#arthur digs himself a hole of lies

[pi-cat000]

MSA: Winged Arthur AU (part 11)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Part 12: here

.

Vivi takes a second to think, giving him another concerned glance and he realises he’s let his smile waver.

“Okay, I’ll start.” She stops combing through the feathers, moving the hand to rub her chin, “First, I want to just say that, before everything went sideways, I remember being parked by the side of the motorway for van repairs. What happened to waking me up once you were finished, huh? It was definitely my turn to drive.”

A stern look follows.

Arthur winces, “Ah, sorry, I forgot.” Which was true. He had completely spaced, being too preoccupied with updating his ‘Lewis search map.’ He didn’t get many opportunities to do that. Not when doing so in front of Vivi invited a stream of unanswerable questions.

“Right, well, we’ll talk about that later. So, I pretty much woke up with the worst headache of my life to discover that we’d crashed into the side of Kingsman Mechanics. Not a great thing to wake up to.”

“Obviously, I searched for you first but didn’t see you anywhere. Then this lady with white hair, blue skin, and a tree growing out the top of her head, came strolling up. She was pretty cool…right up until she pulled out a giant pair of garden sheers and tried to chop Mystery’s head off. That wasn’t as cool.”

Vivi lapses into silence, frowning. “I whacked her with my bat, which pissed her off a lot. Her eyes did this crazy red flashy thing. I froze up and got sliced across the shoulder. I would have died…I almost did die.” She reaches up to massage her shoulder. 

“If Mystery hadn’t been here...”

Arthur props himself up on his metal arm, about to reach out, but Vivi continues on before he can comment, “And Mystery turned into a huge multi-tailed Kitsune, it was…surprising. He saved me. He also got hurt saving me…” 

The memory is obviously causing some distress and Arthur quickly searches around for a distraction.

“You know,” He starts, “I think I ran over a tree-lady holding a set of giant clippers resembling those tiny scissors your grandma uses on her bonsai collection. She smashed through the front window of the van.” With everything else, he’d completely forgotten about that little tidbit of information.

“A bonsai? I guess, now you mention it, she did look a bit like a bonsai,” Vivi perks up at the new information, “What else did you see?”

He shrugs, “Not much, I crashed the van right after that.”

Perfect. That phrasing implied the crash was caused by the tree-lady and not Lewis’s wacky ghost truck. He has no idea where he is in his relationship with Lewis, but Vivi’s pretty much a blank slate, and it feels wrong to sour things for her right off the bat. And he didn’t even need to lie to do it. Omissions weren’t real lies...

Vivi shakes her head, absently running her hand along a feather, before speaking with renewed determination, “They fought, Mystery and the tree-lady that is, it caused all that destruction in your junkyard. I hope he’s okay.”

“I mean, I’m annoyed that Mystery’s been pretending to be a dog for, like, ever, but he still saved me, and he was really hurt.” Vivi hesitates to glare off into the middle distance, “I wonder if my dad knew. I bet he did." She mutters the last sentence, sounding more irritated now. “I knew there was something weird about Mystery. I knew it. He’s way too old to be a regular dog.”

While Vivi goes off on a tangent, Arthur’s attention drifts down to rest, unbidden, on his metal arm. He doesn’t remember how he lost it, having only a vague notion of pain, terror and deep, all-consuming darkness. Just enough fuel for a few years’ worth of nightmares. Any real memory is gone, lost along with everything else concerning that night.

A Kitsune is a multi-tailed fox. The doctors had said that the bites on his shoulder resembled those of a 'larger than normal canid.' A wolf had been the running theory up until this point. His stomach turns, churning in discomfort. Across his back, the wings twitch in visible distress, pulling Vivi from her muttering.

“Okay…” She once again massages her shoulder with the hand not smoothing down feathers. However, her voice is now lighter and less burdened, “That was me. Your turn. How about you explain just how you came across these flappy guys.”

He wishes it were that easy. Arthur exhales, glancing over at the wing in her lap, stalling. He can’t tell if the feathers are coloured grey or just coated in a lot of dust and dirt.

“I think we’ve already covered most of it. I kind of woke up with them. Uh, when they glow gold I feel weightless?" He offers.

“They don’t hurt at all? Do you remember growing them?”

“Only when they get caught on things, and no, they just appeared.”

“And nothing else of note happened at all,” Vivi asks, blatantly curious. The undertone of enquiry causes Arthur to pause and re-evaluate. Is she probing for information? That was her ‘Arthur, you better be telling me the truth or so help me’ voice.

“No,” He answers slowly, wondering what exactly she’s searching for, “As soon as I could, I came searching for you. The rest you know….”

Arthur’s ready to go back to thinking about Mystery and arm removal now. He’d rather envision traumatic nightmare fuel than inform Vivi that the man she can’t remember loving had almost murdered him. He can’t do that.

Instead of answering, he focuses intently on rearranging the wings. This time, he doesn’t bother with muscles, picking the limp limbs up with his hands and physically moving them. Vivi lets him fuss, watching as he tries to sit upright and position feathers in a way that gives himself room to move without accidentally sitting on them.

“If that’s everything, then how did you get that,” Vivi points suddenly at his chest and Arthur immediately regrets sitting up. She is gesturing at the circular stain and ripped material above his stomach. It is a stain he has been trying very hard not to think about. Around him, the wings draw in, cocooning around his arms and torso to form a wall, separating him from her probing eyes.

Vivi continues, “…And there is an identical stain on your back.”

“An injury from the van crash,” He responds quickly. Too quickly.

“It looks like something has pierced straight through your torso. It’s too big to be something from the van.”

“Heh, funny, but that’s impossible, though.”

“You healed my probably fatal stab wound in under a second…What's to say you couldn't have done something similar for yourself.”

Arthur flinches. Subconsciously, his wings tighten further to hide the stain entirely from view. “The van crash was pretty serious, and I hit my head. I probably forgot or something. It’s healed. Why does it matter?”

“Where did those burns come from,” Vivi asks anew, eyes narrowing this time. The air vacates his lungs. She knows. Somehow, she knows about ghost-Lewis. Maybe she doesn’t know the whole story, but she has definitely seen his fiery-ghost form. When? How? While he was unconscious? Probably. He still doesn’t know how long he was out for.

“They’re from the crash,” He grits his teeth, realising he just dug himself a hole from which there is no escape. All he can do is hope he is mistaken. Please. Vivi can’t find out about Lewis like this. She is stubborn, overly protective, and this would definitely hurt Lewis’s chance at reconciliation and maybe restoring Vivi’s memories.

Vivi crosses her arms, “You’re lying.”

The statement is a fact. Arthur can’t say much in his defence, so he opts for stubborn silence. He hunches over, wings bristling, betraying his thoughts on the matter.

“Why are you lying? Arthur?” Vivi’s tone transitions to more strained, last vestiges of humour disappearing.

“Don’t do this. Not again. Please,” Her enthusiasm for supernatural theorising fades to be replaced with worry. He winces, deflating. Back when he had first lost his arm, there had been a lot injury downplaying on his part. It had caused serval fights over his wellbeing or lack thereof.

“This isn’t like that…I’m fine. I’m actually better than fine.” He’d found Lewis. Sure, the situation was less than ideal, maybe even terrible, but at least he’d found him.

Vivi searches his features, eyes darting across his face. Arthur wishes the wings would calm down in their twitching and stop giving away how agitated he was.

“Okay, I believe you. We’ll go with ‘fine,’ for now,” Vivi nods slowly, but she has got that sharp look about her and Arthur gets the sinking sense that he’s about to get called out on his bullshit.

“I just have one question. Is the source of those burns a wraith who just happens to go by the name of Lewis?”

.

Note: Vivi’s having none of it. This conversation gave me a bit of grief so I hope it came out all right. 

Part 12: here

[peakywitch]

Hello you creative human you! I was wondering if I request some good old tommy angst with him finding out his daughter has lost her virginity? Could do with reading some drammmma while I’m working from home😂💕

His Daisy - Tommy Shelby

Warnings: usual stuff, you know (swearing, mentions of killing and sex)

Word count: 1.2 k

A/N: Hello my cutie!I couldn’t use angst, I’m so sorry, but it’s cute cute cute and has a lil drama so you don’t get bored. How’s your work doing, everything fine? i hope zoom calls are not drowning you!

As for why i didn’t use angst: i don’t believe Tommy is a slut shamer, and neither should we. Yes, my feminism got in the way, but i wasn’t comfortable. Sorry! Hope you enjoy it anyway <3

Ps: i’m not saying you are a slut shamer, nor that you think tommy is one, haha xoxo

Six in the morning was marked on the clock, which sounded in time with Tommy's footsteps.

“Tom,” his wife began, “you're going to dig a hole. And I don't think you want to be in a tunnel again. "

As he finished his millionth cigarette of the night, he collapsed into one of the black chairs in the living room.

"I swear...” he spoke, slowly and furiously “that as soon as she walks through that door, I will drag her to the car and I’ll take her to a house of fuckin’ nuns, Y/N. I swear to fuckin’ god."

His wife sighed and pursed her lips in disgust.

It was not the first time that Daisy had escaped during the night. Y/N and Thomas knew perfectly well, but she always came back at three in the morning.

Tommy changed position every two seconds; he was uncomfortable, angry, nervous and scared. Y/N did not remove her fingernails from her lips, nor did she stop fearing the worst.

They spent ten minutes in silence, in their pajamas and in the middle of the room. The house that had ten rooms seemed even smaller than the tunnels of France that still lived in Tommy. And with every minute that passed, the house got smaller and smaller, and the knot in both throats grew and tightened more and more.

After five more minutes, footsteps and quiet laughter were heard in the front yard. Tommy separated his palms from his eyes and looked at his wife in relief. His face was deformed just after hearing the voice of a boy, which accompanied his daughter's voice. Like a shooting star, Tommy bolted for the door to give his daughter a warm and agitated welcome.

"Daisy, you are going to kill your father." Y/N sighed, getting up from the chair, while listening to how the laughter stopped.

"Dad…” said Daisy, seeing the man in pajamas.

"Indoors. Now."

Tommy's voice erased all happiness from the night before. She turned to dismiss the boy, but her father's rough tug interrupted her, forcing her inside.

"Dad!" she yelled complaining, but the slam of the door made her scream inaudible.

"Daisy, where were you?" Y/N asked, stepping to one side of Tommy.

"It doesn't matter..." she said, trying to free herself from Tom's grip.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he asked, walking into the living room with her daughter's arm in her hand. He sat Daisy on the chair in which he was the last fifteen minutes “You're going to sit in that damn chair, until I feel like. Or until you tell us where the fuck you were! "

"I'm sleepy, we'll talk later."

Daisy tried to get up, but her father's scream commanding her to sit scared her, sending her back to the black single chair.

"Mommy, you know where I've been..." Daisy started.

Thomas's expressionless face scared Daisy even more. The anger showed in his eyes, always.

"Save the stories, young lady. Tell us where the hell you have been because today I am sending you to live with nuns. "

"Yeah, of course."

“Daisy, we haven't slept in five hours. Please just tell us where you were." Y/N sighed, hugging herself. It was a cold morning.

"I was with Adam." she said, sighing heavily.

"Who the fuck is Adam, Daisy?" Thomas asked, keeping his tone.

Daisy looked at Y/N.

Shit.

Adam.

Y/N had forgotten to talk to Tom.

"Daisy, go to your room." Y/N spoke. She had promised her daughter that she would explain to her father.

"Y/N..." began Thomas.

"Now." she sentenced, heading to her husband's study.

"Y/N!" he yelled, following her. He turned in his footsteps and ordered Daisy to stay right there because otherwise the boy would become history thanks to the Peaky Blinders.

With the second door slamming in the morning, Thomas Shelby and his wife locked themselves in his study, demanding an explanation.

“Tell me where the fuck was Daisy, Y/N.” he demanded, while serving himself a glass of scotch.

“If Tommy Shelby doesn’t drink his scotch at crazy hours it’ll evaporate.” She said in a whisper.

“I will drink whatever the fuck I want, at whatever hour I fuckin’ like, Y/N!” he defended himself angrily. He finished his glass in a second, to sit shortly after in a chair, near to where his wife was standing.

“Now, tell me where Daisy was. Because apparently, you knew the whole bloody night, and didn’t bother to tell me.”

His calm tone always exasperated the woman, he had that voice every single time, every day.

“Yeah, of course. I’m an idiot. I made you spend five hours awake, because I knew where she was and just wanted to make fun of you. You are right.” She argued sarcastically.

Tommy took his glasses of, dropped them in the table by his chair an touched his nose bridge. If there was anything he hated more than war, was sarcasm.

When she seated on the black chair next to her husband’s, she took his hand in hers.

“Tommy, look at me.”

When she saw his eyes, she traveled twenty years back in time. His concerned look was the same look he had when Daisy was born. She smiled slightly, he looked as beautiful as ever. His mood never mattered, sad, angry or happy. He was always the most handsome man she ever lied eyes on. Well, when he had that playful smile on his face, he was charming.

“I didn’t know where she was, Tom. I did not. But I now know.”

“Does she have a…?” he whispered.

His mouth could hide his smiles, his eyebrows could hide his frowns, but his eyes could never hide happiness or if he was worried. It was as if they changed, there was something that changed.

“Boyfriend?” she helped him, he nodded “yeah, kind of.” Y/N smiled, Tommy did too.

“Did they…you know?”

Thomas Shelby could say the alphabet of bad words. He knew them all. He knew a few in other languages, too. He had no shame in saying them everywhere and to anyone. He could also be very abrasive with his words, but with Daisy. With Daisy, he never said a bad word. Not until she turned sixteen. He got used to say “muffin” and “puppy” in front of her. Arthur once made fun out of him, but his gaze shut him up, forever. So, the fact that he wasn’t saying the word “sex” didn’t shook Y/N at all.

“I think so.” His wife smiled, looking into his eyes while caressing his hand.

“I swear to God, if that fucker hurts her, Y/N, I…” he started, whispering angrily.

“You will take care of your daughter. Because she will need you. In a month or two years. And you’ll be there for here. As you were there, holding her little hand in yours when she was born.” She interrupted him, with a smile on her face.

He fought the tears. He fought, hard. His baby was a woman now, and he had to accept it. And be there to hold her hand and hug her until her heart was in one piece again. But that didn’t mean that he had to forget about revenge if that ever happened.

He let out a smile, he couldn’t fight the smile. And he didn’t know if it was because of the beautiful daughter he had, or if it was because he knew no one could harm for free his Daisy.

——

taglist: open

@a-golden-sunflower-vol-6

@fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby

@stydia-4-ever

[shini--chan]

1p allies and axis react to that the reader gave birth to they're child. When they ask here she wants the hold the baby? , her answer is like "I don't want hold that thing!"

Alright. So, before I start off I need to give a fair warning that as to why it would even come to that point … let’s just say that it is pretty dark. Warning for implied non-con, manipulation & coercion. You’re reading this at your own risk.

Yandere Allies

America

“What do you mean you don’t want it?”, Alfred would ask, completely dumbfounded by your vindictive reaction to your very own child. Lovingly, he stared down at the bundle in his arms. The reddened face covered with wax was just too adorable to be true.

“We’re finally going to be a family; it is the most wonderful thing I can think off. And you have to react like this.”

The malice in those sky-blue eyes was clear as he took in your exhausted state.

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? This is your child as well as mine and you have to go on and reject the best thing that has ever happened to you? Your lack of compassion is shocking. So, either put your big girl panties on and act like an adult or we’re going to have a serious talk!”

Let’s just say that Alfred wouldn’t take it well at all that you have such an aversion to your very own child. He would see it as grounds as to have a serious talk with you. If you’re lucky, it would be something akin to a psychotherapy section that he would do with you, only with a lot of condensation. Then, if he is in a very bad mood, it would be far more macabre.

Of course, the things he would do to you would be wrong, except in his mind where everyone of his actions would be justified. Through rejecting your child, you would have tarnished his image of you. Alfred would have thought that you had gotten used to idea of spending the rest of your days by his side. Those vile words of yours would have served to confirm the latter. And villainize you in his eyes.

You would have a lot of apologizing to do. Just keep in mind that if he would sense anything fake in your buttering up to him, the trust he would have established would crumble to ashes. And he is good at disconcerting true from false. However, if you’d hide any lies you’d have behind extreme emotions, then you could succeed.

Canada

“But, she/he is your child”, Matthew would protest. The way you’d firmly shake your head would make his heart drop to your gut.

“A child I never wanted”, you would whisper, sweat glistening on your brow and making it seem as through you were submerged in a fever dream. “Only you wanted a child, I didn’t. How can you be so blind to not see that?”, you would murmur, too lost to evade the hole you were digging yourself into.

Your captor’s lips would thin as he was reminded about the darker aspects of your relationship.

Talk about popping a balloon with a needle, there goes all that happiness and excitement, blown away by a few cruel realisations. Of course, due to your relationship not being of an overly violent nature the fall-out wouldn’t be harsh in the direct, tangible sense. Needless to say, Canada would be pissed that you just had to go on and ruin the whole show and his dreams of a saccharine future.

He’ll skilfully dismissed that you would have been coerced into bearing a child (if not by the worst way you can get pregnant) and tell everybody that would even catch wind that there was something sinister buried deep, that you were just hysterical because of all the residue hormones from the delivery and the exhaustion. That is, if he has too.  

China

A fine, pencil thin eyebrow would rise as he condescendingly regarded your disarrayed constitution. Calmly, he would turn to the midwife he had order and take the new-born expertly out of their arms while stating:

“We thank you sincerely for your services. Please, leave now that I may calm my wife down.”

They would nod and quickly scurry out of the room.

Snake-yellow eyes would stare fondly at the infant weakly kicking at the blankets and thin lips stretched to an endearing smile as a tiny, waxy hand was extended up to his face. Gently, he would shift his arms so one hand was free. The baby would snatch the outstretched index finger as soon as they would have the chance, clumsily stuffing it in their mouth and sucking.

Yao wouldn’t even glance your way as he would seat himself on the edge of the mattress, however, his scolding words said with such calmness would add a crude shadow to the picturesque image:

“All your tantrums are growing increasing petty. You should restrain your emotions before you go completely out of control.”

You wanted to gap at him, at his patronizing words. But more than anything else, you wanted to cry for help. Not that any would come. You were stationed in the guest room of his estate and the midwife that had been summoned was the only other person anywhere near you.

She wouldn’t aid you, not that she could. Your “lover” had a way with words – his violence wasn’t physical; it was an intangible knife that made wounds that would never heal.

Instead, you would stammer shakily: “But you said we would give it up for adoption.”

“I said I would consider it. There is a big difference there. Besides, you shouldn’t torture yourself by denying your own nature.”

At those words you would find yourself trembling. Rage would simmer like a pool of magma in your stomach and combined with exhaustion it would make you shake – a brittle leaf in the autumn wind. Your voice would crack as you seethed: “Do you have to start with this sexist nonsense out me being a woman…”

A glare would be enough to silence you.

“It is not because you’re a woman. It is because you’re a human and humans care for their kin.”

