#I feel like we will indeed get a repeat of 'Stop drawing these characters doing flips off buildings or running in front of trucks! The chi

[sege-h]

Ummmm it doesnt matter that character ages were removed from the Sonic character profiles they do still have their old canon ages and if you think that actualllyyyyy they never acted or sounded like those ages then youre a creep looking for excuses to put them in adult situations :/ Like thats child endangerment that you're depicting there??? Why do you wanna see that blorbo of yours beaten and bloodied and traumatized??? You ACTUALLY wanna beat up kids? You freak??

And why are you drawing him driving a fucking car he should not be driving a car he's a child! And STOP drawing Shadow with guns!!! Children shouldn't have those!

And while you're at it, stop drawing art of Amy working at a bakery! Like wow what a freak you actually want to break child labor laws in real life???

I know plenty of 12 year olds that own apartments and cars of their own, so I can confirm that these characters were always ALWAYS meant to be their previously listed canon ages! If you say otherwise youre a freak!

(This is Not a serious post, for the love of god)

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Regardless of the bond [James Potter x Reader]

Title: Regardless of the bond Pairing: James Potter x Female!Reader Word count: 3.3k Published: 19 April 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Summary: [x] The existence of soulmates was hard for you to believe. You wished to be one of them, but after your 18th birthday, when you were supposed to experience a difference, you are left disappointed. Knowing you didn’t have that special bond and you had to continue watching the one you liked so deeply love someone else makes you want to just disappear. Bingo: [x] This is part of my Make me feel Bingo Card by @girl-next-door-writes

Square filled: Alternative Universe

Harry Potter Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

Make me feel Bingo Masterlist

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Soulmates were a very widely known myth that many believed and wished to experience, but some found it to be a silly little idea created by those who romanticised the idea to be with someone for the rest of their lives. The thought of loving someone and being loved unconditionally was indeed one that many wished to have, but since soulmates were rather rare, people often ignored its existence and chose to find love themselves. According to the myths, some people experienced finding their soulmate with a simple touch, where for a mere second, they saw images of their future life together. For some it was a sensation, a pulling force telling them that they belonged together. There were some theories where they could recognise each other’s scent. Many different myths have been spread throughout the centuries, but there was one mutual theory in all of them. When it happens, you just know it, you feel it, every single fibre of your body screams for that certain person to stay in your life.

You were one of those who believed it but didn’t think it would ever happen to you. You hoped, of course you did, but you were more logical than to rely on an old myth. Having such a strong connection was a lovely idea, but it was hard to believe that it would be handed to you on a silver plate. All the fairy tales you have heard about from your parents said that the soulmate-bond would be activated after your 18th birthday if you had one. But of course, it’s been a month and you have felt no different than before, reassuring you that you weren’t any special.

You were seated in the Gryffindor common room, legs thrown over the arm of the sofa, hanging down on the side as you doodle little drawings on a piece of ripped parchment.

“What are you doing?” You heard a voice and as you looked up, you recognised Lily standing in the doorway.

“Just drawing,” you replied, turning back to your parchment, ignoring your friend.

“Good, good,” she nodded and took a seat beside you, staring at your doodles.

“Is there anything you want?” You asked, turning back to her with an expectant expression, brows running high.

“Nope,” she popped the ‘p’ as she shook her head. You frowned at her rather strange behaviour, but once again turned back to your drawings, trying to ignore her staring. However, it seemed to be a task easier said than done. Feeling Lily’s breath on your neck and her eyes attached to your drawing, whilst squirming in her place chased all your creativity away. You folded up your paper and looked at your friend once again.

“You are being fairly annoying,” you stated with a grimace.

“I didn’t even do anything,” she huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest and turning to the opposite direction, giving you a side-glance every once in a while.

“Breathing down my neck and staring at me is quite creepy and as much as I love you, your behaviour is very unusual so spill it, what’s going on?” You asked firmly, causing Lily to scrunch her nose and pout in a child-like manner. She was a very smart witch and an even better friend, but at times she was capable of getting on your nerves with a simple look. “Come on, I don’t have all day to wait for you,” you rushed her as you stood up and tossed the folded parchment in the drawer of your desk and closed it with a thudding sound.

“I have overheard a little discussion between James and Sirius. They were talking about you,” she smirked playfully, wiggling her brows as though you were supposed to understand.

“I’m not sure what kind of reaction you are expecting of me,” you frowned in confusion.

“Well, certainly a happier one than the one I’m getting now,” she grimaced. “I have been hearing nothing else from you, but how much you’ve liked James since the first time you talked,” she tried to lead you to the right direction, but you still stood there cluelessly.

“So?” you asked.

“So? James and Sirius were talking about you,” Lily repeated slower as if you didn’t understand before.

“I heard you for the first time too, I’m not stupid. I simply don’t understand what you want from me. James and Sirius are my friends, they will inevitably talk about me if I come up in a subject,” you shrugged nonchalantly.

“You are unbelievable. I overheard James telling Sirius that he has feelings for you,” Lily exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. But instead of excitement you gave her a deadpan expression. “Okay, I’m not sure what’s going on with you today, but I’m honestly starting to think you are broken or something,” she huffed.

“We both know that James has been running after you for years, Lils. Sure, we are close, I love him to bits, however, I am nothing but a friend to him. I’m not sure what you heard or what you misunderstood to be exact, but we both know James has liked you for years and I find it hard to believe that his last year will be the one where he changes his mind so abruptly,” you explained. Whilst a part of you wished to believe it was true, a more logical side made sure to crush those hopeful thoughts that tried to sway you.

“I’m sorry, but I’m quite sure of what I heard. And why couldn’t he? Crushes come and go, and he hasn’t asked me out or showed any interest in me for the last month or so. I do believe he has feelings for you, but you have been friends for so long, you can’t expect him to just walk up to you and confess,” Lily tried to pressure your logical side, but you couldn’t find it in you to agree. You have liked him for so long, you were numb to even the thought of him ever reciprocating your feelings.

“Ok, I accept that. Now that we have concluded this conversation, can we actually grab something to eat?” You asked whilst walking towards the door and opening it for Lily, waiting for her to follow you.

“You’re definitely broken,” she huffed, annoyed by your nonchalant behaviour.

“And you are rather annoying today. I’m glad we both have negative feelings towards each other. It will be a beautiful day,” you put on a fake smile, earning a grimace from Lily.

“You have been avoiding him recently,” she added with a side-glance, making you groan as you headed down the stairs to the common room.

“Can we stop talking about him for a second?” you asked, pleading with the girl.

“Fine, but I’m not giving up just yet,” shrugging, she hurried up her steps and walked out the common room, leaving you farther behind. Rolling your eyes, you heaved a heavy sigh and followed her to the Great hall.

As you sat at the Gryffindor table with Lily on your right, eating your usual morning toast, James took a seat on your other side whilst Sirius sat down beside Lily, followed by Remus and Peter across the table.

“We have a beautiful day today, don’t we?” James beamed, his unusually positive attitude making you frown. Everyone seemed to act unlike themselves and you certainly didn’t like the way they behaved.

“I guess,” you replied with a grimace. “Would have been better if Lily didn’t start my day by dancing on my nerves,” you groaned.

“I was simply stating facts,” she huffed.

“That could possibly be a definition of annoying too if we dig deeper,” you retorted.

“It’s not my fault you are hard-headed,” she rolled her eyes.

“It’s not my fault you are spreading false rumours,” you shrugged nonchalantly.

“It’s not my fault you can’t see the forest from the tree,” she grimaced.

“Woah, woah, let’s just stop it there. We have quite an intense breakfast on our hands. What do you say we just continue eating quietly?” James asked, trying to stop your bickering.

“Been doing that until you arrived with your overly-positive attitude,” you replied as you bit into your toast.

“I’m sorry for having a nice day. Instead of being gloomy, you could try it too,” he raised a questioning brow, wearing a playful smirk across his face. In normal circumstances you would have returned his smile, feeling all warm inside, feeling your cheeks flush. He had a certain vibe that always made you feel happier even if you were down. But not in that moment. It just didn’t work.

“Will take your advice into consideration,” you huffed as you stood up from the table, finishing your breakfast. “See you later,” you nodded and headed towards the exit. You barely reached the first classroom across the corridor when you heard your name being called.

Turning around you, you saw James walking towards you in a haste. “Hmm?” You hummed in a questioning tone.

“You are acting strange recently. I can’t talk to you, I barely see you and honestly, I feel like you are avoiding me,” he stated, nervously rocking from one foot to the other. Indeed, you have been trying to keep a distance from the boy, knowing he fancied Lily whilst you liked him. Since your birthday you expected some kind of sign that would lead you to your soulmate, but it never happened. No images, no scents, no touches. The person you liked for so long had a crush on someone else and when you finally thought you might have a chance to find someone to connect with, you had to release you as one of many didn’t have a soulmate.

“Look, I just prefer being alone nowadays,” you lied. Imagining a pitiful look in his eyes, knowing why you have been avoiding him was something you never wanted to see. He was always supportive, and you could always rely on him, but this time you couldn’t possibly open up to him. You didn’t want his apologetic looks.

“Seven years. It’s been seven years since we first met and almost as long since we have become friends. I think I know you fairly well. Sure, people change, so did you and I, but we have changed together, for me you are still the same person I befriended. I don’t understand why you think that I would believe you. Wanting to be alone on occasions is fine, you have always done that, but you never closed me out completely until recently. I need to know what’s going on,” he pleaded, his words, his eyes, even his tone screaming for some kind of an explanation, but you couldn’t give him what he wanted.

“I’m sorry,” you simply apologised and started walking away. Giving him an explanation would have revealed your secret and you were not ready for that. Maybe once when your feelings were finally gone and you decide to sit down to talk about the old times, being nostalgic, maybe then you would have the courage, but not in that moment.

“Sorry is not enough,” he raised his voice as he hurried after you and grabbed your wrist. The feeling of his warm palm across your skin sent shivers down your spine. Your lips parted in surprise as you felt electricity run through the spot where he held onto you, starting off your heart in a quick pace. Feeling your cheeks heat up, you turned around and looked into his brown eyes as wide as yours, trying to figure out the unusual, sudden feeling. You felt your chest compress, air stuck in your lungs as you watched the man you had feelings for being just as shocked as you were. Knowing, hoping, believing what that certain electrical feeling running through you meant, it frightened you. You never wanted to be bonded with a man who loved someone else and the simple thought of you having to watch him run after his loved one made you feel as though your heart was shattering into the smallest of pieces, where picking them and trying to mend them wasn’t an option anymore.

Both of you stood stunned, his fingers firmly around your wrist, staring at each other, wordlessly trying to communicate. It was James who recovered first and let go of your arm, leaving it to fall beside you. You wanted to speak, you wanted him to speak, but none of you knew the right words to voice. In your shocked state you just wanted to disappear, you wanted to run away. The awkward silence was making you mad and frustrated, wanting nothing but to get as far from him as possible. So, you did. You hurried off, the sound of your heavy steps following you through the corridor. Hearing James’ pleading voice to stop you didn’t seem to work, you hurried your steps, not knowing where you were heading.

“Stop!” James appeared in front of you, stepping out of a hidden door you have not seen before.

“Leave me alone, James,” you pleaded, desperately needing some time alone.

“You felt it too. I know you did, so stop running away,” he stepped in your way as you tried to walk around him. He was determined to keep you there, to talk to you, to finally stop you from avoiding him.

“Why? I felt nothing. Just get away from me,” you raised your voice, even though you have never done it before, but it didn’t work. James wasn’t giving in.

“Enough,” he raised his voice this time, but it wasn’t threatening nor aggressive, he was firm and somewhat assertive. “You can avoid me if you like, you can ignore me if that makes you feel better but telling me that you didn’t feel anything when I touched you, lying to my face, that I will not take,” he exhaled slowly. “I know you felt it too and we both know what it meant. You are not stupid and nor am I. And if you feel like pretending that it didn’t happen,” he swallowed and heaved a heavy sigh,” we can do that, I will not force you. I’m only asking you not to run away from me,” he pleaded with you.

Feeling the tears collecting in your eyes, you tried to keep them in bay, not wanting James to see you so vulnerable. A heavy sigh left your lungs as you looked up at him, locking your eyes with him. “I— I don’t know how to handle this, James. You have been in love with Lily for so long, I don’t know how to react. I don’t want to be bonded to someone who already loves someone else,” you finally voiced your thoughts, finding it hard to resist the pleading look across his face.

“I never loved Lily,” he shook his head with a deep frown. “I was in a way infatuated with her, I liked the idea of liking her, but I didn’t love her. And I don’t feel that way anymore. I haven’t even tried getting closer to her in the last couple of months. If you were here, you could have seen it, but you decided to avoid me at all cost,” his tone, his demeanour, his firm stance radiated confidence and sincerity. Indeed, you haven’t seen much of him and you couldn’t judge what happened around your friend circle recently, but it was hard to believe that after all this time he just gave up on Lily.

“Look, whether you like her or not is not my business really and you don’t owe me any explanation. Maybe in the future you will like someone else, and I will be happy for you, but we have been friends for so long, I don’t want this stupid bond to stand in your way. So, let’s just pretend it didn’t happen, alright?” you tried to compromise, but James shook his head heavily in reply and stepped closer to you.

“How can you be so silly? You and this bond will always be standing in the way of me liking someone else, because regardless of that stupid bond, it is you that I like,” he confessed, his eyes a storm of emotions. He reached for your hand, cupping them in his, squeezing yours gently. “I like you. I really do. It has nothing to do with that bond,” he swallowed nervously. You tried to respond, say something, but instead you kept opening and closing your mouth as if you were a fish out of water, gaping, finding it hard to breath. It was hard to believe, but you couldn’t deny the tiny bit of flame you felt deep within you, hope that meant you still had a chance with him.

“But why?” you exclaimed in shock, not even realising your own words. James let out a mild chuckle, your words catching him off guard.

“Because you were always there for me, because you always knew what to say to me, how to hold me, how to deal with me. Because whenever I’m around you I’m both calm and nervous at the same time. Because you make me feel like a little child, wanting to smile whenever I see you. You are beautiful of course, but regardless I feel as though there’s this pulling force between us. I didn’t realise that I liked you until you were avoiding me. And it was not because of the bond, but because I realised that you were not there beside me and I missed the smallest of details that makes you—you. Scrunching your nose, pouting, grimacing at my silly ideas, scolding me for not studying. Every single little detail that makes you— you, was just missing from my life and it was killing me. I do like you more than you can imagine with or without that stupid bond,” he replied with a lopsided smile across his face, leaning his forehead against yours.

“But Lily—” you wanted to say, but he cut you off.

“There is no Lily. There’s only you and me. I just want you to maybe give me a chance to try if we work, if this— whatever is between us works,” he pleaded and instead of a reply, you stood on your tiptoes and attached your lips to his. He was hesitant, he didn’t know what was happening, but he didn’t let his chance slip out of his hands. He let go of your hands and cupped your face for better access, devouring your lips, losing himself in the moment where it was indeed only you and him.

“I like you. I like you so much,” you breathed against his lips, stunning him. His eyes widened at your words, clearly shocked by your sudden confession.

“But you have been avoiding me,” he exclaimed.

“I couldn’t be around you. I couldn’t watch you run after Lily anymore,” you shook your head, nervously biting your lip.

“I’m so sorry for putting you through that,” he hinted a small kiss on your forehead. “I promise I will make up for it if you give me a chance.”

“Wasn’t I clear enough?” you giggled softly as you placed your hands on his, holding your face. “There is nothing I want more than to give us a chance,” you smiled, reassuring him that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

“Well, since we have already missed the beginning of the first class, we could start off by trying to regain the last month you have so rudely taken from me,” he raised a questioning brow, hoping you would agree.

“I guess we could skip a class after all,” you giggled softly.

“Or more than one,” he wiggled his brows as he captured your lips once again, impatiently waiting for all the memories you were to experience together.

Notes: If you enjoyed reading this little piece, please don’t forget to leave a like, comment and reblog. Your opinion matters and gives us motivation. Thank you ^^

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Taglist from now on is in a reblog.

[renegadewangs]

Enigmatic Gnomance

Last night was movie night in my Discord server and we watched Sherlock Gnomes. Needless to say, things escalated very fast and I wrote a 2000+ words one-shot regarding the ending. Everyone liked it for some reason??? So here it is! (I’m not an expert on the gnome cinematic universe, please forgive me if I got a little detail wrong.)

Characters: Sherlock Gnomes, Watson Fandom: Sherlock Gnomes Pairings: (Lord help me,) Gnomes/Watson Warnings/rating: None. Summary: With the movie’s events behind them, Sherlock Gnomes ruminates on difficult matters.

Enigmatic Gnomance

The sun had set on the backyard when at last, Gnomes and Watson returned to their little home. Mrs. Udderson was nowhere to be seen, for which Watson found himself quite grateful. After all that'd occurred tonight, he wasn't in the mood for her invasive mooing. Gnomes hobbled over to the nearby armchair and settled himself down there. The deep crack in his leg instantly caught Watson's eye. He wasn't really a doctor- such a title was no more than an accessory in the world of gnomes. Even so, he found himself yearning to fix the injury somehow. He was responsible in a way, he felt. He'd been weak and he'd gotten cocky, which had made him a blind and unwilling pawn in Moriarty's little scheme.

But there was nothing to be done about it now; porcelain would never heal. Even with glue, Gnomes ran the risk of losing his leg forever if he were ever reckless.

Watson hesitated for a moment, then approached the armchair. His gaze wasn't being met. Gnomes had folded his hands together and was now peering towards his own feet. "Gnomes, ah... Are you alright? Can I get you anything?" he asked awkwardly.

Even with their reunion atop the bridge and their agreement to continue being partners, Gnomes still hadn't quite acknowledged the betrayal. It was maddening. Why wasn't he scolded? For Gnomes to come to terms with his rude dismissal of others had been the entire point, that much was true. However, to not see the gargoyles' true nature and be used by their master... That had been worthy of a good scoff, surely. Or at the very least an indignant sniff. Gnomes could have died, all due to Watson's own naivety. Sure enough, Gnomes didn't reply. The silence was worse than anything else he could have said.

"Gnomes..." Watson trailed off for a moment. Then he decided there was nothing to be gained by keeping his feelings bottled up. That was what'd caused this whole mess in the first place. "It's only us, now. Please, just talk to me."

"... I was ruminating, Watson," said Gnomes, still staring at his feet.

"Oh?"

"Yes, indeed. Ruminating. Quite deeply, I might say. My mind palace lost an entire dimension, attempting to process these hectic thoughts of mine. However, I'm afraid I'm drawing a blank. Perhaps, if you would be so kind, you might refresh my memory?"

The sober, forward nature of Gnomes's words caught Watson off guard. He hadn't known his friend to be so earnest, nor so willing to ask for help, for a very long time. Perhaps the day's events had made a difference after all. But then... Had it been Watson to make Gnomes see sense, or had it been Moriarty's doing? It was best not to think too hard on that, so he attempted to force the notion out of his mind.

"Of course, old friend." Watson placed a hand on the back of the armchair, smiling meekly. "If you need my help, you need only ask for it. Though perhaps... A bit more politely than you used to."

Gnomes uttered a chuckle, bitter as lime(stone). "Hah, quite right," he admitted. "I was wondering... Whether I actually took the time to say how sorry I am."

Watson felt his eyes widen and his body stiffen. Had he heard that correctly? Surely not. "Sorry" was a word not uttered aloud by Gnomes in a long time, short of demanding it from others.

"... What?"

"Quite a bit happened tonight. Moriarty is nothing if not a distraction. I'm certain I said quite a few things- to him and to you. However, it's all a bit of a blur, you see. Did I? Apologize?"

Watson shook his head fiercely. This was all wrong. This was what he'd wanted, and yet... No, he didn't deserve it, did he? "Gnomes- You aren't the one who needs to apologize. I put innocent gnomes in danger- I put you in danger. Moriarty could've won, all because I-I... I thought you'd..."

A hand on Watson's wrist caused any other words to vanish. He looked down to meet Gnomes's eyes. Even more out of place than the gnome's apology was the expression on his face, which Watson couldn't recall ever having seen once in all their years of partnership. What was it? Some sort of turmoil, certainly.

"My dear man, you were right to confront me with my attitude. To treat others in such dreadful a manner is already mortifying to me, in hindsight, but you... You deserved so much more and I fear I took your companionship for granted for the longest time. I'd forgotten just how brilliant you are, and so, you played the game quite well."

"Gnomes... Truly, you don't need to-"

"I am sorry, Watson. More sorry than even my own brilliant mind could ever begin to formulate."

Watson sighed and placed his own hand atop Gnomes's own. "I know. And I'm sorry as well."

For a long moment, nothing was said. Gnomes's eyes merely flitted towards Watson's hand and lingered there. Then, at last, he found his voice again. It had cracked almost as badly as his leg. "... I don't deserve a partner like you. Should you follow Irene's example and find your luck elsewhere, I would not blame you."

"Don't be a fool," Watson replied straight off the bat. "I did not go through so much trouble to teach you a lesson, only to toss away the benefits before I could reap them."

"You were perfectly content to abandon our partnership earlier."

"Well... It wasn't quite a partnership earlier, now was it?"

Gnomes appeared dumbstruck, though only for a moment. Then his lips carved themselves into a grin. "... Fair enough."

Watson took another shuffling step closer to the armchair, leaning forward and eyes narrowing into a bit of a squint. "Are you alright? Your leg... It looks quite damaged."

"It's only a few surface cracks," Gnomes replied, sticking his nose up in the air. "Nothing to worry about. The great Sherlock Gnomes is nothing if not resilient. It is a shame, though. That was my favorite leg."

Watson chuckled dryly. "I don't believe there's anything in this world you love more than yourself."

But Gnomes didn't reply. He merely stared ahead blankly at the wall. Had he gotten lost in his own thoughts again? Watson hadn't thought he'd said anything worth contemplating, nor blocking out.

"... Are you certain you're alright, Gnomes?" he asked.

