#but my brain just seems to refuse to recognise him here

[static-scribblez]

“Man this edible weak asf I ain’t feeling shiiii……”

[whimsical-lullaby]

Would you write a Toranaga x reader who was traveling with John Blackthorne?

Untethered, floating aimlessly

Standing before the great lord, your head hung low with your eyes trained to the ground and unable to meet his gaze. But your ears bore witness to your surroundings; the howling winds of nightfall, the crimson tent's flap flying in the breeze. Had your feet not been covered, you would have felt sand cling to your toes. For a moment you are thankful you are in this clothing .. but the weight of it hangs on your shoulders.

Just like the weight of his silence, you think inwardly as you waited patiently for whatever words would come out the Lord's mouth.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you finally raised your eyes to see the scene unfold before you. Yoshii Toranaga, holding his infant daughter in his arms .. he looked down at her, his lips upturn in a small but recognisable smile of content. Moving slightly in a motion of rocking the child who rests in her peaceful slumber. You've never seen him this peaceful before, not ever since you met him.

The girl seemed like she was too little to even fit in his arms but she did, perfectly so. An image too good to be true.

Toranaga lifts his had and his eyes rest on yours. "You did well."

You did well. At those three simple words, you gleamed softly.

In your time in Ajiro village, you had taken up the task to learn as much of the Japanese language as you could. Ten words a day, you had requested of your teacher, Lady Mariko. But she adjusted them to five, less you wanted to go to sleep with a headache and forget the pronunciations which was most likely what happened.

"What have you decided to name her?" Toranaga quarries in a hum.

Yes, it is true. You have excelled in learning as much words as your brain could handle. But you were still new to stringing up sentences with said words. Your head turned to Lady Mariko, awaiting his translation.

Swallowing up every anxiety you had in you, your eyes interlocked with his. "I have." Your voice began, leveled. "Mariko will be her name. For she has stood by me like no one else has since my arrival."

Toda Mariko blinked, hesitating her interpretation for her Lord as her heart swells with gratitude. Her eightfold fence rattled but she charged on, guarding it dutifully. She dips her head in a bow. "You honor me greatly, N/N-sama."

Lord Toranaga's eyes narrowed lightly, brows contorted in confusion and they rested as Lady Mariko translates for you. He didn't dare miss the warmth the two women shared and found it endearing that you were finding a footing in his country, a home in the form of one his most trusted people.

A small smile settles on his lips, looking at you. "A fitting name indeed."

The Lord comes over to you, carefully placing Mariko in the safety of your arms. Your heart swells with wonder of her being here .. for a long time she had been but an imagination, a dream. And now you're finding it hard to believe she was actually here.

You had expected so much from Toranaga's arrival. The first image of him that came to your mind when he saw you, was him raging and speaking so quickly in long sentences you didn't even understand. And you just staring at him like a deer, surveying for any predators in the area.

However, you weren't going to lie because you deserved his anger, his lecture. Hiding a pregnancy wasn't a small thing...

Still, you couldn't take your mind off of the day you two parted. You had argued with him on the ship sailing to Ajiro village after the escape at Osaka. Needing to let out your pent up emotions to the sole purpose of your anguish and frustration. Him.

When you were first brought before him along with John Blackthorne, you had been but a stranger to him. A barbarian. At first you had no knowledge as to why he had strike up the deal to set John and his crew free in exchange of you being his concubine.

It seemed like a deal for his own personal gain which you righteously refused. But just as John had a slippery tongue when it comes to vile words, he did so when telling lies. Like the lie he told Toranaga of you being his sister, to ensure that you were close to him whatever the circumstances was.. a lie in which still is hidden til today. And then he goes on to accept the offer on your behalf.

Some brother he was.

Lady Mariko was there to help you in any way she could and you were grateful in that aspect. Yet that still didn't mean it was sunshine and roses from then on.

The escape from Osaka took place.

You had thought, since you were Toranaga's concubine he would protect you, at the very least. But when you climbed on that Portuguese ship at the bay, and the captain said he wanted you and Blackthorne out and back to the shores of Osaka, Toranaga came out of the captain's quarters and relied his words.

Betrayed.

You were no stranger to betrayal. It was the root cause of you coming here in the first place. The son of a lady you were serving had his eyes of for you, one day gifting you his grandmother's ring on Christmas. A little bird tweeted in the kitchens you were working in and you found yourself in front of the Mistress who had her son beside her, questioning him on the jewellery. The bastard denied ever giving it to you.

Branded a thief, you knew sooner than late that you would be sentenced to transportation.

Your nan always told you to be wary of men, they will take advantage of you if you don't.

That's why you descended upon the Portuguese ship in tow behind John, because you were just a pawn in whatever game the Lord of Kanto was playing.

You both narrowly escaped. That was one thing about you that you shared with John. Your drive to live ...

For the few coming hours, you had Mary that drive nor will ..

Unable to face Toranaga after his betrayal, you went to the back of the ship that courses through the waves. Somehow, you ended on the other side of the helm of the ship, the heal of your legs balancing on a protruding beam. Your mind had conjured up a peaceful oblivion, that was enough to make you do that.

As you gaze down at the reflection of the starry littered sea, that's all you wished to be engulfed in. A gleaming heaven, a calm nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Not a raging cold ocean that would drown you the moment you let go.

The moment you let go ..

It never came. Because Toranaga was there.

He stopped you. Obviously it didn't work. You were a stubborn girl from the day you were born.

Your mind was made up. You nothing here in these, you had no one, you were no one.

By the time you reached Ajiro village, no words were shared between you and Lord Toranaga. You stood next to Blackthorne as the formalities went on with Toranaga inspecting his vassal's army.

Then you saw him sailing away on the boat, gracefully raising his fan as the army cheered him on. Nagakado had said he had urgent business and that for the coming months, the gun regiment needed to be trained.

There was only a moment where you interlocked eyes with his as the boat took him away. A foreign feeling tugged at your heart and you ignored it as you wondered beneath all that anguish inside you. Was he ever feeling it too?

Now how were you to bring up being with child in all that whirlwind of pain and betrayal and loneliness?

Thankfully the loneliness was cured.

You found a friend in Usami Fuji. She had orders from Toranaga to be John's consort and you knew a great deal about him spending time on the Erasmus, in that long, excruciating voyage. She was thankful for you immensely.

With time, she helped you adjust to the life growing in your womb as she was once a mother too.

Lady Mariko was there, too.

She was your translator, your closest confidant. You had begun to accept her as the older sister you always wished and dreamed you had. Most of your siblings you had to see go because of famine. You were much accustomed to death around you.

So when a new life came, your heart was heavy with joy. Your eyes shed tears of content for the very first time since you arrived in this island country. In your daughter, you had something that was yours and a purpose to keep moving forward in this godforsaken journey called life.

Life seemed a little brighter with her here now. And that only hope you held, was the reason you stood before Toranaga today, without having to fall to your knees and wallow in self pity and embarrassment.

Toranaga nods toward Lady Mariko and she bows, taking her leave. Your heart sinks as you watched the departure of your interpreter but you do your best not to show it. Now, all you had was your broken Japanese to communicate with him.

There was silence, only the winds whispered, filling the space between them. As if they too were anticipating who would break the silence of suffocation.

"That day .. no goodbye." You tried piecing together the words you could only describe were like million puzzle pieces to create one image, while the clock ticked in your eardrums.

The clock being the unflinching gaze of Toranaga.

Toranaga replies, "I'd assumed you were angry with me."

"I still am." You confirmed, catching onto the last three words he said. The lessons you spent with Mariko giving you hope that even though broken, you could still communicate and reach and understanding.

Your gaze fell on a lamp, finding it interesting all of a sudden. You harboured enough strengths and courage to do a great many things but looking into his eyes was not one of them. He was the most frustrating yet undaunted man you had ever met in your life and you didn't know whether to see that as a blessing of a curse.

"Can .. can I trust you?" Your voice came out in a whisper.

"Trust is a powerful word."

Of course he would say that. I mean, what were you hoping? He was a Lord, for crying out loud. And you .. you are just a girl from a small town that courageously paved her way through life and then royally fucked it up after you trusted someone you claimed to love.

Still not meeting his eyes, yours closed as you let out a shaky breath. You just needed the clarity. "Then, can I lean on you? Until the storm is over?"

He knew exactly what you meant. This war. You wanted clarity on whether he would protect you should anything happen ..

Toranaga nods. "I will you give you a shelter untill this storm is over." His lips upturned and your eyes finally found his, your heart fluttering as the burning on your cheeks stung.

"And perhaps," he continues, "we can start over. From the beginning."

"I'd like that," for the first time, you beamed a smile that reached to your eyes. "I'd like that very much."

[finniestoncrane]

Christmas Gift Exchange

Scarecrow x Riddler x Batman, word count: 1.4k this is just a silly, flirty little thing for wonderful @constantron as part of the gift exchange for the arkham server!! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: no sex, but plenty of suggestive stuff (also tiny cw for dubcon)

Edward knocked the end of his pristinely polished, golden cane against the door at the back entrance of the warehouse, signalling his arrival with a distinct rhythm before entering. Once inside, the door securely locked behind him, he reached a gloved hand into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled a silken handkerchief, monogrammed in a bright green with his initials. He ran it idly over the top of the cane where he had touched the door with it as he walked towards the centre of the dark space. 

“Crane…? Have you forgotten our meeting? Or are you perhaps hiding in the shadows, intent on trying to scare me?”

A voice replied to him from somewhere to his right, obscured by the darkness, but recognisable as his dear friend. 

“You know me all too well, Nygma.”

Appearing almost instantly, magically, as he stepped out from the pitch black and into the glow cast from the solitary, low-hanging ceiling lamp, Jonathan smiled as he devoured the sight of Edward. He was dressed as smart as usual, a distinct flare, however, in the exquisite patterned tie obviously a new purchase, as it wasn’t one he recognised. 

“Dressed for the occasion?”

“As always. And I see you aren’t… as always.”

Edward let his own eyes drift judgmentally up and down Jonathan’s slender frame, taking in the scruffy, hole-ridden clothes he refused to give up wearing. The sentimentality behind them pushed Edward’s lips up into a small smile, one not missed by Jonathan, who offered his in return.

“If I were to dress differently, you might think that there was something wrong. I know how your mind works. Always overthinking, trying so hard to use that big brain when there really isn’t much call for it.”

“Charming.”

Edward rolled his eyes, unable to refute the very astute observation. Sometimes, more often than he cared to admit, he could completely forget that Jonathan wasn’t just a slender, nightmarish vision in decades old garments, but that he was an accomplished academic. Nowhere near as smart as Edward, but enough for him to begrudgingly consider him a peer.

“Well, would you care to exchange gifts?”

“Seems apt.” 

Edward’s response was dripping with sarcasm, a playful cruelty that had Jonathan’s eyebrow raised. That was until he opened the wrapping paper and held up the overly stylish shirt, in Edward’s signature, emerald shade, against his torso. 

“I… see. A gift for yourself when I inevitably don’t wear it?”

“Tut tut, Crane. As if I would ever be so selfish. Now! My turn! Give it here!”

Edward put his hands out expectantly, grunting as Jonathan landed a small pile of three presents onto his palms. Eddie looked at the wrapped gifts, then back to Jonathan, and then back to the gifts.

“Well, open them.” 

Jonathan splayed his hand out, inviting Edward to partake in his side of the festive tradition of their gift exchange. When he had all three of the gifts in his hands, unwrapped and visible, he took another look around the warehouse, almost knowingly, as though he had found the answer to a question he had been pondering the entire time.

“These are hardly any different from the kind of gifts you usually get me, Crane.”

A bottle of flavoured lube, a pair of new, shiny handcuffs, and a Wartenburg wheel in the shape of a question mark. A nice touch, but nothing he wouldn’t have expected. 

“I suppose the location is what makes this different?”

Jonathan shook his head, a half-smile crossing his face. 

“In a way, yes. The location serves a… purpose. But don’t be so ungrateful Edward. These gifts here, these are just… appetisers, if you will. This… is your main course.”

With a flourish, Jonathan held out his hand, gesturing to his right. His left hand flicked a switch on the wall behind him. 

“Now, I know we agreed not to make a big deal out of all of this, but…”

The lights flickered, a gentle buzzing and a sharp, high-pitched clink sounding out as they came to life. They highlighted Edward’s gift, like a priceless artefact in a museum, like a jewel behind bulletproof glass. The light above his present perfectly illuminated it. All that was missing was the slow rotation of a lazy Susan to give that gameshow-esque prize treatment.

“Tah dah.”

Jonathan’s smile was smug, so self-satisfied. Not only had he made Edward feel guilty about his previous attitude towards his gift, but he had surprised him, something that was almost impossible to do when The Riddler was always four steps ahead. 

“Oh, Jonathan… you’ve outdone yourself! It’s - he’s - perfect.”

“I can’t offer any self-effacing modesty, I really have won this year’s exchange.”

Edward crouched down, looking into Batman’s eyes, as unimpressed as they were, and laughed incredulously as he rolled them. 

“So… how did you do it?”

“It wasn’t as difficult as you might think. We managed to come to an… amicable agreement.”

With eyebrows raised, Edward turned his head swiftly to Jonathan in disbelief.

“You got him to agree to this? Willingly?”