To China, it would be barbaric for you to so callously reject your very own child, the fruit of your womb, a testament of the love you two have for each other. To him, family is infinitely precious and for you to smash that vision there would be severe consequences. Whether you would like it or not, you’re going to keep the child and you’re going to love him/her. Although, you might do all that out of your own “volition”, as in China would manipulate you to extent that you’d think those thought would be yours.

England

“Shut up!”, would be his immediate response and the waspishness of his tone would be enough to make the nurse raise their eyebrows in suspicion. However, the rage upon porcelain feature and the harshly snapped instructions of “Leave” and “Not you bloody dare tell anybody about this” would be enough to make your only gate way to freedom vanish.

Money would also help seal the deal.

The baby would be in the cradle at the foot of your bed, luckily, because the expression of malevolent fury on his face told you that he would’ve broken anything in his hands in fit of rage. It was the expression of hot passion and chilled anger that one would normally attribute to a general.

Still you summoned your courage to make your case: “I never wanted this, not any of this so not give me that look. You knew I never wanted a baby, you knew that didn’t want to…“, you would yell and choke on those last words because of the memories they’d evoke.

And that window of opportunity would be what Arthur would use to crush your case to dust:

“It is funny, really, because half of the time you don’t know what you want from life”, he would say, voice dangerous soft as he approached you, the fairy fire in his green irises making your skin itch as if there was something contagious directly underneath the first few layers.

“But that doesn’t matter anyhow because your feelings are irrelevant.”

You would open your mouth to protest but only a croak your come out.

“No matter what you say, your emotions are not accurate assessments of reality. What is reality is that you don’t know what is best for you. I do, better than anybody else and that is why you need me. Face it, you’re nothing without me.

“So, except your new role of mother. I promise, you’ll grow to love it.”

As the man himself just now stated, your wants and desires are meaningless to him in the grand scheme of things, or at least, he’ll convince you of that. If you would believe that yourself, then thing would be much easier for him. Arthur would see it as another chance to degrade your identity while putting his on a pedestal.

However, if you wouldn’t fall soon for his manipulations, then he would let you feel his anger in controlled bursts. The spite would surface over your time of recovery and he would purposefully leave you alone with the child so that you would be forced to take care of them.  

France

“You will”, he’d state firmly.

Your jaw would hit the floor. Him not getting sentimental would shock you.

“It pains me to see you like this, to see you so cruel, so take those words back. What happened to my (y/n)? What happened that her morals decayed to this point? Where is her heart? Where is her compassion?”, he would sorrowfully lament, like a heart broken poet.

His touching little serenade would be enough to make the fussing baby fall silent, not to mention you.

Guilt would rise up in your gut, toxic and hot. Just what had come out of your mouth?

This would be one of the matters where he’d leave no room for his delusions, where he would even go as far as to revive all the memories of your countless grievances for the sole purpose of teaching you a lesson. It would be needed, and he would be lucid enough to recognize you as a potential threat to your own offspring.

To say the least, he would be weary of you during the next few years, least you try to get rid of the child somehow, be it through cold blooded murder or by giving them away for adoption. With the outburst you would have displayed, nothing would be off the plate in his eyes.

Russia

Violet-blue eyes would be harsh as the high north when they met yours, the warning glare enough to silence you and make something shrivel up in you. Defeated, you would press yourself back into the mattress hoping the accursed thing would swallow you whole because that would be better than all the damnation that the hardset features of your captor promised.

Therefore, it would be all the more petrifying when Russia would elect to ignore in order to turn his attention to the squirming infant in his arms, cooing lovingly and smiling.

Ivan wouldn’t take any nonsense on your part and if you hadn’t learned it at that point then you would be in double trouble. It might even descend into slaps. Although that would be a last resort, if he would feel his control slipping and resort to drastic measures in order to regain it.

He wouldn’t lose a word over your unforgivable behaviour, not the next day, not the next week, not the next year. If you would bring the topic up, then he would be quick to shut it down. However, just because he would verbalise the problem doesn’t mean there wouldn’t be any consequences for it. It would take for in the nuances of your life together – him not help you with the post-delivery recovery, often having a patronizing and degrading undertone in his voice when speaking with you, generally acting more spiteful towards you…

Those would just be a few examples. And he wouldn’t take written or spoken apologises either. Ivan wouldn’t care for lip-service, you would have to prove yourself to be a worthy and loving mother in order to get in his good books again.

[thegeminisage]

writing that’s not supposed to be writing but that’s just supposed to play the mental movie for you:

"I'm not trying to smother you, man," Dean says. "But I can't—if anything happened to you—" He stops again. "Sammy, let us handle the demons. God knows you've done enough." He closes his eyes briefly against the memory of Sam's face right before he fell. It's okay, Dean. I got him.

"Dean," Sam starts, like he's gearing up to dig in his heels on this one, but he's cut off by a distant boom. It sounds almost like thunder, but summer is long over and there’s no flash of lightning to explain the noise.

Dean squints out into the dark. "Did you hear that?"

Something massive and unidentifiable rises up behind the woods, blotting out the stars behind it, then swoops back down.

Sam grips the porch railing so hard his knuckles whiten. "Is that demon smoke?"

Boom. This one rattles every window in Bobby's house, close enough that Dean feels it in his feet. "Sam, get inside," he says, keeping his eyes on the treeline.

"Dean, what if that’s Balthazar? We have to—"

Something in the distance glows bright white and then fades behind the trees. The wind's starting to pick up. "I said get inside! Now!"

Bobby opens the front door. "What in the hell—"

"Both of you, get down!"

Too late. The light explodes—

-

When Meg’s perception settles, she's standing in tall dry grass that ripples in the sulfur-scented wind, dark wandering silhouettes barely visible against the deep blood-red of the sky. Something huge and jagged juts up out of the ground. For a moment everything is very still.

This is even worse than she thought. It's dark inside Sam Winchester's soul.

Then there's a sound like a thunderclap and the ground heaves beneath her feet. Around her, the shadows all stumble off their mysterious paths. She hears a child sobbing somewhere in the dark. That jagged thing the distance—it might once have been a wall—comes further apart, piece after piece crashing to the ground. The sky’s faint red light flickers dangerously.

Meg picks her way across the unsteady ground to the nearest shadow and turns it to face her. It's Sam-shaped, younger than the version outside, but its teeth are bared and its eyes demon-black. "It's a prison,” Sam’s voice snarls, "made of bone and flesh and blood and fear. And you sent me back there!"

"What the hell," Meg hisses, and lets go. She doesn’t understand why the words sound so familiar until she sees the brand, the binding link that she put on that arm to keep herself in Sam’s body. She’s looking at the memory of herself. And if the echo of Meg is here, then Lucifer's must be too.

One of the shadows glances over at her: little-boy Sam, clutching a parcel in his hand. "Dad lied to me. I want you to have it." Another shadow, twenty-two with floppy hair, passes by on her other side. "I have these nightmares. And sometimes—they come true." She wheels around. Another Sam on his knees, black veins spreading over his face, screaming: "Dean! Let me out of here! Let me out! Dean!"

-

Once Meg crosses the last of the wall, the sky gives way to absolute blackness save for a single spark in the distance. Were Meg able to feel, she knows she would be frozen to the bone. She recognizes this place; she spent decades of Hell-time studying it from the outside. This is the Lightbringer's Cage.

Like a camera lens zooming in, the spark rushes towards her until an endless wall of flames fills her vision. Behind the fire: bars, chains upon chains, and six hundred and sixty-six locks to hold the Cage closed. Many are broken, most by her own hand.

"Lucifer," she breathes, and pushes forward heedless of the flames. Fire, her old friend—it will not hurt her here.

Being inside the Cage is like standing in the eye of a hurricane. Two enormous shapes, incomprehensible even to her own mind, circle in the void above her, bleeding malice. The first has wings made of a hundred thousand quivering hands reaching out from a body with too many eyes. The second form is an undulating mass of razorblades and barbed wire and silvery scales, each engraved with tiny ticking clockwork, each razor-sharp. There's another Sam, bleeding and broken, curled around himself on the parched bedrock below. His screams are silent; she couldn't hear them anyway above the clash as the two shapes come together. Lucifer and Michael, still fighting after all this time.

Meg trembles. Even as a memory, the power of Lucifer's true form overwhelms her.

"Lucifer!" she calls. "Morningstar!"

He turns toward her, the attention terrifying and blinding, like being caught in a floodlight. Immediately his brother swoops in for the kill. With a shriek of grating metal and crunching bone, the angels slice into each other with a viciousness Meg has rarely seen even in all her time in Hell.

-

Finally they see it, a hole in the world opening up wider and wider by the second, dividing the stone that stretches up endlessly into the gray sky.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean says. The air is getting colder. "Come on, I know you know this song—"

"Please," Sam laughs, but he does; he's heard it so many times it could be his own lullaby, and when the chorus comes in— "Eeeeexit light!" he shouts, head thrown back. He can't hit a note either. The gate fills their vision; there is nothing else. "Eeeenter ni-ight!"

"Taaake my hand," Dean crows, looking at Sam instead of the looming oblivion before them, and he's smiling too, grinning from ear to ear. He almost looks young again. "We're off to Never-Never La—"

-

Castiel jerks his hand up, wreathing Meg's host body in flame, but she does not burn. "You think fire can hurt me?" she snarls, eyes gone yellow and glowing. The fire flies off of her, embers stinging his skin, and she slides back into smoke and hurtles towards him.

Castiel wraps his tattered wings tight around his vessel and then flings them open, sending Meg slamming into the wall of the barn. Chunks of wood and rot fall all around him as he squints to see where she's gone.

There—a sound to his right. She cracks a solid punch to his jaw that leaves him reeling; she must be very angry to fight like a human.

-

The lights flicker and go out. Dread crawls into Jesse's chest as he stumbles out of bed, limbs feeling clumsy and heavy, breath fogging in the air. A tall, hulking figure materializes out of the shadows on the wall behind Ben and raises something in its hand—a weapon.

A machete.

A frisson of terror, dark and inexorable, rushes up Jesse's spine. He lunges, desperate to stop that wicked blade before it meets Ben's neck, and feels the pain slice into his shoulder instead. That's nothing, his skin is already stitching itself back together, but the impact sends them both sprawling and it takes Jesse a few disorienting seconds to stagger back to his feet. When he finally jerks upright, he comes face-to-face with the ghost.

At first Jesse doesn't recognize him. It's hard to make out any features past the charred exterior: there's an empty space where the ghost's mouth should be, blackened and burned completely away. He sees blond hair, an upturned nose, strong shoulders. But when Jesse meets its eyes—

He knows those eyes. How they looked in the firelight; how they looked as their own light went out. Even after three years, there are some faces you never forget.

-

Argent forces himself up to his elbows, coughing. "Derek?" He tries not to jostle his wound too much when he rolls over. It's difficult to see through the dust the spray of bullets kicked up, but he's able to make out the black shape of Derek's shifted form lying motionless ground a few yards away.

Don't be dead, Argent thinks blankly, ice flooding his veins. Don't be dead.

Derek's not dead. He makes it to his feet before Argent does, then immediately staggers and falls over again.

-

Snow blankets the roof of the watchtower and slicks under Arthur's boots, and in such conditions it's nigh impossible to keep his footing. Visibility is wretched, for up here the wind blows the snow between them, buffeting them back and forth over the icy floor. His father is getting older, yes, but he's still a skilled swordsman, and Arthur, fighting left-handed, is at a distinct disadvantage. He has no shield and wears no armor, not even chainmail; the only thing standing between him and his father's blade is his very flammable cloak.

Arthur's not sure he could kill his father now even if he did want to. He's no match for him like this.

His father's crown has fallen off his head, rolled away to some distant corner. His cloak is damp with snow and singed by fire. His eyes flash gold, sometimes; when they do fire races up the edge of his blade, making him doubly dangerous. Arthur's magic has finally been brought to heel, but his father's is going mad, there one second and gone the next, the flames dying and rising again unpredictably. Presently his sword, still alight with flames, comes down in a hard overhead blow. Arthur blocks in time, but his father's strength is greater—Arthur stumbles all the way back to the battlement, his back leaning out over the open air while their blades are still locked.

"Did you not say once that I deserved to die?" his father hisses, golden-eyed. He looks like some kind of monster. "Think of the things I've done, Arthur. The innocents that have died in my fight against evil! Did you not want to put a stop to it?"

-

Merlin takes the stairs two at a time, gasping for breath. "Arthur?" he calls, heedless of the danger, but there is no reply. The tower is utterly silent, save for the wind whistling through the cracks in the walls. Just a little further, he's almost at the top—

Merlin stops short. A thin line of scarlet cuts through the frozen gray stairs, creeping towards him and pooling around his boots. He thinks he can hear something dripping. He follows the line with his eyes, up, up, and slowly it widens—

It's blood. The stairs are covered with it—the ladder, the trap door...

"Arthur!" Merlin shouts again, and scrambles forward, slipping through the blood, not caring that it stains his hands and clothes, only that it is still warm, it can't be too late, it can't be—

-

Cas has his feet propped on the table, his coat draped over the chair. He's got a beer in his hand. He looks like shit, because he always looks like shit; he's just got one of those vessels. From this angle, Dean can only see the back of him, and his face, angled to look at Sam, in profile. He's smiling.

-

"Nothing," Dean mumbles, and lays his cheek down on the cool surface of the table. His heart's going over-time again. He thinks about being in this kitchen a year ago and trashing the hell out of it. If this were the real Cas, Dean would beat his face in.

Dean hears the clink of Cas setting the bottle down in the sink. He feels rather than sees Cas come over to stand beside him. And then Cas kneels, so that Dean, head still down, sees his face there sideways. And he can't not look at him unless he moves.

-

Dean's vision swims. The pounding in his head gets worse. One of the vampires grabs Dean's hair and, yeah, no, that's more than far enough. Dean knees it in the balls.

Pain as the fangs tear out of his flesh. The vampire howls, hunched over—and then it stops dead, trembling, and begins to scream. Light and fire start pouring from all the orifices in its head, and every cell in Dean's body goes slack with relief. Dean knows it's Cas before the vampire's corpse falls to reveal him standing there.

The vamp behind Dean takes off. Dean shouts as the fangs leave his neck, but there's no way he's letting it get away that easy. He takes aim and hurls his machete after it like he's skipping a stone—it spins through the air and takes the vamp's head clean off. "Go get it," Dean pants to Cas. He doesn't have time to go back for it now. He slips his hand inside Cas's trench coat and pulls the machete out of its sheath on Cas's belt instead. "Thanks, Cas."

-

Mom squints at the projector as they crowd into the library. "Is that Hatchet Man? They must have made more of them while I was dead."

"Yeah, this is the last one. Came out in '89."

"Dean," Sam says, somehow putting decades of disappointment with Dean's taste in movies into a single word. "You're inflicting these on Jack?"

"Trick or treat," Hatchet Man says. "Time to slice and dice."

"We let him drink beer," Dean argues. "What's a few R-rated movies?"

In the movie, someone screams. They all watch Hatchet Man show some unsuspecting skateboarder his own insides.

-

The bunker's red emergency lights come on. There's a shadow standing in front of him. Dean blinks. Dad, he thinks, and his father's boots swim into focus. But—

Dean scrambles back, looking up, up, up—

-

Dean holds up his hands. Fine, whatever, let them have their fun. The pit itself is on the far side of the bunker, in a little dip that's mostly out of sight of the road, so it's not like anybody's gonna see. But the sun's been up for a few hours now, and the four inches of snow that fell overnight makes everything look so much brighter, and Dean's just not used to a daytime fire in a hole.

A realization strikes Dean then, and he smiles. "Hey, Sammy," he calls, and Sam looks up. "You forgot the salt."

Sam throws his head back and laughs.

-

LIIIKE idk if this makes any sense. but there it is. that’s what insane people do we write in a way that involves no words interrupting the mental movie. i am so bad at proper prose this is the only way i know how to do it

[shootybangbang]

In which things are asked, and things are promised [Part 1/2]

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Explicit

[Part 2]

Only read this if you like being both sad and horny at the same time. 

Not necessarily canon for my ongoing fic, Talking Bird

———

 It’s the inverse of the scene you and he have played out so many times before.

As you unbutton his shirt, you follow every inch of revealed skin with your mouth, trailing a line from his collarbone to his belt. His breath catches in his throat when you palm his erection, the familiar sound now cause for dread, what once signified arousal now a warning of the cough to follow. 

You worriedly glance upwards, but Arthur shakes his head before you can speak.

“I’m good,” he says. “Keep going.”

So you lower your eyes again. You kneel before him as he sits on the edge of your bed. The wooden slats of your floor are digging into your knees and leaving pink imprints, but no matter, no matter. He is touching your face and running his thumb across your cheek, he is sighing shakily as you take him into your mouth, as you drag your tongue against the length of him and part your lips around the head of his cock.

It’s not long before he stops you. “Not gonna last with you goin’ at me like that.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s the point of it.”

“C’mon, get up here.” He pats the space beside him on the bed. “Want to be inside you again.”

“You are inside me,” you reply, flicking your tongue against him again.

“Cheeky.” Arthur says, grinning. He lightly pinches the side of your face. “You know what I mean.”

“Help me with my dress, then.” Turning your back to him, you stand between his legs and rest your hands on his knees. Facing him is the column of white buttons like a spinal cord, running from the nape of your neck to your lower back.

He undoes them the way he always has: top to bottom, clumsily pushing each button through its corresponding eyelet. “Never liked these things,” you hear him grumble from behind, but there’s no real resentment in it. 

You’ve always suspected that he takes a certain satisfaction in undressing you this way. You both prefer the easy convenience of your usual clothes, but the gradual reveal that your more elaborate dresses provide has an appeal all its own. It’s indicative of a side of him, you think, that takes a slow delight in things. A side few others, if any, have ever seen. 

When he’s finished, Arthur slips the dress from your shoulders and pulls it down your hips, lets it fall in a pool of grey cloth at your feet.

“Nothing underneath?” he runs a hand from the curve of your waist to the flare of your thigh and you close your eyes, shivering at his touch. “You make a habit of dressing this way or is this just for me?”

You turn to face him. “Just for you.”

He’s silent as he drinks in the sight of you. Even now he regards your naked body with a look of quiet disbelief, as if he’s being gifted with a sight reserved for better men. 

But then the moment passes. The lazy grin returns. He presses two fingers along your slit and you stiffen with surprise.

“Arthur! You —”

When he pulls his hand away, his fingers are shiny with your slick. “This for me too?”

You impatiently yank at his sleeve in response. “Hurry up and take off your clothes already.”

“Easy, girl,” he says, shrugging off his shirt. “Ain’t hardly been here a full hour and already you’re givin’ me orders.”

“That’s right.” You put your hand on his shoulder and give him a playful shove. Arthur falls exaggeratedly backwards onto your sheets, landing with a soft whump against the mattress. “But that’s how you like it, isn’t it?”

“That I do,” he says softly.

He lifts his hips to let you shimmy him out of his trousers, pulling them down to his calves. Then his boots, his socks, until he’s laid as bare as you are. 

