by his side. Curls of her light brunette hair could be seen coming through her cap. Aery felt this need to approach the woman and to lightly brush his fingers across her head curling them around her hair. Imagining her eyes meeting is the way her skin would feel against his worn fingers.

“So smooth” he thought.

The sensation ohh her soft supple lips against his own, the way their tongues danced and intertwined in a passionate embrace. Hands yet small brushed against his neck as he pulls her closer feeling the raw passion between them growing stronger with each fleeting moment. In his mind he realized the idea of losing himself in the heat of the moment consumed by intoxicating the lure.

The babbling of this Lord it was only stopped when Lord Tywin spoke “thank you Lord Gregor the king warmly accepts your appreciation”. Aery turned his head and nodded, not uttering a single word.

“Lord tywin how many more of these simple-minded men do I have to listen to you” he spoke gripping his cup tighter. Not even turning his head Tywin replied, “I'm afraid my king they will continue this all night”.

Taking a long deep breath the king turned to avert his gaze again to his young maiden who at this time had left his sight. Darting his head around the room he could not find a glimpse of her, not the swaying of her dress or that of her doe eyes. About to leave his throne he then saw the young maiden appearing from nowhere holding now a full jug of wine.

Kneeling beside him she carefully filled his cup that had already been emptied.

“I did not give you permission to go and yet you left my side do you make it a habit of not obeying your King's orders.”

locking up with fear filled eyes “I am sorry your majesty the jug was nearly emptied I hurried as quickly as I could without spilling.”

Feeling his chest grow warm, the king did not reply back simply groaning in annoyance now that her actions but how she could easily melt his anger away with one simple apology. This act had never spared someone's life before but yet it spared hers. As on cue the king could feel his heartbeat faster and faster.

The king rose from his throne, his hand clutching his chest, the wave of emotions carrying him to an unknown feeling he did experience his entire life.

Caring not for the sudden stop of the music or the abrupt stares of others or how in unison they bowed and whispered your majesty. Barging his way through the doors his footsteps were followed by the clanking of metal as guards rushed behind him. He did not let up on his pace until he reached his chambers, the room itself illuminated by the soft embers of the candles lit around.

Falling onto his bed, a certain thought grips him, searing through his mind as he closed his eyes. In the darkness behind his lids, he envisions the young maiden, her image even more vivid than when he was on the throne. A voice almost primal nature whispers to him that she belongs solely to him and that he must claim her as his own. The thought consumes him feeling his desires drive him to the brink of madness. In this moment, the king is overtaken by the need to possess her to feel her presence beneath him to make her his in every sense of the word. As he lies upon these silken sheets his heart continues to race with longing his mind ablaze with the intoxicated fantasy of diverse ways of claiming her as his rightful prize

[nebulousfishgills]

for the random ask game!

2, 4, 5, 26, 35, 43, 58

Thanks bestie! The other asks are gonna get done eventually, brain has just noooot been letting me do shit lol.

2 - Do you have an accent?

Not really. Although technically my state has an "accent" that people kind of unofficially adopted. Sometimes my "a's" sound like "o's." It's not like southerners saying "wooter" and not "water," but the most obvious example is saying the name of my state itself.

4 - Have you ever slapped anybody?

I don't think so. Definetly not in a real, serious way, but I can't remember if I've done a stage slap or not.

5 - Did you learn a skill or get a new hobby during lockdown?

Honestly... I don't think so. Lockdown was really hard on me even being as big of an introvert as I am. I was depressed and mostly did what was familiar rather than doing new things. I've blocked most of 2020 out tbh.

26 - Have you ever won a contest?

Actually yes! Our big botanical gardens was opening a kids area and they needed a name for their mascot, a Marmot. The name I suggested was picked and I was there to attend the grand opening. It was televised and everything. I was gifted a marmot plush that I still have to this day (this was thirteen years ago).

I went there a couple years ago and the kids' section is still there and the mascot is still around here and there, although I don't think my name is anywhere. I can't even find articles about it.

Here's the little lad:

35 - Favorite dessert?

Fuckin Cinnamon Buns. I could eat so many of those, especially the ones from Cinnabon.

43 - Is there a movie you detest for a very specific reason?

Fucking "Sound of Freedom." As most of you know, I worked at a movie theatre this past summer and it was the bane of my existence. It's about child trafficking and it released on the fourth of july. And as you know, Americans see the word Freedom and go ape shit. And it's a very specific crowd: Conservatives. Your religious grandparents, military members, Blue Line Supporters...

And the tRump/QAnon crowd.

I extend my customer service to everyone but these people were/are ASSHOLES. Getting mad at me when showings were sold out (my co worker even had people ask if she could *move other people* from their seats so she could sell them to this old bat and whoever was with her).

On my last day I had two women buy tickets for it and try to trick me into free food by saying they ordered pretzel bites when they most certainly didn't, thinking I was too stupid to realize otherwise... I read their order back to them twice and they said it was fine both times. Jokes on them cause I rang them up in a separate order so they still paid...

Oh and our ushers have seen SEVERAL religious pamphlets and scriptures left behind on the seats.

But it did lead to this funny story:

When I was working on the 4th of July, every showing was full or almost full. This one dude with a Trump hat and a cross around his neck the size of my palm asked about a solution to the problem of his wife not liking butter on her popcorn but he did. I poured the popcorn into a paper bag we give out so people can share easier and let him use his free refill to fill the bucket again, so two buckets of popcorn.

He called me smart, asked for my name (since I didn't wear a nametag) so he could thank me properly, and gave me candy. I wished him a happy fourth since I really was hoping he would tell my manager I did a good job (praise is praise even if he wears a red hat) and he just bellows "AND A HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY TO YOU AS WELL, MA'AM!"

...so there was a thin veil made of ignorance and my own resourcefulness that prevented me from getting hate crimed at work since if this man knew a gay pagan had helped him out...

And no I don't think he actually talked to my manager about my helping him.

I seemed to get more respect from these people seeing this fucking movie than others (which says a LOT cause I had so many dicks I had to help) and I've theorized that maybe these nut jobs thought I was religious cause they saw the pin on the hair scarf I wore and assumed it was representative of some Christian sect...

...It's a Volturi crest pin.

But, yeah, to sum up, fuck this movie and the crowds it brings. I knew it was gonna be bad when I read the synopsis on my monitor the morning of the 4th and saw Jim Caveziel was the lead, fucking JESUS in "The Passion of the Christ..." and what's even WORSE is that he's the lead of "The Prisoner," the show I wanted to watch because of baby JCB.

Working Barbenheimer was like a doomsday for me, but Sound of Freedom was a chronic and horrid pain...

Although this happened, so that's horribly ironic:

58 - Are you or were you a good student?

Yeah basically. I was kind of universally known as the smart kid nobody talked to but everyone wanted in their group projects. Finished high school with a 3.97 GPA, but most of that can be credited to my extreme fear of failure. College has been no different lol.

[mcklunkers]

Sup! Bullshit Star Wars Headcanons round 15! Or it’s not 15. But I’m pretty sure it’s 15.

Anyway, here we go:

-Din Djarin loves The Princess Bride and always reads it to Grogu when the kid can’t sleep.

-99 gave Wrecker Lula.

-Thrawn wears eyeliner cos without it he thinks he looks too like Thrass and it hurts.

-Anakin added a whole bunch of cool extras to Echo’s prosthetic limbs because the Jedi wouldn’t let him do it to his own arm. This includes a Bluetooth speaker, the republic equivalent of a Nintendo DS, and a flamethrower.

-Memes are art and boy does Thrawn try to analyze ‘em. He cried. Eli laughed. It was a good night.

-Vader’s call sign is “burnt chicken nugget” because in his heart he’s still the chaotic bastard that is Anakin Skywalker.

-Thrawn has to have Ba’kif or Ar’alani help him dress for formal events in the Ascendancy cos even though he’s smart, he can never get his medals to line up right. Eli, and later Faro, helped him in the same way during his years in the Empire.

-So Empire Day is Ezra’s birthday and he hates it, so the Ghost Crew make Empire Day the one day of the year they don’t work (after that first time anyway). They let other cells deal with the Rebellion and Empire and just have a family birthday party/meal.

-Eli plays the fiddle, and he’s genuinely good.

-Hondo made himself Ezra’s emergency contact, so Ezra got hurt once and both Kanan and Hondo turned up and awkwardly stared at each other while waiting for Ezra to come back with his stitches.

-Thrass chats shit but gets mad when he’s called on his gossiping.

-Yoda is feral and 80% of Mace’s life in the temple is just spent stopping the public from finding out just how weird the grand master jedi is.

-Darth Maul has a playlist that is exclusively Prince songs. His love for Prince massively influenced the “Formerly Darth, now just Maul” line. His Spotify is just “The artist formerly known as Darth Maul.”

-Karyn Faro is technically Eli’s best friend, but her and Thrawn become crazy close friends after Eli goes to the ascendancy. They have weekly movie nights with alcohol and blanket forts.

-The shirtless lego clone troopers were actually based on a GAR propaganda video including clones selected by the generals of the 212th, 501st, 104th, and some members of the Coruscant Guard. The boxing clones are Cody and Rex, the weight lifters are Fives, Echo, Fox and Wolffe, and the ice lolly clone is Jesse, with a posing Kix in the background. This video lead to a massive surge in support, and eventually lead to the opening of 79’s.

(It’s pretty Thrawn heavy, but in my defense I’m re-reading the books and have a strange blue man obsession rn)

That’s all I’ve got, hope you enjoyed! Asks are always open if ya feel like it, have a good day lads.

[wistfulcynic]

that song only you can hear

So I think we’ve all seen this prompt making the rounds. It couldn’t be more Lieutenant Duckling if it had been designed with them in mind. 

Here’s my take on it. 

AO3

-

The two men met in the middle of the council chamber with a matched pair of elegant bows and a solemn exchange of Your Majesties. Formalities thus observed and ceremonially dispatched, they broke into jovial smiles, gripping each other’s forearms and clapping one another on the back. They were far more similar than different, these men—roughly of a height and with the same breadth to their shoulders, the same twinkle of humour in their eyes and the lines on their faces fallen in the same warm places. One had far more of those lines, being a good brace of decades older—as attested as well by the grey in his hair—but were it not for that they may have been brothers.

“How is your wife?” inquired the younger of the two. “And your, er”—the hesitation was brief, barely noticeable—“your daughter?” He regarded his companion intently. “I trust she is eager to see this negotiation concluded?” 

“Ah,” replied the elder man, his smile faltering only slightly. “She is indeed, as is her mother. They are in the princess’s chambers even now, preparing.” 

--

“No,” Emma hissed, wrenching herself free from her mother’s grip and ripping the delicate pale-pink dress from her hands. “I will not participate in this farce and you cannot make me!” She flung the dress to the floor and barely restrained herself from jumping up and down upon it like a child. 

“I am your mother,” Snow replied coolly, “and your queen, and so by the power of two separate authorities I can, in fact, make you.” 

Emma’s fists clenched and her nostrils flared. “You’ll have to drug me then,” she snarled, “or tie me up or compel me with magic because there is no way in any of the seven hells that I will accept this willingly.” 

Snow folded her arms across her chest. “We’ll see about that.” 

--

“And your brother?” asked the elder man. “Is he is as keen to be wed as my daughter?” 

“Oh, indeed he is,” said the younger man with a bright smile that hardly appeared false at all. “Rarely has he anticipated anything more eagerly.” 

--

In a single, slick move Killian snatched the dagger from Smee’s belt, spun around and pressed its tip beneath the chin of his erstwhile companion and friend. “How dare you, Smee?” he demanded in a silky hiss. “You know how I feel about this farce of an arrangement. You are the only one who knew, the only one I told of where I meant to go. You betrayed me, and I will see that you suffer for it!” 

“Killian!” Both he and Smee turned to see Nemo in the doorway, scowling at the scene before him. “No murder on your wedding day,” he admonished. “And you might also want to consider wearing pants.” Nemo raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the prince’s naked form. “Best not to put the cart before the horse, as it were, and I imagine the chapel gets rather chilly at this time of year.”

--

“Excellent, excellent.” The elder man clapped his hands together. “So when can we, er, expect the prince to arrive?” 

“I’m sure he’ll be here any moment,” replied the younger as his eyes darted to the southern doors. “And the princess?” 

“Oh yes.” The elder man’s eyes returned to his companion after glancing, ever so briefly, at the eastern doors. “Any moment.” 

--

“Mother, please,” Emma begged. Defiance was getting her nowhere, it was time to employ pathos. She folded her hands together and looked imploringly at Snow. “Would you truly force me into marriage? With a man I’ve never met? Some useless, limp-dicked—” 

“Emma!” 

“—lump of a prince who will hate that I can best him at swordplay and that I ride astride—” pathos, Emma, pathos! “—and who doesn’t love me!” She widened her eyes and allowed them to fill with tears. “You always said I could marry the man I loved, Mama. You promised.” 

--

They exchanged wide and confident smiles and held eye contact perhaps a heartbeat too long before looking away to focus on their respective doorways. 

--

“Nemo, I’m surprised at you.” Killian resisted the urge to cover himself and instead puffed out his chest. “Smee has always been a snivelling rat of a man, but I never would have imagined you might turn on me like this.” 

Nemo fixed him with a deadly I’m-not-mad-just-disappointed look. “It’s not turning on you to want to see you married, lad.” 

“Happily married, perhaps,” retorted Killian. “Otherwise it’s just shackles by another name. You really want to see me chained for life to some faint-hearted, twee little princess, who will while away her time in needlework and—and flower arranging, and never utter a word worth hearing in all her days?” 

“Rather harsh, Killian, when you’ve not even met the girl.” 

“I’ve met more than enough of her type,” Killian sneered. “And I’m not having it. I’m not marrying someone I don’t love.” 

--

Doorways that remained resolutely shut, obliging the men to meet each other’s eyes again. They exchanged another set of smiles, the elder drumming his fingers on the sleeve of his doublet while the younger tapped a rhythmless beat with his toe on the floor.

Minutes passed, marked by the resonant tick of the grandfather clock set back against the wall. 

The elder man cleared his throat. “Lovely weather we’ve been having,” he remarked. 

“Oh yes,” the younger agreed, relieved to have the silence broken. “So sunny.” 

--

“Emma, of course I want to see you wed to someone who loves you!” Snow exclaimed. “And whom you love in return.” She approached her daughter and gently brushed a lock of hair back from her face. “But sweetie, we have introduced you to every eligible man within a hundred miles and you’ve shown no inclination for any of them. And we need this alliance with Windhaven, as you well know.”

Emma huffed and pulled away, turning her back and closing her eyes, wishing she could close her ears as well. Blue eyes gazed at her from behind her eyelids, warm and admiring, and a cocky grin flashed. 

“But that doesn’t mean you won’t find love!” persisted Snow. “I have heard nothing but exemplary reports about Prince Killian. He is said to be intelligent and good humoured. And handsome.” 

“Pah,” scoffed Emma. Blue eyes, roguish smile. Hair that fell across his forehead just so…

“Perhaps, in time, love between you two may grow.” 

Emma shook her head, willing the memories away. “It won’t.” 

“But how can you know, my darling, unless you try?”

--

“Bright sunshine,” expounded the elder man. “Good for, er, the flowers!” 

--

“Killian, love is not always some grand, romantic adventure.” Nemo plucked the silk dressing gown from Smee’s grasp and handed it to Killian, who grudgingly slipped it on, then placed his hand on the younger man’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Sometimes it’s a slow, sweet thing that grows between life companions. Princess Emma is said to be beautiful and kind, and sharp-witted enough to challenge even you. Surely you could at least give her a chance?” 

Killian swallowed hard and shook his head. Bright laughter rang through his memory and his hand flexed in response, closing on empty air and not the soft gold hair it longed to touch again. “I couldn’t,” he croaked. “It wouldn’t be fair.” To her. Or to her. 

Nemo’s expression hardened. “Well life, as the philosophers say, is rarely fair. You’ll just have to learn to deal with that. And to trust that your brother and I know rather more than you do both of fairness and of love.”

--

“Oh yes, flowers love the sunshine.” The younger man groped about for something more to say, anything he could think of with a horticultural gist. “They love the rain, too, I’m told. Both are good for, er, growing things.” 

--

“How do I know I can’t love him?” Emma choked, turning round again. The tears in her eyes were real now, and threatening to fall. “Because I’ve already met the only man I could possibly love!” 

“They call me Hook,” he said, with far too confident a smirk for a man with a dagger at his throat. 

“Oh?” she inquired sweetly. “And why do they call you that?” 

“I don’t know, lass. Perhaps because I can do this.” 

“What?” gasped Snow. “Who?” 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that!” Emma dashed the tears from her eyes and stomped to her window, glaring out at the thick forest below. “He’s no one you would consider suitable! He’s a bandit I met in the forest.”

In a flash of movement he spun on his heel, hooking his leg around hers as he did and knocking her off-balance. The dagger fell from her grasp as she stumbled and he snatched it from the air, spinning it round to hold it against her throat as his arm caught her firmly round her waist and his eyes met hers.