Jonathan tilted his head from side to side, as though measuring up the facts surrounding the capture of Batman and his hour-long monologue which had been delivered to his kidnappee before Edward had arrived.

“Perhaps not entirely willingly. But! He did agree, once we had our gentlemanly discussion. And certainly with more enthusiasm than I thought he would.”

Turning his attention once more towards the hulking mass of muscles that sat in the chair, tied up with copious amounts of rope, Edward smiled with an air of arrogance as he lifted up the strong chin of his new plaything, their eyes meeting.

“Is that so, Batman?”

The caped crusader narrowed his eyes below his mask, refusing to blink, not wanting to give Eddie the satisfaction. 

“At least if I know you two are distracted by whatever this is, then you’re not out there terrorising innocent people.”

“Oh, I dare say there’ll be hours of freedom for the good people of Gotham. I plan to get as much out of you as I can.”

Trying hard to keep his breath steady, remaining cool and collected as expected from him, Batman gritted his teeth, his spit frothing behind his words as he demanded an answer from them with the kind of aggression he felt they expected, or wanted, to see.

“So what kind of sick plan do you have for me? Am I here to witness the kind of acts you described to me in your lengthy monologue, Crane?” 

Jonathan stepped up to Edward, standing next to him before crouching slightly to get closer to Batman as his smile spread wide enough for his crooked teeth to show.

“Afraid not, dear Bat. You are the main attraction for this evening. Although, I’m sure you already knew that, given how quickly you gave in to my proposal. You practically tied those ropes yourself.”

As Jonathan taunted him, Edward had made his way around to the back of the chair and was draping himself over Batman’s wide, squared shoulders. His hands drifted lazily down the front of the kevlar coated suit, the curvature and ridges of the defined muscles speaking to him through his palms. With a quick grunt, Batman shifted his body ever so slightly, struggling briefly against the ropes as he played up the charade of trying to move himself away from Edward’s gentle, teasing touch. Tutting out loud, Edward let go and returned to Jonathan as he spoke.

“Pretend all you want, but you’re putting up very little fight for someone who has beaten me half to death for a lot less than kidnapping and the looming threat of sexual exploration.”

The two men stood side by side, eyes sparkling with lust and excitement as they waited with bated breath for the other to make the first move. Jonathan gave in, typically not one to deny himself any pleasure in the name of keeping face.

“Now, Eddie… shall we continue our conquest of the virginal vigilante?”

Edward took Jonathan’s hand in his own, beaming with excitement and joy at the events that were to unfold before him. 

“Oh, Jonathan. You make this terrible season almost tolerable."

[pidges-lost-robot]

I like to think that Keith is very face blind, he has a real issue with like imagining and thinking about what people's faces look like, so often times he gets people mixed up or forgets they've already met

I am a sucker for the whole keith thinking Lance was called Taylor and not realising they were the same person so here's my version of it:

At this point, Keith and Lance are friends but it's still a little vulnerable right now. And they're having a little bicker where Lance reveals that the reason he was so irritated with Keith in the garrison was because they met before the garrison when they were kids and he'd really thought he and Keith had hit it off as friends maybe so when Lance recognised him and not only had been kept off of the pilot course by Iverson and citing Keith, but Keith had been completely cold and rude like he didn't even remember Lance at all.

Now Keith not really having recognised Lance as Lance at the time doesn't know what he's talking about and states he doesn't remember meeting Lance before the Garrison and Lance is like omg and you complained about the bonding moment for so long.

So later Lance and Keith are at the dinner table talking about it again cause Keith is really wracking his brain about this.

Apparently Lance had been heading to meet Hunk so they could go to the shops for some ice cream. Some older kids in the neighbourhood had kicked Lance's ass and stolen his money till Keith arrived. Keith had scared the older kids off and while silent and awkward, had gotten Lance to the shop to make sure he didn't get beat up again, but also stolen him an ice cream from the shop.

Hunk hearing this confirms to Keith this didbhappen cause "Lance couldn't stop raving about this really cool brooding boy who'd protected him and-" and Lamce is like OKAY WE DONT NEED TO GET THAT INTO IT

But when Hunk confirms it and tells him what shop they went to Keith's eyes widen and he looks ghost white. Hunk is continuing as Shiro arrives before Keith is like "No shush! Shut-up! Not another word!"

And while Lance is like " Oh so now you remember!" Shiro asks what's up and to spite Keith for telling hunk to shut up cause "no one disrespects Hunk" *high fives him* Pidge relays everything they've learned about this to Shiro.

And Shiro is silent for a second before looking between Lance and Keith and dying with laughter as Keith just turns bright red.

Lance, Hunk, Allura and Pidge feel like there's something they're missing and Keith stalks off to avoid "What Pidge has wrought" on him.

Shiro is just slapping the table yelling to Keith as he follows after him that he'll never live this down.

And so follow a week of Keith avoiding Lance like the plague and Shiro not being able to be in a room with either of them without breaking down again.

But soon Lance who has no idea what's so funny is starting to worry that maybe it was because he did something embarrassing that Keith told him. He tries to ask Keith cause the reason Shiro seems to find it so funny is Lance not knowing so maybe if he knows this will stop but Keith clams up and refuses. He asks Shiro but he's like sorry Lance I can't, bro code but Lance begins to wonder outloud to him about howbthis is beginning to get to him.

Shiro tries to assure him its not that Lance did anything embarrassing but Keith doing something embarrassing but he can tell Lance doesn't quite believe him.

Lance begins avoiding everyone now and Keith seeing that it's beginning to bother Lance decides to tell him.

He takes Lance aside and gets him to promise he won't tease him for what he's about to tell him because he'd never do this to Lance so Keith is trusting him to not tease him about this OR tell hunk and pidge about it. After Lance promises Keith explains about being face blind and how he does remember meeting Lance.

But he didn't think he was called Lance. He thought he was called Taylor, and how he may or may not have told Shiro about this incident.... repeatedly.... and may or may not have confided in him that he had a little crush on Taylor. Problem was is obviously when they met at the Garrison again, Keith didn't really recognise his face and met him as Lance, so didn't realise they knew each other.

Which shiro further finds funny because Keith's coldness towards Lamce in the Garrison was basically because he didn't recognise him which Lance didn't know which shiro found immensely funny.

Lance says this makes sense and Keith tries to be like oh yeah it's not a surprise someone would have a crush on you right, that's where this joke is leading? And Lance is like God no, I mean the way you and shiro were reacting, its a total surprise you ever had a crush on me at that age. Keith's confused so Lance explains that they met cause Keith had to save him from bullies and stole an ice cream for him to cheer him up, even t hough he risked getting in trouble and Lance cried his eyes out and got his ass kicked.

This ends up being one of the moments that leads to Lance and Keith's crush reignited and them getting together

[wolves-etc]

thoughts on The Last Of Us episode two, roughly as it happens in the ep:

[thoughts on: 1.1 | X | 1.3 | 1.4 | 1.5 | 1.6 | 1.7 | 1.8 | 1.9]

— another episode, another mycologist! this professor is dignified and puzzled and it's such a strange change from the postapoc action of the previous episode. I'll be glad to see some blanks filled in though.

— the mounting tension and knowing fear in the examination scene is intense, and the actors are showing it brilliantly. there's a lot of discomfort, too, in the candid display of a corpse that still looks so whole and healthy - before the pandemic gets so bad that no-one can hope for a decent burial, back when it still raises serious questions to see someone with a bullethole in their forehead.

— the moment when someone who knows exactly how scared they should be loses their composure and gets the fuck out of there? that's the moment you know to be really afraid.

— she is just a professor - not military, not in a specialty (at least I think) that devotes as much thought to pandemics as others do, and she is scared. she's on a nice domestic sofa holding a teacup and saucer and she's visibly uncomfortable even thinking about what she knows.

— we already know how this is gonna go. it shouldn't be so affecting to learn that they've lost track of the first people infected. it probably should be so terrifying, actually, to see the people in charge admitting they're not on top of things.

— "bomb."

— yeah, that was a hell of a choice.

— "start bombing. bomb this city, and everyone in it."

— I'm looking over the scene again to get the quotes right, and paying more attention to the side characters 'cos @trivalentlinks mentioned enjoying them in this show, and gosh, yeah. these two are both so nakedly scared - the fear of someone who knows they can't do anything, and the fear of someone who has to anyway - and it's horrible.

— and I have to wonder. if they'd taken her advice sooner, could the pandemic have been prevented? how would she have been remembered, if they did? (how would the country have been judged by the rest of the world?) she's an expert and she's terrified and she's willing to doom a city, including herself and her family, to save the rest of the world, and it would be so easy for her to be framed as a monster.

— heavy stuff, folks. we're nine minutes in and my brain is humming.

— and her bravery, and her humanity, and her fear; and her request not to spend any more time explaining exactly why they're doomed but rather to let her spend her last hours with her family.

— cue gorgeous gross fungus growth intro. a bad time to be eating noodles and a worse time to realise that the camera's slowing down on something suddenly recognisable as a skull.

— I recognise the tests aren't quite the same, but this really seems like a crap world to have a stroke in.

— if we needed confirmation that joel didn't plan to punch that guard, here it is. how afraid and out of control must you be to fracture something in your own hand without stopping? how uncomfortable must that loss of control be for him?

— tess' move here, where she talks to ellie like an adult, is interesting. I've seen scenes like that before that felt like a threat, or like an adult refusing to take responsibility that they should - and this is both of those things, but it doesn't feel like it. it feels like a genuine attempt to get the information they need and give ellie the information she needs to make a good choice. but I don't know if that's just tess' strange brand of tricky honesty again.

— I do like it though. because the options are joel and tess being harsh and callous behind ellie's back, or it's joel and tess being harsh and callous and giving ellie a chance to know about it and help make their decisions. as much as she should be protected anyway.

— ellie's "if she so much as twitches..." "[strangled zombie sounds]" joke here is both very stupid and entirely justified

— "well it's the long way or the we're fucking dead way." "well I vote long way, just based on that limited information." oh tess and ellie are fun <3

— overgrown cities look so cool though.

— how weird must it be to climb over long-dead cars? they used to be something, a part of everyone's lives, and now they're just scenery. part of their old world still right there beside them but so far away.

— ellie: "so there aren't super-infected that explode spores on you?" tess, totally relaxed: "shit, I hope not."

— whoever decided that infected cry out, fox-like, in the distance, I salute you. there may also be a rude gesture involved.

— genuinely scarier that it was far away and just one cry, that they've been okay so far but they're still wary and still have to keep moving. I think they're not scared enough that that was a hunting cry. so it's just... a thing infected do, sometimes.

— oh. oh that's kind of a sad thought.

— JAUNTY MYSTERY SOUNDS ON A PIANO

— JAUNTY PIANO FROG

— I am in love, I am enchanted with our frog friend, I actually happy-stimmed a little. nothing in this is going to beat piano frog friend for me.

— "you're a weird kid." "you're a weird kid."

— this very believable idea of a generation of kids who learned about things like hotels from books, the way I learned about boarding schools. it's sweet. it's strange.

— ellie stroppily taking joel's hand and letting it go quickly after; joel glancing down at it, bloody-knuckled still, slightly broken still - it's a contrast. there's so much angst in the hands and the things they do and are capable of.

— I don't know if ellie learned this kind of grown-up smalltalk from books too but I do love her attitude

— the writhing rippling bodies, holy shit

— THEY'RE A NETWORK. HOW LOVELY. sarcastically but also genuinely that's kind of lovely. and I dig that tess' explanation both shows that and takes the time to make sure ellie understands the danger.

— sidenote but I keep going oooh at tess' hair because it's so nice to actually see a woman going grey, it's really pretty

— joel please don't touch the cordyceps. yes this is good and useful information to have about the fungus drying up but it's also DEEPLY GROSS

— I really don't like the grown-ups not knowing what's up or what killed a dude

— I've seen the odd spoiler on here, right? mostly from the games. and I haven't heard of tess. I'm not sure she's gonna survive like I am about the other two. and that means I am at several times wondering if she's going to die here.

— I HATE THIS. I hate this a lot. at some point during this extended terror scene I had to pause to call my friend a bastard and also put socks on so my feet didn't feel as vulnerable. did I mention I'm bad with horror

— the "if you panic, they'll hear you, so don't panic" situation is fucking evil. I was previously unaware this could extend to "load your gun quietly or else you're dead."

— they're clicking. they're fucking clicking. they're blind and they're clicking I REALLY DON'T WANT THESE TO HAVE ECHOLOCATION. PLEASE.

— you know how shooting rabid animals in the head can aerosolise the infection. I wish I wasn't thinking about that.

— I looked up the tess-taping-her-ankle thing and found half the comments were ppl who were also puzzled and half were like "duh, she sprained her ankle, are you even paying attention?" so probably that's a genuine treatment for sprains I'd just never heard about.

— the almost desperate way she told joel to just take this win? yeah, I think she might not be okay.

— joel checking his watch. the poor bastard. I think looking out over the city and talking to ellie felt a little too familiar there.

— tess hurrying into the building and dragging ellie in front of her? yeah, she's panicking. I do think she wants to get this done before she starts really showing symptoms.

— "I never ask you for anything, not to feel the way I felt-" fuck

— this feels like a lower ratio of infected to story than most zombie stories. they travelled an entire city, went to great pains to avoid them, encountered two, and two of their three people got bitten. it's an interesting change.