Now that you’re able to get a good look at him, you realize he’s lost even more weight than you’d originally thought. The slight curve of his collarbone now a steep incline, the shadow of his ribs faint beneath his skin. Paler than he should be, his eyes dark with exhaustion. 

You touch the scattered bruises spread along his left side. Mottled violet fading to green, days old. Even in this state, Dutch is still sending him out. The old condemnations weigh heavy in your mouth, but you bite them back. There’s no point in it, not when he’s long since made his choices known.

“Must really look like shit if even you’re lookin’ at me like that.”

“Yeah,” you admit, skimming your fingers over his stomach. “But your mind’s made up, isn’t it?”

He nods. There is a small, tired smile on his face as he gestures towards himself. “C’mere, girl.”

You make your way up to him in increments, starting with a kiss to his thigh, then another to the ridge of his hip, letting your lips linger on the jut of bone there, once hidden under muscle but now so prominent beneath the skin. Your thumb traces over the thin, jagged scar that spans across his torso, and you follow its path with your tongue. 

Then you pass your palm gingerly over the dark bruising on his side, the scabbed over cut along his forearm, the myriad scratches and scuffs that litter his body, injuries building up little by little until he’s more a patchwork of scars than a man.

Lightly, delicately, you touch the ugly scar across his shoulder, the bullet hole encircled by the gunpowder burn, pressing your mouth to it as you finally straddle him. You run your thumb along the diagonal set of scars on his chin and lower yourself against him, careful not to put any pressure against his chest as you put your hand between your thighs and fit him inside.

The smooth glide, the enveloping warmth so feverishly sweet and intense, has him squeezing his eyes shut to endure it. He makes a low, guttural noise in the back of his throat as he bucks up, but you stop him, pushing his hips down with both hands as you sit up and hold him still.

“Let me,” you say, soft but firm.

“I ain’t an invalid —”

“Arthur, please.” 

He hears the brittle urgency in your voice and relents. Arthur sighs, rolling his head back and gazing up at you with his dark blond hair ruffled against your pillow, then raises his hand to your face and brushes his knuckles across the wet glimmer of your cheek. You close your fingers around his wrist and turn to press your lips to his palm, then bring it to rest between the valley of your breasts, laying the flat of it against your sternum.

“When this is all over,” you whisper. “I’m gonna take care of you. Just like this.”

Then the slow lift of your hips. A pace so deliberately drawn out that you can count the beats of your heart in between each rise and fall. And through it all his eyes are fixed on the join of your bodies, the easy back and forth of it, taking in every inch of you the way he would a passing doe or a heron in flight. Something lovely but fleeting, gone in the next second. Nothing left behind save the afterimage, immaterial as air but in his mind’s eye the essentials of it sharp and clear. Touching your skin like he’s tracing the lines in a book, reading with his fingers the whole of you, so intent and with such solemnity that you immediately recognize the meaning of it.

He wants this moment to last as a frozen instant to call back upon later, a final image to dwell upon should he meet his end tomorrow. The realization swells like a palpable thing in the  confines of your breast, and you are full to bursting, heavy with grief and dread alike — 

Then Arthur meets your eyes, gazing at you with such frank tenderness that all your words die in your mouth, forgoing speech entirely in favor of pure emotion.

“My beautiful girl,” he murmurs. “I love you so much.”

You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut tight against the prickle of tears. A choked sob rises high in your throat that you try, and fail, to swallow down. And it washes over anew, the bitter futility of it all, the bottomless fear that, even with him held inside you and pressed firm against your hips, that even now he is slipping away, little by little, like grains of sand in an hourglass.

“I love you too,” you whisper, voice hoarse with emotion. “And that’s why I’m so scared that you won’t… th-that you won’t…” 

You bite your lip and shake your head. Some small, superstitious part of you is convinced that giving voice to the mere possibility of his death will give it further hold on him. 

Arthur braces an arm against the mattress and raises himself up to meet you. He holds you steady, his hand cradling the back of your head as he presses his mouth to your own in a long, lingering kiss. And he is warm against your skin, calloused and scarred and torn, the marks of a life hard-lived rough against your palms as you clutch at the broad plane of his back. 

He shifts his hips upwards and the raw ache of him twinges deep between your thighs, the sudden pang of sensation enough to coax from your throat a high, fluttery gasp.

“Ah, there it is,” Arthur says, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Never could get tired of that noise.”

You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, grinning reluctantly. “That so?”

“Wouldn’t lie to you for the world,” he replies, his voice so earnest that you decide not to bring up your tumultuous second encounter, during which he’d lied profusely.

He lays you down beneath him, the warm weight of him heavy against your hips as he presses deep, breathing harsh as he starts up a hard, steady rhythm. 

“Wait, you’re gonna wear yourself out—”

“Let me,” Arthur growls stubbornly. Left unsaid is the latter half of the sentence: while I still can.

The bedsprings creak with familiar protest as he works you over, squeaking shrill and constant under the force of his thrusts. Twisting slow come the first, nascent ripples of pleasure, rising warm and persistent through where he’s joined with you. You appeal to him with an urgent whimper, gripping him tight as he kisses you again. 

When you come, it all coalesces — the rough scrape of his stubble against your lips, the raw satisfaction of having him sunk deep inside, pressed so close and so dear… then the rise and fall afterwards, the warm and honeyed feeling of relief flooding soft through your veins. And with it, that momentary state of thoughtless bliss, of naked vulnerability so sweet and unguarded that the words slip out before you can stop yourself.

“Arthur,” you murmur. “Finish inside this time.”

He freezes mid-thrust, takes a long, shuddering breath. But in his eyes is reflected the same desperate, awful want, and you can feel the quickening of his blood, the rush of his own instinctual urge.

“Can’t,” he says weakly. “Couldnt… couldn’t risk leavin’ you alone like that.”

“I know.” Turning your head, you bite your lip and will yourself not to cry. “God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have —”

“But when I come back… ” he interrupts, his voice a hoarse, unsteady whisper. “I’ll make it up to you. As many times as it takes.”

When he comes back. Only a possibility of a possibility now, that minuscule chance that you’ve held onto so fiercely, flickering and waning and dying bit by bit with every trace of blood in his breath. He’s a fool for saying it, and you’re a fool to believe it, but it’s all you have, god it’s all you have —

“Promise me,” you plead, the ache of your words sharp and bitter as gunpowder in the back of your throat.

“I promise.” He presses his mouth to your neck, and in his lovemaking there is a fervency now that edges upon desperation, his motions jerky and unrestrained. “I swear it, because I want it too, god knows I’ve dreamed it —”

Arthur pulls away with a ragged gasp, and his come streaks wet and warm against your belly as he takes himself in hand, panting hard as he wrings from himself the last, weakening pangs of his own release. Then he collapses beside you, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

It takes him a good minute. When he speaks again, it’s with his throat raw and rough, his words punctuated by the strain of his failing lungs.

“First thing we’re doing when we get out west is getting a decent bed.”

He says it with such casual conviction that it hurts with all the sharp, slivered pain of a knife. As if the narrow possibility of his survival were a certainty, a palpable thing ready for the taking. 

But if this is the last time, why drag the ugliness of reality into it? At least for a little while, you want to be soft and foolish with him. A pale simulacrum of domesticity. A reprieve, an idyll.

“One we can both actually fit in,” you say. “Like the big one in that Strawberry hotel.”

“But not too big. Gotta have room left over.”

“For what?” 

“For a crib,” he replies, turning to you with a smile so wistful and sweet that your heart flutters in your chest like a caged bird. “Might need to add a couple other rooms too, in time.”

The early evening light is filtering through the window, tinging everything it touches with shades of rose. Under it, the pallor of his cheeks is eased, the dark circles under his eyes no longer so prominent. Under it, he looks almost his old self again.

Settling yourself against him, you tuck your head against his shoulder and lay your palm across his chest, taking quiet comfort in the constant thump of his heartbeat. “Yes,” you say softly, allowing yourself the brief luxury of hope. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

------

17 June 2021: edited to add optional happy ending

[nad-zeta]

Hii! I’ve been meaning to ask for a mashup! Appearance wise, I’m look like a pretty basic white person (brown hair, eyes, and freckles), but I’m hella small and have a lot of curves (which looks shit when you’re small). I’m also way too pale a I don’t usually sunbathe. I love dancing, baking, reading (be it FF or literature) and I love sports of all kinds (except basketball... height tingz). Part 1 🍎

Part 2 🍎 I’m asexual, Aquarius and ENTP. I do not have a lot of sexual experience, as the boys I liked would turn a blind eye to my PDA dislike (and my asexuality). I’m a pretty outgoing person who tries to get a long with everyone (and I usually apologize immediately after I’ve done smth offending). Cuddles are a big yes if 1. The person is alright with it 2. It’s not in public. Loneliness is not smth I can cope with, and I am fine with quietly sitting beside someone of they are busy   Part 3 🍎 Due to my nonexistent love life, I can only refer to my 2D life lmao. I usually go for the arseholes with character development 😬 (Gaara from Naruto is prob the best instance). I’m very nurturing as i was always the oldest in my classes & friend groups. Age is also my biggest insecurity. Due to a lot of moving across the globe, I have lost quite a few yrs of education, 17 & in grade 8. I’m pretty smart tho (grade school teacher thought I’m gifted 🤡), but I can get arrogant real quick Part 4 🍎 coz I can’t summarize for life. My other fault is that I’m too honest & blunt. I mentioned that i wanna get along with everyone, but if their opinion opposes mine (& & they criticise me for it), then I’ll leave them be. Having relationships based on lies is not smth I want. So I usually like engaging in debates I don’t know which fandoms you make matchups of (do we even pick???). In case I have to choose, I’d go with Ikevamp. I’m hella sorry for all these parts & thank you 🙏

Hi hi, love ❤❤thank you so so much for the request! 🦋Hehe, I’m so sorry for taking too long with it! I hope you enjoy this love and I hope you have a wonderful day! ❤🦋🌻So I was thinking Theo/Motzart  for a while, but then I saw you were an ENTP, and I made up my mind!🌻🦋

So I match you with................ Isaac

The first time you meet Isaac was when all the residents were gathered in the dining room the morning after you arrived. Sabastian had come to fetch you for breakfast, and the second you walked through the dining room door, Comte strode to your side and introduced you to everyone. You were rather social, so of course, you chatted away with the residences.

Breakfast was going well, until out of the corner of your eye, you could see Arthur and Dazai bullying poor shy Isaac. They had placed an apple in front of him and teased him. Isaac shot them an irritated look all while going as red as an apple at the embarrassment. You didn’t know why but you couldn’t help but come up for the hedgehog, so you gave Arthur and Dazai a piece of your mind. 

Napoleon who had watched the whole scene unfold, smiled his brotherly smile and invited you to help him and Isaac at the makeshift school. The former emperor of France low key gave you no choice as before you knew it you were in a carriage on your way to the fountain where they gave the class.

Some children came up to you and asked you for help with some science problems they were having. You took one look at the problem, and you wanted to dig a hole and hide in it. Isaac made his way up to you and the children. and upon seeing the distress on your face, he decided to answer the question for you. You were feeling rather low after that, as education and your age has always been your biggest insecurity

You opted to play with the children instead of teaching, as you loved sports and physical activities. You seemed to have impressed the children with your athletic skills as soon they were fighting over who would have you in their teams. You spent the rest of the afternoon cheerfully playing with the children. As the sun began to set, one by one, the children made their ways back home; eventually, it was only you, Isaac and Napo left.

Napoleon smiled and told you that he was going to get a coach to take the three of you home. It was now only you and Isaac sitting on the fountain wall waiting for Napo to return. Surprisingly enough, Isaac broke the silence. Cherry eyes gazed at you, “Why did you look so distressed when the children asked you for help?” You had told him about how you travelled the world sacrificing your education, and that you often felt insecure about your age. To this he simply nodded, after a few more moments of silence Isaac spoke up again, this time sending you a meek smile, “What if I taught you, that way the month spent here won’t be wasted, and you won’t fall behind on your schoolwork?” You smiled at the kind offer and immediately accepted.

Now every evening after supper, you and Isaac would sit together in the library. Isaac would teach you a variety of subjects ranging from maths and science to English and history. You honestly didn’t feel so alone or insecure, as Isaac was a non-judgemental patient teacher. To be honest, he did such a good job teaching you, that even Jean decided to join the classes. 

After class, you would always make you and Isaac some tea and chat his ears off well into the night. Not that he minded. He didn’t know much about human behaviour or interactions, so just as he taught you, you taught him. As time passed, you and Isaac got to know each other better and better. You found that Isaac had started opening up more and more to you, and your opinion of him when you first met had completely changed.

And Isaac found himself falling more in love with you with each passing day. He loved that you were a fellow intellectual and reader. His favourite thing in the world to do is spend time with you as you both sit quietly in the room together each reading their own book. He loves the little debates the two of you often engage in, and he found himself growing more and more as a person every second he spent with you.

In your free time you and Isaac still help out at Napos school, and although thanks to Isaac, you definitely had the knowledge to teach the children, you always opt to play sports with them instead. At some point, Isaac saw you having so much fun he found himself joining in. Napoleon would always watch the two of you cuties with a found gaze knowing that his friend had finally found someone who could bring him out of his shell and grow into his full potential.

You quickly found out about Isaacs difficult transition from human and vampire and the consequences of that. You also knew that your friend would often go hours without eating as he would be so absorbed in his research. Naturally, the nurturing side of your personality started to show. You made it your personal mission to bake Isaac yummy snacks to make sure his vampire urges are well under control. Although Isaac has never said as much, he loves it when the sounds of your soft footsteps approach his room, and his senses are suddenly filled with the scent of freshly baked goods. He can’t help but softy smile as you gently knock the door and peek into his room. Isaac freaken LOVES you cooking and is always a very happy hedgehog whenever he is nibbling on the snacks you make for him.

Another thing Isaac absolutely loves is when you plonk yourself down in his room and read. He loves the company even though neither of you is talking, as he hates to admit it, but before you arrived, he always felt a sharp pain in his chest that he could never place. And after you arrived, he finally had the word for it, Loneliness. He can’t help but smile a little brighter and feel a little happier whenever you are around him.

One day Comte handed you an invitation to a ball that a friend of his was throwing. You were so excited you decided to run straight to Isaac’s room to ask him to be your date. You loved dancing, and you could imagine nothing better than to spend the evening dancing with Isaac. The second you told Isaac about the ball his face dropped into a frown as he softly confessed that he had never learned how to dance. “Then ill teach you,” you exclaimed brimming with excitement.

You spent many days teaching Isaac how to dance in the garden, and finally, the day of the ball had arrived. Isaac was determined to confess his feeling for you that night. He met you in the mansion foyer, and you honestly took his breath away. The two of you made your way to the ball and spent a large portion of the evening, happily chatting and dancing. 

Finally, Isaac worked up the courage to take your hand and lead you outside onto the balcony. Cherry eyes seemed to peer deep into your soul as he told you he loved you. Honestly, you were overjoyed. You too had long ago fallen in love with him but due to your lack of experience in the field of romance, thanks to boys who never respected your boundaries, you were rather clueless when it came down to it. Isaac smiled and nuzzled his nose against you as he said that the two of you could figure it out together.

Your relationship was very much based on honestly and open communication. 

Isaac honestly didn’t mind that you were asexual if anything he loved it cause this boy loves to cuddle. The two of you are almost always cuddling or snuggling each other. 

Although your title has changed from friend to girlfriend almost, nothing changed between the two of you. As to be honest, the pair of you were acting like a married couple before you even entered into a relationship. Of course, the biggest difference between then and now is, lots of cuddles and kisses.

Isaac loves nothing more in the whole world than to hold you in his arms, as the two of you read together. When you are not around him he feels lonely and empty, so he tries his best to spend as much time with you as possible

This boy will 100% shower you with endless amounts of affection every moment he can get. Whether it’s coming up behind you to hug and nuzzle your neck as you bake yummy goodies or whether you are just quietly reading. It is also not uncommon for the two of you to get into tickle fights especially if you beat Isaac in the sports you are playing together.

Other potential matches……………Theo

Hope you enjoyed this, dear! Sending ya lots of hugs! ❤🌻🌺

[pennywisesbarbie]

Playing nurse

Barbie’s notes: this was an idea I had in my head and an annony sent something similar so I mixed both things. 

Summary: Arthur comes home beaten and you treat his wounds... then, it develops into something else.

Words: 896

Warnings: smut, mentions of “little one”. 

-Arthur…! Oh, no, god, no – you gasp at the image of him entering the bedroom with several wounds on his face and a purplish hematoma surrounding the contour of his eye.

-It’s okay… just… - he tries not to give relevance to the situation but his heavy head and the long hair all messed up says otherwise.

-Stop. Lie down on the bed, I’ll take care of this.

-Y/N…

-I’m not asking.

He lets out a chuckle at you mien and, sighing, he takes off his shoes and does as you told him. You, on the other hand, are running to the bathroom to grab the medical supplies you need, well, actually you only count with alcohol and some cotton balls and then some ice wrapped in a towel when you search in the fridge.

-Okay, now, let me take care of you – you put the stuff on the mattress and climb on the bed to move the cold towel to his face.

-Ah! – he hisses, the ice hurtful against the abused skin, and tries to move your wrist away.

-I know, I know it’s painful – you reply but insist with the ice so he takes the towel from you, freeing your hand once you make sure he keeps it at the side of his eye.

-Hey… - he whispers softly and moves his other fingers to your hair, tucking it behind the ear.  Arthur knows you are about to cry but you can´t allow it, not until you treat him fully so you just kiss his palm right where his thumb begins and proceed to unbutton his shirt.

-No… Arthur – you say once you discover another purplish wound under his ribs – Who did this? I’m gonna kill them.

-It’s okay, they’re just children.

-They are certainly not children if they  are capable of attacking someone like this – you sigh, jaw trembling, and grab the cotton balls to wet them with alcohol, putting them on the tiny cuts on his cheeks, mostly from the pavement – I don’t have any more ice but we will treat that one there later.

-Little one – he says attempting to push away gently your hand from him.

-No, no, let me finish.

-Little one…

-No, Arthur, stop… - but your voice gets wrecked and you start sobbing – I’m sorry… You come home like this and I make it worse… -  you leave aside the cotton to press your palm on your eyes, scrubbing them to wipe the tears.

-I think we need to do something here – he says and puts the towel on the pillow, taking advantage of your closed eyes to surprise you with a grip on your hips that moves you on top of him, with both legs at each side of his body.

-Arthur, no! You’re gonna hurt yourself, let me continue, I’m okay, I’m o… - but he pulls you in to make your torso fall onto his chest and kiss you – You´re not. Playing. Fair – you speak between his fervent lips – You can’t win me like this.

- Can’t I? – he moves his hand to the towel and grabs one of the ice cubes, then slides it down your spine earning a yelp from you.

-I-It was not for that purpose – you try to keep composure and sit down again on the support of his hips.

-Why? You don´t like it? – he smiles and moves it to one of your breasts, the melted water travelling cold to your nipple and standing it out. Arthur cannot contain himself any longer, he leans up to grab your round mount and suctions the tiny bud fiercely, your head falling back between moans as you feel his erection growing.