 “One of that group of men you were travelling with?” cried Snow. 

“Yes.” 

“But you were only with them a few weeks!” 

“It was long enough. Longer than you knew Father before you were wed.” 

“That was diff—” 

“Don’t tell me it was different!” Emma snapped. “I know it was different! But it hardly matters now.” She braced her hands against the windowsill as memories of Hook’s touch ghosted across her skin. “When the palace guards found me they captured him as well and—” her voice broke “—he’s in the dungeons even as we speak, even as you’re forcing me marry someone else when all I want to do is run to him!” 

“Emma, he’s not in the dungeons,” said Snow carefully, coming up behind her daughter to place a hand upon her arm. “All the men who were with you when you were discovered—they all escaped.” 

--

“Very true,” agreed the elder man, solemnly. “Very true. Sunshine and rain both is what you need.”

The clock ticked. 

“Do you get rain?” asked the elder man. “In, er, Windhaven?” 

“Erm. We do, yes,” the younger man replied. “Some.” 

--

“You think because you’re older, because Liam is older, that you know more of love than I?” Killian scoffed. “When have you been in love? When has he?” 

“When have you?” retorted Nemo. 

Her eyes were moss green, sharp and defiant. She glared at him, unflinching, and he found he could not look away.

“What’s your name, lass?” he murmured. 

For the space of a heartbeat he thought she wouldn’t reply, but then she breathed, “Swan. You can call me Swan.”

“Now,” snapped Killian. “Right now, at this very moment, I am in love with the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever known. No princess could hold a bloody candle to her, and—make no mistake on this point, Nemo—I will marry no one else.” 

“Indeed? And where did you meet this paragon of femininity, if I may inquire?”

“She was among the men I joined up with in the forest.” 

--

“Ah!” cried the elder man, his smile widening as the eastern doors swung open. “Here she—oh.” His face fell when a page entered the room, an embarrassed flush in his cheeks. He passed a scroll to the elder man just as, from the southern entrance, another page appeared to hand one to the younger man as well. 

--

Emma spun round to face her mother, eyes glistening with tears but wide with hope. “He’s free?” she whispered. “He got away!” 

“Is this why you’ve been trying to sneak into the dungeons?” asked Snow, with a hint of reluctant amusement in her voice. “Lancelot’s had to triple the guard down there.”

Emma tossed her head but not before her mother caught the pleased hint of a smile. “I told you,” she said. “The man I love. The only one I’ll marry.” 

They met in secret, or tried to—Emma was certain Robin at least must know about their trysts. Mulan surely did, but despite her friend’s frowning stares and thinly-veiled remarks about the foolishness of forming attachments that went beyond those of warm companionship, Emma could not help herself. Hook’s touch lit a fire in her and she craved the flames; every moment she wasn’t with him felt wasted. He seemed to feel the same for he was always snatching her away to steal a kiss behind a tree, always angling to sit beside her around the fire so their fingers might brush, innocently of course, as they passed around the wineskin. 

Snow’s eyes were full of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Emma, truly,” she said. “If we had known earlier, then perhaps… but your father has already made the arrangements with Windhaven—” 

“He can un-make them then!” 

“—to break his promise now would be an act of war.” 

“Arghhh!” Emma shrieked. “Men and their wars!” 

Fair, thought Snow. Aloud she said, “At least your love is free. Take what comfort you can from that.” Cold comfort she knew, but her hands, at present, were tied. 

Emma sniffed, then nodded. “He’s free,” she repeated. “That does actually help. I—I suppose I always knew there was no hope of a future for us.” 

--

The elder man read his missive with a scowl then looked up to find the younger one still reading his, with a similar expression. Each made an effort to smooth the temper from his features, but the elder man’s voice still held an edge when he remarked “It seems she’ll be another few minutes.” 

“He as well,” replied the younger man. 

A beat of uncomfortable silence passed, marked by three ticks of the clock, then the younger man remarked, “We do get rain in Windhaven but of course the most common weather feature is the, well, the wind.” 

“Of course,” said the elder man. 

--

“She was living among a band of brigands in the forest?” said Nemo. “A woman?” 

“She wasn’t the only one,” protested Killian, thinking of Mulan. There had been something different about Swan, though—for all her courage and daring and skill with a sword, there had been hints that she was unaccustomed to such a rough and ready lifestyle. 

“What are those?” she demanded, wrinkling her nose. Killian laughed, wishing he could kiss it. Her nose was adorable when she laughed, even more so when she scowled. 

“Squirrels,” replied Robin, as though it were obvious. “Their meat is tough but flavoursome. We’ll stew them for a few hours and they’ll be grand. But first”—he held out the squirrels, dangling by their tails—“someone needs to skin and gut them.” 

“Skin and—” Swan gulped, her skin gone faintly green. Killian gave her arm a pat, though he’d far rather hug her.  

“Come along, Swan, we’ll do it together,” he said. He’d been on enough camping trips with Liam to know how to prepare a squirrel. She flashed him a grateful smile, missing the knowing smirk on Robin’s face. Killian returned a scowl. 

“Just remember they need to stew for several hours,” Robin said. “And we will be wanting to eat sometime tonight.” 

“Nevertheless,” said Nemo, “not exactly a suitable wife for a prince. You have your duty as the heir to consider.” 

“If Liam would do his bloody duty I wouldn’t be the heir,” grumbled Killian. “If he likes this princess so much he should marry her.” 

“The king is in negotiations with the Queen of Arendelle, as you know perfectly well,” replied Nemo mildly. “A union between them would secure the border between our countries for the first time in two centuries. That is his duty, and his priority. What is yours?” 

--

“Likewise, I would assume,” said the younger man, “that in Misthaven you get quite a lot of, ah, mist?” 

“We do,” agreed the elder man. “From the mountains and from the sea.” 

“A double misting, you might say,” blurted the younger man, who then caught himself in horror. “That is, I meant—” 

The elder man held tight to his composure. “It is quite a lot of mist,” he remarked gruffly. 

The younger man released a slow breath. “It is at that,” he replied. 

--

“Will you come, then, and meet Prince Killian?” asked Snow. “I promise you that if you truly cannot see a chance at happiness with him then I will find a way to have the marriage annulled. But you must promise to give him a genuine chance, Emma.” 

Emma took her mother’s hands and looked in her eyes. “You swear to me that if I truly do not wish to stay married to him I won’t have to?” 

“If you swear to me that you will genuinely try.” 

It wasn’t long before they abandoned the pretence. It was too difficult to maintain amongst such a small group, and the pleasure of being able to touch each other openly, sit snuggled up before the fire and curl together as they slept—this was far greater than the thrill of secrecy. Each night they would bed down as far from the others as they dared and spend long hours exchanging confidences and gentle touches, long, lingering kisses that set the fire raging within Emma and left Hook panting, forehead pressed to hers and eyes squeezed shut as he struggled to contain himself. 

She didn’t want his restraint, all but begged him to abandon it, but he would not be moved. 

“Not on a forest floor,” he murmured, with a dozen men and bloody Mulan ten feet away. One day we will have a bed, love, a large, soft, private one, and all the time in the world to enjoy it together.” His eyes were so soft, his smile tremulous, his chivalry so unexpected from a bandit such as he. “I promise you, my Swan.” 

Her false name in his beloved voice made her heart ache, but she forced herself to return his smile. “Promise?” 

“On my life,” he breathed, pulling her close. “On my life.” 

Emma squeezed her mother’s hands to quell the aching in her chest. Had he known then, as she had, how impossible that promise was? Even as he made it, had he known it could never be kept? 

Somehow she felt certain he had, and that the knowledge had broken his heart. 

She released Snow’s hands and pressed her own against her heart. “All right,” she said. “I swear it.” 

--

“Mist is, I imagine, also good for flowers?” the younger man ventured. “Rather like rain only less, er… rainy.” 

“I don’t believe I ever thought of it like that before,” the elder man remarked. “We do have a lot of flowers in Misthaven but it doesn’t necessarily follow that those two things are related.” 

“It might be an interesting field of, um, scientific inquiry,” said the younger man, looking as though he wished he could stop talking but wasn’t certain how to go about it. “For your… university? You have a university, I believe?” 

“We do,” confirmed the elder man. “I will be sure to inquire about the relationship between mist and flowers when next I meet with its Chancellor. Perhaps you would care to be informed of his conclusions?” 

“Oh, yes,” said the younger man weakly. “That would be fascinating.” 

“I’ll be sure to send his report on to you,” said the elder man. 

--

“Obviously,” Killian growled, “my priority is Windhaven. As it has to be.” 

“As it has to be,” Nemo agreed. 

“But I cannot—there is only so much I have to give, Nemo. My heart is taken; all I can offer a wife is my respect and my honour, and I cannot pretend to more than that.” 

“I greatly doubt any pretence will be necessary,” Nemo observed. “The princess is doing this for duty as well. But I’m confident that you, as many, many others before you, will manage to come to a satisfactory arrangement. You’re both reasonable people, on the whole.” 

Killian held Swan as she slept, his own eyes heavy but unwilling to shut them and sleep away even a moment of his precious time with her. She was tucked against his chest, snoring gently, a bubble of drool just at the corner of her mouth. 

She was beautiful. 

He stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingers, tracing the outline of the bone then down her jaw and to the enchanting divot in her chin that he never passed up an opportunity to kiss. He kissed it now and she mumbled something in her sleep, shifting to press closer to him. He tightened his arms. 

“I love you,” he whispered. 

He hadn’t meant to say it, knew he shouldn’t say it, wasn’t free to say it. He wasn’t free to feel it either, though, and yet he did. Oh, how he did. 

Her eyes blinked open and she smiled a sleepy smile. “I love you too,” she whispered. 

“Have you been—were you just pretending to be asleep!” he accused, teasing to conceal his aching joy at her confession. 

“Sometimes I pretend,” she said softly, “so that you’ll hold me the way you only do when you think I won’t remember it.” 

He kissed her then, and held her so tightly he feared he might crush her but she merely squeezed him back, her kiss as desperate as his own. He wished he’d never have to let her go.

But he knew, even then, that he did. 

“And what if we can’t?” 

“Can’t what?” Nemo frowned. 

“Come to a satisfactory arrangement. What if after a certain time has passed we find that we despise each other and a life spent together could only bring misery to us both? What then?” 

Nemo sighed. “In that, I must say highly unlikely event, the king and I would find a way to annul the marriage and cancel the contract.” 

Killian looked at him sharply. “You would?” 

“If you were truly miserable then yes, of course we would.” Nemo’s expression softened, into a fondness he rarely allowed himself to show. “Above all else, we love you.” 

Killian drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “Very well then,” he said. “Let’s go meet this princess.” 

--

The eastern doors opened again and both men’s heads swivelled hopefully to face it. Two pairs of broad shoulders slumped in relief and two grateful sighs were exhaled as Princess Emma came through them on her mother’s arm, trailed closely by the sturdy and inescapable figure of Lancelot. The princess took her place behind her father, head held high, though no one observing her could fail to notice her red-rimmed eyes, or the white-knuckled grip of the queen’s hand on her arm. 

Moments later the southern doors swung open to admit Prince Killian, flanked by his brother’s most trusted adviser Captain Nemo and the royal valet William Smee. He stalked into the chamber with no expression on his face but eyes that flashed with frustrated anger—that is until they fell upon the princess. 

Killian froze, and Nemo and Smee stumbled as he came to a dead halt several steps away from where he was meant to go. All eyes in the room turned to him with varying expressions of surprise and annoyance—including Emma’s. Hers blinked and then widened and her lips fell open in a tiny gasp. Blue clashed with green and a silent conversation was held, communicating more in that split second than the two men had in their twenty minutes of stilted discourse.

The clock ticked once, then Killian squared his shoulders and began to walk again, as though he’d never stopped. He took his place behind his brother with eyes still flashing, though with a rather different emotion now. As she observed him, the corners of Emma’s lips twitched. 

No one noticed. 

--

The raid came so quickly even the Merry Men were taken by surprise. One moment they were asleep and the next the Royal Guard were there, dragging them from their bedrolls and disarming them before they had even come fully awake. Rough hands tore a shrieking Swan from Killian’s arms and two more held him fast; though he fought with all his might he could not break free of their grasp. Frantically he kicked at the legs of the man who held him, a stout brute of a fellow who refused to topple but finally loosed his grip enough for Killian to wrench himself free and dart away. The camp was in chaos and he spun round madly in search of Swan, calling for her, and then he heard a sound that turned his blood to ice. 

Swan’s voice, crying his name. 

“Hook!” she screamed and he followed the sound to see her fighting like a hellcat against the clutches of a man with night-dark skin and muscles that themselves had muscles. Desperate fear gripped him and he fought like a feral thing, charging blindly through the melee in pursuit of her. 

“Swan!” he bellowed, but he was too late. The man swung onto a horse with her flung over his shoulder and galloped off, leaving Killian in despair and too distraught to notice as another group of men descended and different hands grabbed hold of him and he was bundled away—too distraught to even feel surprise when he found himself in Windhaven’s royal carriage with Nemo there to greet him wearing a stern frown that masked, for the first time in Killian’s memory, reluctant admiration. 

--

“All right, let’s get this o—er, let us conclude the negotiations,” said the elder man. “Now that we are all, finally, present.” He cast his gaze about the room, making eye contact with all those present, then nodded at the court scribe. 

“We are met here today to conclude negotiations and solemnise the contract of marriage between Princess Emma of Misthaven and Prince Killian of Windhaven,” the scribe intoned, indicating the scroll that lay unrolled upon the council table. “Terms of said contract have been agreed by Their Majesties King David of Misthaven and King Liam of Windhaven.” 

The elder and younger man acknowledged one another with a nod. 

“Said contract has been read,” the scribe continued, “and the terms agreed by both relevant parties and given that there are no objections—” 

“Wait!” interrupted a voice. “I have an objection.” 

All eyes turned to Princess Emma—including Prince Killian’s, his wide with surprise. 

“Emma,” muttered Snow under her breath. 

“I would like the contract to be amended,” declared Emma, ignoring her mother, “to prohibit Prince Killian from eating hedge-onions with every meal.”

“Hedge-onions?” her father choked. 

Emma batted her eyelashes. “I could not dream of entering into a marriage with a man who insisted on constantly eating hedge-onions.” 

Prince Killian blinked, then his lip twitched as he replied. “Hedge-onions are very healthful, as everyone knows.” 

“They smell hideous.” 

“The smell is easily neutralised by chewing parsley.” 

“Hmph,” said Emma, tossing her hair. “That’s what someone who eats hedge-onions would think.” 

The rapt attention of the room focused again on Killian. The moment stretched (tick, tick) and then he gave a nod. “Very well,” he conceded. “No hedge-onions.” 

“Erm, good,” said King David, as the scribe hastily amended the contract. “Now, if we might—” 

“Provided, that is, that Princess Emma agrees that should her feet ever become cold in the night she will put on a pair of bloody socks or warm them by the fire, and not on another person’s bare skin.” 

“What?” bellowed David as Liam shot his brother a dagger glare. 

“What?” echoed Killian, blinking innocently. “I’m sensitive to cold, you see, and I don’t think I could stand to be married to someone who insisted on using me as her own personal stove.” 

Princess Emma muttered something under her breath. It was hard to make out the words, but they sounded very much like sensitive to cold, my ass. 

Aloud she said, “Fine. I’ll wear socks. To bed, because that’s so sex—” 

“Emma!” Snow hissed, and across the room Killian’s eyes danced with mirth. 

“If there are no further objections,” huffed David, as the scribe frantically attempted to translate ‘no cold feet in bed’ into proper royal legalese, “perhaps we might sign this damn—er this contract.” 

“No objections,” said Killian. 

“No objections,” echoed Emma. 

David gave them each a stern look then accepted a pen from the scribe and signed his name at the bottom of the contract with a flourish. The scribe passed the pen to Liam, who then did the same. 

“The contract of marriage is now official,” intoned the scribe, “and the nuptials may proceed as planned. I believe the wedding is to be held in the palace chapel in, er, ten minutes’ time.” 

“That’s correct,” David confirmed, but before he could suggest they all adjourn thereto and take their places, Killian’s voice piped up again. 

“There’s just one thing I’d like to do before the wedding, if I may,” he said. David turned and regarded his future son-in-law with trepidation. He dearly hoped there would be no more talk of nighttime activities or bare skin. 

“What is it?” he asked warily. 

“Only this.” 

Killian shrugged Nemo’s hand from where it rested on his shoulder and strode across the room. Emma pulled free from her mother’s grip and darted forward to meet him halfway. They near-collided in a tangle of limbs as he caught her up tight in his arms and she clutched at the lapels of his coat to pull his lips to hers. 

Varying degrees of concern, confusion, alarm and amusement played across the faces of those who observed as the affianced couple shared a fiery kiss that lasted for many, many ticks of the grandfather clock. When at last they broke apart it was only to rest their foreheads together and exchange wide and glorious smiles. 