— AND AS SOON AS I SAY THAT. THERE'S A FUCKING STAMPEDE.

— "save who you can save." okay, this right there? tess knows him very well. 'cos that's been his strategy from the moment this started. and she's giving him that push, I think, so he can snap back into that mode and actually leave her there to die. or so he'd find it easier to do.

— this is fucking horrible.

— I have never been so scared of a faulty lighter. what's scary, what's really scary here? is the thought that she's going to die not on her own terms, that she's not going to be able to play the last card she has to play, that she's not going to die relatively quickly but would instead be ripped apart.

— ...or kept alive as part of the cordyceps network. I think that's what the "kiss" was about - the way the fungus always seems to sprout out of the mouth in the later stages, the proximity to the brain, her maybe being recognised as infected but not yet connected to the others, which is a thing the others can fix. it's a watsonian explanation, at least. it's horrible.

— but she gets to play the last card she has to play. made of steel, to the end. if I were wearing a hat I'd be taking it off.

— last time they had an encounter with infected, two of their three got bitten. they can't risk that happening again. not with the likelihood that joel's going to be even more protective now, with delivering ellie safely his only goal, and still his only way to get to tommy. they are going to have to be so careful. and that's going to be interesting to see.

[casspurrjoybell-29]

Healing Ties - Chapter 19 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

The first ten minutes or so of walking just brought them through more woodlands but then the trees thinned and Fanner saw the first of the wooden cabins.

This was not a tiny or ramshackle settlement.

They were fully established here.

They even had flowers growing in little rock lined flower beds in front of the cabins.

There was a man and a young girl crouched down, working on one of them in front of the cabin nearest to them.

"Hamish," Yore called out and the man looked up.

Fanner had heard that name before.

Lucas had called him the resident whore.

The man looked up and grinned before standing and dusting his hands off on his pants.

He had dark, curly hair.

Definitely not a mage.

"Yore. I'm glad to see you're okay. Some of your people came by looking for you."

"Yes, I got a little waylaid," Yore said, nodding in Fanner's direction.

Hamish turned his attention to Fanner and offered him a smile.

"Hello, my name's Hamish and welcome to Magic Town."

"That's not the actual name of this settlement," Yore said.

"It is if I say it enough times and nobody comes up with anything else."

"Thank you," Fanner said, the word 'sir' on the tip of his tongue.

As far as he could tell Hamish was human but he wasn't sure that really mattered here.

"I'm Fanner."

The playful smile fell away from Hamish's face as he looked between Yore and Fanner.

"Shit. Not...?"

Yore nodded.

"You found him? How?"

"I've told him we have a friend of his here but not who. I think this story would be best told with his friend here so that I only have to tell it once. Is he around?"

"Yeah, he's at home with Jassy."

Hamish leant down and whispered something in the little girl's ear.

She nodded and ran off.

"She'll get him."

Fanner found himself slowly drifting closer to Yore's side.

Why did everyone know who he was?

Why had there seemingly been some great search for him?

They hadn't seemed to know anything about his unusual magic but he couldn't imagine why else they might care.

The little girl came running back with a strange, furry child bounding after her.

He had ears like a dog that stuck up from the top of his head and a wagging tail protruding from a hole in his pants.

His entire body was covered in a layer of fine, brown fur.

He had hands, sort of.

His fingers were about half the usual length and tipped with claws.

His feet were long, narrow and bare.

He had run over to them on all fours but now that he was with them he stood up on two legs like a human.

"Fanner," a voice that stirred feelings of familiarity deep in Fanner's stomach said and Fanner looked up.

For a moment he didn't recognise the man standing in front of him or perhaps his brain just refused to believe it.

His hair was shorter and he was a few years older but it was undeniably Danya.

A moment later they were wrapped in each other's arms, clinging to one another.

Danya's embrace felt so much firmer, so much stronger than it had used to.

Danya lifted his head from where he had buried it against Fanner's shoulder.

"How did you find him?"

"Accidentally, actually," Yore said. "I just found him in the woods. He escaped on his own or at least I assume he did. He still hasn't told me the whole story."

Danya leant back to look at Fanner.

"Where were you? We looked for you, but you had just disappeared."

Fanner didn't want to answer that question, so he countered it with one of his own.

"How are you here? They told us you had died."

"Oh, yeah, we did this thing called lying," Hamish contributed.

"It's extremely useful."

"Essentially," Danya said. "I'm sorry I put you through that. I'd hoped they wouldn't bother to tell you."

They had bothered, though hardly.

Fanner remembered that morning.

They'd been lined up outside, being told which lessons they would each be attending for the day and the warden had just casually mentioned it as an aside.

Fanner hadn't been the only one who had been shaken.

They had all known Danya, had been helped and supported by him, though none of them were nearly as close to him as Fanner and Duran.

They'd cried together that night, wrapped in one another's arms.

They had hoped that after so many years of being rejected that Danya would finally find somewhere he could be wanted but he hadn't survived more than a few weeks.

But of course that was how things really were.

This idea of finding a master who would treasure you forever and keep you safe was pure fantasy.

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Never Again (Rumplestiltskin x Reader)

Synopsis: A near death experience leads to feelings being revealed.

Words: 959

Warnings: Almost death, discussions of dying

AN: So I was watching season 2 again and I couldn't shake this scenario from my mind when watching 2x16. So uh... yeah, I wrote it.

His words kept echoing through your mind. Sitting at Grannies, your hands wrapped around what was once a hot cup of cocoa, you couldn’t shake it. You’d begged him, but nothing had persuaded him. The click of the phone disconnecting still rang in your ears. 

“Goodbye (Y/N).”

You knew that was going to be the last time you ever heard from him. The thought of never hearing his voice again made your eyes well with tears. He’d refused to tell you where he was holed up, had denied you the ability to be there with him. You wanted to be. And now the sorrow had frozen you in this booth, unable to get out and search for him. 

You pressed the rim of the cup to your lips. Long fingers plucked it from your grip before the now cold liquid could slip into your mouth. You looked up, finding Ruby looking down at you. 

“I can’t let you drink that,” she said.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

“Alright, something is clearly wrong,” she said, “you’ve been sitting here for hours staring into this mug like it’s going to tell you your future.”

You looked up at her, blinking back the tears threatening to fall.

“You know how Emma and Gold went to New York?” you asked. She nodded, “well, something happened.”

“What do you mean something happened?” she asked.

“Hook, he followed them and he, uh, he poisoned Gold,” you said, brushing away a tear from your cheek. 

“Well they’ll find a cure for it, right?” she asked.

“He says he’s dying.” You bit back a sob, “he won’t tell me where he is. He just… hung up on me.”

“Oh I’m sure he-” she began to say until you cut her off. 

“But I guess that’s just proof that he doesn’t feel the same way about me, right? I know everyone knows, I'm really bad at hiding it. I just thought, recently, maybe… Guess I was wrong.”

“I don’t know if-” she tried again.

“At least I never did anything to properly embarrass myself like confessing my feelings to him. Plausible deniability.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t have-” she attempted one last time. 

“Just as long as this isn’t some twisted way of sparing my feelings. Faking his death to get out of, I don’t know, being my friend even. That would just be such a douchebag move. But I have to assume it’s true since we haven’t seen Emma or Snow or David since they got back. That says something is actually happening, right?” 

You turned your eyes on her, begging her to tell you this wasn’t some trick. The thought that he could fake his death like that, make you grieve, all to avoid dealing with your feelings for him when he didn’t reciprocate, that was too much for you to handle. 

“Of course it does,” she said, “but honey, they’re right outside if you want to ask them.”

You turned in your seat. A small group of people, recognisable even in the dark of the night. But one notable figure was missing and they hardly looked like a happy bunch of people. Your heart sank. 

You stood, stumbling out of the booth. The bell jingled as you exited Granny’s, Ruby calling after you. Your breath was tight in your chest as you stepped out into the street. 

A thump and scuffed footsteps drew your attention away from the family. You froze. 

Striding down the street, looking as if he’d never been healthier, Gold was staring you down. Your eyes roved over him. His jacket had been discarded and his shirt was unbuttoned enough to be able to see the column of his neck and his collarbone. It made you feel hot all over while you tried to figure out what was going on. He wasn’t dying. He was right there. He seemed fine. 

He was… right in front of you. 

He murmured your name as his cane clattered to the ground. He grasped your face in both hands, pulling you into him. His lips crashed against yours in a searing kiss. It took a moment for your brain to catch up with what was happening but when it did you flung your arms around him, holding him close. 

He sighed into your mouth, fingers tangling in your hair. You pressed yourself against him, wondering how his kisses could be better than you’d ever imagined. Heat coursed through your body, your heart fluttering. He drew away, still close enough for his breath to fan over his face, entwined together. 

“I thought you were dying,” you whispered.

“I was,” he replied, “I believed I was never going to see you again.”

“And you didn’t want that?” you asked.

“I never want to go another day without seeing you,” he murmured.

“I don’t…” You shook your head, “I thought you didn’t feel the same way about me.”

“Looks like you were wrong, dearie,” he said.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you requested.

In reply he kissed you. It didn’t answer your question but it was a good enough distraction that all thought flew from your head. You’d happily spend the rest of your life kissing him. It was all you needed. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said when he’d distracted you enough, “it’s late. Allow me to take you home.” 

“Will you tell me what happened when we get there?” you asked, stooping to pick up his cane. Your fingers brushed together when you handed it over. He smiled at you, soft and sweet, butterflies erupting in your stomach.

“If that is what you desire,” he said.

You looped your arm through his, all thoughts of anyone else forgotten. 

“It is,” you replied.

“Then that’s what we shall do.”

[vigilvntes]

Late Nights - Adrian Chase x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: i'm having such bad adhd brain block right now and i wrote this over like three days so i'm not even sure if it all makes sense or if it fits together but like, whatever. i love all of you thanks for sticking by me even if i'm inconsistent. here's badly written smut as always we love to see it. my apologies in advance if you read this.

Warnings: Smut, phone sex, masturbation, dirty talk (including talk of oral sex, creampie, marking, piv sex), language, fem!reader in mind, barely edited or proofread :) (i think that's all)

Word Count: 5k

Summary: Adrian calls late at night with a little more than casual conversation on his mind.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Your phone buzzes in your hand, and you almost jump right out of your skin at the sudden intrusion to your mindless, half-asleep scrolling of various social media apps.

Usually, you'd decline the call and send a text instead, because who the hell calls this fucking late? But you take the time to read the name on your screen, and you realise it's your boyfriend, Adrian. That explains everything. He's the kind of guy to call this late. You can't help but smile, though, and you press your finger down on 'Answer'. Partly because you've missed him today, and partly because you're curious as to why he's calling. It's probably nothing, he probably just wants to talk, but the call has piqued your interest.

You bring your phone up to your ear. "Hey."

"Hi, baby." He responds, though he sounds... strange. Breathless, almost? You're not so sure. Maybe he just didn't expect you to answer the call, or maybe he just got back. Either way, you decide to shrug it off.

"What's up, buttercup?" You ask, reaching for your tv remote on the other side of the bed and turning the volume down quickly.

There's a pause, and then an ever so slightly laboured breath before he replies. "Nothing. I was just— I was thinking about you. Thought I'd call. Missed you today."

A grin spreads across your lips, and you bite down on your bottom lip to make yourself feel less pathetic for smiling like a fucking idiot. Despite how weird he's acting right now, you can't help but feel fuzzy inside because he's missed you. He's been thinking about you. "I missed you too. Are we still on for tomorrow night?" Wednesday night is date night, the one night a week Adrian skips patrol, though it seems he's skipped out tonight, too.

"Yeah." He breathes out. "Yeah, of course we are. It's that— The, uh— The restaurant downtown. We've been there before, right?"

"Uh-huh. It's the place with the really good mac-n-cheese." You tell him. The mac-n-cheese was fucking fantastic, and you haven't been able to stop thinking about it for weeks now.

"Oh, fuck yeah. I remember." Did he just fucking moan? No. No he didn't. You refuse to believe it. "The mac-n-cheese looked so fuckin' good. Do you— Fuck. Do you remember what I had?"

"I— Uh, I think you had the steak last time? I think you liked it. I don't— I'm not so sure." What the fuck is going on with him? He's being so strange. He's strange, anyway, but tonight he's being downright weird. The shaky breaths, the long pauses. He can't even seem to get his words out. Not to mention the fact that you're pretty sure he just moaned down the phone at the thought of mac-n-cheese.

And then you hear it in the quiet between the two of you. Wet, slapping sounds in the background of the call that you recognise all too well. He's touching himself. On the other end of the phone, your boyfriend is probably laid on his bed, pumping his cock desperately while he balances the phone between his ear and his shoulder. Judging by the quiet whimpers and the frequency of the slick sounds his hand makes against his cock, he's probably close.

How could you have been so naïve? You should have known. Your sweet, adoring boyfriend called you at such a late hour so he could touch himself to the sound of your voice. It's quite endearing, actually, that he thinks about you in that way even when you're not there with him. And you'd be lying if you said it wasn't a turn on, and that the mental image didn't make heat pool between your legs.

You're okay with it, you decide. He isn't causing any harm. But you do want him to admit it.

"Hey, Adrian?" You ask, finally breaking the silence between the two of you, filling the void with more than his shaky breathing.