"I... Yes." Gnomes blinked fiercely and rapped the fingers of his other hand against the armrest of the chair. "It's curious. You are quite clever, Watson, but then... Perhaps, unable to decipher the very same enigma which plagues me."

"An enigma, Gnomes?" Watson repeated. What was there still left to solve, at this point? It must've been significant, if Gnomes himself still struggled to put a finger on it. How tragic, then, that he would assume Watson would be unable to decipher it also. Were the learned lessons being foregone already? He hoped not.

"The time I spent with Irene... Well, surely you recall. It was a jolly good romp for a while, but I always knew she would come second place to the mysteries and the chases. And she came to know this as well. So in the end, a jolly good romp was all it was. I did not think I could ever love someone the way she expected me to."

Indeed, Watson did recall those 'jolly good romps'. He remembered the pain on Irene's face, which grew more severe with every instance where she'd been snubbed. He also remembered her resolution on the day she decided she would get over him. It was so very easy to rope her into his plans because the two of them related to one another. They both knew just how painful it was to be dismissed by Gnomes. They both agreed that the lesson had needed to come sooner and there was nothing left to salvage, but then... Watson hadn't given up quite as much hope as Irene, it turned out. It was a good thing that he hadn't.

"Indeed. But what's that got to do with another puzzle?" he asked.

"When I saw you fall and I heard that dreadful smashing sound... Well, I didn't want to think about it, really. I pushed it from my mind before it could ever take root there, because if I'd allowed that... Well, I'm sure I would've been quite useless for the remainder of the investigation."

"Oh, Gnomes, I didn't mean for you to-"

"It was a clever ploy, of course. I fell for it. Didn't even stop to consider you might catch yourself. That warrants another apology, I believe."

"No, really, it's fine. Perhaps I'd gone too far with that."

Gnomes's hand curled around Watson's wrist more fiercely. He turned his head upwards once again, brow furrowed, features pleading. "Watson," he began softly. "If I'd lost you... If you were truly gone, what would I do with myself? That's what I was ruminating on, you see. It pains me simply to envision the hypothetical, which is to say nothing of what would happen if it were a reality. I've never felt anything of the sort for Irene. So will you tell me, please?"

The situation was surreal. To hear words like that coming from his old friend... Well, the plan truly had been far more effective than Watson had expected it to be, though the result was overwhelming. Perhaps even unnerving. To earn Gnomes's respect and partnership was one thing, but to hear that his presence would've been missed so very dearly... That was more than he'd ever bargained for, or even dared to wish for. He didn't know how to feel now. He didn't understand what was being asked of him.

"... Tell you what, Gnomes?"

"Isn't there someone I love more than myself, or the thrill of the hunt?"

Watson's mind went blank. He felt quite cold, all of a sudden. But then... Also hot at the same time, as if he were standing out in the blazing sun of a warm summer's day. Gnomes's eyes were still on his own, waiting, perhaps deducing. Watson didn't dare look away. He was cornered now- trapped in Gnomes's intense stare.

Before tonight, his response would have been clear. He would have laughed bitterly at the question, then turned away from it. But then... Before tonight, it never would have been asked. Gnomes had never taken such things into consideration until he'd been forced to. To have Gnomes reflect on how much he'd always relied on Watson, that had been the goal. An unexpected side-effect, then, was that Watson now had to reflect on how much he'd relied on Gnomes. He'd wanted be looked at, to be acknowledged, to be praised- to be close to Gnomes, the way he used to when they first began to solve cases.

"I think that... The only one who could ever answer that question is you, Gnomes," he ultimately said.

"I... I need a hint, I believe," Gnomes replied in a bit of a stammer. "Just a clue, a morsel. The tiniest bit of guidance when it comes to deciphering these feelings."

"I'm not much help there, I'm afraid. I may be just as lost as you are."

"Oh... Are you really?" Gnomes paused for a moment, lips pursing and nose crinkling as he mulled it over. "If we're both lost in the same manner, does that not imply we both experience these same feelings?"

"Ah..."

And still, Watson had no true answer to give. Just as Gnomes's brilliant mind failed to form an apology strong enough to do the sentiment justice, so too did Watson's own fail to translate his feelings into words.

-Feelings? Were there feelings after all?

After about ten seconds, Gnomes tore his attention away from Watson's eyes and returned to gazing at his own feet. "Perhaps... It would be presumptuous to expect an answer to this riddle this very night. We are both taken by exhaustion, I'm sure. Delirious with it, perhaps. So..."

Still, no cohesive sentences came to Watson. Even so, he did have a reply, he thought. It wasn't a very clever one, but it was a reply all the same. He leaned forward to press a kiss against Gnomes's cheek. The gesture clearly shocked his friend, for he made a rather funny noise and attempted to jump up out of the chair. His bad leg, however, had other plans. Gnomes slumped backwards before he could ever fully stand upright and Watson caught him by the shoulders with both hands on instinct, cushioning the fall.

"Whaa- Whaaaat... son....!" Gnomes tilted his head backwards to peer up at him. "What...?"

"That was the small clue you were searching for, which ought to help you decipher these feelings of yours," Watson explained with another wry smile.

Gnomes appeared stunned. However, he soon relaxed in Watson's hold and eased himself back into the chair properly. "Indeed, that was quite helpful," he said. "Whatever would I do without your assistance, dear fellow? You truly are indispensable."

"It's good of you to say such things out loud, Gnomes. I expect to hear much more praise in the future."

"Of course!"

Indeed, they were both exhausted and had more than enough time to continue 'ruminating' on their feelings. For now, Watson was quite content to leave it that. Immense progress had already been made, and aside from that... Mrs. Udderson was still lurking high above them.

[sometimes-love-is-enough]

re: your last ask about the time travel shenanigans—holy fuck yes please more of this. like, not only is it funny as hell, which i appreciate, but it's also a. more c!thomas and b. points to just how interestingly both the plot and characters of this series have grown over the years and i am ALL for it

"Janus!" is the first thing Thomas exclaims when he sees the Side Formerly Known Exclusively As Deceit rise up where Logan would usually stand. Which just might be a mistake, if Janus’s expression is anything to go by.

Okay, in Thomas's defence -

This is a really, really weird day, even by his standards. Because, like, Logan's currently standing in front of the stairs, and that's not where Logan's supposed to be, and his shirt and tie are all wrong. And had had been grinning. Openly. He had been openly grinning when Thomas had first woken up and looked in his wardrobe and realized that his favorite t-shirt apparently doesn't exist anymore and all his clothes are a half-size smaller than he's used to but also they still fit and - okay, no, back to Logan. He'd gone downstairs and tripped over a chair that wasn't supposed to be there and called out Logic. And he'd been about to ask him what's going on and why everything feels so off and also why Logan's standing in Virgil's usual spot instead of over to the right of the stairs. But then he'd noticed all the aforementioned Very Weird Clothing Things. And he'd stopped and said, "Uh, Logan?" and Logan's grin had dropped and he'd stared at Thomas for a full ten seconds then whispered, "what the fuck," with great emotion.

And then Patton had shown up with a ridiculous amount of pun-riddled cheerfulness that Thomas had been able to clock as sixty-percent fake within about half a second. And his clothes had been all wrong, too, and after a lot of confused, borderline-incomprehensible yelling at each other, Roman had showed up and added to the chaos.

"I am scared and confused and on the verge of completely losing it!" Thomas had declared at some point, which had been the cue for an ominous music sting somewhere to Thomas's right that made everybody jolt in terrified unison.

"Did somebody say scared and confused and on the verge of completely losing it?"

"Virgil, thank god!" Thomas had practically yelled, and just about thrown himself across the room to get to him - before pausing midway and allowing his brain to process... wrong hoodie. Wrong amount of eyeshadow. "Wait. No, hang on, is this - "

"FUCKING WHO," Virgil shrieked, leaping backwards half a flight of stairs, which had led to another round of confused yelling, with Thomas trying to assure them all that he's fine he hasn't had some sort of strange head injury or whatever, he's just really happy to see Virgil and no of course that's not weird, what do you mean who's Virgil, that's Virgil right over there, Roman please put down that sword things are already out of hand -

And at some point Thomas had got it into his head that the most reasonable course of events was to summon the one person who always seems to know everything that everybody else doesn't, which brings everything up to speed, more or less. Roman had gone, "Thomas, what are you doing," and Thomas, feeling slightly manic at this point, had said, "I'm trying to summon a demon, obviously," because the best way to get hold of a certain someone probably is blatant lying, and boom, instant Janus.

"Jeee-sus Christ on a cookie-shaped canoe, what is he doing here?!"

"Janus!"

So, Janus pops up, he looks literally the same as he always has (except maybe with shorter hair? Wait, they all have shorter hair, including Thomas, wait a second -) with his half-snake-face and his hat and gloves that cosy-looking capelet of his. And although his expression reflects faint bewilderment and that very particular 'wait, what' emotion that results in being pulled abruptly away from something you were busy with, he looks so normal that Thomas thinks for a moment he might be the only sane person left.

But then Janus makes a series of start-and-stop noises of incomprehension, and gestures wildly towards Virgil, who's crouched midway up on the stairs behind Logan, looking like a cornered wild animal, and snaps, "Why for the love of everything that's holy would you tell him my name?"

"You think this is me?" Virgil retorts, hands going up to grab desperately at the bars lining the side of the staircase. "I don't understand anything that's going on! He somehow knows my name! He's - he's being nice to me!"

It suddenly occurs to Thomas that this might just possibly be a time travel sort of thing. It would explain the clothes shift. And the altered layout of his house. And the fact that when he'd checked his phone this morning it had told him it was 2016, and also it hadn't been his phone, it had been the one he'd broken a few years ago in a tragic piano-moving-related accident.

...Okay, yeah, this is absolutely a time travel thing.

"Is somebody going to explain why Thomas ruined all of our heartfelt name reveal moments in one fell swoop?" Roman demands. "I thought we agreed we were going to do them gradually and draw them out as long as possible for dramatic effect!"

"I agreed to none of that," Virgil snaps from his position halfway up the stairs.

"Yes," says Logan, "yes, I think we all would like to know what's going on. Thomas? What's going on?"

"Uh - " Thomas, who has just come to a rather startling realization about time travel and also about how shitty his Sides' taste in costumes were pre-wardrobe change, doesn't really have a prepared answer for this. "I have... I am - I just - "

Thomas struggles for words. Really struggles. And everyone's just standing there, watching him with expressions that range from terror to confusion to suspicion, and they all look so weirdly young in a way that's hard to pin down. It's the clothes. It's probably the clothes, or maybe it's the way they hold themselves. Roman, carelessly confident, without a doubt in the world. Patton, still wearing a fixed dad-grin, politely baffled and looking back and forth. Logan, who hasn't been systematically beaten down and pushed back over the course of many, many years. Virgil, who's basically just a ball of grey-and-black anger and acerbic anger at this point. Janus, who's... Janus. Who's looking at him in a way that Janus has never looked at him before.

And Remus is probably lurking somewhere in the back of his mind, too, doing whatever Remus does, and - would Remus be any different now, four years prior? Thomas hadn't had any significant problems with intrusive thoughts, not back then... or, well, back now. Maybe he's calmer, maybe Thomas could actually talk with him. Try to work something out, try to understand.

But wait, he's still got to give the Sides right here and right now an answer.

Hm.

...Thomas has been through a lot in the past four years. Not, like, fantasy protagonist a lot, but more like a extended psychological journey of self-discovery and mental health crises. Now, he wouldn't trade any of this for the world, because he's learned a hell of a lot about himself in the process - but also? The Sides have put him through a lot of horrifying realization-type things.

Which is why he absolutely one hundred percent deserves to do what he's about to do next.

"I," says Thomas, with an extraordinary amount of confidence and self-assuredness, "am psychic."

And the dead silence holds. Now even Patton is staring at him in disbelief. Janus has graduated into outright horror, his face twisted up into a oh god no I am somehow responsible for letting him delude himself this far expression.

"Thomas!" Roman gasps, almost instantly lighting up with genuine enthusiasm. "Oh, Thomas, I'm so proud, we've been working on this for years. Tell me, does this extend to telekinesis, or just somehow knowing all our names and nothing else?"

"What?" Janus says. "What - no. No, you can't seriously be going along with this - what? That... what? That doesn't even make any sense?" He turns wildly from left to right, and - okay, it's very enjoyable to see him out of his depth, to be perfectly honest. Thomas likes Janus a lot, knows he has his best interests at heart, but the whole courtroom thing had been a major dick move. This is satisfying. "Are any of you getting this? Does anyone here understand what's going on?"

"I'm psychic," Thomas repeats doggedly. "I acquired magical psychic powers and now I know all of your names and tragic backstories. Surprise! I unlocked my full potential and the ninety-percent of my brain power that I wasn't using."

"That's - that's a widely-perpetuated and wildly incorrect myth," Logan says weakly.

"Nope. Turns out it's true, and I was only using ten percent of it, and now that I've gone full big-brain, I know that Patton's repressing all his bad feelings because he doesn't want to bother anyone with them, Virgil acts all scary and menacing because he thinks it's the only way that I'll ever listen to him, and Janus is secretly a huge dork with a heart of gold - uh, yellow, I guess."

"How dare you," Janus breathes, looking horrified.

"Wha - " Patton suddenly looks very pale indeed.

"Also, Roman, you're my hero; Logan, please never stop smiling like that ever again, it's literally my favorite thing in the world and if you ever stop being enthusiastic about teaching me things I will cry - and Virgil, I love you."

Virgil lets out a choked little noise like he's just been punched directly in the stomach.

"I love all of you," Thomas adds, an afterthought. "I never say that enough. Janus, that goes for you as well. You're right, I need to take care of myself more."

"I'm - " Janus is still looking around at everyone in complete disbelief, but now his gaze fixes onto Thomas, his eyes wide. "I'm what?"

Thomas is now on a roll. An extremely cathartic sort of roll. "And Remus -"

Everybody immediately panics. Virgil and Logan's hands both immediately leap up to clasp over their mouths, which seems to be a reflexive reaction on Janus's behalf. Patton lets out a deranged-sounding high pitched giggle that edges into genuine hysteria.

"Brother? What brother? I don't know what a brother is!" Roman says loudly. "I've never had a brother in my life! Thomas, your glorious psychic powers are malfunctioning. Have you tried turning them off and turning them on again?"

" - I'm not going to lie and say I love him, but -" Thomas stops abruptly, and staggers  backwards to catch himself on the couch as a thought strikes him out of literally nowhere. "Son of a bitch -"

"Does being psychic make you swear a lot?" Patton asks weakly. "Because, uh. Not sure I like this side of you, kiddo - "

"Logan," says Thomas. "Logan, what's the date today? This is so, so important, what's the date."

"It's... October," Logan says, very slowly. "October twentieth. 2016?"

"Holy shit," Thomas whispers, and then says it louder, "holy shit. Okay, listen. I was going to sort out all of our collective psychological issues in one impressive emotional speedrun, but I've realized we have something much more important to do." He pauses, and takes in a very deep, shuddering breath. "Guys. We can save Vine. Excuse me. I've just realized I’ve got to make a lot of calls."

[writer-k-pop]

Train Rides

낮잠은 어땠어? How was your nap?

Description: What is hoped to be a quiet train ride down to your grandparents’ is interrupted by a loud business trip with an intriguing conversation with a business man who’s apart of the group that’s creating chaos in the train car. Warnings: Swearing Genre: Fluff, Non-idol!Minghao x Fem!Reader ft. Non-idol!Seventeen Word Count: 3k

Seventeen Masterlist | Masterlists

My duffle bag bounced against my hip as I did a weird jog shuffle down the train platform in search of the train car where my seat was. Almost missing my train was what I got for spending a few extra minutes in the shower. My aunt would've killed me if I missed this train because I was bringing the most important stuff for my grandparents' anniversary.

"Finally." I exhaled as I finally found my assigned train car: number 8.

Pulling myself into the train car, I focused on calming my rapidly beating heart. I opened the door separating the seats from the space between train cars and my ears were immediately bombarded with lively chatter.

I looked up to find a large cluster of seats were taken up by a group of males. They were the ones creating the chatter. And it didn't help that they were all clustered around the middle of the train.

Internally, I groaned because I honestly hoped to get some more sleep on this train ride before I had to deal with my very loud, very obnoxious family. But that plan jumped out the window. But then, my heart dropped even further.

My seat was somehow in the smack dab middle of their cluster.

I cursed my need for a little extra leg room and a window seat as I trudged down the aisle with my duffle bag gripped in my hands. The conversations didn't quiet down as I approached, nor did they stop when I reached the middle of the train car where the backwards facing seats met the forward facing cars with a table in the center.

Sitting across from my seat were two males, one with blonde hair and the other with black hair. Both had rounder faces but they were in no way pudgy. In the seat right next to mine was another black haired male but he had a slimmer face and honestly, a slimmer physique in general. He had sharp facial features, a pair of round glasses sat on his nose and his entire focus was on the notebook supported by one hand while the other flew across the page with a pencil in its grasp.

The two from across noticed me stop and stared for a couple seconds as I struggled to get my ridiculously heavy duffle bag up into the overhead storage.

"Here. Let me help you with that." A light voice offered from behind me and a pair of hands helped me push the duffle into place.

"Thank you." I turned around to properly thank him and I was met with an almost angelic face that matched the voice almost perfectly. He had red hair and angled features but he somehow made it all work well together.

They were all seriously good looking and I was suddenly very thankful I spent those few extra minutes in the shower.

"No problem." The red head smiled and my involuntarily fluttered, "Do you have the seat next to Minghao?" He asked, nodding towards the male who was still engrossed in his little notebook.

"I guess." I told him with a small smile and then I heard the faint ringing throughout the platform telling everyone we were about to depart.

As the train car doors closed shut, one of the males across from my seat must've kicked the male sitting next to me because his eyes shot up with a glare that would've made even the toughest guys back down. But after a quick nod in my direction, the one in the seat next to mine directed his attention to me and I swore I saw his eyes widen ever so slightly. As quickly as he shot his head up, he scrambled out of his seat to let me into my seat.

"Thank you." I said quietly as slid into my seat just as the train began to move.

"No problem." The male next to me said and slid back into his seat. I could feel his gaze on me for a few more seconds before he reburied his head into his notebook.

I pulled out my book and headphones from my backpack before setting it down next to my legs. The conversations around me began to pick up again and I decided I could try to ignore them with some music.

But... just as the train left the station behind...

"So where are you headed?" The blonde male directly across from me asked just as I plugged in my headphones.

I blinked, for some reason unsure why he would be talking to me. "Uh, I'm headed down to Jinju." I answer him slowly.

"Oh, no way." The blonde smiled widely, "We are too."

"Oh, that's cool." I commented, unsure of how to actually respond.

"Yeah, we have a few important business things to do there." He explained though I didn't exactly ask for one. The slight awkwardness that creeped into the atmosphere almost made me want to laugh.

"Important." The black haired male next to the blonde repeated with air quotes and a large eye roll.

"Ignore him." The blonde informed me while pushing the black haired one in the shoulder. "I'm Seungkwan, by the way."

"(y/n)." I introduced me since it was the only thing I could do.

"Soonyoung." The black haired one raised a hand, all traces of his annoyance from earlier completely gone.

"Hi." I smiled, playing with an earbud wondering if they were going to talk to me the entire trip.

"So, are you just visiting Jinju?" Seungkwan continued his round of questions.

"Yeah," I answered, realizing that they were indeed probably going to talk to me the entire way there, "My grandparents live there and I'm visiting them."

"Oh, that's so sweet." Seungkwan cooed.

"I wish I was visiting my grandparents." Soonyoung grumbled, his annoyance returning.

"Soonyoung, I swear to god, if I hear another grievance from you, I'm going to make you participate in the panel next week." Another black haired male from across the aisle narrowed his eyes at Soonyoung.

"Oh god, not the financial panel." Soonyoung's face dropped so fast that I barely had time to hold back a laugh.

Seungkwan caught me and leaned in closer, "Don't worry, we all think he's nuts."

"Not as nuts as Jun." A voice piped up from behind me. The male looked by far the youngest and he was pointing diagonally across the aisle at a bucket hat wearing male with sharp catlike features.

As the others started to banter about who was more nuts, I glanced over at the notebook of my glasses wearing seat mate. On the page was a crude drawing of a character of some sorts and I couldn't help but be captivated by it. It wasn't anything super fantastical or extraordinary but every part held a story and I wanted to decipher all the parts. The way the body was positioned gave the impression of a welcoming and comforting personality but the face had the emotions of hidden stresses and thoughts.

The owner of the notebook cleared his throat slightly and I was caught red handed.

"Sorry." I apologized and felt a blush creep into my cheeks.

"It's okay." He accepted my apology but the embarrassment was still drowning me.

"It's a really interesting drawing." I complimented him and then mentally face palmed at the genericness of it.

The male glanced down at the drawing and then back up at me, "You think?" He asked.

I nodded, "Yeah, that's why I was staring. I was trying to figure out the pieces of the story it holds." I explained, trying not to look away from his intense curious gaze.

"Huh." He commented, slightly impressed for some reason, "These idiots never looked at one of my drawings for more than ten seconds." He gestured to the still bantering males around us.

I chuckled, "Well, they can't be complete idiots considering you're all attending business meetings together." I told him and he tilted his head to the side, considering my point.

"Fair." He said and then paused, thinking, before adding, "Then they're idiots of the art world."

"That sounds a little better." I said with another laugh bubbling in my chest, "So, do you draw often?"

He shrugged, "Kind of. I do it whenever I feel like I need to let off steam or if I'm bored."

"Which one was it today?" I asked then wondered if that was borderline too personal.

"Boredom." He answered, nonchalantly, and added a few more pencil strokes to the shadows of his character.

"Train rides not your favorite?" I guessed with a questioning eyebrow.

"Not really." He responded, "I'm more of a car ride kind of guy. But the train was the fastest option for us, so here we are."

"You like driving through Seoul?" I questioned with slight shock because Seoul was a city where every hour was rush hour and every car was trying to make it to their destination in record time.