-F-fuck…

-You know what? I love when you wear spring dresses – he groans from the back of his throat

-Why?

With no sense of delicacy, he pulls the bottom of your dress up and moves your lacy panties to the side so he can push his member in, making space between your spreading walls. Your nails dig into his shoulders at the intrusion, not expecting the reaction at all.

-Arthur! – you whine but your pelvis betrays you bucking forwards to seek friction for your clit.

-Do you still want to play nurse with me, my love? – he asks with a lustful grin and lies back down.

There’s no more control left in you. With both palms on his chest, you make a hold to start moving up and down, his cock twitching inside and making you shiver in pleasure.

-Fuck, baby, you feel so nice and wet on me – he groans at your motions, grabbing your butt to help you keep a steady pace. You find the almost completely melted ice on his belly and put it between your lips, leaning down to kiss him. The mixed temperature of your tender hot pussy and your cold mouth causes Arthur to smack your ass cheek, awakening a hungry animal in him.

-Arthur, I’m so close…!

-Cum for me, I want to feel it all – his tender voice is the last thing you need to explode, joining his orgasm at unison. Once the spasms have passed, you move to the side, his seed escaping your hole, transforming into translucent drops down your thighs.

-I’ll continue healing you later – you exhale deep.

- Yeah, but now it´s you who needs to recover – he jokes.

This blog moved to @little-lily-w

[sea-side-scribbles]

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/63206323

Chapter 27

Seeing the Avalon Hotel for the first time, Arthur gasped. It looked even more glorious than he had imagined. „Wow, it’s a palace“, he sighed, clinging to Nick, causing his lover to chuckle. „Wait until you’ve seen it from inside.“ Arthur was eager to go in.

But before, they had to climb the noble wide stairs in front of the building. Arthur saw a golden statue decorating it and wondered what it might show. Halfway up the stairs he stopped and said: „Wait…is that you?“ Nick couldn’t help grinning. „Yep. It’s for the annual convention. It’s not always standing here.“ „Stop“, Arthur suddenly commanded. „Huh?“ Nick gave his lover a puzzled look, wondering if he said something wrong. „Could you place yourself next to the statue for a moment? Or better, on the pedestal?“

Nick obeyed quickly. He liked the sudden determination of his lover. It promised to be interesting.

Standing next to his golden self he put an arm around it’s shoulder in an easygoing pose. „Like this?“. His voice was pure silk. When he glanced back at  Arthur he saw that his lover suddenly held a camera in his hands. Startled, he held up his own hands as an attempt to hide his face. „Hey, wait!", he shouted, "I’m not prepared for this! My hair is uncombed and my suit is full of wrinkles and my shoes are dirty…“ He began to tug at his clothes and sort his hair strands.

„Don’t be silly. You look smashing!" Arthur took his first photo without a warning, just when the nervous rock star was trying to clean his shoes. „Hey, I wasn’t ready!“, Nick moaned, but his lover had no mercy. „Start posturing or else this will be on the front page!“ Finally, Nick gave up his resistance.

Instead he proved to Arthur that he was a very talented model if he wanted to. Using  all his irresistible charisma he was making his lover sweat behind the camera. Arthur forgave him all the crazy or way too sexy poses that would never make it in the newspaper. He planned to keep these photos for himself.

„Reporters, man, never lose an opportunity to assault innocent stars,“ Nick sighed, having the situation under control again. „You know what’s a really interesting subject?“ „I have some in mind,“ Arthur said, giving Nick a wholesome shiver. He however pointed at him and then at the pedestal. „You…up there. And I’m gonna take the photos.“ Arthur winced. „Me? No way! No one wants me on a photo,“ he stuttered while Nick hopped from the pedestal and snatched the camera from his hands. „But me,“ he countered. „Let me have some fun or I’ll get grumpy.“ „Do you even know how a camera works?“, Arthur tried but Nick lifted a hand. „Want a smack on the ear?“, he asked in a playful way. Then he pointed at the statue. „Get up there.“

Arthur climbed the pedestal and unsurely hung about the golden Nick. „The lens is on the front side, Nicky,“ he kept on kidding, but his voice was shaky. „And you better take a look into the little window on the back, so you’ll see if it’s focused!“ Nick lifted an eyebrow. „You have a big mouth for someone who’s posing like he shit his pants.“ „I’m not a model, Nick!“, Arthur protested with his fits clenched.

„You could be!", his lover said with emphasis. "After all you're tall, slim and handsome. All you need is a sense of ease, a sense of laissez faire, you know what I mean?“ Arthur crossed his arms and blushed. „The opposite of that,“ Nick commented, even though he found it adorable. „That’s ridiculous,“ Arthur grumbled. „Please, Arthur, only one picture! Be a tiny bit spontaneous, just stop thinking for a moment!“

Arthur, who was still red, tried his best to please his lover. He backed against the statue and laid a hand on it’s cold chest. „Yes,“ Nick yelled. „That’s good!“ He took the photo. „Give me another one,“ he said and Arthur complied. He tried a lot of silly stuff, hoping that no one would ever see these pictures, and only comforted by the fact that at least Nick seemed to like what he did. He had never considered to be somewhat good looking. Nick kept telling him though, so perhaps at least for the two of them it was true.

„You got it now, baby! Yeah, give me more!“ Nick blew kisses at Arthur who now thought that he maybe wasn't that bad. He got motivated enough to try something crazy, so he climbed on the statue and lied down on it’s widened arms. „Oh, that’s beautiful. Stay like this!“ Nick took multiple photos, thinking that he'd beg Arthur to develop them all so he could keep them. A sharp voice ended his euphoria.

„What do you think you’re doing here?“ A man in a red uniform came out of nowhere and eyed them suspiciously. Arthur quickly climbed down. Nick remained calm. „Public relations“, he said. „We must not be disturbed.“ „Is that so?“, the nosey man snapped. „And since when does the star take photos of the journalist?“ „This is the new age of journalism!" Nick's voice was now dripping with pathos. "The new transparency! People are done with the no-names and no-faces, they want to see the person behind the camera!“ The man remained unfazed.

„That's fine with me, but not in this property. This isn’t a playground and this statue his rather delicate.“ „But it’s my statue,“ Nick pointed out. „I don’t allow it,“ the man said sternly. „If you need something to climb, we have cliffs all around the island.“ „Very funny,“ Nick said dryly, but he had no chance. He turned to Arthur who had nervously watched their conversation. „What did I tell you? Nothing but snobs here.“ Arthur took the camera out of his lover’s hands. „Perhaps we went overboard a bit,“ he muttered. „Nonsense! We’re here to have fun after all. Let’s go in.“

With that he led Arthur into a pompous entrance hall that was filled with people who seemed to be totally ignorant about the beauty around them. Busy bell boys dragging heavy suitcases, stressed out receptionists, bored or upset guests sitting in comfortable chairs, and between all this Arthur who tried to be not too obvious about his astonishment.

Nick watched him rapturously, until he asked: „Are you hungry?“ Arthur gave him a puzzled look, so he repeated: „I asked if you’re hungry.“ and grinned Finally, Arthur heard him and noticed how the word ‚hunger‘ dramatically changed the feeling in his stomach. All of a sudden he had a gaping hole inside him and at the same time he became very interested in what people might eat in this wonderful place. „I guess so,“ he said blankly. „Splendid. I need a snack too.“ They meandered through the masses of people and luggage until they reached a double door. Nick opened it for Arthur. „After you.“

The restaurant was much calmer, the guests were good tempered and in the distance they heard a soft tune played on a piano. Arthur started to feel much better. When Nick ordered a table, he still hid behind him. He didn’t really trust the Wellies anymore. He was glad when the waiter gave them a cozy place in a corner of the room where nobody would watch them. They sat down and received the menu. Opening it, Arthur gulped.

„Oh dear,“ he said quietly. „What?“ Nick looked at him. „Everything is so…expensive. I’m afraid I can’t even afford a plate of buttered bread in here.“ Nick sighed. „Oh, Arthur, you’re so cute..." Arthur gave him another puzzled look. „You can have everything you want", his lover explained. "You’re my guest.“ Arthur scanned the menu again and found many delicious meals. He had no clue what to take.

„Do you have a favorite?“, he asked and Nick got going. He described at least ten different meals until Arthur interrupted him. „Did you already try everything on the card?“, he gasped. „Not everything. They change it every season. But it’s alright if you want something that’s not on it.“ Nick was so casual about it, as if they were just having a snack in a fast food restaurant. Arthur shook his head.

„I…I can’t decide.“, he said after a while. „Then choose everything!“ Nick gave him a wide smile. „I can’t do that.“ „Why not?“ „I’m not that hungry.“ „Then I’ll help you.“

While they were discussing, the waiter came back to their table. Nick saw him and quickly said: „I’ll take over. Or else you’ll miss out on too much.“ He began to give a large order and Arthur felt torn between his sense of shame and his growling stomach. „Thank you“, he whispered when the waiter was gone. His stomach had won. Nick patted his arm. „Wait until you take the first bite.“

„I’m so hungry, I feel like I didn’t eat in weeks“, Arthur suddenly admitted. „Shall I fetch you something from the bar?“ Nick was about to get up, but Arthur took his arm. „No, It’s okay", he assured him. "I want to stay hungry for everything you ordered.“ Nick eyed him. „Tell me if you need something, okay? I don’t want you to faint before you can eat anything.“ „Don’t worry. I can wait.“

Arthur had to remind himself that this was real. Whenever he spend time with Nick, he suddenly felt like a very important person. Just a couple of days ago he would’ve never believed that a man like Nick would love him. But here they were, sitting in the most noble restaurant in town. He felt flattered, seeing the way the famous rockstar looked at him. Nervously, he cleared his throat.

„How are you doing by the way? How’s the band?“ Nick relaxed again and smiled. „I feel great! I’m surprised myself about how well it’s working. When we’re playing, it feels just like in the old days, as if we’ve never been separated.“ He nodded, musing. „This is my chance. Our chance." Arthur gave him a warm smile. Time to dig deeper.

„Sounds like you’ll get the new record together.“ „You bet! We’re almost done!“, he said proudly. „Okay, we need a few more songs, two or three perhaps, but I sense this is going to be big.“ Arthur made a prying face. „How did you get your band back in the first place?“

Nick suddenly leaned closer to Arthur. Their faces almost touched. „Arthur…“ he whispered mysteriously. „Yes?,“ his lover sighed. „Arthur, my darling…“, Nick went on purring. „Yes?“, Arthur said again. Nick's voice was louder again when he said: „Tell me the truth. Is this really a date or do you want to squeeze informations out of me?“ He made Arthur wince. „You think I could do that?“ „I mistrust journalists in general,“ Nick said definitely. „So?“ Arthur stared down at the table.

„Of course it’s a date“, he said quietly. „But I had to promise my old boss to give him a new big story to get my press pass back. And if I don’t deliver I’ll soon be just a downer who stole a press pass. Please Nick, play along. I won’t write anything you don’t like. Or else I’ll have to hide in the tunnel again and you can’t go anywhere with me and soon I’ll bore you.“ The words blustered out of his mouth.

„Arthur, you don’t bore me at all!“, Nick eagerly replied. „Of course I’ll help you, because I want you to be free.“ His lover was flattered. „Thank you, Nick. I...I owe you one.“ Nick waved him off. „You don’t owe me nothing. I wouldn’t be here without you.“ „And without you, I would’ve been slaughtered by a horde of Wellies by now,“ Arthur countered.

Nick gave him a grin. „The show wouldn’t have been half as memorable without you.“ Arthur exhaled. „And I thought I ruined it.“ „No way! Didn’t you read the headlines the next day? I still have the photo of our fight.“ Nick winked at him. „Oh dear.“ Arthur covered his face with his hands. „I hope nobody recognizes me.“ „I don’t think so,“ Nick said calmly. „You’re hiding very well what a hardass you are." Arthur blushed.

„I’m just a bureaucrat.“ „Nonsense. You’re fast and strong, and most of all where the hell did you learn to fight like that?“, Nick swooned. „I was fighting in the arena in the Headboy’s Quarters,“ Arthur admitted. „Headboys?“ „Oh, that’s a group of tough guys in the Garden District. They think they own the place. And when you fall into their hands, you have to fight your way out.“ Nick stared at him. „Is that true?“ Arthur sighed. „Yeah, sadly, they got me.“ „But you made it out alive.“ Arthur suddenly felt adventurous and said: „They called me the King of the Parade.“ He saw a spark in Nick’s eyes he liked very much. „That’s…that’s very hot,“ Nick sighed.

They leered at each other until the waiter startled them, finally serving their meals, that were arranged so neatly that Arthur felt sorry to destroy them. He marveled at the filled plates while the waiter served them whine. „It tastes even better than it looks like,“ Nick assured him and raised his glass. „To the freedom of the press!“ Arthur followed. Their glasses clinked softly when they touched. Then Arthur enjoyed the best meal someone had ever served to him. Considering what he had seen as a downer made him wonder how the hotel could even afford such good food.

„What do you think?“, Nick asked him some time later. „It’s delicious. I never had such a good meal, not even in the best restaurants of the Parade District.“ Nick gave him a tender look. „Just eat it up, King. You need it.“ Arthur almost choked on the salad.

Nick went on: „I know you need this interview, but I’d love to know more about you.“ Arthur began to stutter. „I…I’m afraid there’s not much so know.“ „And that arena fight? Was that nothing?“ „It was the only exciting and dangerous event in my entire life. Everything else is…well…pretty much boring. I was a reporter, then a censor and then a downer.“ He shrugged. „That’s it.“ He pondered. „Okay, I’m pretty good at bridge.“ Because Nick silenced Arthur added: „That’s a card game.“

„I know bridge,“ Nick said and played upset. „Just because I’m a rockstar doesn’t mean I’m dumb as a sack of hammers!“ He made Arthur smirk. „You won’t be the first.“ „Oh, you really want that smack on the ear!“ Arthur leered at him. „What if I do?“ „I see. You’re provoking it the entire time, assaulting me with your camera, taking me on a fake date to press information out of me and to cap it all off you’re offending me.“ „I was just joking,“ Arthur defended himself. „Guess what? You’re not boring at all,“ Nick concluded.

Arthur stubbornly poked his plate with his fork. „I guess I changed a bit. But there’s still not much to say about me.“ Nick pondered that, running a hand through his hair. Then he leaned closer to his lover again. „Listen, Arthur, my life can be boring, too. Right now it’s going so well that there’s barely anything to fill your story with.“ Arthur disagreed: "But the happy stories are the best stories! That’s all I need!“ He gave Nick a warm smile. „Just give me a comforting plot. Something that’s just the way it should be. The Wellies will love it. And I’d love it too, to hear that you’re doing well.“ Arthur gave Nick’s shoulder a soft pat and looked deeply into his green eyes. Nick wondered how his crazy life could actually fit in an article.

Then he said: „Alright, first I’ll tell you the truth, and then we’ll turn it into a story, okay?“ „Okay,“ Arthur answered with a curious look. Nick wriggled about on his chair. „Actually it’s not quite heroic. It’s going well now but it wasn’t easy to get them all back together.“ His expression became worried. He meekly said: „Normally I wouldn’t tell this story to anyone.“ Arthur put down his glass.

„Nick, I’m a downer. I won’t judge you just because your life isn’t all sunshine and roses.“ His lover looked at him pleadingly. „But would you write about it? You know, you could easily denounce me with it.“ He sighed. „I don’t want to tell you a lie either.“ Arthur was about to hold his hand, but then noticed how that would look like.

„Nick, trust me,“ he said instead. „I love you. I won’t use you to give myself airs in the press. Trust me, if I had a choice I’d forget all this and just have a good time with you. Let's just…get this over with, okay? “ His lover have him a thankful look. „I’m glad I’m having this interview with you. Everyone else would’ve used me.“ „I won’t“, Arthur said again with emphasis. Nick got lost in the other man’s dark brown eyes before he went on.

„It was all…coincidence. The same day we ran across each other at Sally’s I met my band again. That is, one of them.“ He gulped. „It was a real awful day and I…I thought my career is over. Somehow I gathered the courage to visit my old pianist from the Make Believes. Morrie Memento.“ Nick avoided Arthur’s eyes now. He felt uncomfortable talking about Morrie in front of him, but he wanted to clarify Morrie’s role in the story. At least the whine helped him to fight down his conflicted feelings.

„I didn’t beg for my old band, I only told him how sorry I am. I haven’t been quite nice in the past, you know. I don’t remember it anymore, but I somehow kicked him out of the band. And maybe others too. I only know that the band broke up and it’s all my fault. And Morrie…he gave me a new chance. He summoned the lads and…I had to persuade them too. Somehow I made it and we’re together…God, I thought I’ll never see them again.“ He took another sip of whine and refilled his glass, before he gave Arthur a questioning look. But Arthur’s glass was still full.

„Don’t you like it? I could order something else for you.“ His lover shook his head. „It’s good, but I rather stay sober for a while. It’s only afternoon.“ Nick suddenly smirked. „You don’t tolerate that much, am I right?“ „Are you trying to change the subject?“, Arthur replied. Nick’s smirk fell down. „Well…what else is there to say? I know these guys since school and it’s wonderful to perform with them again. I need to prove them every day that I’m not trying to sell them out and sometimes it’s very tiring but I’m confident they’ll be pleased when our record is out.“ He drank again.

Then he suddenly said: „Would you do me a favor?“ „Sure.“ „Can you interview them too? I promised not to be the only spokesman for the band anymore.“ Arthur widened his eyes. „That’s not a favor for you, but for me! My boss will fall on his knees and praise me if I give her an article about the entire band. Of course I’ll do that!“ Nick smiled. „You’re such a sweetheart, Arthur.“ They exchanged amorous looks again until they got served the next course of meals.

Arthur stared in surprise at how many new plates were piled up at their table. „How much did you order? This is enough for an entire week!“ „We can keep the rest", Nick waved him off. "Just eat your fill.“ Arthur stopped protesting and pitched in. He ate another heap.

It was the first time since weeks that he was able to stuff that gaping hole in his stomach. Meanwhile he could comfort Nick a bit and made him talk about some pleasant memories that’ll amp up the article. They made notes together and had a very good time while their dessert was served.

„I’m full as a tick,“ Arthur finally said. „I think I’ll never eat again.“ Nick was still busy with his chocolate mousse when suddenly a waitress brought him a big pile of ice cream. „This looks very delicious, my darling, but it’s not mine,“ he told the girl, giving her a charming smile. She returned the smile and said: „It’s from the lady over there.“

Nick turned his head and froze. For the third time he saw the girl with that incredibly long blonde mane. She had a beautiful smirk, too. He blew a kiss at her, alerting Arthur. „Who’s that?“ „Uh…that’s a fellow musician. Birdie Callagher, maybe you’ve heard of her“, he casually explained. „And she’s sweet on you?“ Arthur lifted his eyebrows. „Perhaps. To be honest, I can’t read her. Perhaps her plan is to make me burst at the seams," he answered eyeing the big ice cream bowl. „In that case she’s too late. You accomplished that yourself,“ his lover said dryly. He didn’t like it one bit that this blonde bombshell was flirting with his Nick.