"Yeah?" He replies after a short pause.

"Is everything okay?" You keep your tone sweet and lighthearted, but you're hoping he'll admit to it if he thinks you're only suspicious.

Nope. He's not letting up. "Uh-huh, baby. Everything's fan-fucking-tastic. Just— Fuck. Just the best. Never better, actually." He's trying so hard to sound normal, but he sounds so strained.

"Uh-huh." You say slowly. "Okay, well... Can I ask you something?" You're going to keep talking, keep trying to make him admit it. Either he will, or the sound of your voice in his ear will make him cum first, and then he'll definitely know that you know.

"You just did." You can hear the smile in his voice, and that makes you smile, too, but you compose yourself quickly.

"Adrian. I'm being serious." You tell him. You're not. Well, not really. But you want him to think you are.

"Right. Sorry. You can ask me anything." There's a hint of confusion in his tone. You can picture it. Red cheeks, glasses hanging from his nose, and his brows furrowed in the cutest way. With his flushed cock in his hand, of course.

"Have you ever lied to me?" It goes dead silent for a moment. Like, actually dead silent. As in, your question has thrown him off so much that he's released the vice grip he had on his cock, and he's probably laid there trying to think of anything he could have done wrong recently.

"Uh— I mean— Uh. What? No. I don't—" He's stuttering over his words now, but for different reasons than before. "I mean, I lied two minutes ago when I told you the mac-n-cheese looked good. I don't even like mac-n-cheese, so I don't— Not sure why I said that." Oh, you're sure he knows why he said that. "But other than that, I don't— No. I don't think so."

"Okay." You say slowly. "So if I ask you something right now, you're gonna be honest with me?"

"Yes." He answers quickly. You must have him in a real panic.

"Promise?"

"Promise." He affirms.

You bite back a smile, "Pinky promise?"

"Babe, I promise so hard that if you were with me right now, I'd be gripping both of your pinky's so fuckin' hard. Pinky promises are no joke. I'd link pinky toes with you, too. Just to make sure you know that I'm dead serious about my promise." He actually did that once, so you know he isn't lying.

"Okay. And I mean it when I say I want full honesty from you, okay? No joking around."

"No joking around." He repeats quietly. Oh man. You can hear the hint of fear in his voice. You feel kind of bad, but then again he was just planning on having an orgasm on the phone with you under the guise that you'd be non-the-wiser. That makes it okay to fuck with him a little, you think.

"Did you call me just to get off to the sound of my voice?" You rip the band aid off so quickly, and you say it so casually, too. You're quite proud of how well you kept it together.

There's a prolonged minute of silence between the two of you as you await an answer, and you presume he's trying to think of an answer. It's so quiet, all you can hear is your own breathing and an occasional crackle of static coming from his end, the only indicator you have that he hasn't ended the call. Just to make sure, you ask, "Adrian? Are you still there?"

"Huh? Oh. Uh, yeah. I'm still here. Fuck. Uh, I'm sorry. What— Sorry. What'd you say?" Playing dumb. You see how it is.

"Are you getting off to the sound of my voice right now?" You repeat, slower this time, to make sure he definitely hears you. Even though you know he heard you the first time.

You hear him take a breath. "No." He lets out a shaky laugh. "No. Nope. Definitely not. Why— That's so— Why... Why would you think that? No. That's gross. I wouldn't— No. I just— I called because I missed you, and I... I wanted to talk to you about the— Y'know. The restaurant... thing." He says, with little conviction.

Adrian 'I don't lie to you' Chase has left the chat.

"Oh yeah, the restaurant thing. Right." Given that you hear him sigh softly, you think he knows how ridiculously unconvincing that sounds. "So, you don't have your hands down your pants right now?"

"Babe," You jump a little at just how fast he responds. You were expecting another long period of silence in which he goes back and forth with himself about the pros and cons of lying to you or coming clean. "I'm in my own apartment, why would I have my hands down my pants? That's so impractical. I'm fully out." He says, as if it's obvious and you're being ridiculous for assuming otherwise. He seems to recognise his error, because after a short pause, he adds, "Or I would be, if I was touching myself. Which I'm not."

He can be such a fucking idiot. Your shoulders are shaking with laughter, and you're having to physically bite down on your tongue to stop any noise from escaping your throat.

He lies, sometimes. He does. And you know that he does. You let it slide, because you know that if you ever really wanted the truth from him, he's more than likely to throw himself under the bus before things can even begin to become tense. He's honest to his core, and even when you let him lie, you can see in his expression how uncomfortable it makes him.

He's already cracked under the pressure, but you're about to split him in two. You clear your throat quietly, and ask him ever so sweetly, "Pinky promise?"

A pause. "Would you be angry with me if I said I was touching myself? Because I've never broken a pinky promise, and I don't want to, but I don't like it when you're angry with me."

You smile, "No, peanut. I wouldn't be angry with you. But I'd be upset if you broke a pinky promise."

"Yeah, I'm touching myself." He says quickly, and you anticipate the word vomit that follows his confession. "I'm sorry, babe. I got home from work and I was so fucking horny. I tried to watch porn but I couldn't find anything good because I'm in love with you and watching other people have sex kinda grosses me out now. And then I started thinking about you and I just had to hear your voice because you're so fucking pretty and sexy and I just love you so—"

You cut him off, "Adrian, slow down. You don't have to be sorry. I'm just fucking with you."

"What?"

"I know you're touching yourself, I just wanted to see if you'd admit it." You confess, feeling slightly guilty. But whatever. You're sure he'll get over it in the next minute.

"You know? How— What— How? I thought I was being super sneaky about it." He's not even mad that you've known the whole time, he's more mad at himself for making it that fucking obvious.

"Peanut, I know the noises you make when you touch yourself. They're the same as when you're inside me, just... a little quieter." Those words alone are enough to illicit a shaky breath from him, and you can't help the small smirk that crawls it's way on to your lips.

"Oh. You're not— You aren't mad at me, right?" He asks, almost sheepishly. Just checking one last time that you're definitely not angry. Oh, he's so precious. He makes your heart melt.

"No, I'm not angry with you. I think it's kinda... cute. That you think about me. That you can get off to the sound of my voice." You shove your tongue into your cheek for a moment, before you ask, "Why don't you tell me what you were thinking about before you called me, peanut?" You say it so innocently, though you both know the implications.

"Uh. You— Fuck. You want me to—..."

"I want to know what got you all hot and bothered." You tell him, chewing down on your bottom lip.

There's a pause, and you can sense that he's hesitating, but eventually he starts, "Um, well... I was just— I was thinking about your smile. You're really, really pretty. It makes me feel all warm inside. Like, I just adore you, and I love it when you smile at me." He lets out an airy laugh. "Are you, uh... Are you smiling right now?"

You definitely are. In fact, there's a wide grin spread across your lips. On the other end of the phone, he's sat alone in his apartment, rock hard and thinking about your smile. It's such an innocent thought, yet he's made it so intoxicating. "I am. You always make me smile. Is that all you were thinking about?" You pry.

"I— Uh, no. Do you— I— You really wanna know?" He squeaks out. He's just acting timid. You're not buying it. He's probably dying to tell you exactly what was on his mind, exactly what got him worked up enough to call you just to touch himself to your voice.

"Yeah. I really wanna know."

"Well... I was thinking about how cute you look when you get on your knees for me." There it is. That low, husky voice of his, the one he uses when he comes up behind you, wraps his arms around your body, talks you all the way into bed with his dirty fucking mouth. You love it. "I love the way you look at me when you ask me to cum in your mouth. You always have the cutest little grin."

You feel heat creep up your body, from your toes to your cheeks. You're blushing bright red, you don't have to glance over at the mirror in the corner of your room to know that your cheeks are completely flushed. You swallow thickly, "I love it when you cum in my mouth." You tell him, chewing down on your bottom lip. You think you kept your cool, though you're sure your voice was shaking just a little.

"Is that so?" He asks. He can be so cocky and confident. He knows when he's getting under your skin, and that only serves as an ego boost. There's always a back and forth between the two of you, a tug of war for power until one of you gives in and the other comes out on top.

"Mmh. Uh-huh. You taste really good. I'd let you fuck my mouth all day." He audibly groans in response, low and guttural, right from the back of his throat, and you press your thighs together, heat pooling between your legs. You tease him for being so easy, but it doesn't take a lot for him to get you going either. He's the perfect balance of cute and fucking feral. He'll say and do unspeakable things to you with wide, doe eyes and a shy smile. God, you're in love.

"Fuck. I'm not gonna lie to you, babe, that was so fuckin' hot. I'm so— Fuck. Can I— God, I'm so— I wanna— I need to—" He lets out a whimper, and you swear you feel your heart jump right out of your chest.

Typically, you'd tease him for much longer. Straddle his waist and grind your hips down against his cock until he's a blubbering, whimpering mess underneath you, begging you to let him cum. But he's not here, and you know he was so, desperately close before you interrupted him. So, you decide to show mercy. "You can touch yourself, peanut. If you want."

You hear nothing from his end for ten whole seconds, but then he responds with a soft, "You're being serious?"

"Uh-huh, I'm being serious." You tell him sweetly, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. There's a little shuffling around on his end, and then you hear him spit into his hand, followed by a deep sigh of relief not even a second later. It's barely audible, but you can hear the faint, slick sound of his spit-covered hand stroking at his cock slowly.

He lets out an airy laugh, "Oh, fuck." He's breathless already, but that won't stop him from running his mouth. "Been fuckin'— God, i've been thinking about you all day. Do you know how fuckin' distracting you are? Serving fuckin' mozzarella sticks and all I can think about is you and how pretty you are, and how good you are to me. Got a hard on at work— Not recommended, by the way. Happens a lot, though. I guess those stupid fuckin' aprons are useful for something."

Oh, don't you know it happens a lot. You're used to getting texts from Adrian when he's away or at work, telling you that he's gonna wreck your shit when he gets back. In those exact, poetic words, too.

"Fuck, babe. I can't get you out of my head." His voice is so shaky, and it's driving you wild. "All the things I'd do to you if you were here right now, I— Fuck."

"What would you do to me?" You ask quietly, almost in a whisper. Adrian's in control now, and you're happy to give him that. Which is funny, since he called you to hear your voice, begged for you to tell him he could touch himself, and now he's basically getting off on his own thoughts voiced out loud. You're not surprised, though. You're used to his dirty talk while he fucks your cunt or your face. The only time he's actually quiet is when his head is between your legs, but even then he lets out the most visceral moans and grunts.

He snorts, "I'd wanna mark up that pretty neck of yours first. Have they faded yet?" He asks, referring to the array of dark purple hickeys and bruises he left on your neck and collerbone just two nights ago.

You pull your shirt away from your skin a little, glancing down at your skin. Sure as shit, the marks are still there. Some are still a deep purple, with his teeth still imprinted into some of the marks from how hard he bit down. You trace your fingertips over the sensitive skin between your neck and your shoulder, remembering how you let out the dirtiest, prettiest moan when he sucked and nipped there, and how he gave you that shit-eating grin and the gentlest kiss right after. "No. They haven't faded yet." As much as it's a pain in the ass to cover them up for work, you don't ever want them to fade. You want to be reminded of him every time you look in the mirror.

He lets out a low growl, and you swear you feel it reverberate right into your bones. "Good. Want everyone to know that you're mine. That you belong to me. Want everyone you pass on the street, everyone at work... your friends, want all of them to know that you belong to me. You loved getting fucked senseless and marked by me."

Another spike of heat shoots through your body. Fuck. You press your thighs tighter together, hoping to relieve the ache in your cunt, trying to bypass the need reach between your legs and get off to his dirty mouth. Surely— No. You couldn't. But he's doing it, he's touching himself on the other end of the phone. Surely it wouldn't hurt for you to do the same? You're so desperate for relief, you're not sure how much more you take without combusting. You have to relieve yourself. With a shaky breath, you slip your hand into your panties, letting out an audible sigh when your finger comes into contact with your clit. You're not sure if he heard you, but judging by his lack of reaction, and the quiet moans leaving his lips, he's too preoccupied to notice. You rub gentle circles against yourself, biting your lip to keep yourself quiet. It's not quite the same as having Adrian between your legs, but it'll suffice for now, until you can get your hands on him again.

"Fuck." He breathes out, "Been thinking about how much I love being between your legs, too. How much I love it when you cum on my tongue and my face. God, you make the prettiest little noises I've ever heard."

You gasp quietly, his words along with your finger working away at your clit sending pangs of pleasure through your body. The thing about Adrian, is that he could make you cum with just his words just as easily as he can make you laugh. Everything he says is so calculated, it's exactly what you need to hear to get off. He might not know you're touching yourself right now, that you've had your hand down your panties for just over a minute and you're already teetering on the edge, but his words are still aimed right at you, to get you off as well as himself. "Fuck, I love it when you— Love feeling your mouth on me. You're so good to me."

He snorts, "Uh-uh, baby. You're so good to me. I'd stay down there all day if you'd let me. It's a fuckin' privilege to be able to shove my face between your legs. I wanna make you cum on my face again and again, just to hear your sweet little noises. Feel you tug on my hair and moan my name." He falls quiet for just a moment, and you notice that his breathing quickens, and in the background you can hear the frantic pace at which he's pumping his cock. You apply more pressure to your clit, swirling your finger faster, with more rhythm than before. "Then when I've made you cum on my mouth, I wanna stuff my cock inside your perfect cunt. Fill you up so good. God, it's like you were made to take my cock."