“Hook,” Emma breathed. 

Killian brushed her nose with his. “Swan.” 

“How could it be you?” she demanded. 

“How could it be you?” he countered. 

“I don’t know,” she laughed. “I don’t care. Let’s get married. Now, before they change their minds.” 

The elder man and the younger exchanged identical pained expressions. 

“Aye, lass,” murmured Killian in his bride’s ear. “Good call.” 

“Mmm,” replied Emma. “And then once that is done, I do believe someone owes me all the time in the world with him and a large, soft, private bed.” 

Killian laughed and kissed her again, then offered her his arm. “Lead the way, my love,” he said. 

—

@thisonesatellite​ @ohmightydevviepuu​ @katie-dub​ @kmomof4​ @mariakov81​ @stahlop​ @courtorderedcake​ @captain-emmajones​ @shireness-says​ @killianjones-twopointoh​​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @teamhook​

[theodora3022]

The LoveSick Schemers

Summary: Claude and Yuri as Yanderes, as per requested.

Notes: Someone wants three houses yanderes?! Yeah I am also a FE blog pffttt- Anyway I assumed you meant separate, not poly(I’m not comfortable with that) or competition(sounds tempting, maybe I’ll do it once I clear out my inbox). I set the reader to be a fellow student in Garreg Mach for the convenience’s sake, hope that’s alright. I happen to love these boys a lot too, so hello fellow schemer lover!

These are pretty tame since you didn’t specify anything, I don’t want to accidentally trigger anyone! The Yuri one is gender neutral, the Claude one is a bit on the female side. 

Warnings: Spoiler for the game(obviously), possessive behaviour

Claude Von Riegan

“I’m from the ruling house of the Leicester alliance, but don’t worry about all that madness.”

To draw his attention, you’ll have to be a trickster yourself, or an ideal-bound conservative like Ingrid. The former would light that competitive fire, while the latter your serious ways are amusing to behold to him.

At first Claude would only see you as a pleasant distraction, he has grand plans after all. But sometimes he would find himself eyeing at your concentrated form as you swing weapons, or study magic tomes, with a genuine smile on his lips.

It was at that moment, Claude knew something had slipped out of his control.

His mother and father told him what love feels like, but this is the first time the seventeen-year-old prince has experienced it firsthand.

If you are in another house, Claude will find a way to convince Byleth(or anyone leading the Golden deer) to have you transferred. But seriously, he can be charming when he wants to be, you won’t be able to say no. If even that doesn’t work, how about scouting away all of your friends so you’ll have no choice but to join the Golden deer!

He will go out of his way to spend time with you, finding flawless excuses so you won’t suspect a thing (even if you are as cunning as him). If your goal is to become an archer, that’s more than perfect for Claude because expect him to invite you to target practice everyday. “It’s a house leader’s duty to make sure the member honed their skills properly. Now, do you want to try with this killer bow?” Authority class is also a good way to bond with you!

Expect Claude to invite you every meal possible, with Hilda. You will feel odd to dine with him at first, but once you get used to it, he is just another goofball who has good tricks up his sleeves.(Claude will deliberately make himself appear dumber so you would lower your guard) If you are a goodie-two-shoe(A/N:like Ingrid), you might even scold him for his lacking of table manners!

Claude would try to make your relationship as normal as possible. As a prince, he had seen enough toxic relationships in the royal court of Almyra. Someone as wonderful as you should not be a caged dove, a mere wife for your crest or bloodline(if you are a noble that is). He wants you to flourish alongside him, as a formidable mage/soldier. The future Queen of Alymra should be able to defend herself at least!

But him only. Don’t even think of getting into someone else’s arms.

That Blue lion lad who asked you to the grand ball? How unfortunate it is to hear that he had fallen off from a clift on a mission. That Black eagle boy who is getting too handsy with you at lunch? It was disturbing to know that his black magic backfired leaving him permanently disabled.

Too bad if you liked any of your suitors back. Because they will get their due for attempting to lure you astray from your dear Claude.

Would persuade you to become House Riegan’s knight during the timeskip so he can stay close to you. Golden deers need to stick together, especially during these chaotic times right?

Once you are in the Deirdru with him, that is when the new Duke will start trying to court you formally.

If you are charmed by his amorous advances during the five years, he will be overjoyed and the dark side of the moon will never come into play. Although Claude would be concerned about how to reveal  his real identity before officially announcing the marriage, and how his parents or the people of Almyra would think of another Foldanese Queen.

If you somehow didn’t get swayed by his smooth ways, that’s okay too! As long as you do not promise your hand to another! Surely he can work out something after this war. Since you are in his domain now, no one is allowed to make inappropriate advances towards you because of the Duke’s warnings. They wouldn’t want themselves and their family exiled from  Reigan territory, or even the entire Leicester Alliance.

Yuri Leclerc

“Don’t let that pretty face fool you. He is a rouge, through and through.”

I imagine Yuri would like someone who is naive, virtuous,kind hearted like Ashe(A/N: It’s a crime they don’t have at least a B support IS!!!). You are that refreshing breath of air, the one who reached out to help him when almost everyone looked down to the residents of the abyss.

You are probably a sheltered noble lady, who has not learned about the sinister world well enough to not display kindness towards anyone. Or someone like Mercedes, who loves to take the role of an older sister to others in the Academy.

He would want to preserve your innocence, that precious pureness in this dirty, corrupted world. Yuri is a rat who lurks in the cold shadows, it’s only natural your radiant warmth would attract him.

When he is taken in by Byleth to the Officer’s academy, you are the first to invite him to the dining hall for a decent meal. You even gave him half of your peach sorbet to him since it charges extra and he didn’t spend money on it. “You have a sweet tooth, right? Well, I haven’t touched mine yet, here’s half of it.”

Another naive little fool, guess it’s only fair for him to protect you, to make sure your kindness doesn’t get exploited by other people.

Yuri always has interesting stories for you, or if you are a bookworm, he will bring you some banned books from the Shadow library. Be careful though, better not let Seteth see you reading them.

This guy is smooth and he knows it. Yuri would slip in some flirtaious words here and there, they can be considered as friendly even.

You in turn helped the people of the abyss in any way possible. If you are a white mage, you are happy to heal their wounds or care for the sick, since only a few healers are willing to devote time to “the underground”. If you are a soldier, you would teach the people how to wield a weapon, to defend themselves from thieves and bandits.

Realization didn’t strike Yuri all at once. Constance and Hapi are the first ones to notice how his gaze never strays away from you, and they love teasing him for it. He would deny it, saying he merely thinks of you as a good friend. Then when the thick headed Balthus also agrees with them, that is when his composure would collapse.

Genuine affections? Romantic attachments? Those things should not take up so much space in his heart. They can be perceived as weaknesses, to be used against him. How dare you make him feel this way, who gives you the right?

Maybe the goddess does watch over Folan and this is her punishment for all Yuri’s sins.

Like Claude, Yuri knows how to wear a smiling mask as if that is his true nature. He is a gang leader, he is not afraid to dirty his hands. Yuri is a lot less merciful than Claude when it comes to rivals. While Claude would not takes lives, only causing them enough harm so they get the hint, Yuri will resort to murder as he sees fit. He got underlings at his disposal, his rivals will be nothing against him even if they come from an influential family.

During the five years, since Yuri cannot leave the abyss, you two will keep in touch via letters, unknownst to you he also got some of his trusted henchmen to watch over you, making sure you are in good health and safe.

Once you return to Garreg Mach, you two can pick up where you left off! Don’t worry, Yuri won’t let you die or out of his sight again!

[morgana-ren]

Just Business

Summary: You’re a loan shark looking to expand your enterprise to the League of Villains. Lucky for you, Dabi might just be willing to hear you out. As long as you can prove your loyalty to him, that is. 

Rating: E for not everyone. Explicit. Do I release anything else?

Baby’s first Dabi fic. Just testing the waters, folks. I know nothing about this man. Literally nothing.

Money lending is such a nasty business. 

Some poor sap shuffles in nervously shifting his fingers and recites some rehearsed script about why he needs the cash and how he’s good for it, and then you throw him a wad and pretend to make up some important deadline. He thanks you profusely and thumbs through the cash as he leaves, and you’ve still got your heels kicked up on your desk as you tell a goon to keep an eye on him. 

Sometimes their reaction to your ‘charity’ varies, but one thing always stays the same. They can never pay it back. 

Some run. Some try to hide. Some bolt the second the cash hits their fists, boarding the first train out of town. Some genuinely try to do the right thing. The result is the same. 

You track them down. Your boot, their neck. They cry, you extort. 

It’s not about the money. It never is. Wealth is fine and good but no amount of monetary fortune can amount to having another thread in the network web you’re building. You’ll let them off the hook and they’ll spy for you, lie for you, even put their neck on the line because they have no other choice. Info is worth infinitely more than a petty loan, and what you invest in their short sighted schemes is repaid tenfold. 

You knew something was up with the shifty little prick the second he walked in the door. He asked for an exorbitant amount and could never meet your eyes when he told you just what he planned to do with it. It sounded too rehearsed, even for your usual clientele. Almost like someone told him what to say and just how to say it. 

In this business, you learn to call a spade a spade, but even as he sat on his knees with his gaze shifted away from you and practically screaming tells, you felt there was something deeper. A truth buried deep within his lies. Something interesting. Something you wanted to know. 

You give the poor bastard the money. 

Sending a runner to watch his schedule confirms your beliefs. He walks into a dilapidated abandoned building not long after leaving the meeting with your thick wad of cash in hand and leaves with only a few bills, though he looks relieved for his trouble. You have his face, his name, a dossier on his entire life. He’s far too unguarded for someone into something so nefarious. Someone sent this little gnat into your domain and didn’t expect you to follow the thread. They were mistaken. Whoever this man works for, he’s the only lead into something deeper. 

Your little flies swarm the building only to find it empty. No trace of who you had been dealing with, no clues to lead you to the heart of your curiosity. Only dust splayed across concrete and a fire with the ashes still warm. 

All your contacts and all your pull only give you one lead: the League of Villains. 

A down-on-their-luck outfit of outcasts and outlaws. Their leader had been making some big moves with a large financier some months ago, but things turned disastrous and no one had heard a peep since. It doesn’t surprise you to hear they’re rebuilding, but what intrigues you is that they’re making such risky pulls to do it. Borrowing money they clearly cannot pay back from a loan shark with a reputation of ruthlessness. 

It should make you mad, being ripped off and deceived like that. 

It doesn’t. 

If anything, it tickles you. You didn’t even have to put out any feelers and they had loitered into your web. You’d had your eyes on them for some time, curious about their leader and their members. They could prove a worthy investment, if given the chance. You never had an in with them since they never needed your services, but it seems that they hand delivered one in desperation.

It becomes a matter of baiting and trapping. 

You wait and you listen. The debt date approaches and it’s only a matter of time. It doesn’t surprise you when the same man wanders back into your office and hands you a thick stack of bills, more than twice what you had offered him. You most definitely are surprised to find him returning but you accept his offering with a smile, running your finger along the bills to keep up appearances. 

“It seems you find yourself quite wealthy! You simply must tell me how you’ve made such a grand turn around!”

He swallows hard at your compliment, raising a hand to the back of his head and scratching nervously. “Luck, Ma’am. Nothing more. I find myself in fortune and simply wish to repay your great kindness.” 

“Of course.” You smile at him, allowing him to take his leave. Now the real game begins. 

Your little spies follow him as he weaves through the streets into the industrial part of town. He ducks into another decrepit building, closing the door firmly behind him. He emerges a few moments later only to tuck a receipt of payment and a few more bills into his shirt. The pace he has is slower now, more relaxed. He believes he’s free, shaken clean of your webbing and can breathe without fear now. 

How wrong he is. 

The look of terror on his face as you block his exit from the alley almost makes you feel sorry for him. He immediately becomes defensive, backing up several feet despite the absence of your body guards. He’s not afraid of you. He’s afraid of who is watching. 

“What are you doing here? I paid you!” 

“You have.” You acknowledge, bowing your head. “I’m not here for money. I simply ask for information. That’s not so terrible, is it? This doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”

“I don’t know anything!” 

“But of course you do!” You draw closer and he trips over his own feet, falling flat to the alley floor. “That money wasn’t for you, was it? You have no prospects, no family or land or investments of your own. Only a crippling gambling debt, yes? Paying debt doesn’t accumulate currency, so clearly you must have had some grand scheme. I’m very interested in your process.” 

You bend down, venom gathering behind your fangs as you stroke his petrified face with a cool finger. “From one brilliant mind to another. I’ll keep it a secret. I promise.”

“I- Well-” He looks around anxiously, stumbling over words but so close to breaking. It won’t take much on your part to get him to crack. 

Or it wouldn’t have, anyway. 

A bolt of vibrant blue flame speeds toward you from around a corner almost quicker than you can process and it’s only barely that you manage to dodge it by shoving yourself clumsily backward. The unbelievable heat from the blast doesn’t escape you, and you cover your face as the alleyway erupts in fire, engulfing your only lead in flames and incinerating him before you could make a move to save him and whatever it is he had to say. The smell of charred flesh is overwhelming and despite the obvious threat, you can’t help but smile. 

A tall figure walks fearlessly through the inferno, hands in his pockets and seeming almost bored as he kicks over the ashen figure that was human only seconds ago. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted this idiot.” 

You stay silent, face shielded from the encompassing heat by your palm as he approaches. Inky black hair and a pale body covered in muldering skin, maroon scars stapled together with metal and sheer force of will. His threadbare coat billows around his feet as he trudges down the alleyway toward you. His eyes are a striking shade of blue, focused on you with an empty expression. 

The ends of your hair have singed and your face itches, but it’s nothing compared to the accomplishment you feel. You had a feeling that toying with some strings might bring the cat out to play. 

“So you’re one of the League.” 

You stand up, brushing the dirt off your knees and stabilizing yourself on the wall despite the overwhelming heat. 

“Sure. You’re that babe that lent us the money, right? That was nice of you.” He stops just short of you, arms withdrawing from his pockets and igniting with indigo flame. “Now why don’t you scram? You got your money, what happens from here isn’t your business.”

“Oh, it’s not all business.” You coyly tell him, running him once over with your eyes. “Sometimes it’s just pleasure. Are there other fine, strapping young lads like you in the League or am I just one lucky girl?”

“That depends.” He scoffs, puffing air out of his stapled cheeks. “Do you get any better at prying for information or is this the best you can do?” 

“Oh!” A dramatic gesture and you cross your hands over your heart, already coating your hands in sticky, silken thread. “You wound me!” 

“I’ll wound you a hell of a lot worse if you don’t get out of here.” His fist clenches, and a burst of ever increasing heat emanates from the fire engulfing his hand. “Last I checked, fire still kills spiders.” 

“You’d burn down your own home to kill a single little spider? I’m flattered.” 

Before he can retort, you kick one of your feet out behind you, jumping toward him and latching your legs around his midsection. Your hands are quick to wrap around his own as he tumbles to the ground, burning through the layers of webbing drooling from your fingers. The viscous cobweb coats his palms and successfully extinguishes his flames, if only for a moment. It won’t be long, but hopefully it will give you the time you need. You slather the mixture onto the ground next to his head, immobilizing his arms and trapping him beneath you. 

He looks panicked for a moment, trying desperately to activate his quirk, but it can’t get the air his fire needs to breathe through your gossamer web. You keep steady on his bucking hips, as chuckling he tries to pry his hands free of your thick, durable weave. Once he realizes it’s not going to happen and you haven’t killed him yet, he seems to relax, if only slightly. 

“So, it’s not just a nickname.” He muses, teal eyes focused on your fangs through your grinning lips. “You know, I kill spiders when they’re in my house.” 

You throw him a faux pout, grabbing his jaw with your middle finger and thumb and holding him steady as you inspect the staples that line his jaw. “You’re so cruel. I’m just trying to protect my web. You can’t truly blame me, can you? You’d do the same.” 

His hips thrash again and this time you don’t hold back the little moan it coaxes from you, His pupils dilate and for a brief second he seems frozen. At least before a smarmy smirk tugs at his upper lip. “You got your money, doll. I’m starting to think this isn’t business after all.”

“Maybe it’s not.” You lean down, running your tongue across the textured expanse of his neck and stifling a giggle when he stiffens. “Maybe I see potential in your little group and I want in.” 

“That’s nice of you.” He juts his face toward you only for you to pull back. “But it’s really not up to me.” 

You withdraw your hand from his jaw and run it down his chest instead, fingertips slowly stimulating the rough, scarred skin beneath his neck. “Then who is it up to?” 

“That would be the boss.” He grins, one hand breaking free of your web and immediately finding purchase in your hair. You go to grab his wrist but he tuts you, threatening you with a familiar warmth on your scalp. Long, skinny fingers coil around your roots and yank your head back, and eventually his other hand breaks free, coming up to grip at your waist. “And he’s going to want nothing to do with you.” 