„You know, I can pay her back,“ Nick said now and waved to a waiter. „Just leave it be,“ Arthur tried, but his lover didn’t listen. Proud of his plan, Nick leaned back. „I ordered her the biggest bowl of ice cream they have. I hope she’ll like it.“ „And what are we doing with this?“, Arthur pointed at Nick’s. „What do you think?“, he replied and began to eat. „Perhaps we should better leave,“ Arthur urged him. „And miss out on her reaction? No way!“ Nick glanced over Birdie’s table. „I feel watched,“ his lover said. „Oh come on, this looks just like an interview, reporter and star, just as you said. Relax,“ Nick waved him off. Then he got excited. „There, now look!“

They watched how Birdie was served a giant bowl that would've been too much even for two people. She threw her hands up in surprise and laughed out loud. Then she looked at Nick, who gestured her to eat it all up. However, she made a gesture as if she wanted to beckon him over. Arthur immediately felt sick. He was very relived when Nick refused.

"Now we've seen it. Now let's...", Arthur began but couldn't end his sentence because another portion of ice cream was placed in front of him. "What the..." The waiter said: "It's from the lady over there." Arthur turned around to stare at a fancy dressed woman with brown pinned-up hair who waved at him. Nick burst out in laughter. "That's not funny", his lover protested. "Don't tell me it never happened to you before...", Nick gasped. "Oh man, your face..."

Arthur screw up his nose. "She's probably just thinking I can get her a backstage pass." Nick took a deep breath. "Come on, dear, relax and eat some." "But I'm full," Arthur said stubbornly. "Just try it. It's really good." Arthur gave up and took his spoon. At least Nick wasn't watching that blonde girl anymore. His ice cream was delicious too. "Now I'm really full," he said after eating half of it. Nick didn't come much farther that him.

"What a shame we can't keep that," he said, sadly watching the ice melt. "It was wonderful, Nick", Arthur said with a softer tone. "But now whe should go." Nick agreed, but he also glanced at Birdie's table once again, who was still eating. "She'll eat it up", he whispered in awe. "She didn't empty the entire kitchen before that, unlike us. Please, Nick!" Arthur couldn't handle it any longer. "Okay, okay," Nick said and finally got up. His lover was quickly leaving the restaurant, so that Nick didn't get another chance to dally away.

[vexedtonightmares]

prompt via @draymalfoi​: Could you please write a friends AU of the scene where Chandler kisses every one after coming from London because he doesn't want to reveal his relationship with Monica! 

The One With All the Kissing

Lucas was hanging out with Eliott and the boys, playing video games mindlessly the first time they slipped up. He and Eliott had only been dating a few weeks after pining for years, and none of their friends knew yet. They didn’t want to have to deal with all the questions that would come with the announcement, so they decided to give themselves time to navigate their relationship without outside input for a while. 

It was a good idea, in theory, but sometimes they forgot that it was a secret. Lingering looks did more than linger and they had to pass it off as zoning out so often that their friends probably secretly thought there was something wrong with them. 

“Fuck,” Eliott whispered to himself, frowning down at his phone from where he sat beside Lucas. They’d been discreetly holding hands, crossing their legs just so to make it impossible for the other boys to see them. Not that they were paying attention anyway. 

Lucas furrowed his brows and looked at Eliott. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Eliott shook his head. “Just a study session I forgot about, which means I’ve gotta run.”

“Booooo…” Basile called from the floor, pausing the game to focus his attention on the conversation. Arthur and Yann nodded in agreement, looking at Eliott with understanding sympathy. Eliott subtly released Lucas’ hand from his grip.  

“Yeah,” Eliott agreed, “It sucks, but if I don’t go I’m not passing my exam, so…”

“Well, know that we’ll spend our time crying until you can return,” Arthur reassured him, and Eliott laughed, throwing a pillow at him as he stood up. He made his way around the room to gather up his things before returning to where Lucas was sitting and leaning down. 

Before Lucas could register what was happening, their lips were pressed together. It was a great kiss, and he might have enjoyed it if his eyes weren’t frozen wide open in shock, the look reflected on Yann, Arthur, and Basile’s faces. Eliott broke away with a soft, contented look before seeing Lucas’ face. “See you later,” he said, then realized his mistake. 

Lucas blinked rapidly and Eliott did the same. He could tell they were both thinking the same thing: fuck. 

Eliott recovered more quickly than Lucas expected and he had to do a double take to make sure that what he was seeing was actually happening. After blinking again and rubbing his eyes, he confirmed that it was. 

Eliott was bent down over Arthur, pulling his face up to meet his for a brief kiss. After they broke apart, Eliott moved on to Yann, then Basile, giving each of them a kiss. He cleared his throat after straightening up, giving them all a two fingered salute, rushing out the door before any of them could say a word. 

Arthur looked a bit dazed, Yann confused, and Basile kept touching his lips as if he wasn’t sure what had just happened. Lucas didn’t know what he looked like, but he could bet it was a mixture of the emotions reflected on his friend’s faces. 

Arthur was the first to break the silence. “What the hell was that?”

“Eliott… he just… did he… we…” Basile was stammering, and Lucas might have laughed had he not been paranoid about what everyone might say about the whole thing. He’d have to nip it in the bud before they thought about it too closely.

“Maybe it’s something he picked up when he was travelling,” Lucas suggested with a shrug. Eliott had been away the month before school had started up again, touring various countries in Europe with his parents. It had been at that point that Lucas’ feelings had reached their climax and when Eliott got home they could hardly stay away from one another. Absence did, in fact, make the heart grow fonder, and though Lucas had been upset when Eliott had said he would be away for a month, the month apart had allowed them to reach a conclusion about their feelings for one another and everything had been amazing since then, so Lucas had no reason to complain about it after all. 

Yann raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “He travelled around the continent, not to a different planet.”

“Still,” Lucas argued, “We don’t know everything about various European customs. Have you ever even left Paris?”

“I have, as a matter of fact, and no one kissed me randomly,” Yann said with an uptick of one of his eyebrows. Lucas didn’t know what to do but shrug again. 

Basile’s eyes widened. “Maybe he has a crush on one of us.”

“Oh, come on Baz,” Arthur laughed, hitting Basile on the upside of his head. “First of all, I think Eliott is straight, and second of all, he’s literally the least subtle person in the world. If he liked someone, especially one of us, we’d know.”

He knew there were other things to be focusing on, but Lucas couldn’t help the surge of satisfaction that had arisen in him. Everyone thought Eliott wore his heart on his sleeve to quite the extreme, and it just wasn’t true. Sure, Eliott did express his emotions in much more visible ways than most people would sometimes, but the deeper part of his love was only visible to the person he had those feelings for. Lucas was just lucky enough that person happened to be him. 

Plus, it meant that they’d been surprisingly good at hiding their feelings for one another. 

“Why aren’t you freaking out, Lulu?” Yann asked with genuine curiosity. He definitely would have been, if Eliott’s kiss had come from nowhere, and Yann knew him enough to know that. 

Lucas blinked a few times to stall as he thought of an excuse. “Because it’s not the first time he’s done that since he got back. That’s why I assumed it was a travelling thing.”

Arthur choked out a cough. “Excuse me?”

“The other day,” Lucas lied, realizing he was digging himself quite the hole, “We hung out and Idriss and Sofiane came over too and he did the same thing when we left.” He should have just pretended to freak out as much as Basile still was. 

“He’s not…” Yann trailed off, but Lucas caught where he was going. He bristled unintentionally, but it was Basile who answered. 

“Just because he did one little weird thing it doesn’t mean he’s having a manic episode,” Basile stated plainly. 

Yann bit his lip, “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes you did, and it’s natural to think that, you can’t imagine the amount of times I thought that when my mom made too much food for dinner or woke up too early it meant she was having an episode, but people with bipolar disorder can still have some quirks without it meaning that something’s not right,” Basile explained, and Yann looked at his hands. 

“I’m sorry, I guess I’m just not that knowledgeable about bipolarity and all that,” Yann apologized, but Basile shook his head. “Like I said, it’s ok, you just have to try to become a bit more knowledgeable, especially when one of your friends is bipolar himself,” Basile suggested gently. 

Lucas was and wasn’t surprised that Basile had jumped so readily to Eliott’s defense. Of all of them, he’d been the most receptive when Eliott had told them he was bipolar a few months after they’d met. Lucas, Yann, and Arthur hadn’t even known Basile’s mother was bipolar until then either. The part that did surprise him was that Basile was still so willing to step in and try to educate them when they were either being ignorant or complete dumbasses without realizing it. He probably would have gotten fed up with it after a while. Actually, he knew that he would, because he had to do the same fielding questions and assumptions about his sexuality. 

“We can all still agree that was weird though, right?” Arthur clarified, and Lucas was sure to nod along with the others. Thankfully, the subject was dropped, but Lucas knew that he and Eliott would have to be more careful from then on. 

***

The second time they slipped up, Lucas and Eliott were taking a bath together. They had the flat to themselves for the night, or so they thought, so they decided to make a romantic evening out of it. Eliott had even brought over some mini battery powered candles and a bottle of sparkling apple juice they could pretend was real champagne.

They’d barely had time to clink their glasses together, giggly love drunk messes that they were, when Lucas heard a door slam. Eliott widened his eyes. “I thought you said no one was home for the night.”

“I thought no one was home for the night!”

“Well what do we do?”

Lucas considered their options. If it was Lisa, they didn’t have to worry about anything, she was so oblivious that she probably wouldn’t even notice if they made all the noise in the world, and if she did, Lucas could convince her he’d just had a one time hookup. Manon might cause more trouble. She wouldn’t barge into the bathroom or anything, but she would definitely notice that Lucas had someone over and definitely question him about it until he gave in. If it was Mika, they were screwed. He had no qualms about barging into the bathroom and would probably want to sit there and talk with Lucas until he was done in the bath, especially if Eliott was there too. 

“Kitten! You better be decent!” 

Fuck. He and Eliott communicated with a wide eyed gaze before Eliott dove his head under the water, just as Mika walked in. Mika opened his mouth, then closed at as he took in the sight. Lucas was sure it looked quite odd, him sitting in the bath alone surrounded by fake candles and fake champagne. Mika looked at him sympathetically. “Did a grindr date stand you up?” 

“What? No!” At least his reaction was genuine, that had most definitely not been the question he’d expected from Mika. 

Mika gestured to the scene. “Then…?”

“Can’t a guy treat himself every once and awhile?” Lucas scoffed, realizing that Eliott was still underwater holding his breath. Lucas poked Eliott’s foot with his to make sure that he was still alive down there. Eliott poked him back and he nearly let out a sigh of relief. 

Mika nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, of course, you do you. I guess I just didn’t think that this was… you.”

“I’m trying to get more in touch with my softer side, break down the barriers of toxic masculinity, you know?” He felt Eliott kick him gently and he wondered if it was an accident or if Eliott could hear his bullshit. 

Mika was eating it up, though. “Oh, of course. I do things like this all the time. So sorry for interrupting, kitten, I’ll leave you be.”

“Thanks, Mika, you’re the best,” Lucas smiled, hoping it appeared genuine. Mika turned to leave and Eliott had almost raised his head to the surface when Mika turned back around and Lucas not so subtly pushed him back down. He tried to cover it up as if he’d been shifting into a new position in the bathtub. 

Mika narrowed his eyes again, but then thankfully decided to ignore Lucas’ weirdness. “I almost forgot, I came in to ask if you wanted anything from the bakery on the corner? Manon will kill me for eating something she hasn’t baked, but their chocolate éclairs are to die for.”

“I’m good, thanks Mika,” he said hurriedly. Eliott was going to kill him if he wasn’t already dead. Mika waved over his shoulder as he finally left, closing the door behind him. 

Eliott resurfaced with a loud gasp and Lucas shushed him, earning a look that screamed Really? After I almost drowned for your dumbass? When Lucas heard the door slam again, he slumped against the side of the bath, laughing weakly. 

Eliott flicked water onto his face and Lucas scrunched up his nose in outrage. “Seriously!”

“Yes, seriously,” Eliott said, flicking more water, “I just won the world record for breath-holding and you sit there and laugh.”

“You didn’t win a world record, it was like, a minute,” Lucas pointed out, even though it had probably been longer. 

Eliott raised his eyebrows. “Oh really? You weren’t scared I died?” His eyes glimmered with mischief and Lucas could feel himself falling more and more in love.

“No way, you suck at holding your breath.” 

“Oh, I suck?” Eliott challenged, and before Lucas knew it, his feet were being pulled so he slid closer to Eliott, head falling below the water in the process. 

“Dick!” he exclaimed in outrage when he popped his head back up. “Asshole!”

Eliott nodded. “Yup, those are both things you probably saw down there.”

Lucas couldn’t contain the scandalized laugh that bubbled up in his chest. Eliott laughed too, pulling Lucas closer still, more gently this time. “And I believe you’re the one who sucks at holding their breath.”

“I wasn’t even trying, you ass,” Lucas said as he folded his arms around Eliott’s shoulders. Eliott leaned his head in and hummed against Lucas’ mouth. “Even though you suck at that, I’m still going to make a movie about you,” he said. He’d been saying it since they first started dating, coming up with ridiculous fake titles every time Lucas did something embarrassing. 

Lucas drew away slightly, smirking. “Oh yeah? What’s it going to be called this time? Lucas Lallemant, boyfriend extraordinaire!”

“No… not catchy enough.” Eliott paused, leaning back in for a small kiss. Lucas happily obliged. “I was thinking The Boy Who Couldn’t Hold His Breath Underwater.”

Lucas scoffed, splashing Eliott in retaliation. “Fuck. Off,” he said, but he couldn’t stop giggling, melting into Eliott’s arms. 

***

The third time, they really should have known better. The foyer was definitely not the most private place, but they generally had a hard time keeping their hands off one another as it was, and the foyer was empty at the time of their arrival. 

Lucas had his arms thrown around Eliott’s neck, bodies pressed together so very closely. Eliott’s mouth searched his, and he searched back with even more passion, forgetting where he ended and Eliott began. 

The door banged open and they shot apart, looking at the stunned faces of Daphné, Alexia, Arthur, and Imane. Eliott closed his eyes and Lucas could see the moment he came to a decision, realizing exactly what that decision would be the moment before Eliott said, “Well, see you later, then,” and stepped forward, pulling Daphné into an equally passionate kiss. Lucas fixed his hair in the meantime, pretending that this was all normal. 

Once he separated from Daphné, he moved on to Alexia, who looked shocked but not entirely opposed to the idea. He supposed he couldn’t fault her for that, Eliott was hot. Daphné looked at Lucas in a daze and Lucas shrugged nonchalantly. 

Arthur got another kiss too, but at least he was expecting it this time. He pulled back first, looking at Eliott with a crease between his eyebrows. Eliott turned to where Imane stood right in front of the door. She pointed her finger at him, opening the door. “Don’t even think about it,” she said, and Eliott nodded hurriedly, ducking his head before bolting out the door. 

“He’s still doing that?” Arthur asked Lucas, and Lucas nodded. 

“He’s done that before?” Imane asked incredulously. 

Arthur looked between her and Lucas. “Yeah, once the other day when it was me, Lucas, Baz, and Yann, and then another time before that with—” he cut off when he saw Lucas’ look of warning. The last thing he wanted was for Imane to learn that he’d lied about Eliott kissing Sofiane and Idriss. 

Imane narrowed her eyes and Lucas jumped in. “With Mika, Lisa, and I.”

“I can’t believe Eliott Demaury just kissed me,” Daphné said, touching her lips gently. Alexia laughed at Daphné’s reaction. “I wouldn’t get used to it,” she said sorrowfully, placing a hand on Daphné’s shoulder. 

“I didn’t mind it,” Arthur said casually. Lucas stared at him in alarm. “I mean, the first time was a surprise, but kissing Eliott isn’t too bad.”

“Join us on the dark side,” Alexia pleaded, gesturing between herself and Lucas. Arthur shrugged again, licking his bottom lip absently. Dear god, the last thing Lucas needed was for Arthur to develop a crush on his boyfriend. Of course, if anyone was to trigger Arthur’s sexual awakening, it had to be Eliott. 

Lucas put his face in his hands, wondering what exactly he’d done to deserve this sort of karmic revenge. 

***

All the boys and girls were hanging out at the colloc and Eliott and Lucas were sitting a few feet apart, mostly for their own sanity. Lucas briefly wondered if Eliott was going to kiss every one of them before he left that night. 

Basile cleared his throat during a lull in conversation and placed a hand on Eliott’s knee. Eliott startled slightly and gave Basile his attention, eyebrows cinching in confusion. “Listen, bro, we gotta talk.”

“Oh?” Eliott asked, looking briefly at Lucas, who shrugged. 

“You can’t keep kissing everyone when you leave the room. It’s getting weird,” Basile said seriously, and Lucas choked on his drink. 

Eliott’s eyes widened in discomfort. “I’m sorry?”

“No, it’s fine, man, really, we get that you probably picked it up from somewhere you travelled to over the summer, but we don’t do that here. Save the kissing for whenever you get a girlfriend.” Basile patted Eliott’s knee once, and Lucas almost laughed at how extremely uncomfortable he looked. 

“Or boyfriend,” Arthur suggested, winking, and making Eliott look even more confused and uncomfortable. Lucas tipped his head back, trying to hold in a sigh of exasperation. How did he get himself in these sorts of situations? Really? 

“I won’t lie, I didn’t hate it,” Alexia added, “But yeah, you should stop.”

“It’s just a weird thing to do,” Yann explained. 

“Really weird,” Lucas found himself saying, earning a bemused glance from Eliott. Shut up, asshole, he told him with his eyes, I’m doing this for our benefit. Then again, maybe it would be easier to just come clean with their relationship, but when had either of them ever gone about things in an easy way?

“Ok,” Eliott said warily, “I’ll, uh, stop.”

Yann clapped his hands once. “Now that that’s cleared up, who wants more beer?” he asked, forcing a bright smile. Emma and Manon, the only ones who hadn’t been privy to all the kissing, still looked slightly confused, but they were, thankfully, willing to drop the conversation. 

“I can grab them,” Eliott said, standing up. Everyone looked at him in alarm, and he rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to kiss any of you, but I could use a hand. Lucas?”

Lucas hopped up immediately and joined him, following about two paces behind. Fortunately, no one found it odd and they resumed their conversations. Once alone in the kitchen, Eliott doubled over laughing. Lucas smacked his arm. “Eliott! Shh! They’ll hear you!”

“Do I even care anymore?” Eliott asked between gasps of laughter. “They already think I’m weird.”

“You are weird.”

“Ha ha.”

“Are you serious, though?” Lucas asked. “Do you think we should tell them?”

Eliott shrugged, pulling Lucas in by the waist from where he’d leaned against the counter after his laugh attack. “It’s up to you.”

Lucas raised himself up on his toes and kissed Eliott hungrily, hands running through Eliott’s tangled, perfect hair. Eliott cupped his hands around Lucas’ face like he always did, and Lucas smiled into the kiss, teeth clanging clumsily. He pulled away slightly, eyes heavy as he turned his gaze up to Eliott. “I don’t care if they know.”