You don't need to feel him inside of you to know exactly what he's talking about. You've never been with anyone else who's made you feel quite as good as Adrian does when he sinks himself inside of you. He'll fuck you with his fingers first, to make sure that you're well prepped to take his cock, and then he'll push himself inside of you. It's so easy, he fits you so well, yet that burning, stretching sensation never lets up, and you don't want it to. You want to feel him when he enters you, every single part of him.

"You always fuck me so good." You whisper, closing your eyes and focusing in on the wet sounds and grunts coming from Adrian. The pressure in your stomach is building, a coil tightening slowly but surely. Though you're not sure if it'll be quite enough. You're used to coming on Adrian's cock or his face, having other stimulations besides a finger rubbing against your clit. So, you balance your phone between your ear and your shoulder, and you slip your other hand into your panties. You run your fingers up your slick entrance before pushing one in, pumping a few times before slipping another finger inside of your cunt. You can't help but let out a sigh, feeling comfortably full. It's nothing compared to Adrian's cock, but combined with the finger rubbing circles against your clit, it's working.

"Ffffuck yeah, I do. I fuckin' love being inside of you. Love the way you moan my name while I fuck you dumb. God, it's so funny. You can barely even think when I'm inside of you. Couldn't— Couldn't even form a coherent sentence if you tried. A-all you can think about is my cock and how good you're being ffffucked. You make the prettiest faces, too. I— Oh, god — can see in your eyes how fucking drunk you get on cock and being stuffed so full."

Your face is contorted into a permanent 'o' shape, eyebrows knitted together. Between his words, your fingers fucking yourself, and the finger pressed firmly against your clit, you're so, so close. So ready to free-fall right over the edge. That knot in your stomach is tightening, pangs of pleasure radiating through your body, right down to your toes. You're practically bucking your hips against your hands, so desperate for any and all friction. He's close, too. The stutter in his speech, the way you can hear the bed creaking under the force of his hand pumping away at his cock on the other end of the line, his frequent whimpers and low grunts.

"Holy fuck. I'm so— Fuck. God, I'd do anything to be with you right now. Wanna see your pretty face. Wish I was fucking that pretty cunt. I love coming in your mouth but fuck, coming in your cunt is so much better. Fffffuck. I love coming inside of you, fucking my cum into you. Showing you who the fuck you belong to, because you're mine and no one else gets to fucking claim you like that. You're mine forever." His speech is so strained now, quieter than before, almost a mumble, and you can tell how hard he's trying to keep it together. "Say it." He breathes out, and you know exactly what he wants to hear.

"M'yours." You manage to get out through shaky breaths and quiet whimpers, your body beginning to submit to your orgasm.

"Say it again." He begs, so desperately. Any second, and he's gone. You will be, too.

"I'm yours. Fuck— I belong to you, Adrian. I'm yours forever." You cry out.

He lets out the most animalistic growl you've ever heard, followed by a broken 'oh god' from the back of his throat, and you know he's gone, bucking his hips and coming into his own hand. His moans and growls are enough to push you over the edge, and you cum on your fingers with a loud moan. You throw your head back on to the pillow, your thighs shaking as you continue to fuck yourself through your orgasm. You buck your hips gently as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you until you're completely spent, lying there breathless in the afterglow.

It's quiet on both ends for a good minute, apart from the sound of heavy panting as the both of you attempt to catch your breath. Eventually, his airy laughter breaks through the quiet, and you can't help but giggle too.

"Fuck." You mumble under your breath, snorting out a laugh when you hear him mumble it right back to you.

"Hey, did you just— Were you—"

You know exactly what he's trying to ask, so you respond before he spends the next five minutes trying to find the right words to ask you whether you just made yourself cum, "Yeah." You breathe out.

He lets out a groan. "God, that's so hot. Is it bad that I have a semi already?"

You can't help but smile lazily, rolling your eyes. "I mean, considering you came like, two minutes ago, I'm gonna go with yes. But I can't say i'm surprised." There's been many times where you've made him cum quickly and easily, and not even five minutes later he's been ready to go again. You swear he's hacking life, giving himself unlimited ammo, or something.

"It's not my fault you're so fuckin' sexy." You can hear that shit-eating grin of his in his voice. He lets out a sigh of content, "Well shit, babe. This was so fun. Obviously it doesn't compare to the real thing because I love looking at your pretty face, but I think we should do this again sometime. You sound really fuckin' cute when you moan over the phone."

You chew on your bottom lip, "Yeah, we can do it again, if you want. But— I mean—"

"What's wrong? Did you not enjoy it? Because if you didn't like it then I fucking hated it and I think we should never do it again." There's concern laced in his tone, and you can't help but giggle at how sincere he is about everything when it comes to you.

"No! No, I liked it. It was fun. But... If you wanted to get off, you didn't have to call me. You could have just come over." You tell him.

A long pause. "What?"

"Well..." You start, furrowing your brows because you can't quite seem to get a read on him this time. "I wasn't busy tonight, and you seemed to have finished work pretty early. You could have just come over and fucked me instead of trying to sneakily get off to my voice."

It's completely silent for a few seconds, only the sound of your breathing and his filling the gaps in the quiet. You're waiting for a response, and you're not quite sure whether you're going to get one. You have no idea if he's annoyed. If you could see his face, he'd be a whole lot easier to read. You're just about to open your mouth, to ask him if he's okay, or if he's still there, but then you hear three quiet beeps coming from your phone, signalling the sudden end of a call.

He fucking hung up on you.

You pull the phone away from your ear, staring at your lock screen with furrowed brows, your heart sinking a little as you wonder what the hell just happened, and what you did to make him hang up.

But then, not even ten seconds later, a text from Adrian pops up in your notifications, and relief floods through your entire body.

'Be there in ten. Love you.🧜‍♂️❤️'

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Keith?!” Lance yells, leaning over the railing at a lone, masked Blade hundreds of feet below in a crowd. The rest of the Blades are scattered about, but one is standing nearer to the lifts leading up to the top of the cliff (the planet’s for a kinda Grand Canyon Meets Tourist City kinda vibe).

“There is no fucking way that’s him,” Pidge says incredulously. “There’s no fucking way you recognised him. He’s, like, half a mile down and masked. No way.”

“Unfortunately, I’d recognize that idiot in the apocalypse with a bullet in my brain,” Lance growls, sprinting down in the direction of the idiot in question.

Pidge exchanges a completely gobsmacked look with Hunk. The blink at each other, before looking down the the masked Blade (who’s not Keith, there’s just no fucking way), and seeing Lance approaching them rapidly.

He has made it down the cliff remarkably quickly. Inhumanly quickly, in fact. There’s no way he should have gotten there that fast, the lifts take five minutes and it’s been thirty seconds at most.

“Keith Yorak motherfucking Kogane!” Lance screeches, loud enough that Hunk and Pidge (and the rest of the planet, dear Lord) hear him clearly from where they’re standing — which, Pidge would like to reiterate, is half a fucking mile away.

The Blade startles, whipping forward to face Lance.

Pidge’s jaw drops.

No fucking way.

“How fucking dare you!” Lance continues, incensed. “You don’t call! You don’t text! You don’t even fucking e-mail! Just radio fucking silence, for weeks! I thought you were dead! How fucking dare you, you caddish boor! I should divorce you right here and now!”

“Did he just say divorce?” Hunk demands.

“He did,” Pidge breathes.

Lance continues to stomp towards the Blade, and the crowd parts for him like he’s fucking Moses.

The Blade has their hands up placatingly, almost desperately.

“I can’t hear him,” Hunk hisses. “Pidge, use your sound enhancer.”

Pidge scrambles to boot up the device, pointing it frantically at the duo.

Lance has finally caught up to the Blade (until they unmask Pidge refuses to admit it’s Keith. There is no fucking way Lance recognised him. No.), who seems torn between rushing forward and running away.

Personally, Pidge would have run away. A furious Lance is not someone she makes a point of being around. He’s lethal (and right now he’s armed, Jesus. If the Blade is Keith, he’s a dumbass).

“What do you have to say for youself?” Lance demands, stopping mere inches in front of the Blade, arms crossed and tense.

Finally, finally, the Blade removes his mask.

And damn it all to hell, it is Keith. Holy shit.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says softly.

Pidge and Hunk stare at each other with wide eyes. Sweetheart?!

“What happened to ‘cargo pilot’?” Pidge asks weakly.

“Sorry is not fucking good enough, Kogane! I want an explanation!”

“I lost my comm on my last mission, and signal’s blocked at HQ. That’s why you haven’t heard anything from Kolivan, either, and also why we’re here. We’re trying to fix it.”

To Pidge and everyone else’s horror, Lance’s furious expression crumples. Tears start to leak down his face. “So you’re okay? And you’re not leaving me?”

“Oh, Lance.”

Keith surges forward, tucking Lance into a tight hug as his shoulders shake. He glares at the gaping bystanders. “Mind your fucking business,” he snaps, and they all turn away quickly.

Pidge figures his warning doesn’t apply to her and Hunk.

“I’m okay, babe. I’m safe. And I’m not leaving you, okay? I made a vow. In sickness and health, remember?”

“Those bitches eloped!” Hunk exclaims, turning off the listening device and handing it back to Pidge. They’re silent for a few moments, continuing to nosily watch the (Jesus Christ) couple embrace each other tightly.

“…Should we wait a few minutes and then go down and make fun of them?” Pidge suggests.

Hunk grins at her. “You read my mind.”

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin goes home for a little while, determined to enjoy a well-earned vacation;

Camelot immediately falls apart, with the sole exceptions of Guinevere and Gaius.

Merlin knows Arthur really well.

Which just means he knows exactly how to get him to let his servant go home for two weeks to visit his mother and relax a little:

“You just don’t want me to go because you know you can’t cope without me! Look, if you want to come with me, that’s fine, but you’ll struggle just as much there as you would here because I refuse to act as your servant in my own home.”

Arthur turns red, looking outraged as he loses the ability to speak. Merlin turns around before The King can see his satisfied smirk, tidying around the prat’s chambers with exaggerated annoyance as he just waits for the inevitable-

“Fine! Go! See if I even notice that you’re gone! Honestly, Merlin, the running of the Kingdom will probably end up going smoother without you here to mess things up, you bumbling idiot.”

Merlin grins to himself before schooling his face back into annoyance and turning around with a huff, crossing his arms petulantly:

“Fine!”

The servant decides that he’d better leave, what with the way he was struggling to keep the victorious grin from his face, so without waiting for a response, he “storms” from the room, slamming the door behind him as dramatically as he’s able when he hears Arthur yell:

“FINE!”

~

Merlin sets off at the beginning of the next week. Gaius had raised a disapproving eyebrow when his ward had told him how he’d gotten Arthur to agree to such a long vacation, but didn’t say anything. They both knew that the elderly physician thought it was funny.

Gwen and Morgana make sure to see him out of the castle gates with big hugs, and whilst all of the knights were meant to be training, it came as no surprise to anyone when Gwaine slacks off for half a candle-mark to say goodbye as well. Mordred shoots him a quick goodbye across their mental link as the servant walks away from the city, after promising Merlin that he would warn him if anyone was in any serious danger (”Serious danger only, Mordred, I mean it. If I get called home because Arthur is throwing some sort of tantrum, then I’ll act out your destiny for you.”).

Merlin’s journey goes smoothly. The world was hovering in the junction between Spring and Summer, but with a little magical manipulation, the Warlock had no trouble staying warm and keeping his feet beneath him on the uneven path. Unsurprisingly, the young man is a lot less clumsy when he doesn’t have to focus on keeping his magic locked away so tightly.

Two days after his departure from Camelot, his mother is greeting him outside her little house with a long hug and a wide grin, stroking a hand through his hair as she welcomes him home.

Coincidentally, that’s also about the time things started going to shit for everyone else.

~

It was just after noon when Elyan had to be carried to Gaius’ chambers, his whole body juddering as he struggles to draw breath, the lack of oxygen from his throat closing up mixed with the panic making his brain go fuzzy.

Percival holds him up from one side and Leon holds him from the other, the two of them bursting through the physician’s door just as Elyan’s eyes roll back in his head. Gaius looks up suddenly, obviously startled by the abrupt intrusion, but he swiftly focuses, eyes wide and assessing as he quickly points them to a patient pallet:

“What happened?”

The two knights lay him down as carefully as they can before standing out of the way as Leon forces out an answer, trying to catch his breath between words:

“I don’t know, servants brought lunch out whilst we were training so we stopped to eat and he just started... wheezing. We thought he was choking at first but he said he couldn’t breathe. Has... has he been poisoned? We stopped everyone from eating.”

Gaius had gathered a handful of odd looking dried leaves the moment Leon mentioned the food, recognising the symptoms of an allergic reaction and putting two and two together immediately. He crushes them in his hands quickly, knowing he didn’t have time for a proper mortar and pestle as he shoves the crumbs into Elyan’s mouth, following through with a vile of something green and gross-smelling

He massages the odd concoction down Elyan’s throat as best he can around the swelling, and lets out a relieved smile when the knight’s eyes blow wide open and he chokes slightly before swallowing it all, grimacing at the taste but breathing deeply as his airways open again.