He pulls you down closer to him, the moist heat from his breath collecting on the side of your neck as he keeps you steady on top of him. You can feel him hardening between your legs and you can’t help but wiggle your hips to bolster the sensation. 

“What do I need to do, then?” 

“I’d be willing to put in a good word for you,” The hand on your waist slides down to grip your ass, clenching the fatty skin and slowly moving you back and forth atop his hips. “If you’re okay with working for it.” 

“You’d be so generous, yeah?” You gyrate your lower body against him, feeling the head of his cock poking your clit through his rough jeans. 

“You’d be surprised what I’ll do if you make it worth it.”

“I guess I have no choice then.” Your tongue runs over the point of your fangs, swallowing back all the venom you’d had so ready. Sometimes it’s easier to catch flies with honey than vinegar, and you had the sweetest honey of all right between your thighs. 

“Say the word and I’ll let you walk away, babe.” His fingers loosen their hold on your body but don’t relinquish entirely. “But if you don’t, I’m going to need you to prove your loyalty.”

You push his body down with your chest until the back of his head meets the gravel, allowing him to keep his hold on you. “I’m very loyal.” 

Your tits squish against his pecs and he sneaks a less than inconspicuous peak at them, cock throbbing against your apex. “Prove it.”

You don’t need any further prompting. He almost protests as you shake his hand free and scoot back farther down his legs, at least until he realizes what you’re doing. Your deft fingers work at the buttons of his jeans, yanking them down to his thighs before resituating yourself and working on your own buttons, pulling at them painfully slowly. Once you’ve both exposed yourself to the open air, you can’t help but look at his cock, thick and bobbing against his stomach. It’s one of the only parts of him that isn’t scarred and latched with metal, but the weeping tip looks so inviting. Every bone in your body wants to take him in your mouth and make him see God through sheer force of tongue, but you’ve got a job to do and there’s no time for play. Not this time anyway. 

You sit up on your knees until he’s aligned with your hole, sinking down just enough to tease him with your tightness. He groans, trying to pull you down further, but you’re not having it. You arch your back, keeping your knees steady and allowing only the very tip of his cock to enter you. 

“Fuck- hurry it up, would you?” 

You grab his hands and push them down by his head again, sinking down on him as slow as you possibly can. His eyes roll back in his head, and he hisses all manner of curses as you situate him nice and snug between your suffocating walls. The head of his cock prods at your cervix as you sit on top of him but the fullness stuffed between your thighs forces a breathy moan from you. 

He gives you no time to adjust to his girth, pumping his hips up into you as you’re still catching your breath. “Shit! You’re pretty fuckin tight, babe!” A shiver rolls down his back as his hands move to your hips and try to force you harder up and down against him

“So impatient.” You croon, licking up his neck again before sinking your fangs deep into the rough tissue. 

“Fuck!” 

He’s almost ready to shove you off of him before you start rolling your hips, letting his cock burrow deep into your silken cunt again and again, running your tongue along the column of his throat and nipping softly to gain his trust. You’re not trying to poison him, not now. Your job right now is to gift him pleasure, and so you will. 

“Risky-” He huffs in your ear, one hand smacking down hard enough on your ass that you yelp. “Toying with me like that. I can guess what those fangs can do.” 

“If only you knew everything.” You sigh, letting his hands go in favor of pulling back, your palms finding his knees behind you as your back arches and puts your tits on display for him. 

He can’t resist. The only thing separating him from your chest is a flimsy shirt which he quickly disposes of, heating his fingers enough that the fabric begins to shred before he swiftly pulls it apart. He quickly takes advantage of the fact that your milky tits are within reaching distance, latching on to a nipple and sucking almost painfully. 

A high pitched keen escapes your throat as he puffs and hollows his cheeks, slobbering on your chest with one hand on the crook of your shoulder to keep you anchored close. His cock pummels your insides, pelvis stimulating your clit as you ride him. You’re clinging to control but you can feel it slipping with every sloppy lick of his tongue and every brutal thrust of his hips. His heaving becomes more and more erratic, moist breath practically burning your chest on the odd second he pulls away to watch your face. Your eyes close and you lose yourself in the euphoria of his cock, letting him hit you deep and hard just where you need it. Eventually, he releases your nipple from his mouth and you figure you’re both about to cum. 

That comes to a screeching halt when he slows his pistoning, grabbing your waist with both hands and keeping you from riding him either. 

“What the hell!” You whine, trying and failing to chase your rapidly disappearing orgasm. 

“Dabi.” He hisses, bringing a hand up and kneading your breast with fingers that are too hot to handle, squeezing your nipple and sending another jolt of hot pleasure between your legs. 

“What?” 

Your teeth are clenching, active frustration boiling in your gut. You were so close. Somehow he knows, but he knocks you off of him, watching with mirthful eyes as you land on your butt beside him. Instead of mocking you, he sits up and quickly pulls off his coat, throwing to the ground behind him and spreading it around haphazardly. Before you have time to question, he lurches forward, grabbing you by the throat and throwing you down onto the fabric beneath him. 

“I wanna hear you say it.” He says, maneuvering your legs open and placing his thick cock back at your drooling cunt. “When you cum on my dick, I wanna hear you say my name.” 

He refuses to move until you acknowledge him, so you do. 

“P-please? Dabi?” 

“Good girl” He purrs, plunging inside you again so fast you hardly have time to recover. The hand around your neck heats and you scream, at least until a pair of charred lips forces themselves against your open ones. He pounds into you with renewed energy, slamming with a force that jerks your head back with every thrust. The hand that isn’t firmly clasped around your throat finds its way between your legs and rubs in tight, calculated circles. His slick tongue worms into your throat, licking the front of your teeth.

“You’re cute-” he huffs into your open mouth. “I might keep you around. You’re more useful to me as a whore than a loan shark. Is that what you want, doll? To take my loads in your warm little holes? I’ll take real good care of you.”

You want to tell him no. You have a business, a mission. But as he drills deeper inside you, you’re so close to saying whatever he wants so long as he doesn’t stop. The electric warmth between your thighs is rapidly building, coiling up and ready to burst and you’ll say whatever he wants as long as he keeps fucking you. 

Some part of him must sense this, because he pulls away from your throat, weaving his fingers up through the crown of your head again and pulling you up to face him. His eyes are glazed, sweat dripping down his temple and he huffs breath through his nostrils that’s practically steam at this point. 

“Beg me to cum.” 

“Please-” 

His fingers work against your clit but just enough to keep the pleasure from fading. You need it faster. You need it harder.

“More!” 

He hums and licks up your lips, slipping his tongue between your teeth again for a brief second. “What’s the magic word?” 

The fingers on your pussy heat slightly as he applies more pressure, watching you through heavily lidded eyes as you writhe and squirm. 

“D-Dabi!” 

“Such a good girl. Say ‘Dabi please let me cum!”

It’s degrading and filthy but fuck you want it. Plus, remember, this is just business. Right?

“Dabi! P-Please let me cum on your cock! Please! I-I need-!” 

He bites down on your bottom lip before the words can leave your swollen tongue. Your body wiggles restlessly as you wait for him to give you what he promised. 

“Good girls get rewards.” 

His hips pull back and shove almost impossibly deep inside, forcing a loud cry from you before he slams mouth down onto yours. His fingers work overtime on your engorged clit, utilizing the wetness seeping from your hole as his cock thrusts in and out. His tongue worms past your lips again and explores every inch he can reach, chuckling as you moan shamelessly into his mouth. 

Though he starts off with a precise rhythm, it quickly becomes erratic as he chases his own pleasure while delivering yours. The hand at your apex is working overtime and the one in your hair is warm enough that you’d likely be a bit worried if you had the mental capacity. He uses both of them to maneuver you to his precise liking, fucking into you like you’re a pliable little doll built solely for his pleasure. 

He’s mumbling incoherently, breathing hot and heavy against your cheek. Your needy moans and whimpers only drive him to move faster and harder as your own hips work double time to meet his powerful pulsating. If you weren’t the one making the noises, you never would have believed it was you. 

“Fuck- shit! Gunna cum nice and deep in your pretty little cunt! Gunna make sure you’re dripping for days-“ He cuts off partway through to let out a heafy groan as you clench your muscles tighter to milk him. “God, so fucking tight-“

Your orgasm is approaching quickly, pain from his bony hips digging into the fleshy fat of your thighs barely a whisper compared to the white hot pressure building at the base of your spine. You can feel his cock twitch against your cervix with every punch against it and you know he’s close too. 

You dig your nails in, fingers clamped against his shoulders and using his movements to build your own momentum. The cacophony of moans between you two becomes louder and more unhinged, him whispering depraved fantasies in your ear that only drive you further to completion. Your head falls back down to the ground as you lose the ability to keep it up any longer, cord finally snapping and unraveling as he throws you over the edge. 

You practically scream as he continues fucking you through your orgasm, legs constricting ever tighter around his narrow hips as you push yourself up harder to chase every ounce of sensation he has to offer you. Stars dance behind your shut eyes and your entire body buzzes with prickling bliss that radiates from your core. You can’t feel the pain in your knees from the asphalt before he flipped you or the localized ache from him ripping at your hair; only the overwhelming, pulsing euphoria as he continues to hit that sweet, spongy spot deep inside you as you ride out your peak. 

His animalistic grunts turn even more primal as your walls flutter around his thick cock, clenching and pulsing around him until he can’t hold back the tide of cresting pleasure anymore. Hot cum floods your insides, so warm you swear it nearly burns you. He continues pumping as it begins to leak from inside you, obscene squelching echoing from the point of entry. He turns his head, finding the crook of your neck and biting down hard enough you cry out, marking you one last time as he continues to stroke himself with your cunt until every last drop has been drained. 

His cock throbs for a moment before slowly softening inside you as he tries to see straight. You’ve yet to open your eyes, only twitching in overstimulation as he withdraws his hand from between your slippery thighs. He allows you to catch your breath for a moment before lightly pushing himself up off of you, careful not to hurt you. 

You slowly regain the ability to move your body and rollout from underneath him, wobbling legs dropping you back onto the cement instead of allowing you to stand when you try. It’s a struggle to pull up your pants since your legs have decided they no longer want to work, but somehow you manage to get them pulled up and buttoned, Dabi’s cum seeping from between your thighs and staining onto the fabric. Dabi himself hoists himself to his feet, using the wall as support. He’s trying desperately to seem unaffected but you don’t miss the falter of his legs like a newborn fawn when he first rises to his feet. 

“Thanks doll, that was fun.” He somehow manages to bend over and grab his coat from the floor, snaking his arms through the armholes and readjusting it over his chest. “I think I’ll be in touch.”

You raise your head, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You think?”

“I dunno.” He shrugs, beginning his walk back down the alleyway where he came from. He turns to look at you one last time, sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I might need some more convincing.” 

[musedblues]

A Taste Of Honey (Part 2)

summary: A 1920's Deacy au! In which the reader, who comes from a family heavily involved in the American temperance movement, meets John, a bootlegger from overseas.

a/n: Well here it is. I'm fully aware interest may be completely lost in this fic but I'm very proud to have finished it. Im not sure where my writing journey will go from here. All I know is that this has been a very long time comin'... enjoy if you dare!

part 1 - 2

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"If anything happens, Deacy, I'll have your head!"

Ivan shook his fist from the front porch, illuminated by the light flooding from the opened front door. 

"I'll be fine!" You dismissed, skipping toward the car, still getting used to the sway of the heavy golden dress you borrowed from Alice. 

"I'm talking about my car!" Ivan shouted, correcting you. John let out a laugh at the remark, and gave your brother a nod, while he opened the passenger door, nudging you toward it.

Your brother and his wife had loaned the essentials to send you and John away for the party a man you never met was throwing. It was a small thrill, the prospect of such fun to be had, in comparison to the sickening exhilaration that coursed through you at the thought of spending any kind of evening at John's side. And the fact he'd asked you to. 

The ride was quiet and short, but dragged on with each new glance you dared to steal at the man driving. Both of John's hands relaxed on the wheel. A hint of that deadly smile on his lips. 

By the time you got to where you were going, you'd been so preoccupied with thoughts of the man by your side, that you'd nearly forgotten your plans for the evening.

If you had any expectations, they were blown clear away. Before you was an estate made up of too many windows to count, draped in vines and hanging lights. 

Even the crunch of the gravel that decorated the winding path you entered into sounded oddly elegant.

Inside was a fever dream of all the things you'd imagined on your short journey into the threshold. Across a giant winding staircase and below the shimmering chandelier were people from all walks of life, crammed together to have one grand time. Different music came from different corners and wild laughter filled the gaps, if there were any. 

And before you, John led the way. You couldn't recall the moment your hand found the bend of his arm, or if he cared that you'd reached out to him as he weaved through the crowd. But the grin on his face when he turned back to catch your eye had to be a good sign; despite the way your heart nearly burst at his look. 

John led you past hoards of people and trays of half full glasses. There was only one way to go, further inside the home, but John seemed to move as if he had an idea of where he was headed. Sure enough when the pair of you met the landing of the staircase, the host of the party was there to greet you. 

The host's initial booming hello was focused mostly on John. And without more than a glance your way, the party thrower shuffled John away from your side, insistent on sharing a chat with him on the top landing of the stairs.

You were left to linger, stalling at the base of the stairs and studying the crowd around you. Girls in beaded skirts and men with slicked back hair passed you by flashing well meaning but entirely distracted smiles. 

You'd felt mesmerized enough by the scene to slowly start to drift into it yourself. Reaching to brush your finger across meticulously carved bookcases and daring to take a glass from the extended hand of the first person to smile directly at you. 

You reached for the stem of the blue stained flute, and managed to make your talk small enough for the interested lad to wander far off. But offers kept coming. Glasses of this and that shoved in your face. You accepted the offers more out of respectful politeness than any eagerness to lose your wits. 

By the time you lost track of everyone's kind gestures, and a man was leading you closer to a table decorated with cards and chips, another hand intervened.

John was back, letting his fingers curl around your shoulder and nudging you in another direction of his choosing. Thrilling as it was for you, to have been handled just so by him, you were a little taken aback. 

Funny how after the sips of this and that, you felt steady as ever. But one look from John and your knees threatened to give out and all your cares too.

In the middle of the packed house, with John looking at you that way, you felt like the only person alive. And somehow this all added up to equal your new found courage to speak a little bolder than usual.

"Are you on strict orders from Ivan to steer me clear of any strange attention or do you maybe fancy me a little, John?" You dared wonder. You almost didn't care of the answer. So long as he kept guiding you through this evening with a strong steady hand.

"Both." John seemed to decide, continuing to guide you along. The pair of you had reached the patio doors by now, and the cool night breeze rushed through in perfect time to ease the heat that had rushed to your cheeks at John's response. 

"Let's go see the gardens!" You decided at first glance of the sprawling greenery that surrounded the estate. 

John let you tug him along, darting between couples and groups who'd come to ruin the fresh air with all their smoke.

He followed along, a very good sport, smiling as you pointed out flowers and trees you didn't realize could bloom in this part of the country. As you turned from marveling over a certain rose's colour, John seemed almost enraptured. Maybe not by your subject but certainly by some part of you. His gaze was fixed, and he seemed to bite back a wider grin. And your already lightened spirits seemed all the more weightless as your eye's met his. 

"If you keep looking at me like that, John, I'm going to have to kiss you." You let a small laugh escape, as the foreigners' expressions remained steadfast. 

He'd kissed you only the night before, on your brother's staircase. It was the only reason you felt free of regret enough to lean in and brush your lips against his again. John reciprocated fondly, letting one of his hands creep around the bend of your waist. You never realized it was possible to feel so happy. 

"Did you do that because you've been drinking? Or do you perhaps fancy me a little?"  John mocked your earlier statement, when the kiss died and your eyes locked. 

"Both." You smiled, charmed enough to try it a second time. But this kiss was broken much sooner than you reckoned any kiss ought to be.

"You know I'll be leaving soon. Just a week's more time." John killed the mood with a few words. You glanced to your feet and muttered understanding, noticing his hand still clutched your waist. 

"I just don't want to see you disappointed." John spoke up after a beat of heavy silence, and the words seemed hard for him to piece together, but he spoke them all the while. 

"Then don't disappoint me." You shrugged, glancing back up to the perfectly handsome man, who's smile seemed sad now.

"Come on, then." John said, moving his hand to find your own. "Not even I get to enjoy parties like this too often."

And you let him guide you back inside. You let the sun set on all the pretty flowers. And you let yourself feel grateful for the rest of the evening at John's side. 

///

He rode the train home with you the next day, sitting across the bench from you, and not saying very much. 

You felt the need to chatter at the pass of every few minutes. You got John to ramble a little about the other places he was due to visit in the states. The guy only one more stop at some.fancy hotel after your town, in the big city, next week. Then he'd head home. 

After explaining as much, the man went quiet again. But you couldn't let the silence last. It was as if you didn't work to hold his attention, it would be lost the next time you looked up. Maybe that wasn't true. But you couldn't risk letting John slip away so easily. Not when your heart practically lept from your chest each time his eyes met yours. If it wasn't meant to be, then so be it. But you were going to fight for the chance that you had, while it was still within reach. 