Eliott’s eyes softened, then widened in surprise as he looked up slightly. He pushed Lucas away a bit abruptly and coughed into his hand. “I think they already do?”

“What?” Lucas asked, then turned to see what Eliott was looking at. 

All of their friends were standing in the entrance to the kitchen, looking not at all upset that they’d been caught. Imane held out her hand to Yann, who grudgingly handed her some money. Lucas didn’t catch how much, but it was enough to make him scoff. “Really?”

Imane shrugged. “You guys were asking for it.”

“To be fair, I totally thought it was some weird cultural thing,” Basile chimed in needlessly. 

“But how— why did you—” Lucas stammered. 

“Manon pointed out that she’s been all over Europe and no one goes around randomly kissing people, and Imane pointed out the common denominator of all the kissing occurrences,” Alexia explained, gesturing to Lucas.

Lucas crossed his arms. “So you decided to spy on us?”

The eight of them looked back and forth between one another, then nodded. Eliott laughed softly behind Lucas, and Lucas glowered at him. “It’s not funny.”

“It is,” Eliott said, pulling Lucas back by his hips and folding his arms around Lucas’ stomach now that he could do so in front of everyone. He dropped his chin onto Lucas’ shoulder and Lucas instinctively leaned his head on top. 

“Ugh,” Emma said, “If we’d have known you two would be this gross we would have let it be.”

“Seriously? We’re not even doing anything!” Lucas exclaimed incredulously.

Alexia squinted. “No, but you do look sickeningly in love which is, frankly, an affront to the rest of us.”

“Yeah, I thought we had something, man,” Arthur smirked, and Lucas couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Eliott ignored him and kissed Lucas’ cheek. “Sorry not sorry,” he said, and Lucas could hear the mischievous smile in his voice.

“You’re still weird,” Imane called over her shoulder as she turned to leave the room now that the show was over. Everyone followed behind her, but Eliott and Lucas stayed together a moment longer. 

“She’s right, you know,” Lucas said, turning around and pressing a hand to Eliott’s chest. Eliott laughed, eyes sparkling. “So I’ve been told. Can I show you one of the other weird things I picked up in Europe?”

Lucas nodded and suddenly Eliott was picking him up by his thighs, wrapping Lucas’ legs around his waist. Their heads were now at an even plane, so they could kiss without Eliott having to bend down or Lucas having to stand on his toes. “You picked this up in Europe?”

“Mhmm,” Eliott said, leaning closer so their noses brushed together, “We’re in Europe, I just picked you up. And you’re weird.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“That too.”

“Kiss me.”

Lucas was more than happy to oblige.

[king-killaway]

Aftermath of the Moment of Truth (P-1)

There is absolutely, undoubtedly, in any way whatsoever, that Arthur believed Will's accusations. Perhaps he did at first, while still processing everything that was happening, trying to piece together what he had truly seen, and in the moment of the man's death accepted his final plea; his final dedication to his friend.

Will wasn't a sorcerer.

If he was they're wouldn't have been a need for them to come in the first place. He wouldn't have hesitated to save his friends and family.

Because why then did they ask for help?

Arthur sat in silence as people worked about all around him. His eyes flickered from person to person as they set constructing Will's pyre. They all work tirelessly even though visible exhaustion attacks their body. However, it was Merlin who both caught Arthur's attention, and who was working the hardest. Slumping over as he drops several logs adding to the structure. His back straightened as he stands, before returning to get more logs. Arthur didn't think he should be overexerting himself, rather resting and grieving properly, but Arthur knew better than to meddle right now.

Instead he pondered over all the information he now has. Will lied. Plain and simple. Yet, it wasn't so simple, because that meant Merlin is the one who casted that spell.

And damnit Merlin can't be a sorcerer.

He just can't be, but he very clearly is. And Arthur had to admit he probably knew that even before now. Hell Merlin even admitted it himself to the King of all people; Arthur had played it off then because he wasn't just going to watch his manservant throw away his life.

And the whole affair with Sophie. Oh yeah. Arthur wouldn't have eloped even if he was enchanted. Plus he remembers going out to the lake anyway, he wasn't unconscious, but his eyes too tired to open, he remembers being pulled back to the surface, strong but shaky hands holding him close and panting breath that soon turned calm knowing he was okay, against his ear. He just didn't know how things would be different if he let them know, so he let the lie go, allowing it to spread.

Yeah, he suspected. Guess he was right.

But, they aren't in Camelot, or even in the kingdoms borders. He didn't have to do anything, just act like nothing happened or changed and continue living the same daily routine with Merlin hiding from him.

No, things went too far this time. It's not just a lucky break this time; tree branches that thick don't just fall Merlin. Magic was done right in front of him and there is no way he can just pretend he didn't see it.

Arthur was pulled from his thoughts when Merlin walked up to him, pulling off his neckerchief and wiping his brow. His eyes seemed heavy and full of worry about the male in front of him.

"You alright, Sire?" Why was Merlin asking about his own sake? Arthur wasn't the one who just lost a dear friend.

"Don't worry about me, Merlin." Arthur watched as Merlin sighed, giving in slightly as his eyes watered with unshed tears. He forced them back unwilling to let them show. But, how could Arthur not notice? "Sit." He commanded, gesturing next to where he sat on a fallen log. Merlin was hesitant, but obeyed.

"Sire?"

"I know this will come across as insensitive, but we need to talk." Merlin's brows furrowed and he frowned. He fidgeted with the cloth in his hand, avoiding eye contact.

"About what, Sire?" His voice was quiet, obvious that he knew what Arthur was referring to, but wanted to avoid it for as long as possible, and Arthur couldn't blame him. And Arthur knew he needed to stay calm. It would do no good to get angry.

"Will wasn't the one who casted that spell." Arthur mussed, voice calm and refusing to make eye contact, instead staying locked on the pile of logs. He physically felt Merlin tense next to him. The male clenched the cloth until his knuckles were white.

"I-Sire? I don't- I'm not sure..." Merlin tumbled over his words. Arthur sighed, reining in his frustration.

"There's no point in lying to me Merlin, I watched it happen. I'm also not an idiot. They wouldn't have needed the help of Camelot if he had magic." Merlin is silent, but he glances at Arthur. And he seems to relax when he doesn't see anger or fear, but a relaxed composition.

Arthur doesn't press any further. Instead, he watches as the light the pyre. The fire starting small, before quickly overtaking the wooden structure. The smell of burning wood is almost enough to mask what else is burning.

Merlin never looks at the fire, he can't. His best friend just died for a lie he couldn't even keep for another hour.

They never look at each other as it burns. Arthur muttering a few words of praise for those that died, but it's under his breath. Merlin stares at the dirt, digging small holes with his foot, trying to think of a way out. He's not successful yet.

"I'll stay." Merlin calls, as the burning slowly comes to an end, finally glancing up. Arthur is taken aback.

"Excuse me?"

"I'll stay here in Ealdor." Merlin states, getting to his feet. Arthur is actually a little offended.

"Like hell you will." And perhaps Arthur could have been a bit more subtle, because this sets Merlin off.

"And what's waiting for me back in Camelot?!" He shouts, grabbing the attention of the others, but when he notices, he quiets down so only Arthur can hear. "Huh? My own fire? An axe? A lifetime spent in a cage?" Anger still vibrant in his words. His eyes finally meeting Arthur's, filled with a type of fear he never wants to see in Merlin again.

Arthur sighs, shaking his head. "Merlin. Isn't Camelot your home?"

Merlin shivers, shaking in anger. "Ealdor is my home!" He points to the ground. "Here, not there!"

"And what about Gwen or Morgana?" Merlin's eyes widened slightly, and it's clear they had slipped his mind in his rage. "What about Guias?" Merlin has stopped shaking, eyes welling up again. "What about me?"

"What about you?" The venom isn't quite there anymore.

"Merlin, you're such a dunderhead. You're my best friend."

"What?"

Arthur laughs, standing up himself. Placing a hand on Merlin's shoulder, he grins. Merlin looks so confused it's honestly hilarious.

"My only "friends" are the knights, while are only nice to me because if they aren't Father will banish them. You, however, are so incompetent at your job, you don't care. You talk to me like we're equals. And you're the only one." Arthur explain through his laughter.

Merlin is silent, watching Arthur.

"Besides, I've known for awhile now. You're pretty obvious. My father just can't fathom magic being used for anything other than evil, that he's blind to you."

Merlin's jaw drops. He's at a loss for words. And Arthur is slowly falling in love with the way Merlin's brows furrow and the way his eyes dialate in shock. It's such subtle movements, but it screams such emotion.

Arthur gives a final pat on his shoulder, then walks off toward Hunith, asking if there is anything else to help with. Leaving Merlin behind in utter bewilderment.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

That night was spent once more in Hunith's small home. Gwen and Morgana sleeping in the bed, while Merlin and Arthur sleep on their roll beds on the floor. While Hunith slept on a makeshift bed of furs and blankets next to her bed.

Arthur stayed awake, rethinking of all that happened. While Merlin wouldn't shut up. Although admittedly he was being quiet, talking under his breath to himself, occasionally asking open ended questions to nobody in particular. And Arthur was the only one who could actually hear him. And occasionally he'd answer the questions. Merlin not noticing and just continuing to rant.

Arthur found it amusing.

"What am I gonna do when we get back?"

"Get me a decent meal." Arthur joked.

"Guias is going to be so disappointed. 'I told you to be careful, and what did you do instead?' Not that."

"He'll understand." Arthur mussed in response.

Merlin continued, unaware he was even responding to Arthur. "But if he doesn't he'll have my throat. I'll be doing chores until he dies, and then I'll still have a huge list of things to do."

"Don't forget, you've still got work from me."

"And Arthur will try and drown me in work, that not even magic will save me." At that point Merlin realized and became eerily silent. Arthur frowned, turning toward him, only to be met with Merlin's back.

"Merlin," Arthur sighs, taking a moment to find the right words, "I'm not- I'm not upset." It's not exactly convincing, and Merlin agrees, giving a scoff.

"Surely, Sire." The air is thick as Merlin responds, sarcastically, words lingering dangerously. A beat passes, then Merlin shuffles to meet Arthur's stare. "Then what are you?"

Arthur has to bite his tongue to keep from snapping back, knowing it would do no good to anyone. And Arthur watches him, actually struggling to find the right phrase. Because his honesty would destroy everything they've built.

Because honestly, Arthur had been silently in awe when he saw the large twister. Bewildered and scared. As Merlin's actual power began to sink in. How easily this physically small and frail person could completely destroy whatever he wanted. And how much Arthur found that idea appealing.

The raw power found Arthur starstruck and wanting to explore it. At first he was angry at himself, for being so tempted into the idea of magic. All magic is evil. He heard his father's voice. And yet, it's Merlin. The least evil being Arthur has ever met.

And then that anger quickly melted away into curiosity, and alongside it an alarming want to explore. Explore what set this creature off. Explore what he could do, how far he could go before he collapsed.

And Arthur was never good at ignoring his curious nature.

"Arthur?" Merlin's voice cuts away at his thoughts. Catching Merlin's eyes, he can't help but notice that even now, there was concern.

"I'm not upset, let's leave it at that." Arthur answers finally, turning to stare at the house's ceiling. Closing his eyes, he hears Merlin mumble.

"For now." And Arthur smiles, before letting himself fall asleep.

[sayaka19fan]

Ash thinks he can't not be a killer seeks freedom through revenge and power. Being loved he sees he can be human thus free even if it comes with risky weakness. Tragically his past mistakes result in Lao. He bled out cause he realised tho he could've had different life, he didn't due to his fault and now it's too late? I think he had a future and could live on not only for Eiji but for himself to truly change his life now, prove escaping the trap is possible no matter if it's fate or self-made.

Ash has a tunnel vision: saying about himself that he has never repented once in his life means that he believes that each of his actions was necessary and unavoidable. Killing his first abuser brought him to Dino, trying to take revenge on Griffin's death brought to Shorter's death. Each of his actions digged a wider hole. If you like the metaphor Ash's circumstances were like quicksand: the more you try to advance the more you sink. But you know? There is a simple trick to free yourself from quicksand: there's no need for a rope and Indiana Jones, just stop fighting and walk backwards. Yes, you just need to retreat. Why hadn't Ash escaped before killing his first abuser? Why hadn't he left NY for good when he was a mere street punk? He genuinely thought he couldn't. Only people who know that they are fallible can see retreating as an option.

Both Eiji and Blanca offered him that solution. Ash has never accepted it. The more he goes forward the more his faith in the necessity of his actions was shaken. Yes, he bled out because he realised that though he could have had a different life, he didn't due to his fault and now it is too late. Why?

Ash goes to the library to stay away from his violent world, so it means that it is located far away from any gang hideout. As a gang leader this is a dangerous habit per se, the fewer are the people who know that the better. Sing found him thanks to Eiji's words, Lao was probably following Sing. Eiji unintentionally brought Lao to his target. Eiji hasn't acquired the mindset of a criminal, he broke Ash's isolation in many ways. Sharing info and welcoming support is human, any sane human like Eiji would have found it natural but the unwritten rules of the underworld are inhuman.

Being where he was Ash had to call an ambulance: remember that his fake death has blown since Charlie saw him. Ash Linx was arrested after killing Arthur and his men, if caughted he couldn't escape death penalty or life sentence for mass murdering. What it's worse his true identity was tainted by Dino's adoption. As Aslan Jade Golzine he couldn't avoid investigation since his "father" was involved in trafficking of children. He should have lived on the run after his identity had been ripped out. Aslan Jade Callenreese was no more.

Blanca knew that he lied about going back to be a thug. He had stood out too much to ignore people who were connected to him. It gave me chill to hear Ash calling him 'Sergei' for the first time in the manga: like saying "I know you, be glad to be yourself" and "my situation is different from yours" . At that time he had already died twice, as Ash and as Aslan. He didn't want to live on as someone else, so it's too late to run away. In fact, being stuck as "Chris" or something else is obliged in a way if he wants to change his life. He didn't want to inherit Dino's legacy either, embracing the surname 'Golzine". Then stop fighting, accepting his faults means he was able to be himself until the end, die and rest as Ash-Aslan.

[verai-marcel]

Inescapable Rapture (RDR2 Fanfic, Ch. 2 of 5, 18+ ONLY)

Tags, Warnings, & Summary are here at Chapter 1

Find it on AO3 too.

Chapter 2: Anytime, Anywhere

WC: 2447

Notes: It gets darker.

Every night, Arthur took control of your body, making you feel like a rag doll in his arms. You learned that he demanded complete obedience in bed; anything less got you edged to the point of insanity. Anytime he called you ‘kitten’, you knew it was time to be his submissive little pet. And after you came screaming into the night, he cleaned you up, gently tucking you into his arms, and held you like his precious treasure.

Being his sex toy was the majority of your time at his home. He often took over cooking and cleaning if you looked tired, and would sit you in his lap every night for dinner. You had wondered if he’d ever get another chair, but didn’t ask again after the first time. You had gotten spanked for that question, and then bent over the only chair and fucked until you sobbed from all the times he made you release.

It was the afternoon of the fourth day, and you were restocking all of the doctor’s cabinets, bustling around the office, carrying supplies from the basement. The doctor had just left for a house call, and mentioned that he was going to be gone the rest of the afternoon, as he was going to visit several houses in the same vicinity, and they were all an hour’s ride away. He reminded you to lock up after you left for the day, and to make sure all the supplies that had arrived were all sorted, and any cabinets upstairs were restocked.

So when Arthur came sauntering into the office, shutting the door behind him and locking it, you immediately stood up and tried to shoo him out so you could get your work done.

“Doctor might come back any minute,” you lied, trying to walk around him to unlock the door.

He wrapped an arm around your waist and walked you backwards, your hip bumping the edge of your desk.

“What did I tell you about lying to me, kitten?”

Your eyes glazed over and you felt a jolt of heat straight between your legs. It had been less than a week, but your body was already trained to react to his pet name for you

“I saw the doctor a little while ago. I know he’ll be gone the rest of the day.” He reached for your neck and slowly pushed you down on your desk. Following you down, his face was close to yours as he caressed your throat with his thumb. He leaned in and kissed you languidly, taking his time to taste you. With each passing moment, he lulled you into a haze of desire, his hands unbuttoning your blouse so he could touch your breasts and tease your nipples. He dipped his head down to suck and lightly bite them, making you whimper. You bit down on your knuckles, trying to stop yourself from being too loud.

“You’ll give up your body to me whenever I want, ain’t that right?”

You looked away. Grabbing your jaw, he forced you to look at him.

“I said, ain’t that right?”

You tried to wrench yourself free from his grasp, but he was strong as steel, and finally you quietly said, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now lift up your skirt for me.”

Doing as you were told, you lifted up your skirt and took your drawers off. Smiling at you, he unbuttoned his fly and stroked himself before sliding himself along your wet slit, lubing himself up with your slick. Then he eased himself inside of you while rubbing your clit, and you mewled with pleasure. He clamped his hand around your mouth.

“Don’t want anyone knowin’ you’re gettin’ fucked during business hours, do ya?”

You shook your head.

“Thought so. Gonna fuck you hard, so maybe I should keep my hand over your slutty mouth.”

You nodded.

And he started to move, shoving himself deep inside of you, making you writhe under him as he alternated between rubbing your clit and teasing your nipples, all the while keeping his other hand over your mouth.

It was so wrong, getting railed on your work desk, but Arthur didn’t care; he had the power to take you, anywhere, any time he wanted to. But despite that, you took comfort in the fact that he'd never let anyone see you like this. He was viciously protective of you; one night as he was taking you home, a drunkard had catcalled at you, and you had to pull Arthur back from beating the daylights out of him.

“My darlin’ pet,” he whispered lovingly in your ear as he defiled you. He took your hand and guided it to your clit. “Take your pleasure, kitten.”

You started rubbing yourself, undulating under him as you brought yourself to completion, your moans muffled by his big hand around your mouth. You convulsed as you came, biting down on his hand, and digging into his arm with your free hand, making half moon marks on his skin from your nails.

As your movements slowed and your body relaxed, he pulled out of you, breathing heavily as he stepped back, leaving you empty and a little cold without his warmth surrounding you. He walked away, looking through the cabinets for something. You saw that he was still hard; what could he be doing?

Then he found what he was looking for, and walked back to you, a sly grin on his face. You saw the jar of balm and tried to get up, but you were too limp from your climax earlier.

He folded your legs back. “Hold them right there,” he said, and you held yourself in position, your ass exposed for him. He took a big dollop of balm and started smearing it on his fingers and around your rear hole.

“Wha.. Why?” you asked, your mind still a little foggy.

“Ain't no one had you here?” Arthur asked as he gently cupped your cheek, stroking you.

“No…”

He grinned, a wolfish demeanor taking over his features.

“Good. All mine.” He started to work a finger inside you, and you gasped at the unfamiliar feeling. The balm helped, as he began sliding & stretching you out, enough that he could get a second, then a third finger in you, calming you with hushed murmurs. You tried not to wriggle, but it felt strange and you said as much.