He chuckled in disgust, "Oh god no. I hate driving in the city. Makes me want to pull out all of my hair." He joked and a smile grew on my face. "But give me a long drive through the country, an AUX cord, and a few snacks and I'm all set to go for hours."

"You would go alone?" I asked.

He leaned in close so the others wouldn't hear him but my heart skipped a few beats. "These guys are idiots of the art world, remember?" He reminded me with a small playful smile.

"Right. I guess music counts as an art form." I stated, hoping he couldn't see my nervousness. He straightened back up and a tiny part of me was extremely disappointed.

"Exactly." He agreed, "Though Mingyu's not a bad companion, if I want one." He pointed across the aisle and a row back at a green haired giant.

My eyes widened at his hair color and I had to ask, "Why is his hair green?"

"He lost a bet." He informed me, a smile touched his face with the memory and he looked even cuter when he smiled.

"Poor dude." I exhaled glancing back at the green haired male as he laughed at something the guy next to him said.

"Eh, he actually suggested the punishment himself so..." The male next to me trailed off with a shrug.

"So, what's your name?" I asked suddenly, realizing I knew a few of the others' names but not once did I get to ask him his.

"Minghao." He stuck out a hand and I grabbed with a surprised smile.

"(y/n)." I reciprocated the greeting and pray he can't feel my racing pulse through my skin.

""And you're visiting family in Jinju." Minghao repeated what I told Seungkwan earlier and my lips pucker in surprise. He chuckled and pulled his hand away. "My ears still pay attention even if my eyes aren't."

"I can't do that." I said, resting my hands in my lap, "Multitasking like that is not my forte."

"Gotta focus on one or the other?" He asked and I nodded my head.

"If my eyes are focused on like my book," I rested my hand on the cover, "Or something, my ears tune out everything so I don't miss a single word."

"Is that what the headphones are for?" Minghao asked nodding towards my phone with the still plugged in headphones.

"Yeah, kind of." I answered and twirled the wire around my finger, "It's easier to tune out familiar sounds than new ones."

"Any particular sounds?" He inquired and set down his closed notebook on the table.

"Music, particularly." I told him and tried to ignore the giddy thoughts that screamed that he enjoyed talking to me. I also peeked at his hands and noticed he wasn't wearing any rings. Which could've have been a big indicator that he wasn't in a relationship with anyone considering every couple seemed to have couple rings here.

He gave me a wide smile and the action softened his facial features so much. "Any particular artists?" He reiterated his question using the same word we had been repeating.

"Jason Miraz is one of my favorites." I informed him.

"Oh, I love Jason Miraz." He said with bright eyes, "His style is just so cool and he makes great songs."

"His style is really, really cool." I agreed. "Have you heard his new album?"

"Did that come out already?" Minghao asked with widened eyes.

I nodded, "This morning."

"Oh dang, I didn't even know it was coming out this soon." He said and scratched the back of his neck.

I reached for my headphones and handed one to him, "You want to listen with me? I haven't made it through the whole thing yet either. Just the first couple."

Minghao cautiously grabbed the earbud out of my hand, "You're sure?" He questioned me.

"About sharing headphones?" I answered with another question, "It's fine." I gave him a reassuring smile and it seemed to relax him a bit.

I popped my earbud in my ear and then scrolled through my phone to find the playlist. Adjusting the volume so it wouldn't blow out our eardrums, I started the album from the top.

"How's the volume?" I glanced over at Minghao after settling the volume at a level I thought was comfortable.

"Good, good." He responded, still a little stiff.

Turning my head towards the window, I let the calm melodies and voice of Jason Miraz accompany the green country scenery that quickly passed by. Pretty soon, my eye lids began to grow heavy and my morning rush started to catch up with me. Before I knew it, I was nodding off with my head leaned back against the weird velvety seat. Jason Miraz's soft voice carried me further into sleep land.

Just before the haze of exhaustion turned into a dark abyss, I felt a hand lower my head until it met the hard curve of a shoulder.

I woke up to someone calling my name and it wasn't Jason Miraz's voice. Blinking my eyes open, I was still on the train and the country side was still passing by very quickly. My head was still pressed against a shoulder and then it hit me just who's shoulder I was leaning on. [Though you know Soonyoung was not going to let Minghao live down how sweet the action was.]

"We're like 5 minutes from Jinju station." Minghao's voice informed me and I sat up, trying not to be too sudden about it.

Running a hand through my hair, I checked my phone and the time coincides with the information given to me.

"I can't believe I slept through the entire ride." I chuckled at myself, still in shock.

"I'm surprised you slept through Seokmin and Soonyoung's screaming." Minghao laughed lightly and handed me the other half of my headphones.

I gathered the wire and picked up my backpack to shove them and my book back into it.

"Ugh, we didn't even get to talk about the album." I pouted, annoyed at myself for sleeping.

He giggled and it added itself to list of things I found cute.

"How about this?" He suggested, "We exchange numbers and we can discuss the album once you actually listened to it."

I puckered my lips in thought because dude just called me out for falling asleep in the middle of tiny listening party for a new album. But, the little jab did nothing against the desire to keep in touch with him. So, I unlocked my phone and handed it over with the contacts app opened.

"Deal." I agreed to his suggestion and he took my phone before quickly typing in his information.

"How was your nap?" Seungkwan asked, resting his arms on the table and leaning forward.

"It was unexpected and long." I answered him, zipping up my backpack.

"But was it at least good?" He questioned further and Minghao handed back my phone.

"I'd say it was pretty good." I told him and he smiled, content with my answer.

The train pulled into the station, which was the last on its route, and we all shuffled out of our seats. I reached up to the overhead storage for my still ridiculously heavy duffle bag but Minghao grabbed it before I could even touch it. Pulling it down, he held it out for me to take.

"Thank you." I thanked him with a smile that I hoped would cover up the toll that the bag's weight took on my body, specifically my arms.

"No problem." He nodded with a small smile.

The other guys let me walk off the train first and I didn't get a chance to look back or wait for them because my aunt was waiting on the platform for me.

"(y/n)!" She yelled and ran towards me. "Glad you made it! Oh! We have so many dishes to prepare. Come on, your mom's busy chopping up vegetables and claims she needs her sous chef ASAP." My aunt took the bag from me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders before leading me away.

I tried to look back for one last glance at the male who let me sleep on his shoulder but my aunt demanded all of my attention.

"Did you remember to bring all the stuff we asked?" She questioned me.

"Yes, auntie." I replied, "I even remembered the Christmas ornament, though it took me forever to find."

"Oh, you're amazing!" She squeezed my shoulder and we walked out of the station and towards her car.

As we made our way down the stairs, my phone rang with a text.

I pulled it out and a laugh bubbled inside my chest as I read the message from Minghao.

"I don't think Jason Miraz can save you from that conversation."

[ladydarklord]

The Mighty Boosh on the business of being silly

The Times, November 15 2008

What began as a cult cocktail of daft poems, surreal characters and fantastical storylines has turned into the comedy juggernaut that is the Mighty Boosh. Janice Turner hangs out with creators Noel Fielding, Julian Barratt and the extended Boosh family to discuss the serious business of being silly

In the thin drizzle of a Monday night in Sheffield, a crowd of young women are waiting for the Mighty Boosh or, more precisely, one half of it. Big-boned Yorkshire lasses, jacketless and unshivering despite the autumn nip, they look ready to devour the object of their desire, the fey, androgynous Noel Fielding, if he puts a lamé boot outside the stage door. “Ooh, I do love a man in eyeliner,” sighs Natalie from Rotherham. She’ll be throwing sickies at work to see the Boosh show 13 times on their tour, plus attend the Boosh after-show parties and Boosh book signings. “My life is dead dull without them,” she says.

Nearby, mobiles primed, a pair of sixth-formers trade favourite Boosh lines. “What is your name?” asks Jessica. “I go by many names, sir,” Victoria replies portentously. A prison warden called Davena survives long days with high-security villains intoning, “It’s an outrage!” in the gravelly voice of Boosh character Tony Harrison, a being whose head is a testicle.

Apart from Fielding, what they all love most about the Boosh is that half their mates don’t get it. They see a bloke in a gorilla suit, a shaman called Naboo, silly rhymes about soup, stories involving shipwrecked men seducing coconuts “and they’re like, ‘This is bloody rubbish,’” says Jessica. “So you feel special because you do get it. You’re part of a club.”

Except the Mighty Boosh club is now more like a movement. What began as an Edinburgh fringe show starring Fielding and his partner Julian Barratt and later became an obscure BBC3 series has grown into a box-set flogging, mega-merchandising, 80-date touring Boosh inc. There was a Boosh festival last summer, now talk of a Boosh movie and Boosh in America. An impasse seems to have been reached: either the Boosh will expand globally or, like other mass comedy cults before it – Vic and Bob, Newman and Baddiel – slowly begin to deflate.

But for the moment, the fans still wait in the rain for heroes who’ve already left the building. I find the Boosh gang gathered in their hotel bar, high on post-gig adrenalin. Barratt, blokishly handsome with his ring-master moustache, if a tad paunchy these days, blends in with the crew. But Fielding is never truly “off”. All day he has been channelling A Clockwork Orange in thick black eyeliner (now smudged into panda rings) and a bowler hat, which he wears with polka-dot leggings, gold boots and a long, neon-green fur-collared PVC trenchcoat. He has, as those women outside put it, “something about him”: a carefully-wrought rock-god danger mixed with an amiable sweetness. Sexy yet approachable. Which is why, perched on a barstool, is a great slab of security called Danny.

“He stops people getting in our faces,” says Fielding. “He does massive stars like P. Diddy and Madonna and he says that considering how we’re viewed in the media as a cult phenomenon, we get much more attention in the street than, say, Girls Aloud. Danny says we’re on the same level as Russell Brand, who can’t walk from the door to the car without ten people speaking to him.”

This barometer of fame appears to fascinate and thrill Fielding. Although he complains he can’t eat dinner with his girlfriend (Dee Plume from the band Robots in Disguise) unmolested, he parties hard and publicly with paparazzi-magnets like Courtney Love and Amy Winehouse. He claims he’s tried wearing a baseball cap but fans still recognise him. Hearing this, Julian Barratt smiles wryly: “Noel is never going to dress down.”

It is clear on meeting them that their Boosh characters Vince Noir (Fielding), the narcissistic extrovert, and Howard Moon (Barratt), the serious, socially awkward jazz obsessive, are comic exaggerations of their own personalities. At the afternoon photo shoot, Fielding breaks free of the hair and make-up lady, sprays most of a can of Elnett on to his Bolan feather-cut and teases it to his satisfaction. Very Vince. “It is an art-life crossover,” says Barratt.

At 40, five years older than Fielding, Barratt exhibits the profound weariness of a man trying to balance a five-month national tour with new-fatherhood. After every Saturday night show he returns home to his 18-month-old twins, Arthur and Walter, and his partner Julia Davis (the creator-star of Nighty Night) and today he was up at 5am pushing a pram on Hampstead Heath before taking the train north to rejoin the Boosh. “I go back so the boys remember who I am. But it’s harder to leave them every time,” he says. “It is totally schizophrenic, totally opposite mental states: all this self-obsession and then them.”

About two nights a week on tour, Fielding doesn’t go to bed, parties through the night and performs the next evening having not slept at all. Barratt often retreats to his room to plough through box sets of The Wire. “It’s a bit gritty, but that is in itself an escape, because what we do is so fantastical.”

But mostly it is hard to resist the instant party provided by a large cast, crew and band. Indeed, drinking with them, it appears Fielding and Barratt are but the most famous members of a close collective of artists, musicians and old mates. Fielding’s brother Michael, who previously worked in a bowling alley, plays Naboo the shaman. “He is late every single day,” complains Noel. “He’s mad and useless, but I’m quite protective of him, quite parental.” Michael is always arguing with Bollo the gorilla, aka Fielding’s best mate, Dave Brown, a graphic artist relieved to remove his costume – “It’s so hot in there I fear I may never father children” – to design the Boosh book. One of the lighting crew worked as male nanny to Barratt’s twins and was in Michael’s class at school: “The first time I met you,” he says to Noel, “you gave me a dead arm.” “You were 9,” Fielding replies. “And you were messing with my stuff.”

This gang aren’t hangers-on but the wellspring of the Boosh’s originality and its strange, homespun, degree-show aesthetic: a character called Mr Susan is made out of chamois leathers, the Hitcher has a giant Polo Mint for an eye. When they need a tour poster they ignore the promoter’s suggestions and call in their old mate, Nige.

Fielding and Barratt met ten years ago at a comedy night in a North London pub. The former had just left Croydon Art College, the latter had dropped out of an American Studies degree at Reading to try stand-up, although he was so terrified at his first gig that he ran off stage and had to be dragged back by the compere.

While superficially different, their childhoods have a common theme: both had artistic, bohemian parents who exercised benign neglect. Fielding’s folks were only 17 when he was born: “They were just kids really. Hippies. Though more into Black Sabbath and Led Zep. There were lots of parties and crazy times. They loved dressing up. And there was a big gap between me and my brother – about nine years – so I was an only child for a long time, hanging out with them, lots of weird stuff going on.

“The great thing about my mum and dad is they let me do anything I wanted as a kid as long as I wasn’t misbehaving. I could eat and go to bed when I liked. I used to spend a lot of time drawing and painting and reading. In my own world, I guess.”

Growing up in Mitcham, South London, his father was a postmaster, while his mother now works for the Home Office. Work was merely the means to fund a good time. “When your dad is into David Bowie, how do you rebel against that? You can’t really. They come to all the gigs. They’ve been in America for the past three weeks. I’m ringing my mum really excited because we’re hanging out with Jim Sheridan, who directed In the Name of the Father, and the Edge from U2, and she said, ‘We’re hanging with Jack White,’ whom they met through a friend of mine. Trumped again!”

Barratt’s father was a Leeds art teacher, his mother an artist later turned businesswoman. “Dad was a bit more strict and academic. Mum would let me do anything I wanted, didn’t mind whether I went to school.” Through his father he became obsessed with Monty Python, went to jazz and Spike Milligan gigs, learnt about sex from his dad’s leatherbound volumes of Penthouse.

Barratt joined bands and assumed he would become a musician (he does all the Boosh’s musical arrangements); Fielding hoped to become an artist (he designed the Boosh book cover and throughout our interview sketches obsessively). Instead they threw their talents into comedy. Barratt: “It is a great means of getting your ideas over instantly.” Fielding: “Yes, it is quite punk in that way.”

Their 1998 Edinburgh Fringe show called The Mighty Boosh was named, obscurely, after a friend’s description of Michael Fielding’s huge childhood Afro: “A mighty bush.” While their double-act banter has an old-fashioned dynamic, redolent of Morecambe and Wise, the show threw in weird characters and a fantasy storyline in which they played a pair of zookeepers. They are very serious about their influences. “Magritte, Rousseau...” says Fielding. “I like Rousseau’s made-up worlds: his jungle has all the things you’d want in a jungle, even though he’d never been in one so it was an imaginary place.”

Eclectic, weird and, crucially, unprepared to compromise their aesthetic sensibilities, it was 2004 before, championed by Steve Coogan’s Baby Cow production company, their first series aired on BBC3. Through repeats and DVD sales the second series, in which the pair have left the zoo and are living above Naboo’s shop, found a bigger audience. Last year the first episode of series three had one million viewers. But perhaps the Boosh’s true breakthrough into mainstream came in June when George Bush visited Belfast and a child presented him with a plant labelled “The Mighty Bush”. Assuming it was a tribute to his greatness, the president proudly displayed it for the cameras, while the rest of Britain tittered.

A Boosh audience these days is quite a mix. In Sheffield the front row is rammed with teenage indie girls, heavy on the eyeliner, who fancy Fielding. But there are children, too: my own sons can recite whole “crimps” (the Boosh’s silly, very English version of rap) word for word. And there are older, respectable types who, when I interview them, all apologise for having such boring jobs. They’re accountants, IT workers, human resources officers and civil servants. But probe deeper and you find ten years ago they excelled at art A level or played in a band, and now puzzle how their lives turned out so square. For them, the Boosh embody their former dreams. And their DIY comedy, shambolic air, the slightly crap costumes, the melding of fantasy with the everyday, feels like something they could still knock up at home.

Indeed, many fans come to gigs in costume. At the Mighty Boosh Festival 15,000 people came dressed up to watch bands and absurdity in a Kent field. And in Sheffield I meet a father-and-son combo dressed as Howard Moon and Bob Fossil – general manager of the zoo – plus a gang of thirty-something parents elaborately attired as Crack Fox, Spirit of Jazz, a granny called Nanageddon, and Amy Housemouse. “I love the Boosh because it’s total escapism,” says Laura Hargreaves, an employment manager dressed as an Electro Fairy. “It’s not all perfect and people these days worry too much that things aren’t perfect. It’s just pure fun.”

But how to retain that appealingly amateur art-school quality now that the Boosh is a mega comedy brand? Noel Fielding is adamant that they haven’t grown cynical, that The Mighty Book of Boosh was a long-term project, not a money-spinner chucked out for Christmas: “There is a lot of heart in what we do,” he says. Barratt adds: “It’s been hard this year to do everything we’ve wanted, to a standard we’re proud of... Which is why we’re worn to shreds.”

Comedy is most powerful in intimate spaces, but the Boosh show, with its huge set, requires major venues. “We’ve lost money every day on the tour,” says Fielding. “The crew and the props and what it costs to take them on the road – it’s ridiculous. Small gigs would lose millions of pounds.”

The live show is a kind of Mighty Boosh panto, with old favourites – Bob Fossil, Bollo, Tony Harrison, etc – coming on to cheers of recognition. But it lacks the escapism to the perfectly conceived world of the TV show. They have told the BBC they don’t want a fourth series: they want a movie. They would also, as with Little Britain USA, like a crack at the States, where they run on BBC America. Clearly the Boosh needs to keep evolving or it will die.

Already other artists are telling Fielding and Barratt to make their money now: “They say this is our time, which is quite frightening.” I recall Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer, who dominated the Nineties with Big Night Out and Shooting Stars. “Yes, they were massive,” says Fielding. “A number one record...” And now Reeves presents Brainiac. “If you have longer-term goals, it’s not scary,” says Barratt. “To me, I’m heading somewhere else – to direct, make films, write stuff – and at the moment it’s all gone mental. I’m sort of enjoying this as an outsider. It was Noel who had this desire to reach more people.”

Indeed, the old cliché that comedy is the new rock’n’roll is closest to being realised in Noel Fielding. Watching him perform the thrash metal numbers in the Boosh live show, he is half ironic comic performer, half frustrated rock god. His heroes weren’t comics but androgynous musicians: Jagger, Bowie, Syd Barrett. (Although he liked Peter Cook’s style and looks.)

“I like clothes and make-up, I like the transformation,” he says. Does it puzzle him that women find this so sexually attractive? “I was reading a book the other day about the New York Dolls and David Johansen was saying that none of them were gay or even bisexual, and that when they started dressing in stilettos and leather pants, women got it straight away with no explanation. But a lot of men had problems. It’s one of those strange things. A man will go, ‘You f***ing queer.’ And you just think, ‘Well, your girlfriend fancies me.’”

The Boosh stopped signing autographs outside stage doors when it started taking two hours a night. At recent book signings up to 1,500 people have shown up, some sleeping overnight in the queue. And on this tour, the Boosh took control of the after-show parties, once run as money-spinners by the promoters, and now show up in person to do DJ slots. I ask if they like to meet their fans, and they laugh nervously.

Fielding: “We have to be behind a fence.”

Barratt: “They try to rip your clothes off your body.”

Fielding: “The other day my girlfriend gave me this ring. And, doing the rock numbers at the end, I held out my hands and the crowd just ripped it off.”

Barratt: “I see it as a thing which is going to go away. A moment when people are really excited about you. And it can’t last.”

He recalls a man in York grabbing him for a photo, saying, “I’d love to be you, it must be so amazing.” And Barratt says he thought, “Yes, it is. But all the while I was trying to duck into this doorway to avoid the next person.” He’s trying to enjoy the Boosh’s moment, knows it will pass, but all the same?

In the hotel bar, a young woman fan has dodged past Danny and comes brazenly over to Fielding. Head cocked attentively like a glossy bird, he chats, signs various items, submits to photos, speaks to her mate on her phone. The rest of the Boosh crew eye her steelily. They know how it will end. “You have five minutes then you go,” hisses one. “I feel really stupid now,” says the girl. It is hard not to squirm at the awful obeisance of fandom. But still she milks the encounter, demands Fielding come outside to meet her friend. When he demurs she is outraged, and Danny intercedes. Fielding returns to his seat slightly unsettled. “What more does she want?” he mutters, reaching for his wine glass. “A skin sample?”

[itsclydebitches]

(Not "Tai's Joke Anon" but on that topic) I agree with you on pretty much everything: Yang being very obviously a victim in her situation and not responsible for what Adam did doesn't mean Yang is no longer reckless. Ruby growing increasingly irresponsibly reckless in V6-onward doesn't mean Yang is no longer reckless. Ruby and Blake having made strategical blunders doesn't mean Yang is no longer reckless. Weiss's "accidental magic" emotional semblance use doesn't mean Yang is no longer reckless. It feels silly to act like Yang can't have flaws just because she was a victim and others also have flaws. I think you're right about all this.

That said, I do have to agree with the other anon that I think Tai's 'joke' was horrific. I was shocked and angry when I first heard it, and not even writing Yang to laugh made me feel any better about it. I recognize that humor is a valid way for people to cope, but imo, it should be up to the victim to decide when joking is appropriate (like in Yang and Nora's arm-wrestling match) and not the able-bodied person currently yelling at her about not being ready for the world. Plus, even if it was okay for him to joke about her situation, the joke itself seemed heartless. He not only is using humor to speak over her and tell her what she is and isn't capable of, but he throws in a jab at her intelligence, too.