So when the train pulled into your neighborhood, and John stepped onto the platform, you stopped him waving goodbye. 

"Will you be back? To our shop, I mean?" 

John took a step closer toward you with a very serious expression that softened just before he spoke. 

"I wouldn't dare leave before telling you goodbye." He promised, in a low, sweet manner. 

John pressed his lips to your temple for one brief heavenly moment. And then he turned away to hail a cab. 

At least now, in your terrible mix of emotions, something very bright and warm burned within you. And you got to believe, for a moment, that the same reigned true for John.

///

But all was not well at home. How could it ever be? 

Your mother was horrified that you'd up and left for the night without so much as a word about it to her, and to your brother's home no less. 

Her disdain for her first born left you sick to your stomach more and more each day. 

But this was nothing new. You knew to give the woman a showy apology and to stay silent as she confined you to the kitchen table as she lectured about morality. Tomorrow things would be back to her regular sort of unhappiness. 

What really stopped you cold in your tracks that night, though, was the sight of your father stood in the doorway of your room with his arms crossed.

To bring a frown to his face was your greatest fear. For he'd loved you and shown it. And you dreamed of doing good by him every chance you got. As you stalled in the hall and waited for him to speak his mind, you hoped this would only be a reprimand for causing your mother unnecessary grief, for her madness made you all ten fold more miserable. 

"I know you've been with your brother..." Your father nodded with understanding, not looking right at you as he spoke calmly. "But that also means you've been with John. And I don't like that."

Oh. Ivan had warned you this might be your fathers mood. But you'd ignored his warning in hopes it wouldn't have been true. 

"You know John!" You countered, "You work with him! You're telling me you get to work with a man you don't like but I can't see him?"

"He's a fine man. But all wrong for you." 

"You're supposed to be the one who lets me find these things out on my own." You reminded. Your mother did plenty of directing you from day to day. Your father knew of what you spoke and nodded reluctantly, uncrossing his arms and looking you square in the eye. 

"Well not this time. Stay away from John, you hear me? He'll be gone before you know it anyhow." 

Your father rested a hand on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring squeeze as if to ease the blow of his demands. But as he walked back down the hall, the uncertainty that had stormed within you since John left you at the train station, raged wilder than before. 

What a jam... 

///

There was nothing stopping you from returning back to the depths of the coffee shop, the next time Ivan started up his business. 

Your mother was sound asleep, and your father was already there, serving the last of the coffee up top. Once you arrived you knew he'd be cross but unable to march you away. 

So you slipped on your finest dress and twirled down the rickety staircase that led to the party your brother charged for. 

There were already a good deal of friends jam packed into the small basement; dancing to swells coming from the gramophone and lining up to grab a glass from Ivan's makeshift bar. Your brother flashed a grin when he saw you sauntering in, but his smile turned somewhat more into a worried grimace when he saw you march up the man near the end of those overturned book shelves.

So was everyone concerned over your connection with John? Even the man who'd held your interest sort of frowned at the sight of you demanding his attention. 

John had his fingers curled around a glass. You took it from his grasp and the action made the bootlegger grin oh so slightly. But his frown returned after you slammed back the swallow of liquor in his glass- unsure yourself by what had come over you.

"Hey, come on, don't be that girl." Ivan called to you from behind the bar. You couldn't be sure if he was commenting on the way you'd claimed Deacy's drink for your own, or on the way you seemed too eager to get the stuff in your system. 

Before you could snap back at your brother's comment, though, John spoke up.

"Don't worry about it," He insisted in the charming draw of his. "Just pour me another." And as the man who you adored stepped past you to hold your brothers attention, John sort of let his hand brush across your waist. And he left his fingers to linger along your sides as Ivan, disgruntled, poured another for John. 

"Is that all you cut in line for?" Ivan sighed, nodding toward the few people, impatiently waiting to fill their glasses, stood in a row behind John. 

And you hadn't really considered this before your brothers prompting. But at his asking, you were moved to pull out a twenty dollar bill from your coin purse, and demand he give you your money's worth.

Ivan was reluctant, going on for a bit how once your father spotted you here, like this, that he'd surely be disappointed. And you didn't want that, did you? But little did Ivan know, you'd already disappointed your father. And you were determined to get something you wanted tonight, one way or another.

So with a sigh, Ivan poured you a tall drink and informed you were good to come back for a few more, to match your payment. 

So began your evening of ignoring John's worried remarks about slowing down. And as you kept the drinks coming you weren't even sure why. Perhaps it was to test your very own limits. To somehow prove you were more in control of your path than all the others who seemed to have something to say about the direction of your life. 

And damn John, for the way he kept his eyes locked on yours between the distance he silently kept insisting upon. And damn him for helping you find your balance, despite the steps he kept taking away from you. For letting his hands stay secure around your waist, long after you'd straightened up from stumbling.

And damn your father. He had to have been behind John's change in attitude. From the moment you'd met, John had been a flirt. And steadily, his quips kept getting bolder, until the last party you attended. Ivan's rambling about your fathers dislike of your fondness of John had to be what caused him to step back.

And damn your father, for finding you all dizzy in John's well meaning clutch, now. Your dad pointed to the door and demanded you find your way out of this scene. 

"I know you're not taking her back to your hole in the wall you've been staying at, in the state she's in." You father grumbled in a low curse, his eyes searing into John's. You tightened your hold on the fellow, shooting your father a glare all the same. He couldn't tell you where to go or with who. 

"Take her upstairs if ya like. But don't step foot past the alley. I'll be up in a minute."

After a shared look, John moved, pulling you alongside him. You moved,  happily leaning into him, disgruntled by the course of the evening all the while. Even Ivan seemed to shoot you a sorry grin when he noticed you being marched away, from across the room.

The alley was a little cold. But John's figure was warm. And as you followed his lead pausing just beyond the backdoor, you could feel this chance waiting to slip away. 

"You like me, don't you?" You wondered, turning to face the man you'd been so taken with since the moment he showed up at your door.

"Of course." John nodded, and answered so softly and with such care truly felt as though it were melting. 

"Then kiss me, John." 

"You're drunk."

"But we may never get the chance again. One or both of us are about to be beheaded. Either way, that'll make kissing hard to do from now on." You implored, letting your head fall to rest precariously on his shoulder as you finished your plea. You heard John let out a somber little chuckle as he dared to tighten his arm around you. 

And then you heard a shuffle beyond the backdoor, and let out a sigh at the timing of your father coming to ruin everything. 

But instead, the door bursts open to reveal Rita in a fluster. Her usually perfect makeup streaking down her cheeks. At the sight of the girl you'd always admired, a pang shot through your chest. But not immediately for her upset, whatever it was, but because you realized you'd failed to see your friend here all night, until now.

Before you could apologize, or ask what the matter was, Rita sucked in a breath and let out a string of words for you. 

"He was a snitch. He-he told my parents everything." She stammered, wild eye'd. 

"Who?" You begged to know, having turned away from John, but not having totally turned your attention away from his hand still rested on the small of your back. 

"The pastor's son. Cole. He- he said he was alright with this whole thing. But he... He told your mother. She's on her way here, she's-" 

Sound of a car roared closer, and the engine died away, drowning out the last of Rita's warning. For a second, you thought of making a break for it. But then the click of heels on the pavement seemed to count down your fate.

And then she stood there before you. Your mother, dressed to the nines, complete with her usual scowl.

You couldn't let go of John. Your nails seemed to dig into his side on their own accord. The pair of you stared ahead to the woman who gave you life, and kept you from living it all the same. She stood and stared too, almost like she was giving you a chance. And that was the scariest bit of it all. 

As time seemed to pause, John let your name escape him in a nervous breath, like a warning. Trying to alert you that your hanging off him wouldn't help. But there was no way you were gonna let him go now. 

It was then your mother decidedly sauntered up to the two of you, letting her eyes search your from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and back up again. 

When she let out a scof, you realized you'd been holding your own breath. And when you opened your mouth, willing oxygen in, or words of mitigation out, your mother decided what was next. 

Before you could blink, one of her strong hands was digging into your arm, and she was tearing you away from John's gentle hold.

And despite his caution earlier, you could feel John's hand still trying to keep hold of you, as you were yanked away. The sensation of being taken from the man's clutch was horrid, but what was more painful was the feeling of his fingers trying and failing to keep hold.

So when your mother tossed you aside, toward the brick of the coffee house wall, you were hardly affected; not like you'd only just been.

And when you looked up, after steadying yourself and dusting your stone imprinted hands of dust, John was stepping closer toward your mother. He shouted something at her, about how she didn't have the right to treat you just so. But before he could finish defending you, he was shut down.

Your mothers hand flew across his cheek, and the sound of the slap and John's shocked hiss echoed through the alley and caused something vile to rise in your gut. 

You pushed yourself from the wall then, indifferent to the dizziness you felt, desperate to reach out to the man you'd been so fond of; calling his name.

But your mother was there, more sober and more angry. And she halted your mission to make it to your man, digging her nails into your sides and forcing you in the other direction. 

"John I'm sorry, John..." You called past the lump in your throat. That was when Ivan came upon the scene. He darted from the doorway and did his damnedest to block your mothers storming off. 

"You're a monster. Let her go!" Your brother fummed, as your mother managed to storm around her first born, pushing you along. 

"I'm her mother. And I'll do as I see fit to keep my child out of harm's way." Your mother stated, almost calmly.

"You're no mother. You're a walking nightmare. She's not your plaything-"

"Word's won't fix this, Ivan." You said, reminding him that his defying of the woman only ever made her ten times more evil.

"I'll pray for your children, son." Your mother nodded, opening the passenger door of her car, and flinging you toward the bench. "They're going to need it."

You didn't look to Ivan, as your mother drove off. You didn't dare look to John. You only hung your head and cried silent tears while your mother peeled down the road. And the whole way home, she spat vile things about you and Ivan. Her own children. About your father, her beloved husband. And aout John, a man who, since his arrival, had only tried to help out.

You let your tears dry when the car pulled up to the house you'd never really felt at home in. And went willingly from the ride to the door, knowing you would get very far in the countryside if you dashed away now. You'd need a wiser plan. Still, your mother dug her claws into your arm and marched you up the staircase to your room, like you were a girl no oler to know better. 

"Stay here." She demanded after pushing your further into your bedroom, her fist around the doorknob, establishing total control. 

You expected to be banished here. What you didn't expect, however, was the return of your mother with boards to nail against your windows. You might've laughed if you weren't the one being all locked up. Wasn't this sort of thing only supposed to happen in twisted fairy tales? You're life was twisted enough, you supposed.

She left you there, trapped in the space that was meant to be your own, meant to be safe. As you sulked in silence, the memory of your mothers assault on John haunted you. The horrid sound her action resulted in. His gut wrenching reaction, the small hiss, his stalling in the place she put him in. 

And the way he watched you being dragged off, helpless and sorry for you. It was pathetic, the situation you found yourself in. So you let your tears bubble up again and you cried and cried; until exhaustion set in. Tomorrow was a new day....

///

There was a pounding at your door, loud enough to jolt you from slumber.

"Open up!" The sound of your father calling from beyond the hall stirred you fully conscious. In one swift dash you were stood before your door, jiggling the handle, feeling silly for hoping that would work. 

"She's locked it." You groaned. "Do you have a key?" Your wonder was nearly frantic, and so were you- trying still to twist the knob. At the sound of your fathers grumbled cursing, you began to bustle about for some hair pins, but quickly realized you wouldn'tve had a clue to how to finess the tools into working like another. 

Then you heard your mother. She  shouted down the hall, telling your father to get out of her sight, to leave you be. Shouting that you were better off confined. That you'd be locked away until she found the right reformatory to ship you off to. You knew she meant it. You knew she'd send you away without a care of your consent. 

"She's not a child anymore. You can't just treat her like a bad pet who needs training."

"I'm her mother. And I'll be damned if I don't do what's best for my child. I failed the first time. God knows you never cared about either of them like I care." Your mother spat, breaking your heart and your fathers too no doubt. 

Their bickering lasted a while longer, and you spun away from listening in to force yourself to think. There had to be a way out of here, out of this life. There had to be a way to a better world. 

And the best you could do was wait.  Until dinner. Wait until your mother brought you a tray of soup and bread, trading a few put downs before she twirled from your room. And then you checked the time, and counted down the hours to her always predictable nightly routine.

And you waited still, until your bedside clock ticked well passed after midnight.

And then you used a lamp to pry the nails away from windows. You could tell her bedroom light was out by leaning against the sill.

With no time to spare, you tossed a change of clothes in your purse, and the envelope stashed with tips you'd been saving for over a year. 

It wasn't a very long way down. With the help of a lattice panel and the dark of night, you found grassy freedom in no time. Your heart beat heavy as you crept toward the road. It wouldn't be safe, not until the city lights were in view. But your shoes were flat and your hopes were high.

Miraculously, no one stopped you. Not the truck who zoomed by somewhere still deep along the dark country road. Not the school kids on the edge of town, tossing bottles off the bridge. And not the sleepy clerk at the desk of the hotel you raced into. 

"Be here, be here, be here..." You prayed under your breath, hurrying to the room you remembered John booking. And right as you rounded the hall, the door of the room you'd been in search of opened. 

But the squeak of wheels gave away the presence of a maid, pushing her cart of cleaning supplies out into the hall.

"He's gone?" You sighed, stopping at the end of the hall, your feet aching after moving so ceaselessly through the night. 

"Whoever was here left a while ago." The maid stopped for a moment, looking to you with a sorry expression. "Around dinner time."

"Right. Is there a phone at the desk?" 

The maid nodded and wished you luck, and you thanked her for it. You'd need as much as you could get. 

The clerk who was still kicked back, sleeping, startled at your ringing the bell on the desk. And though they didn't seem pleased at your begging to use the phone, they let you.

It only rang twice. 

"Hello?" Your fathers voice was a pleasant surprise. Of course he'd gone to stay with Ivan, in the midst of all this chaos. 

"Dad, Im-"

"Where are you? Does she know you've gone? I'll come fetch you."

"No." You implored, holding up a hand as if he could have seen your insistence.  "No I've phoned to let you know I'm taking the train to the city. I've got to find John before he leaves. And I'm sure of where he is. I've got to try." 

John had told you where he was headed next, on your last train ride together. And you'd felt silly for keeping the details at the front of your memory... until now.

The other line went quiet for a beat. And you'd fully prepared yourself for your fathers disapproval. But then he just said,

"Okay." Your father seemed to realize the weight of your feelings, you thought, by his tone of voice. "I knew you'd get out of there, eventually." And once more, you could tell by his tone he wasn't just referring to the room you'd been locked in for the last couple nights. "Phone us again, when you're safe and sound. I know you will be."

At his blessing, tears sprung in your eyes. You were going to go no matter what. But to have your father on your side made you even more determined to fly out of this hotel, and to the next one you knew John was meant to be staying at. 

///

Booking a train ticket was nearly impossible. And if you had spent much longer pleading with the station, you would have missed the bus pulling up down the block, offering rides in the right direction. 

The couple hour journey was maddening, and thrilling, and terrifying all at once. You were on your way to change your life. No matter what John said, or how he greeted you; no matter if he fell into your embrace or left you in the hotel lobby, you'd never go back the way you'd come from. 

And luckily, you managed to find the hotel John had briefly spoken of, without much trouble. It was the grandest of the business booming on this side of the city. Folks flooded in and out of the revolving doors, as you considered the past set of days that had led you to standing before here with such an erratic heartbeat.

But you only stayed paused for a moment. Your feet were darting inside before your mind caught up with how close you were to the mission at hand. 

The lobby was just as full of people as the revolving doors had been, lines forming near the desk, groups fighting to fit their luggage into golden elevators. 

And though you hated to be the person you'd decided to be, you dashed to the end of the front desk, hoping the clerk would spare you a minute at most. 

"I just need to know if someone's booked a room." You begged to know, shooting sorry looks to the people you'd cut in front of. The clerk seemed to have no patients for you, but miraculously, another set of hands swooped in to help. Some nice older woman flipped through the bookings to find John's name, after you gave it, and came up short.

"What about Deacy?" You hoped all of a sudden, quickly beginning to lose your ambition the longer she shook her head.

You'd done what you could, rudely so. And scurried away so your unwelcome presence would no longer be in the way of things.

And as you sauntered away, giving one last pathetic glance about the crowded lobby, you reminded yourself that it was all alright. You might not have found John. But you were finally free.

And then you pushed through the revolving door. And past your ghostly reflection, you spotted a familiar set of grey eyes. 

John seemed to wait until your gaze registered his own, before spinning around to make it indoors. You ignored the chilly night air and pushed on until you were right back where you'd just started to leave from. 

There he was, before you as real and sure as the sun and moon.

"You never gave me a proper goodbye." You reprimanded through a growing smile. He'd promised to give you a farewell, once. 