Leon and Percival let out similar breathes of relief when Elyan begins breathing again, chuckling breathlessly at his disgusted groan. The door bursts open again before anyone can say anything, and Arthur strides in, his flushed cheeks and rumpled clothes implying he had sprinted across the castle in his panic.

He spots Elyan on the pallet, his deep breaths interspersed with the odd cough, and his eyes widen even further as he looks to Gaius for an explanation:

“A servant told me something was wrong, what happened?!”

The King loses a little of the tension in his shoulders when Elyan waves a thumbs-up in his vague direction, but still looks frantically between the two knights and the physician as he waits for an answer. Percival wordlessly moves to Elyan’s side, running a hand up and down the man’s arm as Leon looks to Gaius expectantly:

“He had an allergic reaction, likely to nuts in the food. He should be fine, but he needs a day or two of rest, and to come back to me immediately if his throat swells again.”

Arthur sags in relief, nodding his approval of Elyan’s needed bedrest, but Leon’s eyes go wide as he lets out a knowing noise:

“Of course! I forgot about his allergy, it hasn’t been an issue since we were kids.”

Gaius nods knowingly and begins reorganising the jars he had knocked over when the knights had startled him:

“Hmm. I imagine he watched what he ate carefully when he was travelling, but Merlin keeps an eye on all of your food now.”

Leon frowns slightly as he tilts his head in confusion, but Arthur beats him to the punch, asking incredulously:

“What do you mean, Merlin keeps an eye on our food?”

Gaius raises an eyebrow, holding in his smirk as he slowly replies:

“Well, Merlin is usually the one to bring food out to you when you train, is he not? And on days he can’t he always speaks with the kitchen staff to double check what food is going where. Sir Elyan is not the only one with an allergy, My Lord. Merlin always makes sure any food the seven of you are given is safe. He has a tendency to check the Lady Morgana’s meals as well, whenever he’s able.”

Arthur is too taken aback to reply, his mouth hanging open, but that is when Percival looks up from his place at Elyan’s side, a confused frown on his face:

“Why?”

Gaius doesn’t manage to hold his smile in at that, looking between the three knights, and Elyan, who has just about managed to regain his breath:

“To avoid situations like this, I imagine, and to check for poison. It’s not uncommon for assassins to try and lace the royal’s food with something or other.”

Arthur finally shuts his mouth, only to open it again, speaking slowly:

“So... Merlin checks all of our food?”

Gaius nods:

“Religiously, Sire.”

Leon and Percival just shrug, adding it to their list of Weird Things About Merlin That They Should Be Grateful For, and Elyan smiles goofily from his place on the bed (whether it was the lack of oxygen or something funky in the vial, the knight didn’t know, but he was definitely still feeling a little... odd), but Arthur just frowns deeper, muttering a distracted “Take it easy.” to Elyan before walking stiffly from the room.

The King makes quick work of the journey back to the council meeting, desperately trying to persuade himself that this was nothing to do with him not being able to cope without Merlin. Elyan was the one not coping, clearly. Merlin was still wrong and stupid and Arthur hadn’t even noticed that he was gone until Gaius brought him up (a lie, he missed him terribly, but shhh).

Leon and Percival look to Gaius in confusion when Arthur had almost stormed from the room, and the Physician simply smiles again, the amusement shining clearly in his eyes:

“Merlin persuaded Arthur to let him take a holiday by heavily implying that he couldn’t cope with Merlin’s absence.”

Percival snorts with laughter and Leon raises an eyebrow as he grins:

“Arthur took that as a challenge then, I suppose? Two days in and we’ve already got The King sprinting from meetings because a knight has collapsed from an allergic reaction... because Merlin wasn’t here...”

Gaius just nods, and Percival mutters an amused:

“This will be entertaining.”

~

Arthur steadfastly refuses to acknowledge that the next mini disaster, a few days later, was also down to Merlin’s absence.

Ok, so maybe it was because Merlin wasn’t here, but ultimately, it was Gwaine that messed up, not Arthur. So it didn’t count.

The knight came back from a night patrol that he’d taken with The King with an infected gash on his arm. Arthur grins teasingly as he describes to Gaius how the knight had tripped on a loose cobblestone and scratched his arm on the sharp edge of a stray cart at the beginning of the patrol, and Gaius hums disapprovingly as he unwraps the scrap of fabric Gwaine had used as a bandage:

“Did you not have any medical supplies in your pack? Or did you think it best to let it get infected so I had to wake an hour before dawn to deal with it?”

Gwaine swings his dangling legs back and forth from where he sits on Gaius’ table, pouting sheepishly as he admits:

“I looked, but there wasn’t anything helpful in there, usually the armoury-hands have them stocked up for the patrols, I guess they missed mine.”

Arthur rolls his eyes at Gwaine’s seeming ineptitude, but his scolding is interrupted before it even begins when Gaius shakes his head in disagreement:

“Hmm. The servants that work in the armoury only tend to check the packs every few weeks, and even then they only check if they need any repairs. Merlin is the one with easier access to patrol rotas, so he’s the one who stocks them up on a day to day basis.”

Gwaine just nods in understanding, as if he should’ve expected that, but Arthur’s smile drops as he unfolds his arms, getting over his annoyed speechlessness in a matter of seconds:

“You’re telling me that Merlin, my personal manservant, is responsible for all the knights’ patrol packs?”

Gaius finishes cleaning Gwaine’s wound, muttering a quiet apology when the knight hisses at the first poke of the needle, speaking slowly as he focuses on making sure the stitches were neat and uniform:

“No, Sire. Technically the knights are meant to take care of their own packs, but Merlin is a paranoid man, he likes to double check things to make sure everyone has what they need. I suppose some people got used to having it done for them.”

Gwaine winces abashedly, making a mental note to remind the others to check their packs before their next patrols, but Arthur rolls his eyes, crossing his arms again and immediately accepting that this little incident was therefore Gwaine’s fault, and not down to Merlin's absence.

The voice in his head sounded a little doubtful, but he ignores it, choosing instead to chide his rebellious:

“Do try to pay attention to your own responsibilities, Sir Gwaine, I’d hate to see something terrible happen to you because you’re unable to complete your own simple tasks.”

Gwaine just sticks his tongue out petulantly, looking away from The King before he can see the blonde’s rolled eyes. Arthur huffs at his childishness, turning around to cover his grin and speaking over his shoulder as he walks from the room:

“You will be on time for once, Gwaine, training starts in a few hours and I want to see you bright and early.”

Gwaine just smirks, waiting for the door to shut behind Arthur before moving his sly, curious eyes to the physician in front of him:

“He’s missing Merlin, then?”

Gaius just gives him a knowing glance before looking back down at the now stitched gash, gathering bandages:

“I’d imagine so, though he’d never admit it. Merlin implied that Arthur wouldn’t cope with his absence,-”

Gwaine interrupts him with a laugh:

“Hence his insistence that it was entirely my fault?”

Gaius nods wordlessly, and Gwaine snorts, shaking his head in amused disbelief.

Meanwhile, Arthur stalks back towards his chambers, eager to get out of his armour and get into bed; Gwaine had training in a few hours, but so did he, and he needed at least a little sleep. He purses his lips in annoyance as his gaze falls upon the clinical cleanliness of his room... George had been in then. 

Look... Arthur being used to a slightly messy room did NOT mean he depended on Merlin. And Gwaine not being used to having to actually organise himself ALSO didn’t mean that Merlin was... ok. Maybe Gwaine relies on Merlin a little.

So that’s Sir Elyan and Sir Gwaine, two of The King’s most trusted knights, who can’t cope without Merlin. But Arthur is doing just fine. It’s been half a week and he is just. Fine.

Just fine.

~

It was the next day that things began going wrong a little more... drastically.

George wakes Arthur up for training on time because of course he does. Arthur had found himself losing out on a lot of sleep without Merlin insisting he go to bed at a reasonable time, and waking him up late; Merlin had gotten into the habit of snatching Arthur’s paperwork away and holding it out of reach until The King agreed to go to sleep, and somehow manages to fit Arthur’s entire morning routine into half a candle-mark. George would never snatch away Arthur’s paperwork, and he takes so much longer in the mornings meaning Arthur has to wake up earlier.

Not that Arthur would ever admit to enjoying his and Merlin’s unorthodox routines. 

Eight more days to go, and he’s fine.

At least... that’s what he thought until a nameless guard approaches the training field, waving him over from his spar with Mordred. Arthur strides over quickly, annoyed at the interruption and nodding at the guard to speak as he drinks from his water-skin:

“My Lord, Lord Halbert and Lady Ethel have arrived. I believe they’re waiting for your presence in the courtyard.”

Arthur chokes, managing to turn his head to the side just in time before he spits a mouthful of water over the guards face. He quickly wipes his mouth and turns back to the pour armoured man with wide eyes:

“That’s today?!

The guard nods hesitatingly:

“Yes, Sire, would you like me-”

He’s interrupted when Arthur shouts a hurried:

“Fuck!” as he drops his water-skin and begins sprinting up the field towards the castle, desperately trying to calculate if he had enough time to wash and change before they got antsy with waiting. Probably not.

Seeing Arthur’s panic and hearing his loud curse, Leon hurriedly approaches the guard, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder as he speaks with a frown:

“Gavin? Is everything alright?”

The guard, Gavin, looks to Leon with a confused frown:

“It would appear that His Majesty... misremembered the date of Lord Halbert and Lady Ethel’s arrival.”

Leon’s eyes go wide and he glances quickly to the castle as he rushes out an exclamation identical to Arthur’s:

“That’s today?!”

Gavin just nods again, and Leon drops the hand from his shoulder, letting out a loud:

“Shit!” as he recreates Arthur’s sprint up to the castle, knowing that he was expected to be at The King’s side when welcoming guests. He doesn’t pause, even when he shouts:

“Lancelot’s in charge!” over his shoulder.

The knights all look to each other in amusement, but Lancelot quickly takes charge, running drills as if he had been doing it his entire life and trusting that, whatever it was, Arthur could get things sorted. And if Arthur couldn’t get things sorted, then Leon would get things sorted. And if Leon couldn’t get things sorted, then Merlin would... oh.

He glances worriedly to the castle just as Leon falls through the door, not bothering to shut it behind him in his panic. Oh.

Arthur lets out the deepest breath of relief he thinks he’s ever experienced when he sees George ahead of him in the corridor; he gestures him over hastily, making the servant jog to keep up with him as he continues his fast pace down the hall:

“I don’t care how many other servants you have to pull from their duties, but I need the castle prepped for Halbert and Ethel’s arrival right now.-”

Arthur barely pays attention to George’s faltering step of shock, just stops suddenly in front of the door that leads down to the courtyard, turning to the servant and putting both hands on his shoulder as he stares at him intensely, face flushed and breathing harsh:

“I need you to do this for me, George. Prepare guest chambers, send someone down to show them to the right rooms, and make sure the Kitchens know they’re feeding two extra nobles for three days, starting today. If you can organise all of that in the next two minutes, I’ll give you a raise and a Godamn hug, you hear me?!”

George gulps, his shoulders tense, his face pale, and his breath frozen in his lungs as he meets Arthur’s frantic gaze with wide eyes. He gives a shaky nod, instantly turning and sprinting down the corridor without a word when Arthur lets go. 

Leon skids around the corner, moving to stand next to Arthur with his hands on his knees as he attempts to catch his breath, speaking in a slight wheeze:

“I... I left Lance... in charge.”

Arthur nods in approval, pulling Leon to stand before holding his hands out to the side, presenting himself for inspection. Leon takes one last deep breath, smoothing the training tunic over Arthur’s shoulders, attempting to rub the dirt from his nose, and brushing a quick hand through his hair before stepping back and holding his own arms out. Arthur pulls a leaf from behind his ear, but is otherwise satisfied, and the two of them turn to the door, schooling their faces and stepping down into the courtyard.

Arthur has a calm, welcoming smile on his face, and Leon stands stiffly behind him, hand on the sword that he luckily had on his hip as he stares blankly ahead.

The nobles seem taken aback at The King's state of undress, but don’t say anything, covering their shock quickly. Arthur’s hoping that his friendly attitude will just give the impression that he’s...approachable and slightly laid back, as opposed to just an idiot who forgot they were coming because no one had reminded him.

Gods. Merlin can never know about this.

~

Thankfully, the next three days went smoothly, or at least as smoothly as possible after Arthur spent an hour rifling through his old mail to try and figure out the original reason for Lord Halbert and Lady Ethel’s visit (watching their eldest’s knighting ceremony, and discussing with Arthur the potential for their youngest to move to the city to become a squire).

He waves them off in a much more regal manner than he had welcomed them, and keeps his promise to George, upping his pay slightly; though he exchanges the hug for an awkward pat on the shoulder, which he thinks both of them were grateful for.

~

He’d successfully made it through nine days. Semi-successfully. He’d just about made it through nine days.

Five more to go. But Arthur was feeling fine about those five days. He’d double checked all his mail, and made sure to find out when his patrols were scheduled.

Which is... unknown to Arthur, where the next problem stems from. 

Arthur wasn’t the one to rota the patrols, he really didn’t have the time to sit down with a list of names and hours and times and maps and organise everything fairly, it was difficult and time-consuming, but he made sure that Leon knew exactly how many hours he could give up for patrol each week.