I like Tai. I really do. He's probably my favorite RWBY parent. And I liked Yang's recovery arc, outside of that line. And I have a lot of respect for you (and this hasn't made me lose any or anything, jsyk) and I agree with basically everything else you've said. But I'm sorry, I think that joke was crossing a line, and while I agree that it isn't entirely fair to judge 4-5 by 6-8 standards, I do think that the recent pattern of blatant, admitted ableism in the Penny and Ironwood arcs, with the added bonus line of Yang telling the audience that humanity stops at flesh and everything else is 'just extra,' makes the joke seem even less like an unfortunate blunder on RT's part, and more like the first sign in what would eventually develop into a long history of ableist writing that, at this point, can no longer be denied.

Aww thanks, anon! 💜 Yeah, as said, it’s a very contentious choice and it looks less and less like a positive the more RWBY goes on. Back in Volume 4 it was a (mostly) isolated moment that some fans enjoyed and others absolutely did not. However, four years later, it’s now a part of a pattern. For some that moment, if it was ever okay, will retroactively be made worse by what comes later (particularly Yang’s “extra” line). For some, if it was ever okay, it will be an example of when RWBY was writing disability better, further proof of how far the show has fallen. For some, if it was never okay, Volumes 5-8 just made it a thousand times worse. Congratulations, RWBY. You took what we thought was a one-off misstep and turned it into a whole philosophy. Nice work!

For me, I’m.. all the camps at once? lol. I enjoy nuance in media and that moment, for me, does have nuance. In that yes, we’re supposed to believe it has crossed a line. There’s a reason why the scene gives us shocked expressions. Not just Yang’s but Port and Oobleck’s too. Omg, how could you say that? 

And then we get our answer. The answer is not, as we assume in this moment, that Tai is a horrible person who insults his daughter without cause, but rather because Tai knows his daughter. He’s making a point here. Yang is arguing that she’s an adult now, ready for the real world, and Tai is arguing that this doesn’t mean she’s ready to run off on her own. If she honestly believes that, she’s lost those braincells along with the arm. He isn’t telling her she isn’t capable, he’s telling her (as my previous posts have argued) that she’s thinking recklessly right now. The implication is that of course she’s smarter than that. Smart is what he expects of her. So stop for a moment and consider whether what you’re saying is, in fact, smart. And provides that reminder in a way that normalizes her arm. After this will be the first time Yang has really talked about it, after it became something to joke about, not just tiptoe around. 

Things have been escalating, they’re yelling, Tai makes his point via an insult... and with a smile to lessen the sting.  

And then Yang smiles too. 

(Though I also think there’s a case to be made that neither really meant their “argument.” It feels very posturing to me, the chance to just go at each other for the fun of it, not because they actually feel that strongly about either position. It’s a form of play between them.) 

I agree wholeheartedly that the victim should be in control of the humor and that’s perhaps my biggest criticism here. The scene is meant to show how well Tai knows his daughter, he’s so sure this will cut the tension... but what if he’s wrong? This could have indeed backfired spectacularly and then yeah, Tai would need to apologize for that and not repeat such behavior in the future. In a perfect world no one would ever make that kind of misstep, but people (and characters) aren’t perfect. I like that Tai is shown to take a risk with humor. That he’s not some generic Good Father Figure who only approaches trauma with the Certified Approved Approaches. This risk makes him feel human and, notably, it paid off. He chose his intimate knowledge of Yang’s personality over the generalized advice, “Treat someone with that trauma with the upmost respect and care.” That works for me personally  — emphasis on personally  — because I’m like Yang. I have friends and family who say things that sound so unimaginably insulting to outsiders about the most sensitive subjects in my life... but that’s because they know me and know I’m cool with it. That, in a weird and human way, it helps me to process the horrible things going on. Tai knows Yang and knows she’d be cool with it too. And she is! Not to attribute agency to fictional character written by, as we’ve seen, authors with a very iffy handle on disability, but I think it’s important to let Yang speak for herself. The scene is written to show that she enjoys this, that it’s what she needs, and it’s always felt weird to me to go, “No, it’s horrible and never should have happened” when clearly Yang draws a benefit and gives it her stamp of approval. The nuance is that sometimes people cope in ways that don’t work for others, are insulting to others, may even seem harmful to others... but if it works for Yang, as a disabled woman, who are we to say, “No, you’re doing disability wrong”?  

But of course, that’s all in that context of our incredibly flawed writers who, as far as I know, are not disabled themselves. So I 1000% understand why others are not at all comfortable with this scene. And certainly no one needs to be. I do want to be clear, in such a meta-filled blog, that my own love of analyzing this show is by no means meant as a, “This is the right interpretation.” I don’t think the “right” interpretation exists, let alone for a moment as charged as this one, trying to represent huge swaths of people at once. I think a scene can cross a line and be a powerful choice simultaneously, depending on who is watching it and what that person needs. Like the question of whether Ruby is endangering people or heroically saving them, whether Ironwood had a phenomenal downfall or was slammed into OOC territory, whether RWBY’s “rule of cool” creates an inconsistent mess or a fun and thrilling adventure not burdened by what it put down before... so much of how we experience media is a result of not the media itself, but us. Our experiences, our normality, our needs, whether we’re choosing to read a scene on its own or in the context of a whole series. Since no two people are the same and, even if they were, they might be coming at this with different intentions, a single scene can read radically differently to them both. 

That and my own enjoyment of the moment aside though, yeeeeeeah, the more RWBY messes up its disability rep the more it reflects badly on... well, everything. At this point, the blatant problems are a blight on the current volumes, the past volumes, the previously good rep, previously bad rep, previously debatable rep, and everything in between. 

[prolestariwrites]

Triple Play

➔Fandom: Resident Evil ➔Rating: Explicit ➔Characters: Chris Redfield, Jill Valentine, Carlos Oliveira

➔Summary: Chris and Jill have been partners for years, but he never actually considered her a woman before. When he finds out more about her dating life than he ever wanted to know, it starts to make him re-evaluate his own (lack of) love life. Beta read by @solynacea. 

My first RE fic, and of course it’s a smut oneshot! Hope you all like it. It’s also on AO3, so visit me there!

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Chris remembers that Jill is a woman about two years after Raccoon City. They are finishing up a briefing and looking forward to a few days off when Capriotti makes a joke about Jill wearing lipstick. He hadn’t noticed himself, and turns his head to see that she is, indeed, wearing some color of pink on her lips. She’s also wearing eye makeup, subtle but there, and a shimmering top under her jacket. He guesses he didn’t pay close enough attention earlier, just acknowledging her when she arrived and launching into the gains they’d made until the meeting wrapped up.

Capriotti cracks a joke about a hot date, and Jill replies slyly, “Don’t you know it.”

Chris frowns as the others guys laugh. “Who is it?” Capriotti pushes.

“Yeah, I asked you out like five times,” Sami complains.

Jill makes a face. “How do you know it’s a guy?”

“It’s not?” Capriotti howls, half laughing and half in shock. “You’re not serious!”

“You afraid I’m getting more pussy than you?” she jokes.

The group continues to laugh but Chris tunes out. Jill is…? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but how didn’t he know? Should he have known? He wishes he didn’t know now.

He gives her a little signal as the group heads out and she walks over to where he stands at the head of the table. “What’s up?” she asks.

“Uh…” Chris clears his throat, looking up to check and make sure the rest are gone. “I was just wondering… I mean, I didn’t know you were a lesbian.”

Jill’s eyes go wide and then she bursts out laughing. “Are you kidding me? I was just messing with those guys.”

“Okay. Not that you couldn’t be. I was just surprised you hadn’t mentioned it.”

Chris’s face is hot but Jill just shrugs. “Not like we have time to date. Or talk about dating. I guess it never came up.” She laughs again and shakes her head. “But no, I’m not a lesbian. If I change my mind, though, you’ll be the first to know.”

She’s teasing him, he can tell that much, but he stammers a bit as he asks, “So, who are you seeing? Someone I know?”

“Yes, actually,” she replies, with a little grin. “Carlos Oliveira.”

“Oliveira?” Chris repeats, his brows drawing together. “The guy from Raccoon City? The Umbrella guy?”

“He’s not the Umbrella guy,” Jill corrects. “But yes, him. He’s with the UN now doing anti-terrorism work. And we actually both have time off together for once, so I’m spending it with him.”

Chris nods, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea. “Didn’t realize you had stayed in touch.”

She gives a shrug. “We see each other when we can. I like him. He’s not at all like most of the guys I meet. They either want to see Miss Badass become their sex slave or want me to step on their balls.”

He goes red again at the idea. “What?”

“You know what I mean. But Carlos just wants me. It’s refreshing.” She tilts her head for a second, considering him. “You should have some fun while we have a few days off. Go out on a date or something.”

“I date,” he argues. Jill gives him a look that shows she definitely doesn’t believe that at all, so he hurries to clarify, “Plus, like you said, we don’t have time for it.”

She pats him on the arm and turns for the door. “Anything else? I have reservations.”

“No, but does that mean we’re not meeting Tuesday?” he asks.

Jill shoots him a look over her shoulder. “No, we’re not meeting on Tuesday. I’m on vacation. As are you. So no check-in this week. Plus,” she adds with a grin, “if I’m lucky, I won’t be able to walk by then.”

He makes a face, and she laughs as she heads out the door. The room is blessedly silent, but that leaves Chris with his thoughts, which are now filled with Jill on a date and that is just too weird for him. So he picks up his stuff and heads out, hurrying back to his apartment.

Yet all the way up the elevator his brain can’t stop thinking. Jill, and that guy? His partner Jill, Jill who could shoot a zombie right between the eyes at twenty yards, Jill who was the only one on the team who didn’t throw up in the sewer when they were chasing a monster that had been mutated with three different virus strains? Jill. Dating Carlos.

Chris had met him, of course, after Raccoon City. The second he had gotten word of what went down, he caught the first flight back to the States to find the rest of S.T.A.R.S. Hearing that his sister had headed that way only made his panic worse, so when he arrived at the Red Cross encampment, he was only able to stay long enough to find out that almost everyone was dead before he was getting pulled to go work. Jill had seemed fine, shaken and exhausted but okay, and she had introduced him to Carlos, saying he had saved her. But Chris’ eyes went immediately to the red and white emblem on his shoulder, and barely heard another word as he promised to check in once he got a hold of Claire.

That guy? It’s so hard to picture. He’s not even Jill’s type. Jill’s type is…

Chris draws a blank. She’s mentioned dating before, right? He frowns as the elevator slows. Maybe, maybe not? But he knows for sure she’d never go for that type, the tall-dark-and-handsome or whatever. Too cliche.

Why do you care? his brain scoffs. Not like he’s interested, which he is not. Chris clears his throat, thinking that’s even weirder. Jill is… Jill. Not a sister really, not like Claire, because he doesn’t have the undeniable instinct to protect her at any cost. He doesn’t need to, because Jill can do fine on her own. Jill is his buddy. His partner. His pal. So why do you care?

“I don’t,” he says aloud, as the elevator doors open.

There are two agents on the other side who give him a funny look, and he sheepishly steps around them. He heads to his apartment in the officers’ building, relieved when he’s finally inside. Almost two weeks off, maybe a bit more if the world doesn’t end and they aren’t needed back immediately, and Chris decides he’s going to enjoy it. He’s going to relax and do some reading and… something. He’s got two weeks to figure it out.

Go out on a date or something.

He huffs at that as he moves around his kitchen, making some pasta. Date who? Nobody on the team, and everyone else is either under him or over him, so it’s all too awkward. There is the staff at the agency who keep the machine working, and he remembers Lisa from lab reception. “See? I date,” he says to the empty apartment. He had taken Lisa out to dinner after she had dropped some subtle hints at being interested, like “Do you want to get dinner sometime?” Chris grins smugly at himself as he stirs macaroni. The relationship didn’t really go anywhere after a few months; too hard to be away for days or weeks at a time, even though Lisa was good-natured about it. She was sweet in bed too, but not exactly his style. “I date,” he says again, as if to confirm.

The pasta and sauce are ready so he takes his bowl to the living room to find a game to watch. This is how you enjoy a vacation, he decides. Feet up, comfort food, America’s pastime on television. He sinks into the cushions as the third inning starts, feeling satisfied. Better this than getting all dolled up to go out, get sweaty, and meet someone for a night that goes nowhere.

Yet all that thinking about Jill and Carlos and Lisa has made him realize it has been a while. A real long while, and when he puts aside his empty bowl his mind starts to wander. His hand rubs against his crotch, soothing the erection growing underneath his sweats, and he thinks about Lisa. Lisa with the blond curls and the little dimple on her left ass cheek. She liked him on top, but he pictures her on his lap, dragging her fingers through his hair. It’s her hand that is fisting his cock, and Chris lets go a grunt as he lifts his hips to tug the waistband down enough to free it, giving in to the fantasy.

He sighs and tilts his head back, almost feeling her hair brushing his face as she strokes him boldly. But Lisa was never exactly bold in bed, so when he opens his mind’s eye it’s not her, but Jill on his lap. She’s wearing a t-shirt pulled too tight over her chest, and when his free hand reaches out to grab onto her hip, he realizes she’s wearing nothing else.

Jill says his name with her signature smirk before kissing him, and in his confusion he accepts. His hand moves faster, the end inevitable now, and he wonders how her lean body would feel against his, so much tighter and stronger than Lisa’s soft little self. His fingers dig into his thigh just as they would dig into her hip and he comes, pleasure sharp and intense and unexpected as it runs down his fingers.

Chris opens his eyes, breathing heavily as he shakes himself back to reality. “What the fuck?” he laughs, sitting up slowly to reach for the box of tissues. He might as well be in goddamn eighth grade, getting lost in a vivid daydream like that and not having the sense to prep for cleanup. What the hell is wrong with him?

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Four days later, Chris is bored. A guy like him who is used to action doesn’t do well without anything to keep him occupied. He works out and goes shopping and works out some more, but after going down to the bar around the corner for a drink and dinner, he realizes that vacation isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. And it’s too late now to call Claire and invite her somewhere, especially since she’s in California or something.

He needs to get out of this rut, so Chris makes a decision. He sends an email to the team and invites everyone over for poker the next night. He grins as one acceptance after another comes through, jokes ranging from Captain? You dying or something? to Get your money ready, making him chuckle. But then he is surprised when Jill emails him too: I’d love to come, alright if I bring Carlos?

It’s fine, he answers back, but what happened to not being able to walk?

It takes a full five minutes to get an answer back, and Chris smirks to himself at being able to surprise Jill Valentine. But eventually she does answer: I’m a girl of many talents. Damn her.

The next night is plenty fun. He splurges on the good beer and even an excellent bottle of bourbon, figuring if he can’t spend his salary on booze, what else is there? Peterson brings cigars and there are eight of them that wind up playing, including Carlos, who fits right in with the group well enough that Chris can pretty much ignore him and the way his hand sits on Jill’s thigh.

They play a few rounds but they end up talking more than looking at cards, so the game evolves into a proper party of drinking and stories. Chris orders pizza and when it arrives, the crowd gathers in his kitchen to eat and he realizes Jill is missing. He heads down the hallway to check the bathroom but finds it empty. So is his office, and curious, he pokes his head into the bedroom. That’s also empty, but he hears something in the master bath, and without even thinking he walks through the room and opens the door.

Chris finds them alright. Carlos is fucking her against his sink, their arms locked around one another, her shirt pushed up and her jeans dangling from one knee and his jeans in a puddle around his ankles. He comes to a stop as his eyes go wide, watching in a weird moment of frozen time, noticing how they’ve knocked over his little container of cotton swabs and that the mirror is steamed up from their breath. Then Jill gives a yelp that shakes him back to present, and he gets a quick glance of Carlos’ dick pulling out of her flushed folds before yelling, “Shit, sorry!” and promptly closing the door.

He is sure his face is red when he returns to the others, but they must assume it’s the alcohol because no one says anything. Jill and Carlos join them a few minutes later, and he feels distracted, not because of what they were doing, but because he is oddly curious if they finished or not.

The evening winds down and everyone helps clean up a bit before they say their goodbyes, and somehow he ends up alone with Jill and Carlos as the only ones left. “Let me help you with this stuff,” she says, and he notes the blush on her cheeks as she fills her arms with empty bottles and cups and walks to the kitchen.

Chris is about to go after her when Carlos pats him on the arm. “Hey, man,” he says. “Sorry about earlier.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s fine.”

“I’m so embarrassed.” Jill reappears, laughing and shaking her head. “That was not the right place or time.”

“Didn’t think anyone would catch us if we snuck off,” Carlos offers, laughing too. “You scared the hell out of us though.”

“Sorry.” Chris chuckles, thinking that this should be awkward and glad that it’s not. “Hey, at least the place saw some action. Not like there’s a lot going on in that department.”

He gives another laugh, but the other two don’t find the humor. “Don’t say that,” Carlos replies. “Guy like you is probably beating the girls off with a stick.”

“Not exactly,” Chris says. He pushes a chair under the table to cover his embarrassment. “But really, it’s fine.”

“I take full responsibility.” Carlos puts a hand up as if swearing an oath. “It was all my idea. I just can’t keep my hands off her.”

“Carlos!” Jill scolds, holding her forehead in her hand.

He points at her with a grin. “Hey, it’s not my fault. You’re fucking gorgeous. And your ass in those jeans? I mean what is a man supposed to do with that?” He turns to Chris with a smile. “I mean, you know what I mean, right man?”

“Chris doesn’t think like that,” Jill teases. “He is too respectful.”

“Well you’re disrespectful in those jeans.”

“Carlos.”

“I don’t,” Chris interjects. They both turn from their fun to look at him, and he hurries on, “I mean, think that way about Jill.”

Carlos makes a face. “What? Are you telling me you two never…?”

“Never!” laughs Jill.

“I’m surprised,” he says. “I wouldn’t be able to do a thing if I looked at her all day.”

Chris shrugs. “Sorry. I just never thought of her like that.” He glances over, surprised that she is frowning. “What? Are you mad or something?”

“No,” she protests. “But you didn’t have to be so adamant about it.”

He opens his mouth to argue before he remembers that he did, in fact, think of Jill that way, just the other day, not three feet from where they were all standing. “So you want me to then?” he laughs.

Jill rolls her eyes. “I don’t care if you do or not. All I’m saying is that if you did, you wouldn’t have to be ashamed of it.”

Chris clears his throat. “We’re partners. Not exactly appropriate.”

She sighs and walks towards him, her arms folded. “Chris, when are you gonna get over bullshit like what’s appropriate? We spend our whole lives fighting biological weapons, killing monsters, saving people. Every single day. We leave here on each mission not knowing if we’re coming back. Not knowing who is going to get infected or shot or bitten, if you’re going to have to pull the trigger or if I am.” Jill is standing in front of him now, barely an inch away, and he searches her face, wondering when this turned serious. “So when I’m not killing monsters and hunting people who want to see me dead or worse, I’m going to do what I want. I’m not spending the time I do have worrying about what’s appropriate. And if I want to have sex with someone, then I’m going to fucking have sex.”

He gives a huff, not quite a laugh, not sure what she’s trying to say. “I understand,” he replies.

“Do you?”

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I did think about you like that. Jerked off to it too.”

The words are out before he can stuff them back in, and his eyes go wide the second they are released. Panic rises in his throat for the longest second of his life as Jill’s mouth opens in an O of surprise; but then she smiles and presses her palms to his chest. “Did you really?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he chokes out.

Jill then does the last thing he expects. She leans up and kisses him, pressing her mouth firmly on his, one of her hands moving to cup the back of his neck. She should be slapping him or something, calling their supervisor, maybe shooting him? But instead she tilts her head and gives his lower lip a little bite, and a split second later he puts his arms around her waist and pulls her against him.

Her mouth opens and his follows suit. Her tongue rolls into his mouth, sliding along his, sending a little thrill up his spine. Chris realizes he had been right; she feels nothing like anyone else, her body somehow both solid and light as he presses her firmly to him.

Jill breaks the kiss suddenly, and he stares at her in shock as she blinks up at him. “Is this okay?” she asks.

Chris is about to answer when she looks to the side, and he realizes she’s talking to Carlos. He gives a start, releasing his grip; how did he forget Carlos was standing there and watching? The guy will deck him for sure.

Carlos nods, a little smile on his face. “Yeah. It’s all good.”

A million and one questions instantly flood his mind but her mouth is on his again, and Chris can’t deny the absolutely undeniable pull she has. Jill has always been like this, hasn’t she? Like a rocket, or an anchor, or a little beacon that pulses and makes people shut up and listen.

Which is what he should be doing now instead of listing adjectives in his head. “Sit,” she says, and Chris realizes she’s pulled him to the couch. Her hands push his shirt up and he helps her remove it before he sits, and Jill steps between his legs, leaning down to slide her touch along his arms.

“You good?” she asks, and her concern is almost touching.

“Yeah,” he replies.

He watches with great interest as she unbuttons her jeans and shimmies out of them, pulling her underwear down with them. Chris’ heart beats faster to see her slim thighs that curve up into perfect hips, his favorite part of a woman. Her stomach is flat with the hint of muscle underneath, her waist tiny and trim and making him start to get hard before his eyes even fall to the place between her thighs. As if she knows, Jill presses her hand against her sex, rubbing herself as she climbs onto his lap.

Her knees straddle him and she reaches for her shirt, but Chris stops her. This is it, his fantasy that he had conjured, and he takes a minute to just enjoy Jill Valentine half naked on his lap and the tight anticipation of what her chest is going to look like bare and what she is going to feel like sliding onto his dick. His hands press against her thighs and he slides them up, tracing the path his eyes took over hips and stomach and waist until he grazes the underside of her bra.

Jill shifts on his lap and Chris catches sight of Carlos. He is leaning against the table where they played cards on the other side of the room, just watching, his hand rubbing himself on the outside of his jeans. And fuck is that hot, knowing he’s watching and enjoying as he gets ready to fuck his girlfriend—what the fuck is wrong with him? He’s not this kind of guy, he doesn’t do kinky shit like this, he doesn’t get off on having sex in front of people or fucking his partner or having sex without at least buying dinner first and the pizza didn’t count at all.

“Hey,” Jill murmurs, tilting his chin up. “You still with me?”