"How about a rain check? I've got lot's more important things to tell you, as a matter of fact." The man you'd come to adore smiled then, and offered his arm. You held on without hesitation and managed to follow his lead through the crowd, to the room he'd been staying in.

It was a humble little space, his suitcase opened on the coffee table and a yellow lamp left on by the window. John shut the door behind you with a soft click, loosening the pale blue tie round his neck, as you glanced about the room.

"I came by. Your place, I mean." John admitted, leaning against the closed door, as you turned from admiring the wall art to face him.

"You did?"

And then John said your father had dragged the Brit along, that night he'd knocked at your door. John was outside with high hopes. But your mother had caught your father before you'd even known there was a plan. 

"So you did try to come and tell me goodbye." You laughed a little, kind of glad he wasn't able to. This reality where you'd run to him was much more befitting to the situation, you thought. 

"Well, no." John pointed, not laughing along with you. "I never really wanted to say goodbye."

You stood there, taking in the sight of him. Watching John's brows oh so slightly furrow upward, hope pouring from his expression. You considered the gleam in his eye and the way he slowly seemed to shift his posture a little closer to you. 

"So we haven't got to part ways in a hurry then?" You wondered. Asking more than if you could linger a while longer in his rented room.

John seemed to know what you were asking. He seemed relieved, too. His shoulders loosened as the man crossed the space between you, in no big hurry. It seemed the two of you had all the time in the world at your disposal, now. John took his time, reaching out to tuck away some loose hairs near your ear. And his smile grew steadily too. By the time the guy pressed a kiss to your lips, you'd been wondering if the dawn would be breaking any time soon.

But the longer John went on kissing you, the less you thought of the sunrise. As John enclosed you in his arms, all your thoughts were of the man you'd come to adore. 

And as laid next to him and closed your eyes to the rising sun, you couldn't recall ever having experienced such a bright morning. 

"So you're not too eager to head back home, yeah?" John asked, once you'd both stirred from a restful slumber.

"I think I found a much more suitable place to be." You smiled, referring to the spot you'd settled under John's arm. 

And it didn't take much convincing on his end for you to agree on catching the next boat across the pond. 

///

The other line rang so long you'd almost decided to hang up. Then your brother answered. 

"Helllooooo!" He sang in a chipper timbre, making you wonder if he'd been expecting you at exactly this time, or if he answered everyone that way.

"Well I was going to ask how you were but it seems you're so well I don't have to wonder." You laughed into the receiver. 

The morning was early, and a breeze blew back a sheer curtain, obscuring your view of the grey English morning. 

Ivan spent the next few minutes yaking about how glad he was to hear from you. And you were glad to listen. On your rather spontaneous journey overseas, you were bogged down for a brief moment, at the thought of being so far from your dear brother. But as he rambled in your ear now, you'd never felt closer to him.

Ivan asked how things were. He asked after John, and that mattered so much more to you than his concerns for your well being. And when you had had your fill of the attention being on you, you begged your brother to give you all the details of what happened after you ditched home.

He said your mother was as furious as expected. Said she tried to blame your brother and her husband for your running off. Said she tried to get the police to shut down the coffee house for hosting such an undignified business after hours.

"You should'a seen her face when she found out officer Willard was our most loyal customer." Ivan chuckled. 

"We did have to pay a fine, in the end, so she'd quit her raving. It was almost everything we'd saved away for the baby." 

Your brother sighed. And you cooed his name in commiseration. 

"But my friend who owns that estate, the one who threw that party John took you to," Ivan explained. "He was good enough to loan us a bit of cash to stash away." Your brother said the man tried to give the money away outright, as a thank you to Ivan for helping start up his own speakeasy of sorts. But Ivan was dead set on paying him back, one day.

"Now we can't decide to name the babe after him, or John." Ivan chuckled. 

"And what if it's a girl?" You mused. 

"That'll just have to be a surprise." Ivan said, and just then the line went dead. You called your brother's name with a little hope he'd come back to tell you more. 

But you didn't worry when the line went on buzzing. You'd see him and his darling wife and his child to be, one day. You'd see your father too, if he was still hiding out at your brothers place. Hell, maybe they'd all come over here. 

Maybe you'd build a life with John, in his humble little English flat. You certain felt at home, watching the guy of your fancy stay dreaming as the sun rose. 

John had been kind to you. He'd been your friend when he didn't have to be. He'd let you lean into him, and he laughed at your jokes. He invited you into his world and smiled wide the closer your ship rolled toward London. 

And he'd treated your shoes as if they'd always been stored in the middle of the welcome mat. John opened his space up to you, and asked every night for the first few weeks, if you were happy, if you needed anything more. Your answers were always yes and no. 

And he didn't need to ask for honey in his coffee anymore. You just knew to add a little in the warm cup you'd have ready near the place he liked to sit in the morning. 

It was familiar and it was sweet, and so was John. Maybe he liked honey in his tea, too. And dear God, how you prayed every year from here on out; got to be spent guessing at life alongside the man who'd thrilled you by wondering all your answers all along.

[iamvegorott]

Bunny House

Summary: After seeing an image online, Wilford decides that his hand JJ’s pet bunny Sniffles needs an outdoor home, leading to some mess, laughs, and a surprise

Bunny House

JJ watched with a tilted head as Wilford carried a large supply of wood, paint, and other tools required for building a, and he quotes, ‘bunny home’. The bunny who would use the home was their little white bunny named Sniffles. Sniffles was mostly white with a black nose, black around his eyes, and a black heart-shaped surrounding his tail. Sniffles was always, well, sniffling and was currently sitting on top of JJ’s legs, dozing off in the warmth from the sun.

“There we are.” Wilford grunting, dropping the last bit of wood. “That should be enough for this.” 

“Should be? Didn’t you sketch this out?” JJ asked, hands moving and the words appearing in Wilford’s mind, looking like subtitles across his eyes. JJ didn’t really have a voice, he could make some noises, but his speech was through sign language and a little bit of magic for those who didn’t know the language or weren’t looking at him.  

“I mean, I did make a sketch.” Wilford pulled a rolled-up piece of paper out of his back pocket. He went over to JJ and showed him the rough sketch. 

“There aren’t any measurements.” JJ pointed. “How do you know if you do have enough or if everything will line up?” 

“I’m a master craftsman, my sweet sugarplum, I got this.” Wilford kissed JJ on the forehead as he took his drawing back. 

“I feel like I need to call Dark to help.” JJ looked down when he felt movement, seeing Sniffles using his hind leg to scratch behind his ear. 

“I don’t need Dark’s help.” Wilford puffed out his chest.

“Now I have to call him.” JJ took out his phone.

“No.” Wilford tried to snatch the phone but lost his footing, causing him to fell over on top of JJ, thankfully Sniffles hoped away in time and was now just bouncing along in the grass. “How’s it going~” Wilford grinned at his and JJ’s position. 

“Are you going to kiss me or what?” JJ giggled when Wilford perked up from that.

“Yes, sir.” Wilford chuckled and dove right in. JJ happily sighed into the kiss and nestled his fingers in Wilford’s hair. They both suddenly stopped the kiss when they heard someone clear their throat. 

“You weren’t enjoying the show?” The voice and giggle told them right away that Anti and Dark were there. 

“What brings you here, Dark?” Wilford asked, getting off of the ground and JJ. JJ stayed down and reached over to scoop Sniffles up, who let out a little sneeze. 

“I heard news of a robbery of a hardware store and they stated that several gallons of pink paint had been stolen as well.” Dark raised a brow. “So I added two and two together.” 

“I’m just simply making a little home for Sniffles, no need to fret,” Wilford said. 

“Do you know how?” Dark said as Anti went over to JJ, plopping down next to him. 

“I have a plan.” Wilford showed Dark his drawing. 

“There are no measurements,” Dark stated.

“No, there are no measurements.” Wilford huffed. 

“Guess I’m helping.”

“I don’t need-”

“You are not about to saw off your own arm.” Dark slipped off his blazer and tossed it at Anti, who caught it and bundled it up into a ball, hugging his arms around it. “Roll up your sleeves, they’re going to get in the way,” Dark said as he worked on his own sleeves. 

“You could just take your shirts off,” Anti suggested, JJ silently giggling with him.

“No. Where are your goggles.” Dark went over to the pile of supplies. 

“The what?”

“Oh boy.” 

Several hours passed as Dark and Wilford worked. JJ and Anti had gone in and came out with some lemonade at one point, which led to Wilford making a joke about the two being in maid’s outfits the next time, JJ blushed and Anti was more than willing to go back in and change. Dark interrupted that conversation, and potential chaos, by saying they needed to get sanding. 

Finally, after all the nails were hammered it, the cornered were sanded softer and passing ‘the wiggle test’ the foundation of the bunny house was made and they could get to the painting. 

“I’ve been wanting to use one of these forever,” Wilford said as he prepped a large airbrush, loading it with pink paint. 

“I don’t know if we should trust him with that,” Anti said. 

“As long as he aims for the house, I won’t hit him,” Dark said, crossing his arms. 

“I wouldn’t mind seeing you coated in pink,” Anti smirked. 

“That would be a sight to see.” JJ gave Dark a smile. 

“I’m going to separate you two.” Dark didn’t like how Anti and JJ both giggled at that.

“And done!” Wilford hollered. 

“Alrea-” Dark stopped himself, seeing that the house was, in fact, fully pink, but so were Wilford’s hands. 

“Guess I got a little too excited.” Wilford chuckled and put down the airbrush. “I’m going to go pop in and give these a quick wash. You guys feel free to get started on the decorations.” 

“I can make the bubbles.” JJ offered.

“Making those yellow stripes is going to be a bitch.” Anti said, looking at Wilford’s drawing again. “We should have taped then or something.” 

“Shouldn’t be too much of a hassle, maybe two or three coats should cover it.” Dark shrugged. JJ felt something bump against his leg and found Sniffled headbutting his ankle, pouting. JJ knew what that meant and he picked him up, placing him on top of his head before getting to painting. 

“That’s adorable,” Wilford said when he came back out, tucking his phone into his back pocket. “Although everything that you do is adorable.” He added, going over to JJ and giving him a kiss on the cheek. 

“Are you going to make out in front of us again?” Anti teased. 

“Don’t tempt me.” Wilford winked, grabbing a paintbrush. 

“Just paint.” Dark cut Anto off before he could say anything. Anti just stuck his tongue out at Dark and they all went to work painting. JJ and Wilford painted bubbles to both roofs, Dark and Anti made yellow and blue stripes to the second floor and after those were done, made a candy-cane type swirl with blue on the bottom roof’s support beams. 

“Are we late?” Edward called out as he and Henrik walked into the yard. 

“Oh! Hello.” JJ straightened up when he saw the two, Sniffles still in his hair and sleeping. “More hello.” He added, seeing Google, Bing, Marvin, Chase, Robbie, Host, Bim, and Yandere coming to the yard as well. “What are you all doing here?” 

“We’re still coming!” Phantom shouted with a laugh as he rushed over with Jackie. Mare, Mad, Blank, CJ, and RJ were following them. 

“Why is everyone here?” JJ asked, looking at Wilford. 

“For the grand finale of Sniffles’ home,” Wilford said, gesturing for JJ to go over to the crowd of friends. 

“I knew he had something more planned,” Dark said softly to Anti as they walked over as well. 

“Allow me to first.” Wilford grabbed a bottle of black spray paint and he went to the front of the little house, shaking the bottle before popping off the lid and spraying on the house:

Sniffles Jackson-Warfstache

“Ta-da!” Wilford bowered when he was done. 

“Jackson-Warfstache?” Mad placed a hand to his face and tilted his head. “Isn’t it common for last names to be hyphenated together like that when people get married and don’t want to only have one last name?” 

“And this is why I invited you over, my smart lad.” Wilford chuckled, heading over to JJ. “He’s a little blunter than even I am.” He added before going down on one knee, getting some gasps from the others. “And I knew I’d have an active audience.” Wilford reached into his pocket and took out a small box. 

“You are not.” JJ took Sniffles off of his head, already tearing up. 

“We’ve been together for many years and lived together for so long as well. I can’t see a future without you in it so I only found it right-” Wilford opened the box and a ring was shown, a gold band with flawless round red rubies inside. “-to ask you to be mine forever. JJ, will you do me the honor of-”

“Yes!” JJ jumped. “Yes, yes, yes!” 

“You’re supposed to let him-” Google was stopped by Bing putting a hand over his mouth. 

“Yes!” Wilford jumped up and hugged JJ tightly, spinning around with him. “He said yes!” Sniffles let out a squeak. “Oh! Sorry, little buddy.” Wilford let JJ go. “You’re going to make a great ring-bunny.” 

“I have a feeling this wedding is going to be...chaotic.” Dark sighed.

“And you’re going to be one of the best men.” Anti bumped Dark with his hip.

“Shit.” 

---------------------------------------- Tag List: @shadowkitten0321 @trinitybob12 I’m also tagging @theprinceofflies because I know they love this ship <3

[kettle-on]

All right, here we go. My first Monty Python fanfic, and only my second attempt at writing fanfiction since 2005. Bear with me.

This one is Eric/Mike/OFC. I do hope you enjoy! Here’s Chapter 1 of I don’t know how many yet, and it’s a bit of a slow start.

Chapter 1/? January 1978 Heron Bay, Barbados

          As the taxi pulled away and he got his first deep inhale of ocean air, Michael Palin quickly discovered he’d made a very good choice indeed to join his friends and colleagues for a working holiday in Barbados.

          At first, the idea of travelling abroad just to continue working around a table on their typewriters had seemed mostly unnecessary and rather expensive. Together with Terry Jones, he believed they’d made – as usual – the sober and sensible choice to stay at home in England and finish the script for their next film there. Much more convenient and economical.

          Unfortunately (or, fortunately, in this case), their colleagues Eric Idle and John Cleese could boast enough enthusiasm to coax Terry’s curiosity, and bend even Michael’s righteousness. Now they found themselves outside an enormous coral stone villa, and surrounded by trees and grasses that reached up into the bluest blue sky that either of them had ever seen.

          An elaborate Victorian door creaked open, and from inside emerged a red-faced John, an especially golden Eric, and the rarely seen but often spoken-of Y/N, who Eric had now been seeing for many months and with whom he declared he fell instantly in love.

          “So you’ve come to join us at last, have you?” called John, striding toward them and lazily wrapping a warm drunken arm around Terry’s shoulders. “Did you really need quite so much convincing?”

          “I suppose I did, yes. Mike not so much,” Terry admitted, coolly slipping free of the Cleese grip. He surveyed the impressive stonework and columns in front of him, and slowly he, too, warmed to the idea of a working holiday in the sun.

          “How are you both?” Eric greeted them in an unusually relaxed tone. Clearly the combination of sunshine, warmth, and probably a good woman by his side had done wonders for him.

          “I hope the trip was awful,” he added.

          “Absolutely dreadful,” said Michael, “I’d packed all twelve of my favourite books, ready for the flight, and hardly got past a chapter before I conked right out and missed everything.”

          He could feel the jet lag slowly sinking in, but a warm laugh from Eric and Y/N kept Michael alert, and he gazed wide-eyed at his surroundings.

          “You’re looking well, Y/N,” he said, taking in her now familiar appearance.

          “It’s so good to see you, Mike,” she replied with a disarming smile, and tried to remember when they’d last seen each other in person. “That’ll be all this sunshine and fresh air, I think.”

          “Yeah, sunshine, eh? What a concept!” said Eric, “Christ, if I never see snow again, I’ll be a happy man for the rest of my life.”

          “I suppose it does have its charms,” Terry conceded, already very pleased that they’d decided to travel after all. “Come on John, show me where I can find whatever it is that’s got you like that.” 

          His and John’s voices followed them through the door and down a corridor, echoing off of the stone walls and floors as they headed to the nearest drinks trolley for a cocktail.

          “Ooh yes, that’s a good idea,” squeaked Eric. “Now come on, love, I’ll show you to your room.”

          “You’ll do what?” Mike exclaimed with pretend outrage, “You mean I’ve come all this way, to this big grand mansion which has seen the likes of Churchill himself, and I don’t even get to choose my own room?”

          “Well, I figured if I left it up to you, darling, you’d wanna kip with me, and we can’t be having that,” replied Eric in his favourite Mumsie voice. “Well, not just yet, anyway,” he quietly added with an exaggerated wink.

          Even on holiday, the lads of Monty Python took any opportunity to jump into character.

          “Oh Mike, you’ll just love it,” Y/N encouraged, herself adopting a strange and posh character of her own creation. “There’s a simply marvelous view of the road from your room. Truly inspiring!”

          Michael returned her phony sentiment with a squinty, full-cheeked smile and shifted his bag strap onto his shoulder before following Eric up the front steps and indoors. Y/N stayed behind, choosing to give the two old pals some time to catch up alone.

          “I still think we could finish the script much more quickly in London, but I see why this place is so enticing.” Michael conceded to Eric, who had returned to the soft and kindred version of himself that Michael knew very well, but only ever when they were alone. In a crowd, Eric was loud and gregarious, with endless jokes and witticisms to keep his company rolling with laughter. But there was a side of him, reserved for only his closest confidantes, that was quiet, thoughtful, and romantic. Here was the man behind the madness.