Apparently, the communication between Leon and the council was normally handled by Merlin, who wasn’t there. So whilst Arthur was enjoying a solo patrol along the city borders at noon, waving at citizens and making his horse do tricks for giggling children, the council were sitting around the table, waiting rather irately for his arrival.

Now normally, this could’ve been easily dealt with, but when the same guard from three days ago gallops over to inform him of the problem and take over his patrol, Arthur was reminded rather suddenly that Merlin was always the one that came up with sensible sounding excuses.

(He also makes a mental note to avoid that guard forever out of embarrassment.)

This was one of the very rare occasions when Arthur simply glares the council into submission. Normally he likes to work with them; he hates to feel like they're just doing what he wants because they were kissing his arse, but he has no excuse other than “I forgot.” and he felt like that was worse than just.. acting like a bit of a dick for five minutes.

So... yeah. Merlin wasn’t there to reorganise the council meeting around Arthur’s patrol, and then also wasn’t there to come up with an excuse for why it wasn’t reorganised.

Arthur makes it ten days before he admits to himself that perhaps he relies on his manservant just a little too much.

~

Four days later, Arthur had missed another council meeting (despite his best efforts), Lancelot and Mordred had accidentally insulted some visiting Lord (and had therefore been told not to leave their rooms until he had vacated the city), and Gwen was no longer speaking to him, on account of The King being a dick without realising because Merlin wasn’t there to rein in his ego and... well... dickishness. That, and his crown had somehow gone missing between yesterday morning and now.

(If that last one had happened even a week prior, Arthur would’ve been adamant that it had been stolen or something else equally not-his-fault, but with how quickly he’d been made aware of his apparent bad memory and social clumsiness, he had every faith that he’d just misplaced it, and Merlin would know exactly where to look.)

Arthur was sitting on the courtyard steps, tunic unlaced at the top and hair a mess when his servant finally, finally walks through the castle gates. The King perks up slightly, but refuses to give Merlin the satisfaction of being run to, so forces himself to remain in place. He was especially glad that he’d made that decision when he saw Guinevere spring over to greet him. He has a feeling she won’t be all that... welcoming, at least not yet.

Merlin wraps her in a tight hug and Arthur forces down the swell of jealousy in his lungs, especially when he laughs brightly and pulls back to clasp her shoulders. Arthur sees Gwen’s face fall at a question Merlin had asked and he gulps, biting his lip when Merlin frowns and raises an incredulous eyebrow at her response. She points in Arthur’s direction, and The King’s eyes go wide as he rapidly stands, failing miserably at looking as though he weren’t staring in their direction. Guinevere rolls her eyes before giving Merlin one last hug and walking very deliberately in the opposite direction to Arthur.

Merlin marches towards him, slight annoyance mixing with a secret eagerness to check on Arthur speeding up his normal pace significantly. Before the servant can say anything, Arthur grabs his wrist, pulling him up the steps and through the castle without a word, tugging harshly every time Merlin opens his mouth to demand an explanation for himself or an apology for Gwen.

When they finally reach his chambers, Arthur quickly locks the door behind him, whirling on an angry Merlin with flushed cheeks and a desperate look in his eyes:

“I swear Merlin, I will never doubt you again, but Elyan almost died, Gwaine got an infection, Leon and I forgot about Ethel and Halbert, Lancelot and Mordred are essentially under house arrest, I missed two council meetings, lost my crown, and now Gwen’s not talking to me. You’re never allowed to leave me again.”

Merlin freezes in place, staring at Arthur with wide eyes and an open mouth for a few moments before he bursts into laugher. Arthur huffs, crossing his arms as his blush deepens, but waits patiently instead of demanding that Merlin stop. Honestly? He may have been laughing at Arthur, but it was still the most beautiful sound The King had heard in two weeks, and he’d definitely missed it. Which is... something to think about at a later date.

Merlin finally relents, his dimples showing prominently as he holds in another round of giggles at Arthur’s red face. The servant drops his pack to the floor, stepping forward and not giving Arthur time to move away before he pulls him into a tight hug, sighing contentedly at the warm contact:

“I missed you too, you prat. You’ll just have to come with me next time and we can leave Gwen and Gaius in charge.”

Arthur huffs out a gentle laugh, finally wrapping his arms around Merlin’s middle tightly and burying his face in the slightly taller man’s hair:

“I did. Miss you, I mean. And I also mean it when I say you’re never going anywhere without me again, this has been a nightmare.”

Merlin snorts, tightening his grip on Arthur as if he were trying to squeeze all of the stress out of him:

“Co-dependency isn’t the healthiest thing in the world, you know.”

Arthur just huffs, refusing to let go as he petulantly responds:

“I don’t care. I’m The King, I can do what I want.”

Arthur can almost feel Merlin rolling his eyes, but the servant just laughs again and seems to nod in agreement:

“Hmm. That excuse is going to come back to haunt you one day. Heard you gave George a raise?”

The blonde tenses in embarrassment, now refusing to pull away so Merlin wouldn’t see his pink cheeks:

“Uh... yeah. He cleans too much and is shit at coming up with plausible excuses, but he did save my arse a few times.”

Arthur can feel Merlin’s laugh vibrate through his ribcage, and though the man was usually rather touch averse, he found he never wanted the feeling to stop. He found himself hoping that Merlin felt the same when The King chuckles at his response:

“Oh yeah? Does that mean I get a raise for being good at excuses and bad at cleaning?”

~

THE END!!! 

Literally wrote this in one day so... sorry if it’s bad😅

Had no clue how I was going to end it until I got there, my thought process essentially just went “Hugs? Yeah. Hugs hugs hugs hugs hugs.” :D

Same as always lads, you wanna write it out in full or remix it or whatever, go for it, just drop me a message and credit/tag me :)

[world-smitten]

Extraordinary Attorney Woo 9

Okay, so this episode is slyly brilliant and I want to talk about it.

Episodes 7-8 were about Young-woo dealing with her parents and her connections, and Min-woo being an obnoxious pillock. In episode 9, we suddenly pivot to a story about a somewhat quaint man who kidnaps a bus of children to play games in the woods. He calls them the “Children’s Liberation Army”. He legally changed his name to a poop joke because it made kids laugh. The kids he kidnaps are a bunch of academy students who only know school and sleep. We all know this message - Korea’s academic system is broken and the casualties are the children, whose parents cannot see the hurt they inflict because they are unshakingly convinced that it is for their good (very very relatable). I root for Bang Gu-ppong because I also believe in children’s liberation, and I want him to behave so Young-woo can get him a lighter sentence, even if that means declaring him mentally unwell.

Young-woo, like me, believes in children’s liberation. Unlike me, she goes above and beyond to understand Bang Gu-ppong as an individual whose ideology has merit that should be recognised in the court - even if it means that he can’t get a lighter sentence. Her actions might not “win” the case, but she upholds her integrity towards her client and her own beliefs (a far cry from episode 5, where she ignored her gut feeling and sense of justice to win a case for a lying client). Where I am in the episode (I was so excited by its writing that I hopped on here to post meta while my brain was still firing), Min-woo has just asked Attorney Jung to please, pretty please, penalise Young-woo for her behaviour in court. Watching the scene play out, I was thinking, ‘does this man think he’s in school? you don’t just “penalise” people like that in a professional workplace, wtf...oh. OH’.

And then Attorney Jung says, “Giving rewards and punishments over who’s right and who’s wrong is not how I work”. And the whole thing just clicked.

I remember reading somewhere that children, like women, are oppressed by the patriarchy, and by the systems created and upheld by the patriarchy. The education system is one such system and is therefore punishes any behaviour that might destabilise it. “Play” - to have reckless, aimless fun for the sake of fun - is violently opposed to the patriarchy, which is “work” (boys especially are raised to place their worth in their ability to work, which is part of how the patriarchy perpetuates itself. Bang Gu-ppong is unemployed - he’s got little worth as a man, and little worth to the system).

This is the same patriarchy that Min-woo represents in this story, and that he’s been desperately trying to uphold since Young-woo, a disabled woman, barged in to completely disrupt order. When Attorney Jung asks Min-woo why he simply can’t talk things out with her, it’s because Min-woo, like a lot of people in the story including Young-woo’s father, sees her as a child. He doesn’t see her as his equal. And when she proves herself repeatedly in ways that upset his own perceptions of the world, he mentally defaults to “school”, to “penalties and rewards”, because this is the only environment he can imagine Young-woo in and this is the only environment that would certainly punish her for her disability (and we know that’s true, since she was bullied all through school). What he doesn’t realise is how much of a fool he looks by doing all that, since Young-woo sees herself as an adult (which she is, duh) and doesn’t stoop to his level of clownery. Maturity is something much deeper than parroting the “right” language and presenting yourself in the “right” way. Bang Gu-ppong seems immature, but he refuses to lie about who he is and what he’s done, and why he did it. That, for me, is “adult”.

That’s not to say that I agree with him kidnapping a bus of kids lol. He says they consented to being spirited away, to which I say, ‘meh’. When it comes to kids and consent, that is always a hairy discussion because kids genuinely don’t have the perspective to know what is good for them. But, work and study is always assumed to be good for kids without question, whilst it’s play that has to be constantly treated with suspicion, always moderated, always surveilled. And discussions around kids and consent lacks a ton of nuance - it’s almost always an either/or scenario. Either kids don’t know anything, so let’s micromanage the life out of them - or, kids can definitely consent, all the time, so their “yes” is always “yes” even when it’s said in ignorance. There has to be a better way to give kids some agency in their lives. I think the saddest thing in this episode is the implicit child abuse - if Mujin Academy is famously harsh on its students, then imagine what kind of treatment the director must have inflicted on her own kids (and having Gu-ppong’s mother be the director ties the whole thing together perfectly). But even the director herself, like all women, is only trying to navigate the patriarchy - a single mother, in a system that loathes single mothers, who goes above and beyond to mould her sons into the perfect future patriarchs. They excel in education and gain the high societal marker by making it to the best universities in the country. And she capitalises on this “success”, showing other mothers how they too can make their own potential patriarchs. In doing this, she proves her worth to the system.

After Gu-ppong tells the attorney of the playground games he had with the kids in the woods, Min-woo (who can never do anything right lol) says, “I guess you didn’t do anything incredibly original.”  To which Gu-ppong responds, “The thought that playing has to be original is what creates gimmicky children’s camp field trips without the field part. Taking the children from here to there, making them do this and that, so that they can experience something novel and educational. That’s not playing. Even if all they’re doing is looking up at the sky and snickering at the clouds floating by, as long as the child is smiling and is happy in that moment, that’s what playing really is.” When he said that, the scales fell out of my eyes. It was like, of course, of course. All those school trips and summer camps I did as a kid that were heavily monitored, expensive, stressful -  even the kind of play that we think is acceptable for kids, is still work. That makes sense. This was the moment I realised that this show is being written by someone who truly cares about children. And it’s so radical! It dropped something so novel (to me, at least) on the sly, and with such humility too. 

Man, I love this show.

[popitdontdropitwrites]

"Stockholm" Medic/Sniper - Chapter 5

Chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4,

CW: Medical torture, brain surgery, blood, gore

The unfittingly cheery jingle of keys announced the Medic’s return. The lock clicked open, and Mundy merely stood there, like a deer in headlights. Ludwig stepped inside with the faintest hint of an amused smile on his lips. He casually shrugged off his coat and hung it on a nearby chair, as if to shed his formal skin. But he quickly regrew it by straightening his tie and meeting his gaze, silently greeting him. His eyes, utterly devoid of compassion and emotion examined every inch of him thoroughly, assessing his competence with something as simple as a shower.

“I thought that you might look less like a rodent after a decent scrubbing,” Ludwig commented, circling around him, his index tapping against his lip as he thought it over. “I suppose not.” He said with humour in his voice, as if he liked the fact.

“You don’t sound too pissed off about that.” Mundy remarked, crossing his arms to hide the sudden bout of self-consciousness blossoming within him.

“I merely think it is fitting.” He said, his fingers toying with his overgrown hair in a frighteningly affectionate manner – why was he in such a good mood?  “You are my little lab rat after all.”

A deeply repulsed shudder panicked and thrashing like unearthed worms snaked down his spine. He quickly changed the subject – the scent of ash on Ludwig’s skin, thick and clogging, like that of the scorched heart of the bush. “…How come ya smell like smoke?” He asked, giving a sniff to emphasise his point.

He leant against the back of the chair in a conversational manner, looking at him with indifference. “My acquaintance is guilty of the occasional cigarette.”

His immediate thought leapt to the Spy. The bloke was never seen without some sort of expensive stick in his mouth. “You’re workin’ with the Spy of all fuckin’ people?”

“I never said that.” Ludwig said calmly, surprisingly relaxed despite his accusation.

“Right then, whatever ya say. So, what’s this supposed partner of yours want with this?”

“He has his reasons.”

He insisted, hoping to squeeze a little more information out of him. “…And you just let this partner of yours smoke around you?” His brows lowered, judging this supposed doctor. This wasn’t adding up. He couldn’t imagine Ludwig ever allowing it, considering what a tightarse he was.

“I pitied him.” He confessed, averting his eyes, deep in thought for a moment. “He was terribly nervous, and even that may be putting it lightly. I allowed him to relax.”