“We really doing this?” he asks stupidly.

She snorts. “Yeah. If you want to.”

Fuck-shit-damn yes he wants to, his cock is like steel now at the very idea. He wants to do this. He wants to give up control and hand it over, stop playing by rules that don’t work and write some of his own. He wants to stop being in charge for one night and let someone else make decisions, wants to follow instead of lead, wants to be anyone other than Chris Redfield, special agent. He wants to fuck the girl every man wants as her boyfriend watches, and that nearly short circuits his thinking.

So maybe it’s not such a surprise that he says the dumbest sentence ever uttered, one that later he’ll think about and want to kick his own ass. “But you’ve already had sex tonight.”

Carlos chuckles from where he stands and Jill laughs along, stroking his cheek. “I got a special dispensation from the president,” she says, before sealing her mouth on his in a kiss.

She is cool and light against him, and Carlos was right, her ass is perfect. He grips her backside and squeezes as she grinds on his lap. Jill groans into his mouth and Chris realizes it’s because she’s rubbing herself against his erection, pressing up in a hard tent at the front of his jeans. Her fingers stroke against his shoulders and down his chest, running through the hair there and tracing along his pecs until they move lower, outlining his abdominals. She rolls her hips again and again and he can feel her getting his jeans wet, or maybe that’s him? Either way, he lets go of her long enough to open them, needing the relief more than ever.

Jill moves up on her knees to let him slide his pants down his hips, and she uses the opportunity to pull her t-shirt off over her head. Now she is left in only her bra, a lacy red thing that is so opposite of everything he knows about her that he can only stop and stare. He reaches up to carefully pull one cup down to expose her pink nipple, rubbing his thumb against the hard bud.

There is moisture leaking from the tip of his cock, and Jill uses it to stroke him, her hand tight as she pumps his length with quick, firm movements. Chris leans forward to lick her nipple, then presses his lips to her body, sucking lightly. Someone like her, would she even like the normal stuff? But she sighs in response, her other hand pressing to the back of his head to keep him there, and Chris uses his teeth and tongue to tease her until she is rubbing her sex against his.

Jill gives a groan, and he looks up to see that Carlos has moved behind her. He cups her chin up and to the side, his curls falling a bit to cover their kiss. Chris freezes momentarily, but then Carlos pulls away with a playful bite to her lip. “Does he feel good?” he murmurs.

“I can’t wait anymore,” Jill pants.

Carlos reaches into his pocket and pulls out a condom, handing it to her between two fingers. Jill snatches it and smiles at Chris as she tears it open, and he leans back on the couch, pressing his hands to the cushion. He watches in a sort of daze as she rolls it down his length, anticipation tightening his stomach as she leans up and angles him against her body before finally sinking down around him.

Chris lets out a hiss of pleasure as he throws his head back. Jill’s mouth is hot on his neck as she works to take him in, but with her slick body and the lubricated condom he slips inside with little trouble. She squeezes tightly around him, nearly taking his ability to breathe, before she pulls back and braces her hands on his shoulders.

When she starts to move, he risks a peek, groaning as the sight of her sends a jolt of excitement straight through his cock. Carlos is kissing her shoulder, undoing her bra and pulling it down her arms to toss it away before he grabs her bare breasts. She reaches up one arm to wrap around his neck as the other digs hard into Chris’ shoulder, and he watches in rapt attention as she fucks him while Carlos fondles her chest, delivering open mouthed kisses along her neck. Chris reaches up and presses his hands to her waist, dragging them over her hips as his eyes go downwards and giving another groan when his gaze falls on where they are joined, his cock disappearing in between her lips.

Jill stops the roll of her hips momentarily, keeping him buried inside of her, and he can feel her nearly pulsing around him. “She’s close,” Carlos says roughly, and Chris’ eyes snap up to his when he realizes he’s talking to him.

“Already?” he pants. Carlos nods, and Chris huffs a laugh. “So am I.”

Jill grins, opening her eyes as she bites her lower lip. “Can’t let this end too fast.”

She pushes off of him to stand, and Chris swallows a protest, his cock bobbing when it is released. But Jill grabs his pants and pulls them down his legs, and once they are removed she kneels on the carpet, carefully pulling the condom away. “I bet you taste delicious,” she says, and his eyes nearly roll back into his head when she lowers her lips onto his length.

Jill sucks him hungrily, making his head spin. Chris jerks upwards into her mouth, but fists his hands into the couch to let her work. Behind her, Carlos has pulled out his own cock and is stroking it freely, watching with dark, hooded eyes. “You’re so beautiful,” he groans before going down on his knees.

As Carlos pushes her thighs apart and pulls her hips upwards, her moan vibrates along his cock as she swallows him completely. Her eyes squeeze shut as she sucks for as long as she can before coming up for breath, panting against his wet length as Carlos starts to fuck her from behind. “Slow,” she pants, and Carlos instantly eases his pace. Her eyes meet Chris’ and stay there as she rolls her tongue around the head of his cock; then she is swallowing him again, the sensation nearly driving him mad with desire. It strikes him that he never understood before why someone would want it like this, least of all a woman, finding porn like this vulgar and strange: but now he realizes that it’s because she’s in control, with two men ready to worship her body, and Chris is willing to give her anything in this moment.

Soon he is close again, and he hisses her name. Jill pulls off and grips his cock, stroking him quickly as her mouth drops down to press her tongue against his sac. Carlos starts to move faster, drawing a whine from Jill’s throat, and when she shudders against him, Chris realizes she’s coming. It sends him right over the edge, his body tightening almost painfully before his seed spills out in a great spurt that she quickly moves her mouth to swallow. Carlos holds her firmly by the waist as she trembles, but Chris can only focus on her lips sliding along his cock in time with the pulsing that rocks deeply through him. He lifts his hips to push in further with the final waves of pleasure, and Jill swallows him with a sigh that she releases when he finally slides his cock from her mouth.

Carlos pulls her closer to him, and he muffles a groan against her shoulder as he jerks his hips. Jill looks up at Chris, their eyes locking as she licks her lips, and Chris swallows thickly, knowing Carlos is finishing inside of her. His erection is softening, but not nearly as fast as it usually does, and when she turns her face to kiss Carlos and he watches her tongue slide into his mouth, his cock jerks uncomfortably.

She laughs a bit when Carlos finally releases her. “Damn,” Carlos sighs, rubbing her arms. “So fucking hot. Told ya, man.”

He is grinning at Chris, who nods, rubbing the palm of his hand on his forehead. “Yeah,” he agrees lamely.

It feels so damn awkward now, but the other two don’t seem fazed, climbing to their feet as they chuckle together. Carlos yanks up his jeans before grabbing Jill, pulling her into a deep kiss as Chris looks up and watches. He remembers how he couldn’t believe they’d be together just days ago, and now he knows what an absolute idiot he is.

“Carlos and I are driving down the coast tomorrow,” Jill says, turning to look at him as Carlos kisses her neck. “Do you want to come? Spend a few days on the beach?”

“With you two?” he asks stupidly. Carlos lifts his head and Chris holds up a hand. “Yeah. Dumb question. Sorry.”

He stands awkwardly, wanting to put on some clothes, but Jill slides her hand over his hip. “Well? Do you want to come?”

The question makes his neck heat, and he nods. “Sure. Why not.”

“Good,” Carlos says.

They banter a bit as they get dressed, Chris just listening as he tries to figure out what to say. He spots the condom on the floor and quickly picks it up, and when he returns from throwing it away Carlos is at the door, grabbing his jacket. “Hey,” Jill says, stepping up to press her hand on his chest, just like she had before. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Chris answers. “I’m fine.”

“Be ready by ten.” Then she gives him a wink and they head out the door, Carlos slinging his arm around her shoulder as he gives a wave.

The door shuts behind them, leaving the apartment in silence and Chris standing with his pants half undone. “See? I have sex,” he says to the room.

[purplebass]

Dark Light - Last Chapter // Blackdale

Hi everyone! Thank you for reading this. It was the first multi-chapter fan fiction I finished, so this is a great accomplishment for me. I really hope you enjoyed this. I loved writing it, and I hope you will also check out my work in the future. Enjoy, and thank you!!! 🥺🌼✨

Couple/Characters: Blackdale, Lucie Herondale and Jesse Blackthorn Rating: T

10. Last Chapter + Epilogue

There wasn’t time to do anything, because the moment they took Tatiana Blackthorn away, they also asked for Lucie and Jesse to come back to London. It is probably temporary, Lucie thought, since they just needed them to testify against the woman. Deep down, she wanted to return to the Institute for good. Maybe it was too early to hope that the Clave would change their mind about their exile. She didn’t want to keep her hopes up for them to be crushed again, so she didn’t hope for anything.

That night, she enjoyed Cordelia’s company in front of the fire. The others had left already, and they had taken Jesse with them. She knew he would stay at uncle Gabriel’s house, and the thought comforted her, but she wished she could have a moment to speak with him. She was curious, but also afraid of what he might have to say about her confession. 

Had she been impulsive? Definitely. She had harbored these feelings for so long, deep in her heart, but she had never given them a proper name. Or probably just ignored them, thinking that they would just hurt her if she acknowledged them. But they were there, and couldn’t look away anymore. She wondered if things would change, once they returned to the Cornwall Institute.

“What are you thinking? Can’t you believe you’re home?” Cordelia asked, and grabbed Lucie’s hand. 

Lucie had been staring at the hearth. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening,” she apologized, and sighed. Bridget had brought them cookies when they arrived, and she took one from the plate. 

“You must be shook,” Cordelia said. “She might have killed you.”

“She wanted to kill her son,” her voice shook, and her shoulders sagged. “She tried to poison him.”

Cordelia gasped, and put a comforting hand behind Lucie’s back. “Now he is safe, though. Wait, Lucie,” she peered at her. “Do you love him?”

“Is it evident?” she wondered, and covered her face with her hands. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Cordelia continued. “I also love James.”

Lucie frowned for a second, but then she smiled at her friend. “I knew it!” she exclaimed, and grabbed Cordelia by the shoulders. “I knew you loved him.”

There was an unspoken, I wish you would have told me, between the two, but no one said anything. The most important thing was that the truth was out. 

 …

The following morning, Lucie woke up disoriented. Then she remembered, with a bitter laugh, that she was in her room at the Institute, and in her bed. She better enjoyed it while it lasted, she thought, and got ready to go downstairs to eat breakfast. She found everyone but her parents in the kitchen. Cordelia stood from her chair and came to hug her. James, who was talking to Matthew, waved at her. The former also winked at Lucie, and gave her a tight hug. 

“How are you doing, Lucie?”

“How are you doing, Matthew?” she cocked her head to the side, one eyebrow raised. 

“He’s okay, he’s okay,” James interjected, grabbing him by the shoulders. 

“I know how to talk, thank you very much,” Matthew said, sitting down in front of Cordelia. “Let’s talk later if we have time, shall we?”

“Whenever you want,” Lucie responded, and gave him a bitter laugh, wondering if that moment would ever come. She didn’t know how much time she had left before they would ask her to go back to Cornwall.

Bridget had prepared bread and butter pudding, which was Lucie’s favorite, and she enjoyed it to the very last bite while talking to her closest friends. James told her that Christopher and Thomas would get there in a few hours with Anna, whom she hadn’t seen in two months. No one said anything about Jesse. It was as if he didn’t exist, or if they didn’t mention him because he wasn’t part of their group.

Everyone was gathered in the drawing room, when her parents finally arrived. Yes, because her father had been screaming Lucie’s name so loud that it was impossible not to know they were back. Each one of the people present stopped whatever they were doing and looked at each other, frowning. They all knew Will’s antics, so it’s not like they were surprised.

“Uncle Will must be cheerful that Lucie is back,” Christopher said, and they all laughed, until Will stumbled in the room. His cheeks were red, as if he had raced there.

Lucie came near her father, concerned. “Papa, what’s wrong?” there was fear in her tone. Let’s hope he doesn’t say I have to go back.  Let’s hope he doesn’t say-

“Lucie, my dear!” Will beamed, and hugged his daughter. “They let you go!”

“Who let me go?” she questioned.

“Come on, I mean the Clave!” Will replied, glancing in Lucie’s eyes. “They decided that since you didn’t use the Black Volume after all, but just stole it, and caught the person who indeed used it in the past, they wanted to grace you with freedom. Of course, not just you. Tatiana’s boy has no blame either. On the other hand, he’s one of her victims.”

Tears welled up in Lucie’s eyes, and she couldn’t do anything but cry of joy on her father’s chest.

…

The following two weeks, they received news about Tatiana Blackthorn. She was put before the Inquisitor, tried with the Mortal Sword, and taken to the Silent City to be locked for the rest of her life. She hadn’t wanted to go to the trial, but she was asked to go as a witness. Tatiana not only admitted that she tried to kill her own son. She also planned to kill Lucie and take him away with her somewhere, and she enlisted a warlock to do that. Tatiana had uttered a name, but it later turned out to be a vagabond who lived in the slums. The warlock or whoever helped the woman might have been powerful and aware of what they were doing, if they were able to run away just like this. Lucie wondered if they ever found this person, but at this point, she did not care.

She wanted to know how Jesse was doing. Where was he, what were his thoughts. If he was feeling alone. Lucie decided to be bold and ask her mother casually over tea, the day after Tatiana’s trial. She couldn’t go on not knowing, especially after confessing her love to him. She had let two weeks fly and waited for a sign, which did not come. Was this his way to kindly reject her? She thought it wasn’t something he would do. He was too honest to just move on with his life and ignore her. If he didn’t feel the same about her, he would tell her.

“He’s decided to live at uncle Gabriel’s until he finds another place, that’s what your aunt Cecily told me,” Tessa said, sipping her white tea. “They are happy because they never got to know him, and now they can. Gideon and Sophie decided to take a trip back from Idris just so they can also spend time with him. I’m sure he’s surrounded by people who love him.”

Lucie nodded. “Yes, I’m sure it’s true.”

Once the tea was over, Lucie decided to go back to her room. She was inspired to write, or better. She hoped that writing would help her not think about Jesse. She wondered when it would be okay for her to visit him at the Lightwoods, without seeming too suspicious. They all knew that Jesse had stayed two months with her in Cornwall, but no one knew the extent of their relationship. They didn’t know they had known each other before he was revived, and that she had already developed feelings for him back then. She didn’t know how to handle all of this.

Lucie caught someone coming out of her father’s office on her way back to her room. If it wasn’t for the straight black hair, she would have thought it was her brother. But it wasn’t James. It was Jesse. She was too far to hear what they were saying, but she believed they were having a friendly conversation because she heard her father’s jovial laugh. 

She advanced. She hadn't seen Jesse for a few weeks, and her spirits soared upon seeing him.  It sounded like a repeat of her first stay at the Cornwall Institute, but in a different place. 

Both men turned to her when they heard her heels on the carpet. Jesse smiled slightly, and so did Will. 

"Lulu, good morning," her father said. She widened her eyes at the mention of her nickname from him. Her cheeks warmed, and she glared at him. “Lucie, good morning,” he said again, and made an apologetic smile. 

"I didn't know you had guests," she said, trying not to look too obvious when she gazed up at Jesse. She frowned at him, trying to let him know that she would have loved to know about what he had been up to. It hurt. It felt like he had been avoiding her, but perhaps he had just been busy with his found family. “You could have called for me.”

"I was surprised too, my dear," Will replied, and Lucie bit her lip. Was she too obvious? "Mr. Blackthorn came to personally bring us the invite for an informal ball at his house." 

"A ball?" 

"It's not a ball per se, but a party to celebrate my return," Jesse grinned. "I have decided to restore Chiswick to its splendor, with my uncles and aunts help. There is still so much to do, but I decided to start from the ballroom, which was the room which required less effort to tidy up." 

“I… see, and I’m glad to participate,” Lucie murmured. Those news lifted her mood. Warmth filled her chest, and their eyes locked for a long time, until her father cleared his voice.

“Alright, I believe Mr. Blackthorn has to go,” Will announced, and Lucie snapped back to reality, glancing away from the weird duo before her. “We will be honored to join you for this special event, next Saturday. I can’t wait to see Chiswick’s ballroom again, you know why,” he continued. Jesse nodded a greeting at Lucie before her father put an arm behind his back to lead him away from her. 

She asked herself why Jesse would know the reason her father wanted to see his ballroom again, but it probably had to do his and her mother’s past. She shrugged.

…

Saturday couldn’t come any sooner, but Lucie knew that time was slower when one was eager to do something they wanted. Lucie’s mother Tessa had taken her daughter to Bond Street to buy her a new dress for the event. It wasn’t the first time they had shopped for dresses together, and Lucie was happy with the suggestion because she had already deemed all of her clothes unfit for the occasion. She wasn’t vain, but she thought she needed a fresh start, and her mother agreed, so they spent more than they would normally do. This night would also celebrate the end of Lucie’s exile, and she wanted to look good.

And she thought she did. She chose an embellished satin blue dress with short sleeves, which complemented her eyes, and put her hair up. She reached Chiswick with her family, but once the carriage stopped, she ran off. No one said anything, since it wasn’t rare for Lucie to go inside and go find her friends. She caught sight of Cordelia, and she waved at her, but before she could reach her, Lucie muttered that she had to do something first. 

She had thought a lot during the last few days, and resolved that she needed to act. It was nor or never. She couldn’t wait for Jesse anymore to make the first step. If he would ever move, that is. She found him by the table filled with cocktails and food, speaking to a few people she couldn’t recognize. His eyes found Lucie’s in an instant, and he excused himself and went to her. She thought he looked amazing in his black and white evening suit.

“You came,” he said softly. “You’re late.”

Lucie rolled her eyes. She knew he was joking. “The people who count always come late,” she told him, smirking, and raised an eyebrow at him. 

He grinned. “Come on, let’s go somewhere quieter to talk,” he suggested, and Lucie followed him outside of the ballroom, which was in a separate wing of the building. 

There were a lot of people, she saw, all over the property. He must have invited the whole Clave. She was too distracted looking around that she shivered when he secured her hand in his and smiled warmly at her. 

They were walking on a path in between the grass, and Lucie realized that she had already been there in the past. Her suspicions were confirmed when they stopped in front of the greenhouse doors. He opened one for her, and she entered, ready to face the disruption she had seen the last time she had been there, but she was astonished when she saw the place looked entirely different from the way she remembered it. Most of the plants had been either cut or substituted by new ones, and fresh, colorful flowers grew at the sides of the greenhouse. Now it was bright and clean like she had never seen it before. A witchlight here and there lighted the ambient and made it look like some place out of a fairytale.

“Do you like it, Lucie?”

“It’s wonderful,” she commented, seeing how many types of plants were actually there. “How did you do this?”

“I called several gardeners, and-” he interrupted himself, because she was rolling her eyes at him. “Okay, I’ll stop humoring you, Lucie. I was saying-”

“Why didn’t you come to see me after we got back?” she interjected. She understood that he wanted to tell her about the greenhouse and how he had restored it, but she needed to talk about important matters first. “I thought you would come,” she murmured, trying not to seem too hurt. “I believed you would talk to me.”

“I also asked myself the same thing,” he admitted, and she thought he was honest. “I needed time, Lucie. Time to think. I thought about what I wanted to do with my future, now that my mother has been taken away. If I could live as a shadowhunter, or I would rather live as a mundane. Do you know that my father left me a hefty inheritance? I could sit down all day and do nothing for the rest of my life, and I would still have money to survive,” he chuckled.

“Exercise is important,” Lucie said, and they both laughed. 

“Yes, and not only that,” Jesse’s face turned serious. “It didn’t take me long to resolve what I wanted to do. The first thing I decided to dedicate myself to, was remodeling this house. I talked about it with my uncles, and they all agreed to help me with this. They are all incredibly nice and sweet, and I’m angry at my mother for lying about them. She said they were evil, and I even believed her. But now I know better,” he glanced at a cactus for a moment, and sighed. “Can you believe they said that they want me to keep Chiswick?”

“I do believe you, Jesse,” she nodded. She was aware of her uncles and aunts’ generosity. 

“The second thing I resolved to do, was trying to understand if I could be a shadowhunter. You know that my mother also forbade me to live this life, literally, and I told myself: you should do it if you want to do it. I still don’t know much about it, but I am a good learner.”

“Yes, you are,” she agreed again, and he smiled at her. 

“And if you’d help me, and you’d teach me, I’m sure I’ll get better in no time,” he said, and got closer to her.

“Of course I will help you. Of course.”

“Be with me, Lucie,” he took her hands in his. “Marry me.”

Lucie’s jaw dropped, and her skin flushed. Her heart would leap out of her chest if it could, she was sure. “But… don’t you believe it’s too early for this? I’ve just turned seventeen, we’re both seventeen, and…”

“We can wait until you are ready to make this step, but I can’t wait for you to give me an answer. I’ve lost seven years of my life already. I don’t want to lose more time and lose more occasions. I want to finally live my life,” he said with hope. 

It was an honest request.

“With me?”

“Why does it sound too weird to you, Lucie? I think my life gained color when I first met you. After then, it was a crescendo of hues. You let me live even when I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want to tie your life to mine, knowing that I was dead. I wouldn’t want to subject you to the fate of loving someone who couldn’t be the person you deserved by your side, because I was half-alive. I would have never confessed my feelings for you, had I stayed a ghost.”

“Do you… love me?” her voice shook, and tears started to well in her eyes. 

“Again, I wonder why does it sound impossible to you that I love you, Lucie?” Jesse asked, caressing her cheek tenderly. “I think I fell for you before I gave your brother my last breath. I thought I loved you because you were the only other person who could see me, but I was wrong. I waited for the night to fall so I could be with you. I missed you. I never developed any affection for anyone before you, and I realized it’s because you are special. And the Jesse Blackthorn who spent two months with you before I regained my memories knew it too.”

“Do you remember?”