“Just breathe, girl. Breathe,” he crooned, and you did as he asked, relaxing your body and letting him take control. You felt him remove his fingers, heard more balm being slathered around his dick, and felt the head of him start to push into you.

“Ah–” you started to cry out, but Arthur immediately stuffed his bandana into your mouth, smothering your sounds as he slid inside of you. He leaned over and slowly moved, slower than you thought possible for him.

“If it hurts, I mean really hurts, you let me know by tappin’ my arm four times, alright?”

You nodded. He was giving you a safe way out.

“Okay. Trust me.”

You nodded again.

He gently eased his way in and out of you, until your body adjusted to his invasion. As your muscles relaxed, he started to play with your clit once more, bringing you back to the edge of ecstasy. You were feeling like a whore, and somewhere along the way you stopped caring, it felt so good.

When he pulled out of you, a soft whine escaped your throat. Arthur murmured assurances to you as he flipped you over onto your stomach. You gasped, dropping his bandana as he thrust back into your ass, grabbing your arms and using them as reins as he rode you hard into the desk. Your moans grew louder, and he leaned over, forcing his fingers into your mouth, at the same time shoving two fingers into your pussy, fucking you in all of your holes at once.

“Remember this feelin’. You belong to me. Every scream, every release, all of it, is mine.”

You could only make an affirmative noise as you sucked on his fingers. He groaned as he felt your tongue on his skin and sped up. His thrusts became erratic as he got close to his own release. You felt his labored breathing, hot against your ear. Shutting your eyes tight, you felt your body let go again, drooling around his fingers and moaning as you spasmed under him. Your wanton reaction triggered him, and Arthur gave a final hard thrust before releasing deep inside of you, gasping and cursing into your ear.

You both stayed still for a few moments, just breathing, before Arthur slowly let go of you. He took his bandana and wiped the drool from your face. You lay there, feeling his spend dripping down your thigh, your pussy sore from his previous fuck, and you felt thoroughly used. It was not an entirely unpleasant feeling, you thought.

“You are so beautiful like this,” he whispered reverently. “Your eyes, glazed over, and your body, covered in my marks.” He bent down and kissed your temple.

You heard him go to the sink and clean himself, and he eventually came back with a cloth and cleaned up the mess between your legs.

“Git your clothes back on,” he gently ordered, and you did, gingerly reaching down for your drawers. You slowly put yourself back together, with his help. He buttoned up your blouse, helped you put your hair back somewhat in place. You felt sore from how hard you had been used today.

Once you seemed presentable, you looked at Arthur, waiting for his next move. He pulled you into a tight embrace and mumbled your name lovingly into your hair.

“I’ll clean ya fully when we get home. And I'll give you a massage tonight, alright?”

You looked up at him and blinked, surprised.

“That was rough. You goin’ to be sore later.”

You could already feel it. You wanted to sleep, but you needed to finish cleaning up the office. You tried to step away, but he just picked you up and sat you on your desk again.

“I'll take care of the rest. You just relax,” he said as he moved to get a broom and started sweeping. You told him everything else that needed to be put away, and just watched him work. He hummed a song, just for you, and the soft, low tone of his voice relaxed your body, made you sleepy.

Arthur finished cleaning and picked you up from the desk. Carrying you in his arms like you weighed nothing at all, he took you outside and put you on his horse.

“Let's go home, princess.”

That night, he cooked for you after he washed you carefully, like he was afraid of breaking you. After taking you so roughly in the office, you were thrown off by how incredibly gentle he was being. Feeling in a daze, you just let him take care of you, wondering when you became so docile and when he became so soft. During dinner, he perched on the table and let you sit in the chair, eating and joking with you about what he had seen during his patrols today. You told him about a couple of patients that the doctor had let you treat, and he listened attentively, appreciating your enthusiasm for learning about medical care.

All the past nights, you two had polite small talk, but it had always been a little strained, knowing that he would take you to his bedroom right after. It had been nothing like this. You felt more at ease, and spoke more naturally than you had before. Something about tonight had eased the beastly aura that had surrounded Arthur since that night in the jail cell.

While you sat in the one chair, watching him clean up after dinner, you finally felt like you could ask him something that had been on your mind for the past four days.

“Why me?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve seen women practically throw yourself at you. Women much more… ladylike than me.”

Arthur sighed and put away the last clean dish. He came back and sat on the edge of the table, leaning closer to you and cupping your cheek.

“You ain’t like them. The first time we met, you looked at me with them sharp eyes of yours, and I wanted more of you. You ain’t some dull-witted, doe-eyed girl. You’re… a real woman. You’re smart and you’re loyal. The doctor says you work hard, you’re dedicated to your patients, makin’ sure everyone gets what they need.” He paused, looking straight into your eyes. “And I want that in a woman.”

That answer well and truly confused you. If that was why he liked you, then why was he…?

“I can see the wheels turnin’ in your head. Speak your mind.”

“Why do you treat me the way you have been?”

Arthur leaned back with his hands against the table and looked down. “I have this… need, to be in control. When my blood gets hot, I just… I don't know how to explain. You're the only thing I can see.” He looked back up at you. “I'm a very possessive man. Those other girls in town? They just want to be coddled. They’d throw me away the second they knew what I’m really like. You got another question?”

“What makes you think I won’t run if I get the chance?” you asked.

“You would have by now,” he said confidently. “You would’ve figured somethin’ out despite me bein’ a ranger. I’d chase you, sure. But you’d outrun me eventually. You know it.”

You sighed. Yeah, you might’ve done that if you really wanted to get away. But deep down, part of you longed for his touch; something in the way he held you made you feel safe.

“Anyway, you said you'd be mine for two weeks. You don't seem like the kind of person to go back on their word.”

He leaned down and kissed your cheek before standing up and holding his hand out to you. You took it and followed him to the bedroom, wondering if he was going to go back on his word. But he just had you lay on your stomach as he rubbed your sore muscles. When he was done, he tucked you into his arms and kissed your forehead. Looking into your eyes, he whispered your name. You liked the way your name sounded, coming so adoringly from him. He kissed you on the lips oh so softly, and hummed quietly as he pet you until you fell asleep.

----------------------

Part 3 is here.

[missblissy]

 Hmmmm more Young!Arthur and Young!John headcanons + the gang

There is a lot so I put them under a cut!! (Like!! It’s a lot!! This post is long!!)

Please note!! I have looked up the years of how old John and Arthur are in, so their ages are canon for the years! John joined the gang when he was 12 years old in 1885 when Arthur was 22 years old. Arthur is canonly 10 years older than John. Arthur joined the gang in 1878 when he 15 years old, 4 years yearly in 1874, his father was arrested for larceny when he was 11 years old. 

These headcanons take place between 1885 and 1888.

John’s first pet was a stray cat. Dutch wasn’t too happy about it but he just couldn’t say no to John. The cat looked like it went through hell and back, black and poofy with hair knots littering its body. He was a gray and black cat and John named him “Ricky” after his favorite gunslinger Landon Ricketts

Dutch would spend a lot of time outside the gang life with both Arthur and John. He’d take them for rides around the county, teaching them about the world around them and the life that was given to them. This is when he did most of his teachings.

He’d take them to some river and say, “This river here is just like us. It’s naturally unnatural. Constantly changing, constantly moving, and never letting up. It’s got one goal in mind and that's to make it to the open ocean. If something gets in its way, it just carves a new path. It violently breaks down the earth and rocks under it, turning them to sand. Just like us, we are running, flowing, seeking a place hundreds of miles away and breaking down the things in our path to get them,” Dutch would lead them further down to a calmer part of the river, “But we are still kind. We are still calm, and we can take our time getting to our goals. There are times that call for violence in it’s rawest form, but we -just live the river- are not meant to always rush ourselves. We have to remember, even in the hardest loudest and violent times in our lives, there is always smoother water to sail afterward.”

Dutch had a strange way of always taking the natural events of the word and tying them into their outlaw morals. He prided himself on being an outlaw with “fans” as if he was some kind of king of the west. However, lurking down inside him, there was something dark, hungry, envious and overpowering that called for more, more, more. Someday he’d start losing the fight of the battle of his own mind.

Hosea, on the other hand, tried to teach John and Arthur with books, schooling, math, and numbers. If Hosea was good at anything, it was numbers. He taught the boys how to count money, cards, bonds, and he taught them how to do it almost as good as him. 

He tried his best to also teach them how to stay calm in situations that caused fear and panic. His golden rule and biggest moral were, “You can talk yourself out of any situation,” That was a firm belief of his because there had never been a situation he couldn’t smooth talk he way out of.

The first heist that they took John on was a stagecoach robbery. He was 14 years old and had been with the gang for 2 years now, it was 1887  (Arthur was 24 at the time very much in love with MIss Mary, he even gave her a ring) and now finally he could go with them! No more doing chores with Grimshaw, no more reading books! No drunk Uncle pestering him!

He hadn’t had his own horse yet, but that was fine. He was going to be used as bait. A stagecoach filled with money was traveling through and John was going to be the boy who cried wolf, distracting the drivers while Hosea, Dutch, and Arthur did their jobs.

It went as well as they hoped it did. John pretended to be a boy bitten by a snake while the drivers jumped off and helped him. Arthur and Dutch took the drivers by the surprised and knocked them out with the blunt end of their guns. Hosea cracked open the door to the coach and they took about four grand worth of money. It was by far one of their most profitable heists. Quiet, unseen, quick, and big profit. 

From then on, until the last few months of John being 15, when he looked more like a young man than a helpless teen, he did his role as a lost boy. The year was 1888, and there was a massive train with plenty of wealthy men and woman riding to New York. This mission didn’t go very good. In fact, it was almost a disaster and they all nearly got away with their lives. 

The Tip that Arthur got was half true and half wrong. It was right about the amount of money and valuables on the train, but deeply and horribly wrong about the number of guards on this train and hired gunmen. There was even lawmen on that train, and the tip said nothing about that.

This was the first time Arthur had ever experience being this close to death. They got as far as the luggage cart, getting bags worth of money and personal items. But once they got to the passenger cars... all hell broke loose.

Arthur had the shit beaten out of him in a fist fight with a guard, then shot twice by a lawman. John got thrown off the train and broke his arm on the fall. Hosea got arrested but escaped and fled back for John, though it was hard being cuffed and doing so. Dutch had to shoot as many of the lawmen, hired guns and guards as he could and he had to do it fast. Every second he was fighting them was a second Arthur was laying there and bleeding out. He got shot in the in his stomach, but thankful no were near his gut, it was off to his side and went straight through. The other shot was in his thigh, and the bullet was logged in there and he could feel it every time the passenger car moved.

Dutch was able to fend them off enough and leave all their bags of profit behind. He had to throw Arthur off the train and himself too. He did it just in time to be thrown into a calm river that opened into a massive lake. He had to drag Arthur out of the water, which was fine because Arthur could still swim and float -it was just extremely painful. 

After they all go back to their camp.... Marry was there waiting and saw what had happened to Arthur. She couldn’t take this anymore. He had lied to her and told her he was just “going on a trip with Dutch and them.” He never said he was going to rob a train and he had no idea how much a shit show it was going to be.

She told him, while he was laying there getting a bullet taken out of his leg, she told him she was leaving him, and that her father had set arrangments for her to met another man. She had cried saying it, and she couldn’t stand to see the mess Arthur had made himself, and she couldn’t take seeing him dying there. 

She was almost certain he wasn’t going to make it. His face was broken and bloody, his nose was beyond repair. He had cuts and open wounds all over his arms alongside deep black and purple bruises. His right side was torn up with a hole that went clean through is back, leaking blood even as they cauterized it and covered it with alcohol cotton and bandages. His leg was the worst. The bullet was deep in there, stuck in the dense muscle fibers. They really had to dig in there to find it, when they pulled it out an artery in his leg spurted open gushed blood everywhere. 

Arthur eventually passed out from the pain and all the whiskey he kept drinking. When he woke up, Marry wasn’t there and he could barely remember what happened. All he remembered is she said she wasn't coming back. It was Susan, who was the one who fixed him up and took out his bullet, that remembered everything Mary said (Only because she was outraged by it) and told Arthur. 

He fell into a great depression after that. He couldn’t walk, he was broken but alive, sore and healing. It took 2 weeks of bed rest before he could move again. Those two weeks were the worst days of his entire life.

[polygamousstan]

Under The Stars-Finn Shelby

Hiya peeps !

I’m back with a new imagine, I had to do Finn because honestly he’s the softest person in the world who deserves so much goodnes and he’s so underrated, ALSO WARNING, there will be smut in this imagine so you’ve been warned and for the others, you cheeky bugger 

It started a year ago, when I stepped into the Garrison with my girlfriends.

We had decided to lament about boys and how we would end up old maids for the rest of our lives, boy was I wrong.

I turned around, only to get whiskey spilt on the front of my dress :

'I am so sorry' the voice exclaims as I grab napkins

'I'm sorry, I wasn't...looking' I whisper the end of my sentence, my eyes landing on this really handsome guy.

His eyes are what shut me up, his blue eyes.

They pulled me in another world, where it was just me and him.

Since that night, Finn and I have been stuck by the hip, living every moment, every fight and every struggle together but, we haven't been intimate together yet.

Today is our one year anniversary.

I wake up with a smile on my face as I get ready.

I slip on a baby blue dress as I brush my hair, it cascades on my shoulders, tickling me in the process.

I put on my black heels and head out of my flat, my feet leading me to the Shelby's house for breakfest.

I was lucky to be one of the women that everyone accepted, I remember the first family dinner I assisted to, Finn holding my hand under the table as everyone was teasing him.

I could feel his aunt's stare on me as I helped her clear everything off, one thing lead to another, she considered me good enough for her nephew and she knew that I was going to take care of him.

I knock on the door, only to be welcomed by Arthur.

He hugs me and brings me in as he yells :

'Finn, for fuck sake, get down here, your girl's here !' I blush at his words.

I had always had a good relationship with his siblings, even Ada who was thrilled to finally have a girl close to her age around.

I step into the living room, everyone around the table as they all turn around.

Tommy, John, Esme, Grace and Ada all hug me when I hear :

'Hey, stop hogging my girlriend'

Ada lets me go as Finn holds me, his hands rubbing my back :

‘Happy anniversary my love' he whispers in my ear as he lets me go, his fingers caressing my cheek :

'Happy anniversary' he kisses me softly as his family howl behind me, his face nuzzling itself in my neck as I smile.

He leads me to the table and we all eat together, laughter echoing in the house.

Everyone starts leaving to go to work when Finn leads me to my flat :

'I'll pick you up at 8:00, and no need to dress up as we probably won't be wearing a lot of clothing by the end of the night' he whispers confidently as I widly blush, his fingers grazing my hisp as he kisses me, pulling himself away only to turn around and wink at me, my fingers grazing my lips as I head up to my flat...

I add a last stroke of makeup to my face,I get off the chair and flaten my dress as I hear a knock on my door.

I run to it and open it, finding Finn holding a huge bouquet of my favourite flowers.

I bite my lip as I kiss him, his free hand holding my waist.

I take the flowers out of his grip, bringing them inside and putting them in a vase.

I head out, closing the door behind me as he holds a blindfold :

'Come on, love, play along' he says with a small and irresistible voice

I sigh as he comes behind me and blindfolds me.

His hand lead me by my waist, whispering whenever there would be an obstacle.

We walk for a while when he stops :

'Just wait a second' he whispers as I hear him shuffling around, I giggle :

'Finn, can I take thing off now ?'

'Oh, right, sorry' he says, his voice shaking as he takes off the blindfold, making me gasp

He had put down a quilt, laid a picnic and candles all around :

'Finn, this is the most amazing thing anyone has ever done to me' I whispers as he pulls me down to sit on the quilt.

'You really mean it ?'

'Of course Finn, this is amazing, I love you' I whisper, looking at Finn's surprised expression through my lashes

'You-you love me ?' his voice shakes as he asks

'Of course, I love you, you goof, I wouldn't have stayed if I didn't' I giggle

He come closer, his hands landing on my cheeks, my eyes fluttering under his touch :

'I bloody love you, Y/N' he answers before kissing me, his hands running rom my face to my hips.

The kiss becomes heated, filled with passion, love but mostly lust.

He pulls me on him as I straddle him, feeling a tent grow under me.

His chest pressed against mine, he kisses my neck, making me moan softly :

'You sure about this ?' he asks, stopping in his action and staring at me with his big blue eyes

'Finn, you are the only one I want' I say as I shut him up by kissing him, his hands travelling to my ass, groping it softly as a groan comes out me.

His action makes me move my hips, a low groan coming out of him.

His hands move under my dress, his arm hands caressing my thighs as our tongues intertwine :

'You-are-incredible' he whispers in between kisses, his fingers slowly climbing towards that sweet spot.

His fingers fumble around, he pulls aside my underwear, touching me with delicacy, as if I as a porcelain doll.

His fingers graze my clit, making me writhe under his touch as my hands hold his face.

I caress his face as he caresses my clit, I pant, my breath hitting his face.

I move my hands down, putting them on his thighs as I slowly make way to the strain fabric.

I place my hand on his groin, his breath hitching under my touch.

I unzip his trousers, I lift myself up and pull them down, revealing his long shaft.

I smirk as I unbutton my dress, the fabric falling off my now cold skin.

I take off my panties, letting them slide to my ankles.

I walk up to Finn, sitting down on his thighs as I stroke him, his hands flying to my breasts as his fingers fiddle with my nipples.

The feel of his fingers on my tender bosom, making me moan as I feel wetness dripping from my very core :

'Love, I want to cum inside of you' Finn pants as my hand keeps moving up and down his girth.

I slow down, his eyes staring at me, amking holes in my skin :

'You are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on' he whispers as I lift myself up, his penis still in my hand.

I guide it to my folds, teasing each other as his fingers play with my clit.

He enters me slowly, a loud moan coming out of me as he groans, nipping at the skin of my neck.

He changes position, hovering over me as he is still in me.

He starts slowly, his hips rolling against mine a his hands caress my skin.

He goes faster, my nails digging into his back, his breath fanning over my neck, bringing goosebumps on my skin.

I moan under his hold :

'Oh, Finn..' I whisper his name, caressing every part of his body as I look at the stars, reflecting how I feel in this delicious moment

'Finn, I can feel-it'

'Me two, fuck' he whispers in my ear

He goes faster, my moans becoming louder by the minute as he kisses me :

'I-fuckin-love-you… so-fuckin-much' he yells as I feel him fill me up.

I become undone under his touches as I hit my high, the knot in my stomach disappearing from the pleasure.

We pant as he lies on me, my hands caressing his back soflty as we catch our breaths.

He lifts himself up, his hand caressing my cheek :

'Are you okay ?' he asked, concerned

I laugh loudly, the concern on his face becoming confusion :

'I'm more than okay, silly' I sigh, shaking my head at his silliness

He wraps the quilt around our naked bodies, pulling me up to press my back against his naked chest :

'The stars are beautiful tonight' I say

'Not as beautiful as you' he whispers, kissing my neck as I hum

I turn to him and say :

'Finn Shelby, I am utterly and completely in love with you' I say

'I'm yours and you're mine, yeah ?