          “Pretty special, eh? I told you you’d have to see it for yourself.” Eric smiled. “I dunno if it’s the walls, or the porticos, or something about the way the breezes sweep the sun in through the windows… I think this must be what being a god feels like, y’know? Do whatever you please, driven by nature and desire, with absolutely no thought as to the consequences. Brilliant.”

          “That’ll be the Jagger effect, then,” said Michael, hinting at his friend’s rockstar associations.

          “The what?”

          Michael looked at him with all-knowing raised eyebrows.

          “Do you – do you know?” Eric questioned with hushed concern. Mick Jagger of The Rolling Stones had asked Eric’s help in hiding him and model Jerry Hall somewhere beautiful and discreet, out of view of the press and public. Jerry was the girlfriend of singer Bryan Ferry, and in a very rock ‘n roll fashion, they had met up, gotten cozy, and ran off together. They were staying nearby in a fairly glamorous hut, and Eric and Y/N had already been enjoying villa visits and beach terrace dinners with the scandalous couple for a few weeks.

          “Of course I know. You bloody well told me, you silly fool!” Michael tutted, and recalled a phone conversation he’d had with a fairly drunken Eric a fortnight earlier:

          “‘Come on, Mikey,’ you said, ‘you’ll love it down here. Mick’s here with Bryan Ferry’s girlfriend, and we’ve all got our tits out!’”

          “Blimey. Trust me, eh?”

          “Never mind, Eric. Your secret’s safe with me,” Michael assured him with a sturdy pat on his shoulder before turning into what he decided would be his room for the length of his stay.

[eirabach]

Steady As You Go [2/3]

The further adventures of Gordy’s leather trousers for @olliepig and @mrmustachious and @badthingshappenbingo. TW: Implied Drugging / Spiking, Drinking, and the aftermath of violence. 

It’s actually not as bad as it sounds, honestly, I’m just cautious as fuck.

Prompt Gordon + Caught in an Explosion + Penelope (+ jealousy + disaster bisexual)

Gordon doesn’t bring the next bottle to the table, nor the one after that. They just seem to appear, dropped from the darkness by a large, calloused hand to be poured into glasses and down throats at a rate that would make even the most rum-hardened sailor of Gordon’s acquaintance quake with nauseous horror.

Well, some throats.

One throat. Probably.

Penelope, for her part, tips the glass to her lips often enough but her eyes are sharp, her bursts of laughter far too perfectly timed to be anything but by design.

Gordon's playing it a little more -- fast and loose.

Playing is probably the operative word.

He really can’t drink any more of this stuff though, because otherwise he’s likely to fall right off his perch on the arm of the sofa and Penny -- Penny will be mad. Penny kinda already looks mad. Huh. She lifts the glass to her mouth again, narrowing those over-dark eyes as she does so. Mr Gonna-Be-Arrested turns to beckon at one of the two giant goons that are lingering at the edges of Gordon’s vision, and Penny tosses the majority of the glass over her shoulder where it lands - presumably - in a puddle of other sticky, liquidy stuff that some poor sap will have to mop up in the cold light of day. Her eyes flick to Gordon’s own glass and one tightly drawn eyebrow ticks up. Oh. Oh.

He flicks his wrist.

It’s uh. It’s the wrong wrist.

Mr International-Crime jumps up, shaking little sparkles of champagne from his hands. The goons move in closer, fists tight in the flashing lights.

“Oh dear,” Penny sneers. “What an awful mess!”

Gordon would stick his tongue out at her, but there’s a soggy guy blocking his view and anyway it was her idea.

"Oh, whoops!" He pats at Marc's -- because that's his name, apparently, and apparently he thinks Gordon ought to use it -- freshly dampened trouser leg, "Oh man, gosh I'm so sorry boss! Uh --"

“Now, now,” Marc tuts, and one sticky hand covers Gordon’s. Holds it there, against the damp heat of his thigh. “That wasn’t very nice was it?” He smiles, leers, and half of Gordon knows that this is not at all a good thing. The other, somewhat tipsy, half thinks it looks like quite the promise. He might be Penny’s mark, with all the associations that Gordon’s spent several months trying not to think about,  but it’s Gordon who finds himself caressed by one of those sticky hands. Marc’s cool fingers step down his throat, tilt his chin up, and this -- this really wasn’t the plan at all, but Gordon is nothing but adaptable. In every sense.

Either way, he’s gotta get this guy out of this club somehow.

He licks his lips, sends a silent prayer up that Scott never ever hears about this. “Maybe I just want to get you out of the suit.”

“Oh, is that --”

It’s not the first time he’s had a demijohn of very expensive alcohol poured over his head. 

At least it’s not televised this time.

Gordon splutters in shock, shuddering as leatherette sticks uncomfortably under the unexpected shower. Marc for his part, is staring at something over his head, mouth agape. Gordon twists around, but his protest dies on the tip of his tongue.

“As entertaining as it is watching you flirt with the lower orders, we have business to attend to.” Penelope tosses her wig over her shoulder, and drops the empty bottle onto the couch beside him. Gordon blinks champagne out of his eyes and tries to catch hers, but her focus is entirely on Marc, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol she hasn’t drunk. “Or is my money not as interesting as this -- “ her eyes finally flick down to meet his for half a second. “Boy.”

“Hey lady,” Gordon snaps, “it’s the twenty first century, don’t get jealous.”

Penelope’s cheeks flush a little darker. 

“Marc?”

“Of course -- I --” Marc pushes a damp curl off Gordon’s forehead and honestly it’s kinda a shame that he’s a bad guy because there would have been a time -- still. Marc pulls a keycard from his pocket, pushes it into Gordon’s hand. “Here, go upstairs. When I get back we can have a little chat about your career prospects.”

He bites back the FAB, but doesn’t quite manage to restrain himself from a sloppy sort of salute as he half staggers to his feet. There’s an unpleasant squelching as he does so, and he must have drunk a lot more than he thought because he sways on the spot, the room blurring in and out of focus. Someone, a large, calloused, someone, takes hold of his elbow. 

“‘K, I -- hey, I can -- I can --” Penny and Marc fade into the shadows at the edge of his vision, and then he’s outside, released to slide against the rough brickwork of the alleyway, the night air freezing against his exposed skin. “Hey!”

The dark mountain of a man who’s dropped him outside pauses, but doesn’t turn around. 

“Where’s -- where’s the stairs?”

“If you can find ‘em, up you go,” grumbles the mountain, “Otherwise, I suggest you watch out for the wildlife.” 

A door opens into a world of light and sound, slams behind him, and Gordon thinks -- Gordon thinks --

“What the bleedin’ ‘ell happened to you? Get that bloody thing off!”

Gordon squints into the darkness. Something grey and grubby looking floats in front of him. Two somethings. One and a half. There’s a sharp pain in his neck, and his vision clears enough for him to see the grubby grey things coalesce into Parker, his face screwed up in disgust, a clear bit of plastic hanging from one gloved finger. Gordon rubs at the sore patch and glares up at him.

“What was that for? What’s that?”

“What’s --” he rolls his eyes. “For a group of smart young lads you ain’t ‘arf sheltered. Someone took a shine to you, did they?”

Gordon’s never been ashamed of who he is, never, but he finds the thought of coming out to Parker while wearing wet leather in a grubby alleyway is just a little bit beyond his comfort zone. 

“Uh, he --”

“Take an old man’s advice, lad. Don’t go on a second date,” Parker says sagely, and taps his nose. Then he stands, peers out toward the main road. “Where’s ‘er Ladyship?”

A sharp drill seems to have started up right behind Gordon’s right eyebrow and he forces his fist into his temple as he gets to his feet.

“Leaving, I think. Deal’s on.”

Parker drops the square of plastic to the floor and crushes it beneath the heel of his boot.

“Grand.” He claps his hands together, and shrugs off the battered old overcoat he’d been wearing. “I’ll be orf, then. You ok lad?”

Not really, is the answer, but Gordon has Marc’s keycard in his pocket and he knows that if Penny’s operation is to come off she’s gonna need all the evidence she can get. After all they know from hard experience that catching them red-handed rarely seems to be enough.

“Yeah, sure.” Parker holds out the coat, but it smells kinda funky and Gordon shakes his head. “S’ok, I got -- got a plan.”

Parker peers at him, then sighs. “If you say so. Miss Kayo nearby?”

“Totally,” Gordon assures him. “Go. Penny will need you.”

Parker hums, hesitates a moment longer before grabbing at a nearby rusted shopping trolley filled with more of the funky smelling grey fabric. As Gordon watches the fabric shifts, falling away to reveal a complex looking piece of flashing, bleeping electronics. God, his head hurts. 

“Don’t you fret, Mr Gordon,” Parker assures him as he pulls a remote control from the machinery. “I’ll see to her.”

From high, high above them comes the whine of engines, and they both look up to see FAB1, black as the sky above, hovering over the alleyway. Her VTOLs fill the alley with an unearthly blue light, and in it Gordon sees the carefully cut staircase that leads up and away and into the shadowy building above. 

“Right,” he says. “Right.” 

--

He’d lingered long enough to see Parker and his fancy machinery safely away in FAB1, waiting until he’s sure that he’s alone before approaching the staircase. His head is pounding and his legs are still feeling strange, but he presses upward regardless, keeping one hand on the brick wall to steady himself as the ground falls away. He doesn’t even see the door at first, only the flash of a red light then the green as his keycard passes over it, and he’s not beyond admitting the relief that he feels as it opens inwards and he half falls in.

How long do arms deals take, exactly? He could use a nap.

Except -- Except, oh. Someone may have beaten him to it.

“Hello?”

The feet at the end of the hallway don’t move from where they’re pointing up to the vaulted ceiling. Smart shoes, but not over polished. The cuffs of a pair of dark trousers just visible over navy socks.

When they were kids John always used to say that Gordon was too stupid to feel fear, and sometimes, sometimes that was probably true. Sorta. He's always been more about the rush, the adrenaline, fear to him has rarely been a baseline negative anyway. It works for him. Mostly.

Thunderbird four surveys the corridor. Spots the darkly spreading stain on the wooden flooring. Slows his pace to a stop. The air smells like rust and sulphur, the silence is thick as blood.

There’s an old style umbrella stand just beyond the door, and he takes hold of it, grips the central pillar tight as he takes another step forward.

“My name’s Gordon,” he calls. “I’m here to help. Can you answer me?” 

He reaches the end of the corridor, umbrella stand extended like a rapier and the answer -- well, the answer is no.

The man, or what’s left of him, lies sprawled on his back, glazed eyes and mouth wide in a silent scream, russet dried in thick rivulets around the gaping wound in his chest and where it had poured from him to pool around his feet. There’s a gun still loosely held in one blue hand. Safety off. One in the chamber.

He’d been prepared, but too slow on the draw. Poor bastard.

Gordon drops his umbrella stand and reaches down to peel the stiff fingers away from the gun, He clicks the safety back on, and stuffs it, as best as he can manage, into the waistband of his trousers. Unsure of what else to use under the circumstances, he unbuttons his sticky, sodden waistcoat and lays it gently over the staring, screaming face.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I really am.”

He has to bodily force himself back up to his feet, his body aching something rotten, but it doesn’t matter, not compared to the spark of absolute dread that burns through him as he looks around the apartment proper.

It's wrecked.

Every drawer, every table is tipped over, their contents scattered far and wide and battered by what looks like several pairs of boot prints. There's gunpowder streaked up the walls, smatterings of red brown across overturned sofas, and maybe Gordon ought to give his dead guy a little bit more credit. 

Maybe he's just a shit shot.

Glass crunches underfoot as Gordon cautiously pushes on the closest, half shut door. Behind it lies the bedroom, simple enough with bare brick walls and a grey coverlet on the king size bed, but it's not much better than the rest of the place, not really. The wardrobes are open, contents spilling all over the floor, a pair of handcuffs and a sheet of those funny little bits of plastic hanging from the bedside cabinet -- and wires, dozens of wires, pulled from the ceiling, from the walls and amongst it all, the only life in the whole godforsaken place, a tiny, holographic image of Penny with the words sale agreed flashing above her dark head and beside her, scrawled on a light type by another hand:

That damn girl.

And half drunk and half naked, sticky and cold and yeah, probably coming down from something, with a dead body in the next room and in the middle of a gangland battlefield, that’s the moment Gordon Tracy finally, truly feels fear.

[noire-pandora]

The Night Shift.

Another prompt from this prompt list. Also on my AO3

Soldiers Adrian and Madris meet with the Inquisitor Lavellan at night.

Words:  2682

Warnings: None.Adrian shivered in the chill of the night as he waited in the courtyard for his instructor to appear. Ferelden might be his birthplace, but the cold of Skyhold shocked him. He'd felt the cruel bite of the winters, but never this far and never this deep, but he chose to be here, in the heart of winter. For the first time, he decided what to do with his life, and it looked like the right choice. He had a roof under his head, three hot meals a day and a considerable payment. The payment amazed him. At first, he thought the rumours of the Inquisitor's generosity were just rumours. He never expected it when he signed the papers to join the Inquisition. And to top it all, his superiors seemed friendly enough, and no one yelled at him until now.   

"Here you are, soldier," a voice boomed behind him, and he almost yelped. He turned around and saw a tall, well-built elf, smiling at him with a spotless armour. Blue eyes shined in the dark, studying him, and Adrian straightened his back, eager to impress the man. 

"My name is Madris, and I am here to instruct you on how to be a proper soldier for the Inquisition," he said, holding out his hand to shake Adrian's. As they shook hands, Adrian felt the calluses built upon the man's skin over the years of hard work. Instantly, he understood why the Inquisitor trusted the elf with the new soldiers. 

"I am Adrian," he answered. "Thank you for letting me work here. I am grateful." 

"I'm not the one to thank, kid. The Inquisitor is the one who accepts the new soldiers. She read your papers and found you fit for the army. I'm here to teach you. Let's take a walk around, and I'll show you the main buildings. You might already know some of them." 

They strolled around Skyhold, and Madris told Adrian everything to know about every location and who frequented them. Adrian struggled to remember all the facts.  He had no idea who Iron Bull and Leliana are. At least, not yet.

 "Things are calmer for the night watch," Madris continued, as they made their way to the battlements. People sleep, and guests don't come at night. That being said, it doesn't mean the nights are boring. Sometimes, the Inquisitor and her party arrive late at night after a mission. You have to pay attention to that and call the healers, in case the party needs one."

The Inquisitor! Adrian heard many rumours about her and her adventures. He wondered if one day he'd get the chance to see her from afar. 

"Your job is to pay attention. After the attack on Haven, the Inquisitor and the Commander have been adamant about this. They need watchful eyes everywhere, eyes that can see and assess any danger in a few seconds. Do you think you can do that, kid?"

"Yes, ser!"

Adrian's confidence grew as he heard those words. He had worked as a fisherman since the age of fourteen. He spent hours and hours staring at the water, his mind in total concentration. He doubted, looking over a yard could be worse than fishing.

"If you see anything suspicious, no matter how small it may look, you have to report it to your shift supervisor even if you might be wrong. Better to apologize than die by the hand of the enemy. Understood?"

"Yes, ser!"

Madris abruptly stopped and looked again at Adrian. "You know, kid, you can say something else, I'm not going to eat you."

"I-I'm sorry, ser," Adrian stuttered. "I'm still getting the hang of things."

"It's all right. I don't blame you. Being a part of the Inquisition's army might be a bit overwhelming, but things aren't that scary. Relax, take a deep breath in. No one is going to judge or hurt you. You aren't working for a mad noble who might slap you at any moment. The Inquisitor threatened us not to use any punishment methods with our recruits. A pity, if you ask me, a good beating always helped. But then again, what she doesn't know……"

Adrian's eyes widened with fear, and Madris laughed. "You should have seen your face, kid, hilarious. I'd never do that. I don't want to infuriate the Herald. She can be scary when she gets mad. As long as you do your work diligently, no one will bother you." 

Adrian gave an awkward smile and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. He almost believed the elf, and he felt like a fool for falling for it. But his worries faded away as he saw the view from the battlements. Everywhere he looked, snow blanketed the magnificent mountains. The light shining from the stars and the moon covered the surroundings into a gentle, mysterious light, and he gasped, his soul moved by the infinity of the mountains which seemed to be touching the sky. 

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Madris whispered. "I've been here for six months, but I'll never get tired of the view."

They stood in silence for a few minutes, watching the starry night and the mountains. Adrian slowly turned around to take in every corner of nature, afraid he might miss a part of its beauty. Suddenly, a creaking broke the silence, and a faint light caught his attention. A door opened in the courtyard and he leaned on the battlements railing to take a better look at the mysterious night guest: a person crossed the yard, wandering with unhurried steps and stopped from time to time.

"Who's that?" he inquired.

"That's the Inquisitor," Madris answered, following him to glance at the person below them. 