“Yes, I remembered what happened after you brought me to life. I remember that I doubted you, but then asked for your help and you hid me while we figured how to get my memories back. I remember the first rune you drew on my arm when we entered this very house to bring the Black Volume back, and your shock when you saw me at the Cornwall Institute. I also remember our first kiss, and the way I fainted,” he laughed. “I already remembered after Magnus Bane finished performing that spell on me. I couldn’t place those frames at first, but then they clicked. Everything fell into place. And I… had to do something about it.”

“You organized a ball,” Lucie commented with a grin. 

“I wanted to celebrate my life… Selfish, isn’t it?”

“Nah, you deserve it, Jesse Blackthorn. You’re the least self-centered person I know, although you are arrogant at times,” she shrugged, and he frowned. “And I love you. I want to be with you as long as life allows us to be together.”

He beamed, and smiled widely. “Can I kiss you, Lucie?”

“You can kiss me anytime you want,” she replied. “And this, of course, goes both ways,” Lucie said, and she rose on the balls of her feet to kiss him before he would do it.

He gave her his family ring next, and slid it on her fourth finger. They agreed on telling the news to everyone that night, and Jesse confessed that her parents already knew. 

“That’s why I came to the Institute personally the other day,” Jesse told her as they returned back to the party. “I asked your father the permission to marry you.”

“And what did he say?” she asked, curious.

“He said that it was up to you. It wasn’t up to him to give me his permission. You were the only one who could accept or refuse my proposal. He added that if you said yes, he would know that I was worthy of you, because you would never choose somebody who didn’t deserve you.”

Lucie laughed. “Come on, let’s hurry. I think he is eager to find out what i said.”

...

EPILOGUE 6 Years Later

London, Spring 1910

 “And then, the princess exclaimed: I came to destroy you! You dared to make the prince fall into a deep sleep, and I’ll never forgive you for this!” Lucie exclaimed giddily, as she dressed her son in the green pants and white shirt she had chosen for the event they were throwing that night. Lucie believed the baby needed to shine as much as his parents, since this party was also for him. “No, you won’t crush me! You’re just a little girl!” she continued, and the baby laughed as she put on his socks and shoes. “I’m not a little girl!” she said in a different one of voice, pretending she was fifteen years younger than she was now.

“Is prince Theodore ready, my lady?” Jesse asked from the doorway, as Lucie finished the last touch on their son’s outfit, a cute dark green bow tie.

Theodore was a healthy two year old baby with Lucie’s brown hair and blue-green eyes. Not quite like the color of either of his parents, but more of a mix between the two. Perhaps it would turn into the Blackthorn-Herondale trademark color. Who knew.

“He is now,” she replied, and she turned her face to let her husband of four years kiss her on the lips. “And so am I, thanks for asking.”

“I helped you close the zip of your dress because it got stuck, earlier,” he winked, and grabbed his jacket from the chair, then picked baby Theodore from the changing table, and kissed his cheek. The baby giggled excitedly.

Lucie checked herself in the mirror one last time, then they went down at the top of the stairs outside to wait for their guests, as they usually did on such occasions. It was their fourth wedding anniversary, and they had made it a tradition to throw a party at Blackthorn Hall every year. Blackthorn Hall used to be Chiswick House. They thought it deserved a name change after they had restored the place, to symbolize its renovation and brand new life. 

They saw a few carriages approach, and Lucie smiled to herself. The party was about to begin.

“The zip of my dress didn’t get stuck,” she said out of the blue, continuing the conversation they were having inside. “I just gained weight on my stomach,” she glanced at him with a smirk.

Jesse frowned at first. “It’s okay Lu-” he said, then realized what she meant, and his eyes widened, filled with surprise but also joy. “Are you with child?” 

Lucie smiled lovingly at her husband. “Happy Fourth Anniversary, my love,” she told him, and he gave her another kiss.

“I wanted to wait later to give this to you, but since we’re here,” he said, and took a white envelope from his pocket and gave it to her. “It came in the mail this morning. It looks thick.”

She glanced at her husband with expectations and hope. “Let’s open it,” she muttered, and started reading as fast as she could. She was trying to finish before the carriages would get too close to the house. “By the angel, by the angel!”

“What does it say?”

“Mrs. Lucie Blackthorn, we are happy to inform you that we found your manuscript interesting and creative, and we look forward to working with you. We would love to publish your work as soon as possible. Please come to our office as soon as you can, to sign the contract. Sincerely, Parks of London Publishing House,” she said, and she started jumping on the spot. “They will publish my book!”

“Careful, careful, though,” he advised, putting an arm on her shoulder and kissing her head. “I’m so happy for you, my beloved. Happy anniversary.”

And they all lived happily ever after.

Taglist (if you want to be added or removed, send me a PM): @princesslucretia @kit-12 @immortal-enemies @lucian-evander @esa-emery @danieldyers @blackthorn-trash @rinadragomir @fortunesandfables @itsdaughterofthemoon @silvenys@thomastair3 @livvyheronstairs @ holding-infinity-and-a-book @lovelaces @axoloteca 

[bi-naesala]

A well-earned break

Fandom: Yakuza

Rating: E

Warnings: /

Relationships: Han Joon-gi/Zhao Tianyou, Kim Yeonsu/Zhao Tianyou

Characters: Zhao Tianyou, Han Joon-gi, Kim Yeonsu 

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quickies, Blow Jobs, Nonbinary Zhao Tianyou 

Summary: 

Zhao takes advantage of a break during an Ijin Three meeting to have some fun with Joon-Gi Han.

(Also on AO3)

It’s during situations like this one that his father’s words echo in Zhao’s head: he has no patience, which is a bad trait for a leader. Well, guess what, pops? He is a bad leader, and no working on his flaws will ever fix that, even if he were willing to try it.

Though, he supposes, if he were more patient, maybe this meeting wouldn’t be so excruciatingly fucking boring. This isn’t even Liumang business per se, but more like something that the Geomijul and the Seiryu clan should’ve been able to solve between them, but politics are politics and Zhao, as much as he doesn’t want to be there, isn’t so foolish not to remain, lest they disrupt the carefully crafted equilibrium between the Ijin Three.

Still, if there was a way to make things less boring, they surely wouldn’t be upset about it…

Taking advantage of a well-earned break, he goes to hang in the lounge with some of their boys, as well as members of the Seiryu clan and the Geomijul, when a stupid idea comes to him. It’s not mortal - because Zhao’s aware that, if he dies here, it would mean war - but it could still be dangerous, which in their humble opinion makes it even more alluring.

He scouts his surroundings, and he’s surprised to see that the person he’s looking for is actually here, which is weird because he’d usually be attached to Seong-hui during times like this, but Seong-hui isn’t here.

Oh well, it’ll be easier for him to approach him at least, which he does immediately.

 “Are my eyes deceiving me, or is that Joon-gi Han? Shrinking from his errand boy duties?”

If Zhao has managed to get a rise out of the other, there is no sign of it on his face. Stoic son of a bitch.

“Zhao-san,” he greets him, in that usual polite tone of his, lightly bowing his head.

“C’mon Han-kun, there’s no need to be so formal,” Zhao states; after all, his dislike for this kind of stuff is well known.

“Nonetheless, hierarchy exists for a reason, and it would be uncouth of me not to respect it,” Joon-gi replies, though he quickly adds, “And to answer your previous question, no, I’m not ‘shrinking’ from my duties. I’m exactly where I need to be.”

Cryptic answers are Han’s specialty, but at least it’s enough for Zhao to understand that, whatever he’s doing, he’s doing it under Seong-Hui’s orders. Interesting.

“Then I suppose I couldn’t steal some of your time?” they ask, exaggerating his innocent demeanor so that he’ll make Han suspicious.

It works: Han narrows his eyes at him, though no matter how hard he’s trying to keep a neutral demeanor, Zhao can see through his bullshit. He knows he’s intrigued. If Zhao has picked on the signs correctly - and they usually do - then his interest for the other is reciprocated - and how could it not be? They’re both quite attractive after all.

“What for?” Han asks, and yet he hasn’t explicitly said no. If Zhao had felt like showing all his cards, he would’ve smirked at that.

They take a step closer. “Don’t you think this meeting’s boring? Personally, I hate that we’re stuck in here at least for another hour,” he says.

Joon-gi Han doesn’t say anything, but he raises an eyebrow at him, a silent invite to continue.

“Well, if you’re so interested, I might share the idea I’ve just had after all…”

  “I-I don’t think we should do this here,” Han suddenly mutters.

What comes out of Zhao’s lips in an amused huff. “Could’ve said it sooner, huh?”

Did he really just wait for them to get inside one of the bathroom stalls and for Zhao to drop to their knees before having second though?

“If you really don’t want to, fine, but man, what a shitty timing…”

If Han is really getting cold feet, Zhao will stop, but this doesn’t mean that he won’t be a bit sad about it - though he’ll never openly show it because that would be admitting that he’s not as above everything as he appears.

Joon-gi Han stays silent for a moment, probably thinking about the repercussions this affair will have. Always the overthinker.

His answer, though, surprises Zhao.

“Very well. Carry on.”

“W-What?” Zhao stutters, taken aback by the sudden change.

“Do I need to repeat myself?” Han asks, only to then smirk. “Unless you are the one who’s having second thoughts…”

This little…

Zhao furrows their eyebrows, and a frown appears on his face before he can stop it and keep his usual laid-back demeanor. As he reaches Han’s pants and fumbles with the belt, there’s only one thing they can think.

“I’ll show you.”

 They do indeed show him, given the way Han is barely able to keep his voice down, even going as far as to cover his mouth in order to muffle those little noises that, despite his best efforts, still come out.

Zhao isn’t perturbed by any of this shit, and keeps sucking his dick like a champ. He keeps it quite simple, only pulling a few tricks when it looks like Han’s getting used to the rhythm he’s dictating just because they want to keep him on his toes; it’s not often that he gets to see the Joon-gi Han like this, with his guard lowered, and he intends to make the most of it.

It’s an intoxicating feeling, Zhao can’t lie. The more Han loses his composure, the more addicted they feel to it.

 When Han’s hand shoots to grab their hair, Zhao knows he has him wrapped all around his finger, and so he begins to slow down, right when Han was beginning to feel close to the orgasm.

He almost smirks at the frustrated huff that he lets out, but no matter what, Zhao will not go faster than this. Well, there is something that could give them an incentive, but Han has to say it first.

“Zhao-san.”

Cute, he’s calling for him now, but unfortunately this isn’t what Zhao’s waiting for.

“Zhao-san… faster.”

Closer, but still not it.

 Taking pity on him, Zhao pulls away, gaze fixed on his face. “What’s the magic word?” they ask, pointing Han to the right direction.

At first Han remains silent, but the need to come soon takes over whatever sense of dignity or shame he must be feeling right now. Zhao almost wants to take a picture of him, to immortalize how red he’s become - and he can’t even look at him in the eyes!

“Faster… please…”

“That wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it?” Zhao teases him, though he’s merciful enough to wrap their lips around Han’s dick again, sucking it way harder than he was doing before.

 Now that he’s actually putting some effort in this blowjob, Han doesn’t last long.

You’d figure that someone so intent in trying to make the least amount of noise possible would keep it that way throughout the whole ordeal, but Han half-shouts that he’s close, surprising even Zhao. He either has a secret exhibitionism kink, or Zhao must’ve driven him so mad that he’s not noticing how loud he’s being. Zhao hopes it’s the second.

Knowing that they can’t make a mess - not that he truly needs an excuse to do this - Zhao doesn’t pull away when Han comes, swallowing everything. Only then they pull away, making a show of licking his lips just to fluster Han further, succeeding of course.

The expression on his face is almost comical as he watches Zhao. Is he going to act scandalized now of all times?

In response, Zhao flashes him a smile, and that seems to get Han out of his trance, as he helps him up. Zhao’s lucky their joints don’t crack, but damn it doesn’t feel good to suddenly stand after staying on his knees for such a long time. Eh, they’re not as young as he once was; being almost thirty, he’s basically decrepit now - mental note: never say something like that near chairman Hoshino, or he might get offended or worse, he’d try to lecture them.

 “Zhao-san… Um…”

Han’s voice is enough to bring Zhao back to the present, saving him the embarrassment of going on a tangent in their head about aging. Right, he’s still in the bathroom with him.

He recovers immediately, diverting Han’s attention by lightly patting on his cheek. “So? Good, huh?”

“I fear saying so will only succeed in further boosting your ego,” Han replies, matter-of-factly as always. “But… it was.”

“Aw, thank you Han-kun~” Zhao replies, purposefully standing way too close to Han than he should, just to elicit another reaction out of him, but he wasn’t expecting Han to grab them by the neck and draw him for a deep kiss. They can’t help but to let out a noise of surprise, which cause Han to smile against his lips, but oh well, it’s not like Zhao can complain about it.

Wouldn’t you know it, not only he has a nice dick, but he’s also a good kisser.

 As much as Zhao would love to spend whatever time they have left here, kissing Han and maybe going back to do something more, he knows that he has a duty to attend to, no matter how much they don’t want to do it, so he has to unfortunately pull away from those sweet, sweet lips.

“Well, as much as I’d love to stay here, we should go back,” they say, then. Han nods, but it’s hard for Zhao to understand how he feels about it; he hopes he’s going to miss this closeness too.

“Yes, Zhao-san. It would be wise to join back with the others.”

 After getting out of the bathroom, Zhao still attempts to make some small talk, because lord forbids he keeps their mouth shut for once.

“You know, you don’t have to call me Zhao-san all formal like that, especially while I suck you off. Makes me feel older than I actually am.”

“Even if I wanted to, I cannot,” Han replies. “I have to respect the chain of command, no matter what.”

“Didn’t see you thinking about that back there,” Zhao teases him, pointing to the bathroom with their head. He almost laughs at the offended expression on Han’s face at his words.

“Well…” the other begins, clearly trying to find a clever comeback. “That was an exception,” is what he comes up with, before beginning to walk away.

If he walks faster, they might be able to keep up with him, running after him like a schoolgirl with her senpai isn’t something Zhao would do, so he stays behind.

“Oh, come on, don’t act like a child!” they shout after him, but Han doesn’t stop his tracks, not that Zhao expected him to do so.

“Well, that was fun anyway! Call me if you want to do it again!” he adds, then, but this time as well he gets no reaction from Han, though they notice that his step falters just for a moment, so he must’ve breached through.

 After this nice diversion, unfortunately they have to head back to the meeting, but now his mind feels lighter at least. He’ll be able to handle another few hours of this bullshit.

And so they settle down at the business table and lets Seong-hui and Hoshino discuss what they need to discuss, all while his mind is pleasantly blank, focused only on remembering the sweet sounds that Joon-gi Han made while their lips were wrapped up around his cock.

Man, that was fun. The only downside is that he won’t be able to brag about it, because if word goes around of what happened, both his and Han’s reputations would suffer from it. Oh well, at least he can be internally proud of himself.

 They wonder if Han will ever be willing to repeat the experience; as for him, he knows for a fact that he’d love to do it again, and maybe even beyond a hushed blowjob inside a toilet stall.

Oh well, he won’t get an answer just wondering about it, but they’re not worried about that, because of course he’ll try to ask Han again - see, having no sense of shame does help in life!

Despite their effort, he can’t contain a small smirk on his lips, though they’re quick to cover it with his mouth, pretending he’s pondering on what is being discussed.

 This is going to be so much fun.

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

This is the last ask ill send because im honestly tired of this whole thing

I dont know why you brought up the anon hate you got when that’s no part of the discussion. Even if it isnt your intention, you’re making yourself out of to be the victim when you arent. You say you want to get better but each time something gets pointed out you get on the defensive. I dont know why you decided to bring it up, but now that you have: Piama is indeed whitewashed on your drawing. “Warm lighting” doesnt change peoples undertones like that. Compare it to Piama’s last two cgs if you really don’t believe me.

Even if you aren’t affected, you need to be able to recognize it without poc having to tell you in order to be a good ally. I wouldn’t want a straight friend that lets people make homophobic comments about me in their presence and then hear them say “it doesn’t affect me so i couldnt tell it was homophobic so thats why i didnt defend you”. If you aren’t able to recognize it then you’ll inevitably repeat the same rhetoric. Racist rhetoric is everywhere and spewed every single day so you cant expect poc to be with you all the time and take you by the hand to tell you whats racist or not. Those are the reasons why you need to learn how to identify it by yourself, be listening to poc, by developing critical thinking skills, by not surrounding yourself with only white people. If not there’ll be more unchallenged asks such as one i saw recently that pinned poc that complained about yet another white route “stupid because they dont get that lovestruck releases routes by demand”. As if we have no concept of nuance.

No one is obliged to accept an apology, especially after what happened. I dont know where you got that idea from, especially when it concerns something that hurts people this deeply. And I didn’t point it out what happened just to be petty, I pointed it out because it isn’t an isolated event but a pattern of behavior of unchecked racist comments. That was simply the worst case: It was handled poorly, considering mod viv herself never apologized and again, swept it under the rug. The apology I saw from mod wrath was vague, didnt address the situation directly, was posted on this blog so no one knew what was going on, and was later deleted. So yeah she can apologize ten times and it still doesn’t mean we have to accept it. Especially if it’s that catastrophic because it looks like its more about saving face rather than feeling remorse, even if she did feel bad. You’re too eager to call it just “a mistake” and pin me as the unreasonable one.

And I want to ask you, have you truly seen with your own eyes an interaction where someone said to the other “if you like vinca you’re racist” and was completely serious?Or have you heard it from someone else saying that they were told that? Because considering that other anon watering down a woc’s criticism of lovestruck as “she doesnt like white people or this blog” then yeah i wouldn’t trust anything else coming from their mouths. People are getting too pressed over the millionth white woman in the app. Hell even if it happened, it’s probably what, one, two people? But you’re lumping all of us together as if its been a wave of saying that. The valid criticism surrounding Vinca is interconnected with Nahara’s release (one of the few dark-skinned women in the app) considering people kept saying they’d rather have a Vinca route when Nahara’s was announced. They’re not even willing to support it just because they want Vinca’s and that sends a message to voltage. So it simply doesnt boil down to “well its a difference in personalities”. Im gonna go as far as to say that if a woc had the same attitude as Vinca, people wouldnt be frothing at the mouth for her or they’d delve into the realm of fetishizing (as some people are bordering the line with Piama). But thats a whole other topic. And since people want to act stupid: all of the white characters in lovestruck are white because voltage made them that way. They could’ve quite easily made them a poc, but they rarely do. Think about what that means then, if youre really trying to defend yourself by saying “well they put out whats popular”

Lastly, you should really evaluate the content and beliefs you put out when racist people are still comfortable following and interacting with you. This is why i want this discussion to be public: your followers need to read this and apply it to themselves. Because considering the amount of anon hate you said you got yesterday towards the other blogger, theres a bunch of your followers who need to get off their phones and learn to care about other people and stop being racist assholes.

Believe me, I’m tired of it as well.

I brought up the anon hate because I didn’t want you to wonder why I was posting your asks in this form.

And no. Piama is not whitewashed. I took a dropper tool and took the color directly from her sprite, and if you’d looked at my blog, you would’ve seen that I sent screenshots as proof in response to that ask. But you obviously didn’t, so I’ll send them here again. (1. Without lighting. 2. With Lighting.)

If you still don’t believe me, you’re welcome to call me on Discord and I’ll share my screen and show you the entire process. And as an artist: You’d be fucking surprised what lighting does to colors.

Well, yes, I need to be able to recognize it indeed. The thing is: I can’t always. I try my best on this, and there will be moments and issues that will come up, mistakes I will make because I’m not perfect and not a machine. And in those moments, I’d love to have a friend that affectionately slaps me and says “JD, that was shit.” So I can apologize and notice it the next time. I have had multiple friends be transphobic to me in certain ways. I’ve informed them about it. They apologized and haven’t done it since. We’re still friends to this day. I do try to educate myself on racism and put in some work. I don’t expect POC to do all the work for me and explain to me how to be an ally correctly, and still - I hope they help me just as I help my cis friends with trans stuff. I can’t magically change all my behaviors and overcome internalized societal racism with the snap of a finger. If I could, I fucking would have already done it multiple times. The way it is, I’m working on it. Again - I’m sorry I didn’t point out the racist comment in the ask. I should’ve done that, and I’ll make sure to do it in the future.

You’re right no one is obliged to accept an apology. You’re right this hurts people deeply. And as I said - Mod Wrath apologized three times, including one on her personal blog which was a lot less vague. Mod Viv also apologized - to the person in question, in private. Just because you didn’t see it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. And the thing is - if you refuse to accept her apology, that’s one thing and fully your right. And the thing is: If an apology is not going to make you forgive her, if ten are not, what do you need in order to forgive? Will you never forgive? Will you always argue it’s going to be an apology to save face when you don’t know the fact she does feel remorse? How will you see that she does?

I did hear the Vinca thing from a friend of mine. Whom I trust. Because seriously, why would you make things like that up? Who would even get the idea? I’m against the idea of believing my friends would lie to me for attention or whatever. And yeah, the criticism of that anon was unfitting - I’ve visited the blog they claimed was doing that and I found nothing of the sorts, so that comment was unfitting unless I missed something. I never intended to say that it’s all of you saying that. I intended to say that some people are handling the issue wrong. I’m sorry it came off that way. I do believe though that it’s people’s full right to say they’d have preferred Vinca over Nahara. I would’ve preferred Vinca. I still read Nahara tho. However, it’s not yours to dictate which routes other people have to support and which not. I will however agree with you that people should give Nahara a chance - it’s quite the sweet story. And I for my part would enjoy a POC Vinca just as much as a white one. (Also, side note, you’re making it appear as if everyone would either fetishize or rage over her, which is very much putting all of the “white” fanbase into the same bag, the same thing you critizised me for earlier. It’s understandable from a psychological point of view, tho, so I’m not gonna comment further.)

Yeah, Voltage makes the characters white, and that’s an issue people can only fix by demanding more POC in the ask posts and comments. Which many do, btw. They put out what is popular indeed, they put out what is demanded, and I fucking demand more POC. I want it. They could’ve made so many LIs POC and they haven’t and I’m fucking unhappy about it too! I’m not even trying to say anything else.