Forever ?'

'Forever and always, my love' I whisper a we share a sweet kiss, filled with love and adoration...

[pinknerdpanda]

The Wedding Singer - Track 9

“Ladies Night”

Characters: Dean, Castiel, Ketch, Lisa, Reader (mentioned)

Word Count: 1,811

Series Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Language, Mentions of Infidelity, Alcohol

A/N: This is the seventh chapter of an AU SPN Series co-written by myself and @hannahindie entitled The Wedding Singer and is inspired by the movie. We have been working on this for the last few months and are very excited to share it with you. The series tag list is open. If you would like to be added, please send one of us an ask. Hannah made our beautiful aesthetic and the series was Masterbeta’d by @wheresthekillswitch.

Track List

Track 9: “Ladies Night”

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greeted his best friend as he entered the bar, his blue eyes slightly more glazed than normal.

“Hey Cas. Thanks for meeting me, buddy,” Dean motioned toward the woman behind the bar and ordered a beer.

“That’s what friends are for,” Cas watched his friend with curiosity.

“Right and the chance to meet girls in a town that is not Chapel Hill had nothing to do with it,” Dean nodded appreciatively as the bartender set down his drink.

Cas shrugged. “Well, it certainly doesn’t hurt. So, what’s going on?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes. He didn’t even have to look at Cas to know he was working hard to suppress a smirk. “Like you haven’t heard already.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cas lied. He’d heard the rumors around town but chose to reserve judgement until he could hear it from Dean himself.

That was one thing Dean had always appreciated about his friend; He always gave people the benefit of the doubt. Whereas most people around here soaked up gossip like sponges, Castiel listened to what people had to say and locked it away in some cavernous part of his brain until he had enough facts of his own that he could make his own conclusions. That and his shitty poker face.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Dean sighed. “You know that, right?”

Castiel laughed. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Would you rather me be an excellent liar? I would think that to be far more deceitful.”

Dean took a large drink from his beer and licked his lips. Where to even begin?

“I kissed her.”

Castiel’s face twisted in mock confusion as he narrowed his gaze. “Who?”

“Come on man,” Dean shook his head. “Y/n. I kissed her...twice.”

Castiel nodded slowly. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“Yeah because she’s engaged. And because I was almost married to Lisa.” Dean sighed. “I don’t even really know her, Cas. But damn if I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Castiel brought his own drink to his lips and drained it of it’s contents. He sucked his teeth, stalling for some pearl of wisdom he could provide. Before he could speak, the bartender was there, slamming glasses down and muttering under her breath. He and Dean glanced at each other before turning their attention to the woman, who looked so mad she could spit fire at that moment.

“Everything alright, miss?” Dean crooned tentatively.

“Fine.” She jerked a rag from behind the bar and began rubbing furious circles into the already gleaming wood of the bar.

“Well,” Cas’ voice creaked slightly as she turned her full, livid gaze on him. “Excuse me for saying so, but you don’t seem ‘fine’.”

She groaned, throwing the rag down in front of her. “It’s just that some assholes think that if they make enough money or dress a certain way, that they can treat women however they want.” She cast a sideways glance down the opposite side of the bar.

“Which one is it that needs his ass kicked?” Castiel clapped Dean on the shoulder. “My good friend here is skilled at that.”

Dean’s eyes grew wide as he snapped his head down to look at Cas’ hand and then back up at his face before turning back to the woman.

She chuckled, and rolled her eyes as she fought back a smile. “Now, boys, I appreciate the offer, but I’d hate to have to kick such kind, chivalrous men to the curb for fightin’ in my bar. He’ll get his.” She winked at Cas and grabbed his empty glass, refilled it and headed toward the backroom.

The bar was beginning to fill up, but Dean craned his neck in the direction the bartender had come from. There, at the other end of the bar was a man with dark hair and a smug, pretentious smile adorning his clean shaven face. His suit looked like it cost more than most people around here made in a month. Dean watched the man purse his lips as he watched a young, blonde waitress pass his table. He made no effort to hide the way his eyes roamed hungrily over her body. It made Dean’s stomach churn and he turned back to his beer.

“Asshole identified,” Dean muttered as he took another drink. He looked at Cas and was surprised to find his face ashen and his blue eyes wide with some unidentified expression. “Hey man, you look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

“Or something,” Cas stared over Dean’s shoulder for another second before dropping his horrified gaze to meet Dean’s. “It’s Lisa,” he whispered.

Dean felt a sudden rush of emotions well up in his chest; rage, pain, love, hope, regret.  They shifted so violently from one to the next and back again, that Dean felt like he was drowning in a churning sea. He grabbed Cas’ drink and swallowed it in one large gulp, trying to focus on the burn as it slid down his throat instead of the surge of trepidation flaring within him.

Cas peered around him. “It looks like she’s meeting some dickbag.”

Dean whirled and saw Lisa’s long, mahogany hair bouncing happily as she wove her way up to the opposite side of the bar. Her attention was too distracted for her to notice him staring, or she might’ve seen the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed back the the tears that  threatened to fall. Seeing her made his heart feel like it would burst out of his chest and the sight of her, happy and smiling as if she didn’t have a care in the world made his teeth grind fiercely. She approached the end of the bar and leaned over, kissing the man with the dark hair in a way that made Dean’s fingernails dig into his palms as he clenched his fists.

He turned back to Cas and spoke between gritted teeth, “That’s him. That’s the asshole.”

“Asshole. Dickbag. Douche canoe,” Cas shrugged. “Potato tomato.”

He steeled his nerves and stood up, but Cas grabbed his shoulder and stopped him. “Listen, is going over there and making a scene going to solve anything?”

Dean pursed his lips together, considering the question. “No, but it would make me feel a hell of a lot better.”

“Then by all means,” Cas released his friend, and followed as Dean made his way toward Lisa.

The closer he got to her, the more unsure he felt. What would he say to her? What would she say back? Who is she with? The questions swirled inside his head and made him rethink his decision. Then, just as he was about to abort mission, he heard what he didn’t realize he’d been dreading the most.

“Dean?” She breathed his name and the sound of it falling from her lips made his chest tighten. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Dean focused all his efforts into keeping his voice steady.

“Lisa, darling,” the man cooed and shot Dean a dangerous look. “You know these two blokes?”

“Uh, yeah, sorry. Arthur Ketch - this is, uh,” Lisa’s face burned a deep shade of scarlet and she tried to avoid Dean’s incensed gaze. “This is Dean Winchester.”

“I’m Castiel, and you’re a bitch. Now we’re all caught up,” Cas mumbled from behind Dean, but no one seemed to hear him.

Dean looked back and forth between them, studying every detail of the way they sat. Lisa’s back was pressed up against Ketch’s side and his arm was wrapped possessively around her waist.

“So nice to meet an acquaintance of Lisa’s,” Ketch cocked an eyebrow in Dean’s direction. “It’s a shame, I don’t think she’s mentioned you.”

“Ketch,” Lisa pleaded.  

“No, I don’t suppose she would have mentioned her fiance that she stood up at the altar, what...two weeks ago now?” Dean frowned and Lisa looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole.

Had it only been two weeks? With everything between he and y/n, it had felt like a lifetime. Y/n.

“Wait, Ketch?” Dean narrowed his gaze. “As in Y/n’s Ketch?”

Ketch gave Dean a scathing sneer and it was obvious he was right. Dean’s vision swam red as fury boiled inside of him. He could feel his nails biting into the thin skin on the palms of both hands. He was surprised to find himself more angry that Ketch was most likely cheating on Y/n and hitting on bartenders than the knowledge that Lisa was already seeing someone.

“Heard you two set a date earlier today. Sounds like congratulations are in order,” Dean spat the words out.

“I thought you said things weren’t serious, Arthur.” Lisa’s face was full of bitterness and hurt as she looked at Ketch. Dean was filled with the slightest glimmer of satisfaction. Maybe she’d understand how it felt.

Ketch looked at her dispassionately, irritation making his nostrils flare. “Darling, are you really going to believe this oaf?”

Lisa pressed her lips together in a fine, tight line and shook her head. “I should have known things wouldn’t change with you.”

She rose, jerked her purse over her shoulder and pushed past Dean and Cas without another word.  Ketch watched her and sighed loudly, but made no move to follow her. His mouth was drawn up in a scowl as he rolled his gaze back to the two men.

“Well, are you lads happy now?” Ketch smacked his lips before reaching for his drink and tipping it back. He stood as he lazily pulled a twenty dollar bill from his pocket and tossed it next to his now empty glass. He smoothed down the front of his suit and pulled at the cuffs of his dress shirt. “Don’t think I don’t know about you and our little y/n, Mr. Winchester. You can play the sad puppy act all you want, but trust me you don’t want…”

Ketch’s words were cut off abruptly as Dean’s fist connected solidly with the bridge of his nose. Cas snickered as Ketch grabbed at his face, a dark, red trickle of blood beginning to trail out of one nostril. The bartender chuckled before clicking her tongue in an attempt to chide Dean. He raised his hands in surrender and winked at the bartender before turning to leave without another word.

Cas hastily threw down enough bills to cover their drinks and waved awkwardly at the woman behind the bar as he turned to follow Dean out. As the warm night air ruffled his hair, the roar of an engine and the sound of gravel being tossed about greeted him and Dean was gone.

“Assbutt,” Castiel shouted, shook his head and held up his middle finger in the direction of Dean’s rapidly retreating car.

Track 10 “Till There Was You” Coming 12/12/017

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[forgereames]

💚, 💔, 💝 !

under a read more because this got long as FUCK

💚 A memory that makes them feel guilty

Eames is standing in the living room of his house – his mother’s house, his mind corrects – with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, one hand resting on the strap, the other casually in his pocket. His mother stands across from him at the foot of the stairs, a grim look on her face, arms crossed over her chest.

“You’re leaving,” she says, sounding not-at-all surprised. Eames stares at his feet for a moment, runs the edge of his shoe over a scratch in the wood of the floor. He’d dropped a knife there when he was twelve. Barely missed his big toe. He looks back up.

“Yeah.” It’s a weak answer; he doesn’t want to explain. He doesn’t want to explain that he’s dropping out of school because he can’t take the pressure anymore. He doesn’t want to tell her that he’s joining the Army to spite her. (You’re following your father, his mind supplies, but Eames knows that’s not all of it.) 

“You’re dropping out of school to– what? Become a hero like your father?” She says hero like it’s a bad thing, disdainful and angry. He can hear the rage in her voice, but behind it her tone quivers. She’s scared. He knows she’s scared, but of what? It’s not like she’s ever loved him. It’s not like she’s ever shown it.

“I’m dropping out of school to do what I want to do,” he says, stoic and unflinching, a hard set to his jaw. “I’m sorry it doesn’t fit your perfect plan.” Except he’s not sorry, not one bit. Every day of his life, she’s set expectations for him, expectations he’s failed to meet. Every time, it’s thrust them further and further apart; Eames doesn’t know if they’ll ever cross the distance that now lies between them.

“You’re making a mistake,” she says, and her voice is shaking more noticeably now. Her arms are crossed tightly across her chest, and he can see that she doesn’t want him to leave. But she won’t say it, and Eames thinks spitefully that if she won’t say it, he refuses to acknowledge it. It doesn’t matter what she’s ever felt about him – it matters what she’s shown, and she’s shown him nothing but disapproval for as long as he can remember. He doesn’t give himself time to be sad about it. He doesn’t give himself time to acknowledge her sadness, either.

Eames shakes his head, starts to turn, and then she continues, desperate now- “You’re going to ruin your life.” Eames resists the urge to roll his eyes, even as he looks back over his shoulder.

“Is that your way of saying I’m ruining yours?” he asks, and his eyes are ice cold, as is the tone in his voice. If he looks hard enough, he can see tears at the corners of her eyes. He doesn’t let himself. She doesn’t grace him with a response, and five seconds later, he’s out the door.

💔 A memory that leaves them feeling lonely

Eames is seven.

They keep their photo albums on the top shelf of the book shelf in the living room. Over the years, Eames’ father has spent rainy Sunday afternoons dragging the photo albums down. He holds Eames on his knee, the book open in front of them, and shows Eames pictures of his grandfather, fighting World War II, and his grandmother, laughing and joyful behind the desk at the library. He tells Eames grand stories – his father is a great storyteller – of when he was Eames’ age, and just how much trouble he used to get into. 

Eames’ father was a great storyteller.

Eames’ father is dead. 

It’s a rainy Sunday afternoon, and Eames sleeps till 2. His mother is concerned – it’s not healthy for him to sleep so much, she says – so she coaxes him out of bed and into the living room, where he can sit in front of the grand, tall window and watch the rain slide down the pane. 

Eames is alone in the living room, and his eyes find the photo albums on the top shelf of the book shelf. He’s never been able to reach it alone – his father always pulls it down for him – but Eames is determined to get it on his own. You’re the man of the house now, his uncle had said, holding an umbrella over his head as the rain poured down over them, turning the freshly smoothed grave into a muddy mess. If Eames is the man of the house, he can most certainly reach the top shelf of the bookshelf.

He walks over and stares at it. It’s very high. Too high for him to reach, he knows, but he’s fiercely stubborn. Always has been. His mother hates it. His father called him brave. Eames steels himself and then sets one foot on the lowest shelf of the bookshelf. He steps up, reaching his hands high to the next shelf, and climbs, one foot after the other. It’s not so hard – like the rock wall at school – but then his foot slips, and he hangs on for dear life, even as he careens backwards and the entire bookshelf goes with him. 

Eames lands with a thud and immediately bursts into tears, even as he manages to land away from the mountainous pile of spilled books and the wooden bookshelf, now tipped over. He holds his knee where he banged it and cries, furious and angry, because all he wants is to look at the pictures of his father, his father now gone, gone and left him all alone.

He feels suddenly lonely and small, and smaller still when his mother rushes in in a panic and asks him what the hell he’s doing.

“I wanted to see him,” he sobs as she holds him, checking him over for serious injuries. “See who?” she asks, but she knows the answer, and now she’s crying too, holding her son who’s too much like his father.

Eames feels so alone. He wants his father back. He wants his father to pull down the photo album from the top of the bookshelf and open it to the old pictures, naming relatives long dead and regaling stories of a time Eames will never know.

But he’s gone. He’s gone away and he’s left Eames here. It’s so selfish.

Eames doesn’t know if he’ll ever forgive God for stealing his father away. At least not until he can reach the top shelf of the bookshelf. 

💝 A memory that made them feel loved

It’s Eames’ birthday. 

Not that he remembers it’s his birthday, of course. Or, well, he remembers -- but he doesn’t like to acknowledge it. 

Birthdays, in Eames’ opinion, are silly. Growing up, they were always the most horrid events. His mother would invite family members he’d never met to an overly-formal occasion, and he’d just have to smile and nod and pretend that he was having a good time, when he really wasn’t.

By the time he left the Army, he stopped celebrating his birthday altogether. It became a reminder that he was getting older, which is never fun, and also a reminder of the fact that his birthday has never really been his. Presents are silly, anyway, and so are parties. It’s a bunch of unnecessary celebration for something not-so-exciting. So he’s long since come to terms with the fact that celebrating his birthday is just something he does not do. 

Which is why he’s legitimately caught by surprise when, at four on a Saturday, he’s disturbed by a knock on the door of his flat. He never gets visitors. Well, not never -- but very few people know he lives here, and he’s not expecting anyone. He’s been playing Call of Duty for the past four hours, dressed in an old band t-shirt and sweats, unshaven, his hair still mussed from sleep. 

It’s not like he spends every lazy day holed up in his apartment behaving rather like a 20-year-old college student, but he allows himself the luxury every now and then. Which is why he’s frustrated when he has to walk the few feet to the door and answer it, revealing none other than...Arthur?

Eames blinks at him.

“You’re supposed to be in Paris,” he says, frowning, only mildly confused. Arthur is dressed nicely as usual, and he has a duffle bag of some sort slung over his shoulder. He looks perfectly well, which tells Eames this isn’t an emergency. What’s the occasion, then? 

“It’s a two hour train ride,” Arthur says easily, as if that’s supposed to explain why he’s here. Arthur is looking at him with humored disdain -- Eames is sure he’s judging his attire, just a little bit, but Eames couldn’t care less. He’s simply wondering why Arthur is intruding upon his perfectly pleasant peace and quiet.

“And it’s your birthday,” Arthur supplies after Eames just stares at him. “I took the afternoon off, and I’m cooking you dinner.” He steps past Eames and into the flat, bee-lining for the kitchen, and Eames just blinks again, frowns, turns his head to squint at Arthur for a long moment, and then shuts the door, because really, what’s to be done.

“You know I don’t celebrate my birthday,” Eames says slowly as he trudges over to the kitchen and then leans against the doorframe. Arthur just tosses an easy smile over his shoulder. He’s laying out pots and pans -- smart of him to bring them, considering Eames’ penchant for microwave dinners -- and the smile he tosses over his shoulder is just about as carefree as Eames has ever seen it. “You may not celebrate it, but I do,” Arthur says, and for some stupid reason, that brings a smile to Eames’ face, one he very quickly tries to hide.

Arthur makes Eames spaghetti and meatballs, simple and sweet, and they eat at the kitchen table that Eames so kindly clears off, removing the piles of unpaid bills and stacked books cluttering the space. They chat about the job Arthur’s working, and how Eames is getting bored after two weeks off, and about the weather and every little stupid thing that pops into their heads.

Eames spends the entire time thinking that he doesn’t deserve this, that he was perfectly fine ignoring his birthday and pretending the rest of the world didn’t care, either. But Arthur cares. Arthur cares, and he’s here, and it makes Eames’ heart hurt for some strangely wonderful reason. Arthur cares, and he made him dinner, and now he’s digging a little box out of his jacket pocket that hangs on the back of his chair.

“It’s not much,” he says with a little frown, like he’s scared it’s not good enough, “but here.” He sets the box on the table, and Eames frowns at it, suddenly scared and shocked and not sure how to react. He must stare for too long, because Arthur gives him an amused look, a smirk crossing his features. “You’re supposed to open it,” he says, and so Eames shoots him a glare and reaches across, pulling the box toward him and opening it. 

It’s a watch -- a nice one. He’d broken his on a job a month ago, and of course he hadn’t bothered to replace it. This one is silver, simple and sleek, with his initials carved into the back of it. He picks it up and just looks at it, and he’s suddenly getting emotional, because Arthur bought him a watch after he broke his last one. He’d spent the next week after he broke it complaining about having to reach into his pocket for his phone to tell the time. Arthur had steered him into several shops trying to get him to buy a new one, but none of them were right, and Eames had turned them all down. He’s very picky about his watches.

But this one is perfect. He looks up at Arthur, and Arthur looks more nervous than Eames has ever seen him look, and Eames just smiles and lets out a breathless little laugh and says, “Thank you.” He doesn’t know what else to say. It’s his birthday, his stupid birthday, and Arthur’s here giving him a watch and it’s a little too much to handle. 

He doesn’t know if anyone has ever shown him this much love in his entire life. Eames thinks he’ll hold onto this moment forever. 

It truly is the little things.