"The Inquisitor? At this late hour? Why?" 

"I don't know," Madris shrugged. "She does that from time to time. Popping around at odd times, talking aloud and practising speeches. Sometimes she sits on a rock and draws."

Adrian hummed as he continued to watch the Inquisitor. He could see her perfectly as the full moon shone its light above Skyhold. With a pouch on her shoulder, she looked around, as if searching for something. When her eyes reached their location, she smiled and waved at them. Adrian crouched down behind the stone wall, terrified by the sudden attention.

"It's polite to answer back when someone is waving at you, kid. Especially the Inquisitor," Madris said, his smile never wavering. 

In the few seconds it took Adrian to get back on his feet, the Inquisitor disappeared. He looked around, but he could not spot her. He sighed. He made a fool of himself in front of his instructor and the Inquisitor. 

Madris patted him on the back and grinned. "It's all right, kid. She won't mind it. She's a kind lady."

"How's she like?" Adrian whispered, disappointment in his voice. 

"Hmmm, how's she like?" Madris repeated, a frown knitting his eyebrows. He rubbed his chin, clearly deep in thought. "I don't even know how to begin. She's something else. You have to meet her to understand her but--" he stopped, his hand leaving his face, and he turned to look at someone behind Adrian. His posture hardened from a relaxed stance to a soldier like stance: back straight, hands behind his back, chin up, chest out, shoulders back. 

Adrian turned to see the Inquisitor approaching them, a smile on her lips, the satchel hitting her hip as she stepped. He panicked, unsure if he should mimic his instructor. Before he could react, the Inquisitor stopped next to them. Her smile turned into a smirk. 

"Really, Madris? Still doing that after six months? I told you already; you don't have to do...that," she said, waving a hand at him. "Just relax, I'm not going to order you around." 

Madris relaxed, his shoulders dropped, and he rubbed the back of his neck, a small blush staining his cheeks. "Sorry, old habits die hard. My old commander kicked me in the shins every time I forgot to adopt the correct position." 

Elluin rolled her eyes and sighed. "Well, I'm not a power-thirsty old man. Or you're still unsure of that?" 

Madris smirked at her remark. "I'm a bit unsure about the old man part, Inquisitor." 

Adrian's eyes widened at his comment, fearing for the well being of the man, but the Inquisitor just laughed, lightly slapping the elf's shoulder. He blinked a few times, unsure if he should say something.  

"And who might you be?" the Inquisitor asked Adrian. "New soldier?"

Before Adrian could answer, Madris jumped in, his hand grabbing his shoulders and pushing him in front of the Inquisitor. "Yes, this is Adrian. Smart lad, you're going to like him. Adrian, say hello to your boss." 

"N-nice to meet you," he stammered, his mind still working to catch up with the events.  

"You joined three days ago, right?" Elluin asked Adrian.

"Yes, ser."

"Ah, I wish I've been there to greet you, but the meeting with the nobles dragged on, and I couldn't leave. I hope Cullen -the Commander- explained everything to you." 

"Yes, sir." 

Elluin's eyebrows rose. "I know my title sounds daunting, but I'm not that different from you and Madris here. I'm not going to yell at you and order you around." She turned to face Madris. "I can't believe I have to say this to every recruit. I should wear a placard on my back with  `I won't bite you, I promise` written of it." 

A snort escaped Adrian's lips, and he saw the Inquisitor's smile growing wider at his reaction. Still, being in the company of the Inquisitor left him speechless. 

"How old are you, Adrian?" Elluin spoke again, facing him again. "You look quite young." 

"I'm twenty years old, ser." 

"Twenty?" she exclaimed. "Do your parents know you are here, working for us?" 

"No, sir" he whispered.

"I understand running away from home to join a military organization and save the world might sound exciting, but you should let them know. I am sure they are terrified and miss you,", she said in a harsh, scolding tone.

"They are dead, ser." 

A brief pause followed before Elluin spoke again, the harshness completely disappearing from her voice. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. What happened?"

"It's all right, ser, no harm done. They died ten years ago, in the Blight. The Darkspawns attacked us. My father died, fighting the monsters, and my mother died slowly, infected by their bad blood. I escaped with grandma. She passed a month ago, of old age. I am all alone and decided to join you, make a fair coin, maybe help around a bit." 

Adrian had no idea why he poured his heart out to a stranger, but something in the Inquisitor's eyes made him feel safe enough to tell her everything. He waited as the woman in front of him examined him, her forest green like eyes scanned him as if to read his soul. His eyes avoided her stare, his fingers playing with the material of his sleeve. 

"I lost someone in the Bligh too," she finally said. "My adoptive father. He taught me everything there is to know about the world. The Darkspawns got to him."

"I am sorry, ser." He finally dared to look in her eyes. There he saw sorrow, the same pain he saw in his eyes when his reflection in the mirror stared back at him. "It never gets easier, "he found himself speaking. "They say it gets easier as time passes, that the pain fades, but it never does. Isn't, ser?"

The Inquisitors nodded. "It never does."

Adrian awkwardly smiled at her, and she answered back with a deep sigh. Silence shrouded them as the Inquisitor stared at the sky, and he wondered what her Elven eyes saw there. 

"Can I sketch you?" she abruptly asked, looking back at him. 

"S-sketch me?" he asked, baffled by the sudden change in subject.

"Yes! I went out tonight to sketch, but I didn't find anything interesting. You don't have to say yes if you don't want to. I won't mind it at all." 

"No one ever asked to sketch me until now. Sure, Inquisitor." 

"Thanks!"

Adrian watched her as she rummaged in her satchel, struggling to reach for something in there. A few items rattled loudly, and he wondered what she hid in there. With an "aha" she took out a sketchbook and a few pieces of charcoal. She sat on the cold ground, her legs tucked under her, and opened the small sketchbook. He watched her alarmed, once again, not knowing what he should do. 

His confusion must have been evident, for the Inquisitor nodded and gestured towards him. "You don't have to do anything special. I'll sketch you quickly; it won't take long."

Andrian nodded and awkwardly waited, uncertain what to do with himself or with his hands. He decided to put them behind his back. He looked around, careful not to stare at the Inquisitor, but the sound of the charcoal rubbing on the page grabbed his attention. Her nimble fingers moved with an elegance and a speed he never saw until now. He watched, fascinated how his face, albeit upside down, took form: his oval face first, his small neck, then eyes, nose, lips and his hair. It took her only five minutes to capture his features on paper. 

"I'm done for now. This is just the basic stuff I can do fast, don't want to keep you. But I can work on it today, use a bit of colour too. And I can make two of them, one for you too if you want," she explained, as she removed a strand of hair from her eyes, her fingers leaving a trace of charcoal on her forehead and Adrian had to suppress a giggle. 

"Thank you, Inquisitor. I'd like a copy of it." 

"Hey, that's not fair!" Madris spoke again. Adrian almost jumped; his sudden intervention startling him. He almost forgot about the instructor. 

"You never did my portrait! Don't I deserve one?" 

Elluin chuckled, and she flipped the page of her sketchbook. "You never asked for one. Stay put; I'll make one for you right now."

Adrian watched again, fascinated by how a few lines and circles can transform into the face of a man. He never had the chance to watch an artist at work until now, and he found the process mesmerizing. He wondered if he could learn how to do that.

"Here," the Inquisitor said after another five minutes. 

Madrid got closer to her to look at the sketch, and he smirked. "Oh, you made me handsome." 

"I only draw what I see." 

Madris snorted, and he held out his hand to help her get up. Elluin put her sketchbook back in her bag before reaching for his hand. Her back popped a few times, but she ignored it. 

"Thanks for letting me sketch you, both of you. I'll come back tomorrow night and give you the complete drawing. I should go now before I get scolded for not sleeping. Again. See you tomorrow." 

She waved again and left in a hurry, her hair fluttering in the wind.  Adrian wondered who dared to scold the Inquisitor. 

"Well, she's something, huh?" Madris asked Adrian. "Meeting her is always a new experience. Told you she isn't that scary."

"She's strange," Adrian replied before thinking. "I mean, not in a bad way! Just….I never expected that from the Inquisitor. I've heard tales of her fighting a dragon and a god." 

"Those tales are true, kid. I saw that with my own two eyes. But just because someone can fight a dragon, it doesn't mean they have to be assholes."

"I suppose so." 

"So, are you going to come back tomorrow night, recruit Adrian?" Madris asked him, examining him thoughtfully. 

Adrian nodded and smiled nervously at him. "Yes, ser. I will."

Finally, he found a purpose in life, a good cause to fight for: a new home and a leader who deserves respect.

[tarry-a-lot]

French Musical Recommendations/review (Part 2)

I should have mentioned in part 1 but I don't speak French (well a bit but not enough to understand the lyrics unless I’m reading it or something) so if the lyrics aren’t that good my bad I honestly wouldn’t know, 

Also this is in no particular order, I don't think all the shows mentioned in part 1 are better than the ones mentioned here, there will be a part 3 at some point

1789 Les amantes de la Bastille: I think this may be my second or third (ties with Mozart) favourite French musical based solely on soundtrack, it’s about the siege of the Bastille and the days leading up to it with a focus on two lovers Ronan a revolutionary and Olympe Marie Antoinette’s children’s governess (the actress who played Olympe was also Guinevere in roi Arthur musical), my favourite songs are “Sur ma peau” and “La rue nous apparent” it is available in full on YouTube, IMPORTANT: This show has two endings, I don’t want to spoil so perhaps skip what I’m about to write though I will try to be vague: the scene before the song “fixe” at the end, the two characters switch place mattering on which version your watching, one version was done towards the start of the run and late 2013 they seemed to have made the change, the full version uploaded and the dvd have the original ending (I personally prefer the original but the other is not bad as well). also in 2012 when the show was staring with the showcase costumes are really different and you’ll find Ronan is played by Matthieu Carnot who plays Lazare in the full production later on instead because he had vocal issues resulting in getting replaced and given a more minor role (I think he’s great in his new role though, “Maniaque” is a bop)

Non-music: I have yet to see it in full but from clips the lighting is great and really adds to the songs and emotions, the story is pretty straightforward but nice, and the choreography is good from what I’ve seen, also for a “historical” show the costumes aren’t that bad, I would assume not accurate but a good balance of inaccurate and historical looking enough

Japanese Toho ver. (1789 バスティーユの恋人たち) 2016 clips are available on YouTube, the costumes in this version is fun, it’s non-replica but they really went off on Olympe’s costume, I will be honest a little bit sad about Ronan’s yellow jacket being replaced with a dark blue, also one of the Ronan actors (Olympe, Ronan and Marie-Antoinette are double casted) looks too old, especially compared to other Ronan actor who really has the young energetic vibe about him (though if memory serves me correctly his sur ma peau was strangely annoying to listen to)

Takarazuka ver. 2015, clips are available on YouTube if Japanese title along with “宝塚“ is added in search

Notre-Dame de Paris: a musical based on Victor Hugo’s novel of the same name, it is different from the Disney musical, this is another popular French show, if you like Romeo et Juliette you’ll probably like this, it can found in full on YouTube along with different translations/adaptions, I won’t go to in depth on different version on here like I did for R+J but if your interested the Wikipedia page is quite detailed and can tell you about all the casts and cast recording available, I have yet to watch it in full but so far I think Belle and Le temps des cathédrales are my favourite songs (quite basic I know), it’s one of those shows you can’t go wrong with, from the parts I’ve watched and listened I think it could become one of my favourite shows

Non music: From the bits I’ve seen the wall backdrop is really cool, It has nooks and platforms that appear and disappear and it’s just really cool looking, WARNING, this is a bit of the spoiler so maybe don't read what I’m about to write but if you’ve read the book its not that much of a spoiler but there is a hanging scene at the end so if that imagery is something your sensitive to please be wary, it’s at the end (on the YouTube video of the full original show its from 2:03:42-2:03:54)

Don Juan: I love this show (I strangely found parts funny and a bit cheesy which is why I liked it), It’s pretty much about a man Don Juan who is a know heartbreaker who is only into sex drinking and having fun but no love, he then falls in love with a woman, shocker, and conflicts arise from there, honestly I don’t see a lot of content for this show but I think it’s fun, the dancing is primarily flamenco (music is heavily inspired by the dance as well) and it’s impressive, the singing is great, the full show is available on YouTube, my favourite songs are probably “Les fleurs du mal” and “Jalousie,”  It opened in Montreal originally then went to Paris, the full show is available on YouTube (I think the Paris version) and there is also a full 3 and half hour behind the scenes video of the Paris production online, from what I can tell up till the symphony version of 2019 Don Juan and his love Maria has been consistently played by Jean-François Breau and Marie-Ève Janvier (obviously there were understudies and such) the actors are also married/were dating during the show which adds to it when you see them perform together 

Non-Music: a character described with black hair in the song chorus is blonde/brunette and I thought that was hilarious, some strange choreography with Don Juan especially in Jalousie, he walks up and down stage and it’s awkward, aside from weird parts in general the costumes are ok (gets better in later productions), the set is plain but with some fun props, I think the dancing is probably one of the highlights along with the live band present on stage for certain songs (photo from Quebec 2013 production) 

Don Juan (Théâtre St-Denis) 2004 Montreal, also had Canada tour after its Montreal premier in Feb.

France Tour 2005 Palais des Congrès à Paris performance recording and behind the scenes is available on YouTube 

Korean Tour 2006, the French cast touring, non-costume concert versions and actual performance clips are available on Youtube

Korean Cast, 2009 (March~) (뮤지컬 돈 주앙) separate from the tour which was the French cast touring this is an all Korean cast, act 1 and 2 can be found on YouTube (video called “돈쥬앙 1막“ and “돈쥬앙 2막“) though it seems to cut around so It’s like a pieced together version of the acts, other clips are also available, it is a replica production

2012 revival Montreal, from what I read it only had 10 performances? and with it released a cd with new recordings, “nous on veut de l'amour“ and “L'amour Est Plus Fort“ 

Grand Théâtre de Québec 2013 (August 9-18), you could call this a continuation to the revival in Montreal 

Takarazuka ver. 2016 (June+July) (ドン・ジュアン) the page is still up on the takarazuka website for this production, there’s a ad with clips from the show available on niconico (should come up if you search the title in jp and add takarazuka in jp) also this version Don Juan is strangely more touchy with his friend, not mad guess it adds a new tension to the plot, non replica production though it is quite similar to the French one, they don’t stray too far

Don Juan Symphonique 2019 (Feb 12-16): At the Montreal Symphony House they had a concert version with the original cast (or at least the original Don Juan and Maria), along with the OSM (Orchestre Symphonique de Montréal)

Japanese ver. 2019 (August/September + December) it’s non-replica, there’s a trailer for it online but it only features Don Juan, I found blog posts about it but currently while I write this it’s late so perhaps I’ll update with more info later, maybe not

Moscow Concert 2020 (March 17-22) (Дон Жуан or Don Juan) This is still in French with a French cast but this time the leads are no longer the original, Laurent Ban is now Don Juan, supposedly according to a Russian video it was meant to go on tour after Moscow (State Kremlin Palace) but I’m assuming the issue with the virus changed plans, I’m surprised they were going to go on world tour I honestly think it’s not true, the interview with cast can be found on YouTube with bits of songs, however the Russian concert advertisement is only a recording from the 2005 French, from what I can tell it is a replica, I believe it was cancelled before the premier due to Covid-19

The research for this show took me all day, maybe if I was fluent in French it would have been faster, if I’m wrong in parts feel free to comment and correct me and I’ll edit it

Les Trois Mousquetaires: Not to be mistaken with the Broadway/Westend show of the same name and base material from 1928 with the revival in the 80′s or the other three musketeer musical at the North Shore theatre in 2007 (the one with Aaron Tveit and Kevyn Morrow), or the other musical by George Stiles and Paul Leigh, this is an entirely separate 2016-2017 musical that follows the general plot of the literature it’s based on though simplified, it’s ok, not great but not the worst, I probably would rank it lower than roi Arthur, I will admit I haven’t listened to the full show, it’s quite catchy, my favourite song so far is probably “Je t’aime c’est tout,” there is a showcase concert in full, music videos and official soundtracks available on YouTube but I would advise checking out the live versions, the ensemble backing parts are really great and they get cut out in the recording versions which really cheapens the songs for me, In general ok show, really not the best but has its highlights (like the four lads relationship is fun to watch, dancing is great, singing is good), 

Non-Music: Athos the oldest of the 3 musketeers is actually the youngest actor though he is a few year older than the D’Artagnan actor, It’s minor I guess but I didn’t realise who Athos was until looking up the cast list and was shocked, Also Athos really doesn’t sing because Brahim Zaibat who plays him is a dancer, despite this his dancing skills really add to the fight sequences making them very impressive and fun to watch, it’s more concerty in style and a bit interactive with the audience, from what I can tell the sets seem plain and the costumes are really awful (in my opinion) like Athos’ shirt is so revealing to the point he might as well not wear a shirt, also Constance’s outfit is just a no for me