Yes, making this public to arouse thinking is a good policy. The followers need to read this indeed. And we didn’t get anon hate for the other blogger. We got anon hate towards us. Tons. Comments that went as far as telling mods to kill themselves. And while I agree with lots of the things you say - some of the ways you’re acting actively spark this type of hate. There is being loud about the issues you face, and then there is calling people racist assholes based on a comment they made instead of talking to them personally and telling them that’s not okay, giving them the chance to improve themselves instead of always having them stamped as a racist. Just because you’re the one who’s hurt, the one who’s morally correct, does not mean anything you say or do is good behavior. 

You told me I whitewashed Piama when you, with a minute of research, could’ve found proof I didn’t. You obviously wanted the internet to see, maybe hoped I’d get exposed? Could I get an apology for that? And I promise, I’ll accept it because I’m willing to believe you’re a good person.

Summary of everything:

You’re right with lots of things.

I behaved wrong and I’m sorry.

Lovestruck has an issue with racism that we need to change together. 

Together. Without toxic behavior from any side.

- Mod JD

[casijaz]

Well turns out the other post won’t be the last one.

Decided not to put anything under a cut but this post is tagged ‘long post’ so you can click on it at will. I’ve added shorter sections in (brackets) to put together the point.

It’s always been like this. In fact a couple of months ago I made a silly post about it. Please stop giving each other ass-pats about how not-racist you might be. Or how your one non-white friend says whatever you posted is not racist.

White people: Stop being performative allies.

My fellow peas of the seas, or individuals who aren’t white who interact on this western website: Being a poc is not a trump card to claim we can’t contribute to specific forms of racism.

---

I remember back when I was 17 I defended some (then not obvious to me) clearly racist art a white friend of mine made. I spoke to the people who came onto her art and told them they were trolling, they had to be. Spoke in all caps sometimes, had bolded stuff, all weird ways of talking with this demeaning or passive aggressive tone. I remember thinking ‘hey, do they know I’m a person of colour? They must feel silly! Here I am, a poc, who clearly says this is ok!’ But it wasn’t. In this instance the racist art depicted an indigenous person, and this was an instance of racism against indigenous people, and I am not indigenous. (Translation: Defending racism is bad, even if the people who say racism is bad might be mean to you.)

I also have defended white people who lived in a bubble of whiteness. I figured, well, they live in the bubble, or they’re young, and their actions weren’t coming from a place of malice because they didn’t know any better.  (Translation: Even if you’re a nice person, your actions can still be bad, and you should acknowledge this.)

When someone points out to you that something is racist, you shouldn’t jump to a knee-jerk defence or being passive aggressive in acceptance of this fact. It’s a tough pill to swallow, but you’ll have to go through it. Remember this is not about coddling white feelings, it’s about the reproduction of white supremacy and racist ideologies in a multitude of settings. (Translation: Even if you don’t know anything about racism, or don’t think you’re racist, you could still be. Racism is not as simple as one action. It is a global structure that influences the world.)

Reproducing racist ideologies is something that people of colour can also be guilty of. This means that they don’t have the power to be racist (as racism is about a hierarchical power structure where whiteness is as the top, aka white supremacy) BUT they have the ability to reproduce (or repeat, mimic, etc) the racist ideologies that are prevalent all over the world. (Translation: Because racism is everywhere, everyone can do it, even if they don’t wish to.)

Yes, not everyone has the luxury of being able to understand English to a level that certain concepts come across. Which is why I’ve taken the liberty of adding tl;dr to the end of each paragraph to get that point across for my fellow ESL speakers. However not speaking English well enough can be used as another excuse for condoning racist actions by others. (Translation: Saying I don’t know better is not the solution to stop being racist. Trying to understand the other person is.) 

The point is to stop making excuses. Stop defending the racist. Stop defending racist actions, no matter how small or big they are. 

It is also not up to the people who are actually hurt by this to coddle you and teach you. If you wish to learn more please follow blogs that are specifically talking about these issues. Here’s one. Here’s another. Here’s a fandom specific one. Here are also my own posts about xenophobia and more xenophobia. Unfortunately they are heavy with academic writing but I’ll hope to make a simple English version of it one day. (Translation: Here’s helpful blogs for you to learn more from!)

---

As for the people of colour who talk about adding nuance, different perspectives, and how racism is complicated. Yeah. It really is. But whichever argument I see brought up about ethnic issues are still ethnic issues. That’s about xenophobia. I often talk about xenophobia and racism not being the same thing for a white audience, but I feel like maybe I’ve left fellow people of colour out of the conversation.

I’ll speak from my own experiences regarding this, because I could pull situations from all over the world but it wouldn’t be genuine nor would I be the expert. So. In my mother’s country we have many different ethnic groups who most of are not white (I’m pretty sure they make up less than 1% of the population), who sometimes get into conflict with one another. When they discriminate against one another, that’s definitely a bad thing. However when these groups fight both discrimination against ethnic groups and racial categories come to light, as the two are almost always heavily interlinked for people of colour.  (Translation: Racism and xenophobia overlap and connect when it comes to people of colour.)

This country (Suriname) was colonised by western forces so it brought along a lot of strife. While no Surinamese person would probably refer to themselves in Suriname as a person of colour, when they are put in a Western context they definitely always do. When groups fight against each other they use both rhetoric imposed on them by western colonial forces (racism) and hatred for other ethnic groups (xenophobia). Because both groups are still groups of colour, they are only capable of reproducing racism, not producing it, as they have no power to in the structure of racism. (Translation: People of colour can discriminate one another with something they have power over, and reproducing racism.)

---

This entire conversation has also highlighted something that I’ve deliberately avoided in my previous posts, but my fellow black Tumblr friends haven’t, and that is the issue of anti-blackness.

Throughout all of this it seems like many different ethnicities have obviously come together and argue on different sides, but one side seems to be devoid of a certain race that has spoken up against these issues over and over. 

When black people tell you that something is racist, your knee-jerk reaction shouldn’t be ‘but it isn’t, because I’m not white, and I approve of this.’ Going back to that story of 17-year-old me, I was not the racial group affected by the drawing. I was not offended, because it wasn’t my racial identity that was being mocked. When black people tell you that something is racist, you can assume that they’re telling you something is anti-black.

Don’t turn this a conversation only about the voices of people of colour when at the heart of the topic it’s been about anti-blackness shown by a multitude of people from different ethnic groups, white or not.

I’ve seen people act like they’re on the good side because surely they’re supporting people of colour who’ve told them that the side I’m arguing on seems to be ridiculous. I’m calling people names! Making assumptions! I’m stuck in a western perspective talking over non-western people.

Then turn around and they’re not boosting black voices. They’re not mentioning anti-blackness anywhere. I see MLK quotes taken out of context. They’re clamouring to reblog or create art depicting black characters or meta about them, while that art is either fetishistic or was proven to be made by a racist (who was proven to be so like 2 whole minutes ago).

(Translation: Don’t throw black people under the bus. Listen to us when we’re talking about anti-blackness. All poc are indeed not the same, so don’t treat it like it is.)

I hope this will be the last time I’ll talk about this. But I have a bad feeling it won’t be.

[goose-books]

whoa, it sure is about time around here for a post, huh!

today i offer you 1.7k words about cressida and rory simply being soft. that’s all. this is the happiest thing i’ve ever written in the darkling canon and making this moodboard reminded me that it’s because these two are the only kind and friendly people in the entire book.

more details about cressida and rory’s home WIP, darkling, can be found here! (short version: it’s a speculative fiction king lear; there’s magic but it’s weird about being magic; half the characters are gay trans and neurodivergent because i said so.) this takes place about a year before the story starts; the two of them have just turned sixteen and seventeen, respectively!

also, i wrote all of this while listening to “kentucky” by hippo campus on repeat. the lyrics aren’t quite as relevant as the vibe. if you catch me yearning on main mind your own business /j

Lorelai Rory Flowers is afraid of thunder.

This is a bit of an embarrassing thing to admit, as they’re seventeen (“at least seventeen,” they like to tell people, “maybe two hundred, who’s to say?”) and generally wise beyond their years, or whatever it is that adults say about kids with too much psychological baggage. Being afraid of thunder is not a very wise-beyond-one’s-years trait. And yet the state of affairs remains: loud noises make Rory want to melt into the earth. Back when they still went to school, even the fire alarm sent them scuttling under their desk to hide.

Right now, in the elevator, all they can do is shrink into their sweater.

They haven’t let go of Cressida’s hand yet.

Beside them, Cressida is soaked, long golden hair and long white dress dripping. Rory rocks up onto their toes and back down, anxiety worming along the back of their neck like an itchy coat. This was not the plan. The plan was not “get caught in the rain and run through a storm for two blocks.” The plan was for the two of them to go walk by the river and - who knows, talk about Joan of Arc or the Kennedy assassination or something. Swap special interests. Maybe swap spit. Probably not, though. It’s not a date. It’s not not a date - but, like, Rory still does work for Cressida’s dad, so who knows how awkward things could get. Plus Cressida’s hard to read. She doesn’t really make facial expressions, and that’s usually fine, because Rory can’t really read facial expressions so it’s about the same to them, but in this particular situation -

“I trust you,” Cressida says, squeezing their hand, “but where are we going?”

The rain’s left Rory’s glasses fogged up enough to render them effectively blind. They take their glasses off and squint at the elevator buttons. They are still effectively blind.

“Is that a five or a six?” they say, pointing.

Cressida peers over their shoulder. “Which one do you want?”

“Five.”

Cressida presses the five button with her free hand. The elevator, which is about the size of a broom closet, jerks into unsteady, fitful motion.

The thing is that the apartment building is kind of - well, not a dump. It’s not horrible. There aren’t cockroaches. But Cressida lives in a manor, literally. Stayer Manor. Capital S, capital M. And there was never any sort of plan for today, even in the wildest of circumstances, that involved Rory bringing the city’s golden girl to a building the size of a shoebox. But then it was raining, and Cressida kept saying she didn’t mind the rain despite clearly minding because if she ruins her dress her dad will go rabid-dog on her, and Rory’s cognitive wheels were spinning like they were powered by a well-greased hamster, and none of the restaurants close enough to duck into were appropriate places for them to safely freak out about the thunder, and their apartment was only two blocks away.

So.

Here they are.

“Sorry,” Cressida says. “Where are we going?”

Rory attempts to dry their glasses on their soaked-through sweater, to little avail. “We are going,” they announce, “to a world of pure imagination.”

Outside, thunder cracks the sky. They know Cressida sees them flinch, because she squeezes their hand again.

The apartment is 505. Cressida waits as Rory digs around in their jacket pocket, shuffling past loose coins and two pairs of headphones and four melted Starbursts and way too many scraps of paper until they finally unearth their key. Their lock sticks - their lock always sticks - so once they’ve turned it, they have to drop Cressida’s hand and plant one wet Doc Marten on the wall and yank. The door swings open.

“Voila,” Rory says, performing jazz hands. “Willy Wonka wants what I have.”

Their apartment is purple. Not startlingly purple. Gently purple. Purple like it creeps up on you. Purple like you don’t realize exactly how purple it is until you realize everything - walls, gauzy flower-patterned curtains, plushy armchair, compass-rose-shaped clock, old-fashioned record player on the table - is the same shade of soft lavender.

There is at least one nail sticking up out of the hard-wood floor. Rory snags a sock on it every time they dance around with their headphones in.

Two people have been inside since Rory started renting the place a year ago. And that’s them and the landlord. This is their place, their safe haven, their nook, and it’s the size of Cressida’s bathroom, and rich pretty Cressida Stayer is standing, dripping, in the threshold.

“Don’t touch anything,” Rory says. Cressida draws her hands in like the walls might electrocute her. “That was a joke. You can touch things.”

“This is your apartment,” Cressida says.

“Indeed.”

“You live here.”

“That succeeds the first!” They give her an encouraging smile. “Subsequent statements! How cogently lucid of you!”

Cressida looks down. The hem of her dress is dripping onto the floor. “I don’t suppose you have a vent I could sit on…?”

“In fact I do!” Rory directs her, aircraft-marshall-style, to the heating vent on the floor. They’re jittering. They’re using way too much arm movement. They can’t get their heart to stop skidding around, because normally! They do not! Let people in here!

They stand and drip. Cressida sits and drips. She gazes around, and Rory gazes with her, trying to see it through her eyes.

“Where’s your bed?” she says.

Rory skips over to the closet and pulls the door open, with the grand gestures of a magician presenting a trick. The inside of the tiny closet is lined with a thick downy comforter; there are sheets and pillows scattered around atop it, and there are glow-in-the-dark stars stuck up all over the walls and ceiling.

Cressida gazes at it. “On purpose, right? Not because -”

“On purpose. Yes. I could have bought a bed. I just think it’s cozy.” Oh, Rory is going to lose it right here. Their foot is tapping the floor at about a million miles an hour. Granted, being in their apartment helps the overstimulation a little - just being where it’s safe and everything’s always the same and they control their space. That always helps. But it’s not like they can just curl up in their closet with their headphones in and the door shut, because Cressida is here -

Cressida, for her part, looks a little impressed.

“It’s nice,” she says, wrapping her arms around her knees. “You just live here? By yourself?”

Rory shrugs. “I’m emancipated,” they say, which isn’t strictly true, but they work for the most powerful man in the city, who has their back if anyone actually looks into their files, so it’s as true as it really needs to be - and then thunder roars outside again and Rory skitters sideways and falls over their armchair.

“Oh! Oh my God -” Cressida jumps to her feet.

Rory scrambles up from where they’ve tumbled to the floor. “Sorry sorry sorry!” they say, except really they yell it because they have their shaking hands over their ears. “Sorrysorrysorry, I - I really don’t like loud - I d-don’t -”

“Can I -” All of a sudden Cressida’s in front of them. Rory doesn’t move away, just stands there, chest heaving, and Cressida slides her still-damp hands very gently up both of their arms, and she very gently pulls their hands off their ears.

The thunder, again. Like a cannon blast. This time Rory yelps a little. Cressida pulls them in close to her and sits both of them down on the vent, which, at the very least, is warm and also on the floor, so Rory can’t really trip over anything when they flinch.

“You don’t like loud,” Cressida repeats. She’s a good deal taller than they are - Rory’s exactly five-foot in their Docs - and so it makes logical sense for her to settle down with her chin on their head, probably.

“I don’t. I don’t. I really don’t.” They’ve started fluttering their hands a little; their voice is getting that shaky tilt it gets when they’re in sensory overload. “Fun story, back in high school we went on a field trip to this play where they used gunfire blanks for sound effects and I had a full-on crying-and-screaming public meltdown. I like to tell fun stories from high school like it wasn’t actual purgatory, because I cope through humor!”

“I know,” Cressida says simply, and she wraps her arms around them so they can lean back into her chest. The next thunder crash comes, and she tightens her grip. “Is this helping?”

“Yeah. Uh-huh. A lot. Like a weighted blanket.” Rory tilts their head back to give her a shaky upside-down grin.

They don’t like making eye contact, so they don’t, but they are aware that Cressida’s gaze is resting pretty solidly on their face, which is - fine, and normal behavior for friends, and the fact that they’re cuddling on a vent and they can feel her heart beating against their spine is, like, normal also, probably -

“Rory,” Cressida says tentatively, “can I…”

Rory tilts their head. “Can you what?”

Cressida hesitates; then she leans in. It is a very very gentle kiss, almost hesitant; she pulls away after a second or so, to find Rory staring at her dumbfounded.

“Whoa,” they say, face assembling itself into what they’re fully aware is a stupid doofy grin. “Whoa. Hi. Hey. I - yeah! You can do that!”

They both cling to each other’s hands for a second; they both let out a breath that is, Rory thinks, equal parts relief and euphoria.

Then Rory leans in and kisses Cressida again, and this time neither of them pull away, and when the thunder crashes overhead Rory thinks they’ve never felt safer than they do right now.

[ambarto]

You ever get like five different ideas from angst but none of them is long enough to stand on its own and so you just make Frankenangst? Yeah

Warnings: character death, description of injuries

----

Arakano thought once he took down the chief of these creatures they would slow down. Grow fearful, perhaps, run from him.

He should have known better. It seemed the monsters were braver than Arakano had hoped. They had laughed as he took on their commander, sneered in a circle around them, sure Arakano would have lost. Arakano won, and now they were angered.

He couldn’t take them all on. His sword fell left and right, slicing heads and arms that their armors didn’t cover well enough. Where were the others of the Noldor? Arakano couldn’t see anyone past the hordes of enemies coming for him. His sword was growing heavy in his hand. His father had not been far behind him.

With a shout, Arakano killed another enemy. His breath was beginning to come short. He couldn’t hold out on his own much longer. Everything was starting to blur together-

Arakano shouted when something hit his knee. A mace he hadn’t been able to avoid. Even over the sounds of battle he heard the crack. His leg gave out beneath him, unable to support his weight.

He wasn’t getting out of here. He had pushed on too far. His father wouldn’t be able to get to him.

The one who bent over him clearly thought Arakano was already gone. It had its guard open, and Arakano thrust his sword forward, burying it right in its neck. His hand wasn’t able to keep gripping it, and it was wrenched from him.

They jumped on him as wolves on a deer. They crowded on him, covering the light.

Arakano was a warrior. Arakano had fought his way through ice and hunger. Arakano was a Prince of the house of Finwe, and if he could not win, then at least he would drag as many of these things with himself as possible. Fear barely had time to grip his heart before he lounged.

He kicked and punched and bit like an animal. A creature squealed when Arakano sunk his teeth in its dirty skin, ripping it. He swung his arms blindly, trying to hit anything around him, not even feeling the pain of his fists hitting metal armor, only satisfied that he had indeed hit something.

They grabbed him, held him down into the mud. Briefly, Arakano had time to think that his siblings would cry. Findekano for sure. Turukano and Irisse always pretended they were too strong to have feelings, but Arakano knew them better. At least, he hoped, they would be proud of him.

Then, he only had not thoughts but to scream.

They cried, when they learnt what happened to their youngest brother. Just not upon his body. Nolofinwe was the one who found him, and he did not let his other children see him. The sight, he knew, would never leave him. He did not want his children to forever see what was left of their brother in their dreams.

-

They found some refuge in the south, near the foot of the mountains. It was not a place anyone liked, but it seemed the fire from the north had momentarily forgotten about it. There was no other place to go, right now. Armies to the east and to the west, going for the Pass of Sirion and for Feanorian lands alike. There was nothing they could do but wait.

They also didn’t know who to ask for what to do.

Someone had managed to drag Lord Angrod off the battle field. The healers crowded around him, but any hope for him had been lost.

So much of his body was covered in burns it was horrific to watch. His flesh was exposed and blackened. In some places, his very bones could be seen. How was he even still alive was beyond anyone. Lord Angrod had always been known as stubborn. Too much.

He groaned something that could have been his son’s name. The healers did not answer him. There were no news yet from Minas Tirith. Under the black smoke that still covered the sky, it was hard to hold out any hope for them.

“’Ik... ro...” he groaned. Cough shook his chest, the same cough that plagued everyone, their lungs too full of ash. A rag had been laid upon his eyes, if only to spare the healers the sight of what the fire had done to them. Not that the rest of his face was a less gruesome sight.

“The Lord Aegnor is surely alright,” an healer told him, once she understood the sounds were an attempt to saying Aikanaro’s name.

Another healer glared at her. They all knew what had happened to their Lord’s brother. She shook his glare off. She was a healer. Her job was to ease suffering. There was nothing but death that could ease Lord Angrod’s agony, but at least she could comfort his spirit.

He would see his brother soon enough, anyways. With luck, he would not pass the night.

-

Turin would come.

That was what Finduilas kept repeating herself. He’d come. He’d save them. She had to cling to that thought. He would find them. He would-

The Orcs were getting restless. Finduilas didn’t understand their horrid language, but she saw how unsettled they were. They kept looking behind themselves, as if expecting something to jump them.

Finduilas wasn’t sure where they were. They seemed to be by a river, but she could not be entirely sure of which one. The Taeglin, perhaps? They had been taking detours through the forests, she was entirely lost. She tried to think of who lived in these lands - mortals, mainly, if some of them were hunting the Orcs it would explain their nervousness.

Would Turin know anyone here? Finduilas knew very little of his past before Nargothrond. Perhaps he had friends. Perhaps soon they would reach them. Finduilas tried to strain herself, but she heard nothing. She could not even turn properly to look, bound as she was.

An Orc - a sentinel - burst through the trees, shouting. Whatever he said, it put all the other Orcs on edge immediately. They got up, hands to their weapons.

The other prisoners looked at them with terrified eyes.

“Worry not,” Finduilas whispered. “I think someone is chasing us. We may yet be saved.”

“What are you yapping about?” an Orc shouted. She stood in front of Finduilas, baring her fangs to her.

Finduilas kept silent. She looked at her in the eyes, and said nothing.

“The prisoners are slowing us down,” another Orc said.

There was a general agreement between them. Finduilas’s heart jumped. Then they were being chased, after all. There still was hope.

“She is the princess, is she not?” an Orc asked, pointing at her.

Grunts of agreement.

Suddenly, Finduilas was grabbed and dragged to her feet. Fear cursed through her, but she repressed it. She could not let herself be afraid. She would keep hoping.

She did not quite feel pain. Only a strange, bizarre pressure to her chest. The Orc had moved so fast. She had not expected him to raise his spear. Even as she looked down and saw it embedded in her chest, she struggled to understand its presence.

Perhaps there would be a way to take it out.

Perhaps Finduilas should be named Princess of Futile Hopes.

-

Feet moved around in his field of vision. Caranthir’s eyes stared ahead, fixed on the silver hair just some paces ahead of him.

He pressed his own hand to his throat. Apply pressure. Stop the bleeding. That was how Caranthir had been told to treat open wounds. Never had he thought he would be doing it to his own neck, trying to keep himself from bleeding out on the floor of Menegroth.

He had reached the throne room just in time to see Celegorm fall. Caranthir had attempted to make his way to him, and everything he had gotten in exchange was a sword he was not able to avoid. All he could do now was bleed out, as Celegorm without doubt already had. Useless.

Given the way his ears were ringing, he wasn’t being too good about keeping his blood in.

Someone stumbled on his legs. Caranthir hoped they were a Sinda. He hated them all, right now. He had not hated them when he had come here, ready to force Dior’s hand. Now he did. Celegorm was right in front of him, lying face down, fallen by a Sinda’s sword.

He couldn’t say Celegorm had ever been his favorite brother. But he was Caranthir’s brother nonetheless. His big brother. Who used to pick Caranthir up as a child and put him on his shoulders. Who was stubborn, and reckless, and impulsive, and somehow had always seemed impossible to harm.

Tears pooled in Caranthir’s eyes. Usually, he would rather be caught dead than seen crying. He had a reputation to uphold. Now he did not have the strength to hold it back.

He was losing the struggle to stay awake. He clung to awareness, but it was sleeping between his fingers together with his blood.

Where were Maedhros and Maglor? Were they not heading here too?

Tears pooled under his face. He wanted to see them. He didn’t want the last things his eyes saw to be Celegorm’s body.

He wanted his big brothers to hold him, and lie to him, tell him everything would be fine.

What a foolish, useless wish.

-

Were the Valar merciful, a stone would have struck Turgon’s head, and killed him immediately.

The Valar, it seemed, were not. Or perhaps it was Turgon who was being given special treatment.

It would not be long. He did not feel anything in his lower body. He could not seem to draw his breath in. Part of what had once been his tower was pressing heavy on his chest. Was this gurgling sound his blood in his lungs?

What a fool he’d been, hoping that Gondolin may hold. He should have listened to Ulmo.

So many things he should have done. He should have protected his sister better. He should have been closer to his nephew, help him through whatever led him to this. There were so many things he wished he could have told his daughter, his son-in-law. His grandson, and may Eru make it so that the child was saved.

Such a great King, such a great kingdom. And now, in the end, only him and his regrets.

As his fea was squeezed from his body, he wondered if this was what it felt like to drown. Buried in rock and not water, but was the principle of the thing not the same? Darkness, no air, and no one to comfort you as you died.

Perhaps this was his penance for not having been faster in saving Elenwe.

[lady-plantagenet]

What hasn’t already been said: The Spanish Princess 2

Episode 3: GOOD Grief! (we finally have a good episode on our hands)

To all those of you keen enough to have come back for another segment of ‘what hasn’t already been said: TSP’, as opposed to have just been scrolling when you see this - welcome back! (Scrollers you too <3)

Drawing of Thomas More’s Son AKA who Margaret Pole at this point wants to be the step baby momma of ;).

To anyone who’s seeing this for the first time: what this is a list of observations, jokes, reactions and criticism which occur to me upon a rewatch. I wait every week until Saturday to do this so that I have had my fill of scrolling through the tag and aggregating what has already been said. I tried doing a whole spoof (here where I gave up 10% in) but tbh a) I don’t know the history well enough b) it’s more time consuming than I thought and c) this series is just not as funny or as crazy as TWQ, so it’s untenable. Having said that: This is not a hatepost. I’m not hatewatching this series and nitpicking on purpose but expressing my honest views and trying to find the good in it as well as the bad.

Without further ado...

First Scenes: 

LMAO the way Wolsey suggests they break their alliance with Spain is freaking hilarious because the actor delivers the lines as if he were a high school girl making a personal attack by suggesting the prom change its theme to 70s disco to the chagrin of the peppy up-and-coming rival.

Also @ Henry VIII looking like the peppy up-and-comer’s bff and shy stan with that pencil bite and small smirk when Catherine loses her cool against Wolsey.

I’m sorry... who is Henry married to again?

Also what is Margaret Pole doing at the council meeting?? I’m not saying I don’t like it.

Margaret Pole warning against certain repetitive thinking creating madness :(((

Attempted Naked Twister:

Oh Catherine, what is with you and all the other STARZ protagonists and that weird politcky bedroom talk? Who actually finds this sexy?

‘Catherine you are unnatural’ ooof that line delivery was somehow haunting.

Was the whole ‘I can’t be rushed you are off-putting with your overpowering’ a callback to Arthur and Catherine? Apparently there’s another writer for this episode so I won’t put all subtly past them. 

Scotland:

‘Shitey men’ asdkjashd

Look I’m tired of all this ‘my children won’t be safe’ line getting repeated. Look mate, murder of royal infants and children was not exactly a common occurence, even in cases of deposition. The Princes in the Tower are an exception to this but a very infamous case for that reason. Child murder was extremely taboo. In situations like this with an infant kid, no one is going to bother murdering the babies and taking their thrones, the lords will just vie for power and make themselves de facto rulers and oust the queen. It’s not a question of safety but a question of holding power. Stop giving all women characters perma mummy brains.

Maggie being all caring:

‘Barnaby’ *scoffs* ‘Such an English name’ - OH MAN 0_0 is Catherine mocking them for trying to adapt ? Like I know it’s meant to show her envy for Lina, but it’s coming out all messed up.

Our girl Maggie’s smile screams I’m beating your ass in chess.

Anyhow this is the least histrionic we’ve seen Catherine so far.

Chaplain vs Catherine:

I’m interested how Catherine will feel at Stafford’s execution given that I have noticed this show build up to a friendship between them.

Why is everyone laughing at the whole ‘will you delight us with new schemes’ line was not that funny?

LMAO at Thomas Boleyn’s attempted brown-nosing. 

You know what? Ruairi is a decent actor. When he says ‘so you admit it? you lost the child because you tried to be a man?” the actor conveys Henry’s troubled mind, lowkey scare towards Catherine and bewilderment all in one. The way his eyes do not move but just widen emotionlessly also gives this sense that he is being manipulated (which I guess they are going for with Wolsey). Then the whole choir music in the background.. I don’t know.. I’m liking this, it’s creating a vibe of a king of haunted and increasingly paranoid Henry. I’m sure they are going for that, so good.

Ursula Pole and Mama:

Maggie Pole say ‘riches don’t keep you safe’ with tears in her eyes :’(. Please tell me how this is not her thinking on her parents and granddad Warwick and what befell them ;’(.

I find Ursula refreshing actually, don’t get those types of heroines often. But they are making her similar to a gold-digger, an exhalted marriage was first and foremost considered a thing of honour. Noblepeople wouldn’t speak in such mercenary terms regarding their marriages. 

Post Mary Defiance:

I love the ‘horse’ nickname from Brandon n’awwww

Also just realised what made TWQ so atmospheric - that wierd ‘oooo’ sound effect in the background when a character was being paranoid or worrying. They are using it during Henry’s ‘How is it that I have no sons?’ and it is just... so effective.

Catherine calling them ordinary children... she just keeps striking me as more and more classist. Like ok, I know every royal was... but still, I thought she was meant to see Lina as a friend and equal despite her race and status. To add the race element, this kind of rubs me the wrong way.

Also it is so clear by the end when Catherine states how the king is upset with her, she expects Maggie to ask her about it.. but she doesn’t lmao.

Back to Scotland until Sexy boy fencing:

I love me this soft boi. Angus <3 <3

I like how they address that some men don’t really like killing and that violence isn’t inherent in a man’s nature.

Oh man, are we supposed to look at Lina’s house and deplore the impoverished conditions? It would go for at least 3,000,000 pounds in today’s property market?

Is Catherine being particularly classist again with ‘Why u not becoming a butcher Wolsey, ey?’. 

Though I will admit the ‘but giving meat to the poor is also good’ was one of her only smart comebacks.

Just realised, Catherine’s pink dress pretty as it is, looks straight out of the 1570s... why?

Montage and After:

You guys are right, there is this weird longing between Henry and Wolsey lmao. It is actually insane.

So basically Catherine is officially depressed

OOOFF we have Stafford as regent instead of Catherine. (edit: I suppose it’s cause they go to France which they didn’t historically? Also if Stafford is at home then what is his son later doing in France, why would he be there without his father. This show didn’t think this through)

Meg Singing:

An impassionate speech is not too anachronistic. But despite the title of this post (what hasn’t been said) I will reiterate that 16th century and Medieval people’s problem wasn’t that they were ashamed of their grief and didn’t cry. In fact, crying was somewhat more socially acceptable then than it even is now! Even manly men like Arthur were written as crying in literature such as Malory’s Morte d’Arthur. Obviously you couldn’t go overboard, but in truth crying was indeed often too performative rather than hidden too much behind doors.

Pole and More UWUWU in France and after:

I LIKE THIS INTELLECTUAL FLIRTING

It’s nice to see a depiction of romantic feelings between mature and level-headed subjects.

God Mary Tudor is so beautiful in this scene jesus. and the music when she was being presented was also very beautiful.

Maggie Pole getting given ‘a modest income’ yeah... she was one of the wealthiest peers of her day.

Also Maggie’s lady cousin not lady aunt Frost!

‘shaking of the sheets’ lmaoooo

William Compton cracks the hell out of me. I love this guy. He is just so creepy and twisted yet super keen and friendly. ahaha He looks like a riot, I hope we see him more. lmao tiles.

Also this palace feels very anachronistic almost 18th century-ish.

I like the Louis and Mary sequence, it’s nice seeing him trying to make her feel less scared, but OMFG when he lay on that chair.. for one second I thought they were trying to kill him off already.

Scotland: ‘Love is an open doooooorrrrr’ + Last Scene:

I ship Meg and Douglas ahhhh this soft boi x strong woman match is everything Henry and Catherine could have been.

I wonder... why is Lina speaking in Spanish more than Catherine. hmmm Are they trying to foreshadow Lina’s eventual return home and how Catherine become a true englishwoman?

Conclusion:

7.5/10

I cannot in all fairness believe it. This was actually decent. I’ve given up on historical accuracy long ago so by this point I’m focusing more on how it stands as as drama. I mean, TWQ was also a flop when it came to grasping the complex issues of that era but why do I feel compelled to rewatch it every year? Because it had atmosphere when it came to acting, music, certain aesthetics (though the costumes let me down often). It felt adequately gothic and dark, yet bright and jewel-lish when it had to be, sometimes both at the same time. Some one-liners were also memorable etc...

So far TSP 2 did not have any of this. Everything felt way too off and anachronistic. But not even consistently anachronistic. The music was also often very meh (though I just noted the absence of the spanish stringy theme that kept playing in season 1 - I guess I understand why), the dialogue very clichéd (‘alright lads let’s throw in the words: king, crown, power, fight, battle + other buzzwords and we have ourselves Shakespeare’) and so on... but I saw a change in this episode and I couldn’t initially point out what it was.

Upon rewatch, I identified some of the improvements (noted above) but above all: The producer was different! Boy does it show. Unfortunately, I think she is only for this one episode which really sucks. Come back! There is more chemistry between the couples, less predictable interactions, pervy Compton, cinnamonroll Douglas, better music, more scenic shots (e.g Douglas and Margaret in church) e.t.c. I hope it will match the rest of the STARZ productions in getting better towards the end.

Look it’s no masterpiece. But I’ll give credit where it’s due because at least this time it didn’t leave me feeling wanting and unsatisfied (if that makes sense).

[gaylotusthatexists]

For the sanders sides prompt, could you do demonic/ ghostly possession? Any characters are good!

red eyes and dark shadows

fandom: sanders sides

pairing: dukexiety (could be read as romantic or platonic)

prompt: demonic/ghostly possession 

trigger warnings: blood mention, murder mention 

word count: 2232

a/n: this is written for the @badthingshappenbingo​! actually it’s been a concept i’ve been meaning to explore for a while so! thanks for requesting it haha, had a lot of fun with this

ao3

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Virgil asked, ducking beneath a plank of wood as he followed Remus into the abandoned house, sat just on the edge of their village.

Remus smirked. "Of course it's a good idea!"

"I dunno," Virgil murmured, glancing around at the house. It was dusty, and dark, and had a horrible smell, like somebody had died in here and their corpse was still rotting somewhere close by. Somebody probably had died in here, given the police tape outside the building, remnants of a long since abandoned case, and the fact that nobody had lived here for decades. God, somebody had probably been murdered in here. "This place doesn't seem very safe."

"Eh, I come in here all the time," Remus said, beginning to walk up the stairs.

Virgil cautiously followed, cringing as the stairs made a creaking sound when he stepped on them, feeling as though they were this close to breaking. He breathed in and out to compose himself, before continuing his journey, trying not to think about how these stairs could give in, resulting in him falling to his certain doom. He told himself over and over that, if Remus had come here so often, then it must be safe, right? Remus was still very much alive, at all. Although, it did concern Virgil that Remus had come here before, frequently - what was he even doing here all the time?

Probably trying to summon something. Just like he was attempting to do now. God, how had Virgil managed to get himself roped into this? He loved Remus, he really did, but... he didn't particularly like his way of doing things. Definitely wasn't a fan of the chaos Remus always seemed to cause. Mundane chaos, of course - Virgil thought, at least - but it seemed as though something much worse was about to happen. Virgil couldn't shake the feeling away, couldn't silence his brain screaming as him to run, to abandon Remus and let him do the whole 'demon summoning' thing.

Although, Virgil had to admit that the whole 'demon summoning' thing did intrigue him, sorta. Like, logically he knew that demons weren't real, and at most all this would be is chanting, being disappointed, then probably being arrested by the police for trespassing. But, of course, part of him did believe in demons and the supernatural and ghosts and everything - mostly the part in his brain that conjured up demons at night so he couldn't get to sleep because if he closed his eyes the demon sitting in the corner of his room would most certainly murder him, but there was also a part of his brain that couldn't help but think that the existence of demons would be so fucking cool.

"You still have the book, right?" Remus asked, stopping at the top of the stairs.

Virgil took off his backpack and opened it, taking out a large, old book, the pages yellowing and delicate. His friend Logan had lent it to him, without Virgil explaining his intended use - trust Logan to own some ancient demon summoning book.

"Nice," Remus said with a grin, opening the door into another room, seemingly falling apart. The roof had a giant hole in the corner, allowing the moonlight to flood in, and also allowing birds to fly into the room. Remus ran into the room, scaring away the birds, then turned back to Virgil. "You can read it, right?"

"I mean, it's all in latin," Virgil said, slowly stepping into the room and joining Remus. "I can try."

"Good, you're reading then," Remus decided.

In the centre of the room, Remus had drawn a pentagram with some sort of bright red substance - paint, probably, but Virgil had his doubts. He'd also set candles around the pentagram, which he began to light with a lighter. Part of Virgil wanted to take the lighter away for fear that Remus may end up burning the house down - it was built entirely from wood, this entire place was a fire hazard - but didn't want to risk getting burnt himself. Besides, Remus must have known what he was doing, right?

"Where'd you get all this red paint from?" Virgil asked, finding the silence as Remus set everything up to be rather awkward.

"I never said it was paint."

Virgil blinked. "Oh. Uh. What is it then?"

"Blood, obviously," Remus said.

Virgil wanted to assume that Remus meant fake blood, but part of him was convinced otherwise. "Blood?" he repeated. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to dig any further.

"If we're gonna summon a demon, we might as well do it properly," Remus said, lighting the final candle and standing on the opposite side of the pentagram to Virgil.

Virgil breathed in. "Yeah, uh, about that... have you thought about what's gonna happen when - I mean, if we manage to summon a demon?"

Remus nodded. "I've been fantasising about this for years," he said, an excited glint in his eyes.

Virgil tried his best not to be alarmed at that. "Alright, uh..."

"The demon should stay trapped inside the pentagram," Remus continued. "After that, uh, we have a demon."

"Okay..." That didn't sound like much of a plan, but Virgil decided to give Remus the benefit of the doubt. This would be fine. Demons weren't real, anyway, it wasn't as if anything bad would happen.

"Read, then," Remus instructed.

Virgil opened the book, beginning to flick through the pages. "Uh, what page?"

Remus shrugged. "Any will be fine, I think."

Virgil stopped at a random page and read the words, not entirely sure if the pronunciation was right but it was worth a shot. Part of him hoped that he was reading it wrong, because then on the off chance that demons were indeed real, there was less of a chance of him successfully summoning one.

The pentagram at his feet began to glow. For a moment, Virgil stopped reading, a little shaken. That... He must have been imagining that, right?

"Carry on!" Remus shouted.

Virgil cleared his throat, then continued to read. He felt the wind pick up around him, blowing through his hair and causing a few of the candles to flicker out. He figured that was probably just a coincidence, even though that day hadn't been particularly windy - in fact, it has been a pretty warm, summery day. But it must have been a coincidence - half the roof was missing, it made sense.

But then the candles relit themselves and the pentagram began to glow again. Virgil had reached the end of the page. He glanced up from the book, noticing a shadow beginning to form inside the pentagram, a cloud of darkness slowly rising. Virgil dropped the book on the floor in shock, cringing at first at the sudden crash but thinking afterwards that maybe that was good, maybe that would stop whatever was going on. Maybe the dark figure standing in the pentagram, an almost humanoid being, shifting on the spot and changing form every two seconds, would go away.

Remus grinned. "We did it!" he exclaimed, excitedly.

Virgil stopped back. "Uh, what- what exactly did we do?"

"We summoned a demon!" Remus said, bouncing up and down on the spot. "We actually did it, Virge!"

Virgil tried his very best to remain calm, but couldn't stop his arms from shaking. "Wh-What do we do now?" They couldn't just keep this demon around, could they? Christ, the demon could kill them at any second. How had they even done this?

Remus hummed, standing still for a moment. "Huh. I don't know. I didn't actually think we'd get this far."

Virgil's eyes widened and he leaped back again, backing up towards the wall. The book was on fire. Shit. Fuck - the whole room was built out of wood, this-

"Remus, we really should-"

Remus fell to the floor. The shadow had disappeared. But the fire didn't appear to be calming down any time soon. Virgil rushed over towards Remus and hoisted him up, leaning his body against his own. Remus was unconscious - great, just great. They had to get out of here, before they both burnt alive. Virgil attempted to carry Remus out the room and down the stairs, moving slowly underneath Remus' weight but escaping from the fire nonetheless.

But before they made it out, Remus' eyes opened, and his body heated up, forcing Virgil to let go at the sudden heat against his skin. Remus rose a few feet into the air, his eyes glowing red. That... That wasn't natural, was it? That shouldn't be happening.

"Remus, we really should-"

Remus shot down towards Virgil, grabbing his arm and digging his fingernails into his skin, causing Virgil to cringe from the pain. He still couldn't stop shaking. At any moment, he figured he'd probably start crying. He tried to repress that.

Remus wasn't looking like himself, not at all. Well, the red eyes probably said enough, and the fact that he was hovering in the air, his hair floating around him. But he also had black marks beginning to appear on his skin, drawing in over his face. He grinned, and Virgil noticed that his teeth were now pointed - not teeth, fangs.

Virgil tried to move, tried to run away, but he was frozen in place. He tried to call for help, but no words came out. This... This wasn't good. Fuck - he knew this had been a bad idea. He'd told Remus over and over again that this was a bad idea, and yet here he was, probably about to be killed by Remus, or... or by whatever had taken over Remus' body.

This wasn't Remus. This... This was the shadow demon, wasn't it? It must have taken over Remus' body. That was... Well, it wasn't exactly a logical explanation, but it was the only one that made sense. Remus was fucking possessed by a fucking demon. Brilliant.

Darkness escaped from Remus' mouth, heading closer to Virgil himself. Virgil held his breath and back away as much as he could. Just before the shadow reached his skin, he finally found the strength to pull himself away from Remus and dart out the door, tripping over as he ran out into the front garden onto the cold, hard concrete.

He scrambled to his back, trying to sit up and look at the building. The top floor was completely on fire now, and the house seemed close to collapsing. Maybe... Maybe that would be good - it would get rid of the demon, at least, but... Remus was still in there. He may have turned into a demon or whatever, but... it was still Remus. Virgil's best friend. If the building collapsed, then Remus would die as well.

Well, not anymore. Remus - no, the demon came flying out the house, straight towards Virgil still laying on the ground. He tried to back away, but Remus grabbed his shirt, pulling him up and holding him in place. Virgil really was crying now - perfect. The building behind them collapsed, a raging fire still burning. Virgil could hear sirens in the distance, so perhaps somebody had already seen the fire and alerted the emergency services. But, in all honesty, Virgil had more important things to be worrying about than the burning house, like the fact that an actual demon was about to murder him.

"Remus," he said, one more time, "you-"

And Virgil fell to the floor, a sharp pain soaring through his spine upon contact with the concrete. He looked back up at Remus, who's eyes had stopped glowing red now, thank God. His face was right above Virgil's, their noses almost touching, and that's when Virgil realised that Remus had fell on top of him, his hands resting either side of Virgil's body. He looked... confused. Scared.

Virgil shuffled out from under Remus, getting up into his feet, and helping Remus up afterwards. He glanced behind Remus, seeing that shadow demon again, escaping into the sky. It was gone. They were... They were safe.

Virgil threw his arms around Remus, but Remus pushed him back, moving away from him.

"I-"

"Remus," Virgil breathed. "You're..."

Remus brought a hand up to his arm, rubbing it gently. "I'm sorry. That- That was a bad idea."

"Yeah, no shit," Virgil said without thinking, immediately regretting it as he saw Remus flinch. "I- I mean... We should get out of here."

Remus was shaking. Actually shaking. Virgil had never known Remus to be so afraid of anything, afraid of himself.

"Y'know, fire and all," Virgil said, gesturing to the fire behind them, illuminating the night. Virgil stepped towards Remus, gently taking his hand. "Also, pretty sure the cops are coming. So, y'know, we should probably scram."

"I could have killed you," Remus said, quietly.

Virgil didn't quite know how to respond to that, so instead he just dragged Remus away from the scene, quickly picking up speed and running back towards his own house. Remus followed, but stayed quiet.

Before Virgil got home, he stopped, going to sit down on a bench on the side of the street. He pulled Remus close to him, hugging him tight. Remus' face was wet with tears, and the shaking had only gotten worse.

"No more summoning demons, yeah?" Virgil asked.

Remus chuckled lightly, but it came out as more of a sob. "Yeah. Agreed."