The Spy was well and truly off the list now, for the word nervous and the very concept of the man failed to connect. In fact, they went in opposite directions, never to meet. But if not him, who else? “That doesn’t sound like you at all.” He scoffed.

His ears reddened, giving away his irritation through his deceptively calm demeanour. “It was necessary. If you had been there, you would have recognised that.”

“Nah, I think you’ve got a soft spot for this bloke.”

His gaze sharpened with offense and the redness spread to his cheeks, unwittingly displaying his anger. “I have had enough of your incessant questioning.” He snapped, abruptly severing the arteries of this line of conversation.

Though Mundy still had so many questions, he gave a nod, allowing this topic to slowly bleed out and die. As it drowned in its own blood, gargling and blubbering, they held eyes in a moment so bizarrely intimate that he lost himself in the icy blue abyss of his irises. The colour, hypnotic like the azure shallows of the sea, seemed to coil around his mind, its embrace viscous and thick, clouding his every thought with conflicting feelings.

Thankfully, Ludwig interrupted it, freeing him. “Come here for a moment.” He beckoned him with his index, the look in his eyes softening and his voice suddenly calm.

The sinking feeling within him insisted that he refuse, but his traitorous body seemed to move on its own. He stepped towards Ludwig until he was in arms reach of him. “…Yeah?”

The Medic rummaged through his pockets, drawing a marker out from the depths, and popping the cap off, releasing the pungent, burning smell of alcohol. A large, gangly hand swept the hair from his forehead, making him flinch with surprise. Ludwig leant in, the red tip of the marker appearing enormous in Mundy’s blurred view. Its velvety, wet surface pressed against his temple, flicking almost perfectly even dotted lines across his skin, all the way to the other side. Ludwig cupped his chin, tilting his head side to side to test the straightness of his linework.

He put the cap back on, satisfied enough with it. “Not to worry, it won’t stain. It is only a surgical marker.” He said, smiling as if that would ease his concerns.

Surgical. That word, tasting of copper and soap, weighted heavily on his chest, its touch as cold as it was horrifying. “Why—” His lungs had been locked in a cage and he could hardly force the words out. “What the hell do I need surgery for?”

Ludwig delighted in his panic and hesitated to respond, just to watch him writhe. “The first procedure appears to have failed.” He crooned, not sounding at all devastated by the fact. “At least, your behaviour strongly suggests that.”

“N-Nah, mate, it worked!” He exclaimed; his voice far too loud in his need to avoid this supposed procedure. “Look at me, why would I be here if it had failed? There’s somethin’ in my head, I know there is, ‘cause I have thoughts that aren’t bloody mine. It’s doin’ what it’s meant to, I promise ya.”

No matter how much he talked, the German’s expression did not change. His head remained on that slight but perceptible angle of superiority, his smile lined with sadism and his posture attentive yet mocking. “I’m so sorry to disappoint you, but I believe you are experiencing the very minute effects of a defective device.” He said, really grinning now. “These thoughts of yours are a mere taste of what it should be inducing.” He laughed lowly, thrilled at the prospect of an invasive procedure. “It must be fixed, don’t you think?”

He wanted to agree to avoid getting a smack to the gob, but the idea of brain surgery tightened around his neck like a noose, strangling his words. He shook his head quickly, unable to think clearly through the racing flood of terrified thought. Reason drowned beneath the current, only able to rise long enough to tell him that he had just made a terrible mistake.

“No?” Ludwig replied with faux surprise, his lashes fluttering. “You don’t think so?”

Before he could even say a word to correct his mistake, Ludwig had put a finger to his lips, forcing him to bask in the gloomy shadow of his error. The silence only drew his attention to the hand creeping to his mouth and the fingers sliding between his lips, pulling the flesh into a crude, unnatural smile. The German’s skin wore the acidic flavours of artificial scents, the powder of his gloves and the coppery tang of bodily fluids, all of which were enough to make Mundy’s eyes water.

He snickered, the sound somehow even more unsettling than the slosh of saliva from his violated mouth. “Oh, Mundy...” He said condescendingly, his nails scraping against his gums. “You never learn, do you?” He said lowly, teasing him in a near playful manner.

He nodded, a forced hum of agreement escaping him.  

Ludwig leant in close, his fingers rubbing against his teeth, as if to polish the yellowness out from them. He whispered in his ears, a manic quality blooming in his voice, enriching every syllable. “It doesn’t matter how obedient you act now, Mundy.” He uttered sweetly. “Even if you were to cry, scream and beg for me not to cut you open, it wouldn’t change a single thing.” He purred, the excitement in his tone intensifying. “Go on, smile and nod for me.”

He did just that, with compulsory enthusiasm.

“There’s a good boy.” Ludwig mocked. “Now, what I want you to do is to undress and get comfortable on my operating table. Can you do that for me?”

Mundy was released from his grasp, and he was left stunned for a moment. Those words failed to sound real, like something out of the depths of a nightmare. “I’ll do it.” He mumbled, scrambling away from Ludwig to escape the intensity of his voice in his ears and the forcefulness of his touches.

He lifted his shirt and dumped it on a nearby chair alongside his pants and shoes, leaving him bare. Mundy held himself, attempting to cover his body though it was an impossibility. He did not dare look at Ludwig, he didn’t want to see that smile of his, simply because he wouldn’t be able to forget it. His skin turned cold with embarrassment. Like this, there was nothing to give him dignity, not that dirty clothes did much for him in the first place, but they had been something. He perched himself on the cold, firm operating table, completely exposed to his captor. A new, deeper level of shame revealed itself to him; the overwhelming humiliation that came with submission. He had made himself nothing more than Ludwig’s dog.

Not even that. This was lower, even, deep underground where all was wet, dark and miserable.

He was a mouse to the Medic. A rodent with mattered fur, destined to be cut open again and again, simply for his own amusement. He was in his own special cage, where his owner could watch him do the most mundane of tasks and marvel at just how fearful he was. He could point and giggle dotingly as he ate plain foods, towel him off after his forced baths and tuck him in at night so that he could play with him all over again. It would never end, not until he was dead. But somehow, he doubted that death would ever come. Ludwig would not allow that small mercy.

The snapping of gloves made him flinch. His eyes darted to Ludwig instead of the floor, and he was greeted with what he feared the most: a smile. The metallic, sharpened fangs of the saw-like device didn’t terrify him like the bleached, filed teeth of the doctor did. Even the scraping whirr of the saw as it came to life was nothing compared to the bellowing roar of Ludwig’s laughter.

The gentle touch of a gloved hand on his chest commanded him to lean against the rising backrest, to give the false appearance of comfort. With a showy flick, the Medigun was turned on but only a thin, sickly beam emerged – the bare minimum to keep him alive.

But it would do nothing to numb the pain.

“You were mostly unconscious the last time I performed this surgery.” Ludwig commented, his eyes gazing deep into the spinning blade in his hand, as if to admire it. “But admittedly, I much prefer this.” He snickered, the sound swallowed by the squeal of his tool.

Mundy had no words. Fear had frozen him solid, and he could only stare, his eyes glazed and his lips quivering.

Ludwig thumbed his lip, leaning in and bringing the blade closer, the sound agonisingly loud. He could feel the warmth radiating from the metal, just inches from slicing his skin. It joined with the doctor’s breaths, as if he would bite Mundy too. “Wunderbar,” He seemed to revel in his terror, his eyes alight with utter fascination. “You will be screaming for me, I can tell.”

And that was the last warning he got.

The rapidly spinning fangs of the saw tore into Mundy’s skull, cracking it open by force, splattering blood, and thick juices into the air. All that was white became red in an instant and the world became simple colours, for the rest was beyond his comprehension. Garish red on white, shiny pinkness on pale skin, the heavenlike glow of the ceiling, the clearness of his spittle as he screamed and the dewiness of his tears. He didn’t want to cry, but no matter how much he fought to hold it in, the pain was too much, like the cataclysmic colliding of stars. He tasted salt on his tongue as he shrieked, fighting the urge to throw up.

Pain itself, with fingers made of brambles coiled around him tightly, slicing his body and mind alike open, bringing him into a realm of pure, insufferable overstimulation. It held him still as he squirmed, manically cackling at his newfound suffering. Between the lights and the red-hot bolts of burning sensation, he was only vaguely aware of the fingers prodding in his opened skull, decimating delicate tissue as the Medic roughly searched for his prize.

It was quickly found, buried within the infinitely complex structures of his brain. With a single incision that shattered his mind itself, the device came loose, and bloodied fingers plucked it free.

Ludwig showed Mundy the small chip, which had been stained a permanent shade of red. “See? That was not so bad.” He remarked to the unresponsive Sniper. “We are almost done.” He wiped the bodily fluids from his defective machine with a rag and set it aside.

He tried to speak, to do anything at all, but he could only form an incoherent string of malformed sounds.

“Oh dear…” The Medic said with a poorly hidden smile. “Let me clean that up for you…” He leant down, blocking the light from Mundy’s vision, his features terrifying in this new reality he had carved into his brain, one of inactivity, of thoughtlessness. Ludwig swept up the drool spilling from the side of his mouth with his gloved fingers, leaving blood in its place. “There, much better.”

He physically could not react to his touch. That connection had been severed. He was empty.

“You did well today.” His voice sounded like something out of a dream – silky and tender, unable to be forgotten even when he inevitably woke up. “But there’s just one last thing I need from you… I will be gentle, I promise.”

He retrieved a small torch and in a moment’s notice, blinding whiteness consumed the Sniper’s vision. Blinking did nothing to shield himself from its destructive glare. His eyes became wet, threatening to overflow yet again and he willed himself to stop, he wouldn’t cry for this psychopath’s sick tastes, he wouldn’t give him what he wanted, he wouldn’t allow him to humiliate him like this but deep inside, he knew that what he wanted didn’t matter. Not one bit.

Tears rolled down his cheeks, warming his skin and leaving a glistening trail behind in their wake. Flashes of light followed, memorialising this moment forever.

Next Chapter

[marauders-venting]

Pardon My French

pairing: wolfstar (sirius x remus)

genre: fluff

warnings: none

words: 3556

note: thank you to @ probably_wizardingworld_artist on instagram for helping me translate things into french. also i got some of the lines that sirius says from this website https://www.fluentu.com/blog/french/french-pick-up-lines/

a/n: if you dont speak french (like me) dont look up a translation! everything will be clear by the end of the fic and its more fun if you find out along with remus. i mean, i cant really stop you if you want to translate the sentences but thats just my advice :)

Remus was sitting in the library, a French to English dictionary open on his lap, sighing in frustration as he flipped through the pages. For the past couple of weeks, Sirius had taken to murmuring things in French under his breath and it drove Remus crazy that he didn’t know what they meant. He had asked Sirius on several occasions but Sirius always refused to tell him. But the fact that he didn’t understand the words wasn’t the only reason it drove him crazy when Sirius spoke French. It’s not Remus’ fault that Sirius sounds really hot when his lips curve around the words in “the language of love”.

Remus tries not to think about it but it’s becoming increasingly more difficult because every time they’re alone together Sirius seems to find something to say in French (if only to piss Remus off).

The last time Sirius had said something in French to him had been last weekend. It was the first sunny weekend since the winter and Marlene had suggested that they all go down to the lake for a swim.

Remus’ brain could barely form a single coherent thought from the moment Sirius took off his shirt; he was too busy trying not to stare. He remembered jumping into the lake and trying to get warm by swimming to the far side, away from all his friends. Sirius had followed him to make sure he was okay.

“I’m fine,” he had said, smiling slightly at Sirius. “Just cold.”

“Oh okay,” Sirius said, looking relieved. He had glanced back at their friends before whispering, “On devrait t’arrêter pour excès de beauté sur la voie publique” and submerging his head in the water and swimming back to James, Peter, Lily, Marlene, Dorcas, Mary and Alice. Remus had felt a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

Then there was the time that Sirius had skipped Quidditch practice to visit Remus in the hospital wing after a particularly bad full moon. James, being the captain, had been able to delay the practice so that he and Peter could come to visit as well but they had to practice for the game the following day. James had to be at the practice because he was the captain and Peter had to be there because they didn’t have another Keeper to fill in. But James had given Sirius permission to stay with Remus (which showed just how terrible he felt that he couldn’t stay as well). They watched a bit of the practice from the hospital wing but Remus was getting frustrated, having to stay in a hospital bed for so long. So, after clearing it with Madam Pomfrey, Sirius helped Remus climb all the way to the Astronomy Tower. They sat up there watching the sunset when Sirius said, “Il y a tellement de soleil dans tes yeux que je bronze quand tu me regardes.”

“Ugh, do you make it your life goal to patronize me?” Remus had said.

“Of course, Moony, what else would I live for?”

“Are you ever going to stop doing that?” he asked.

“Probably not,” Sirius had replied, grinning at him. “It’s too much fun.”

“Why do you even bother?” Remus said. “You know I don’t understand a single word of what you’re saying. Why don’t you go talk to someone who speaks French?”

“Because then they’d know what I was saying,” Sirius replied simply. He had refused to answer any more of his questions.

Remus had needed to spend that night in the hospital wing again. All night, Sirius’ voice rang through his head but every time he tried to make something coherent of it, actually words or letters or even sounds, he couldn’t. He could never remember what Sirius had said long enough to actually look it up or ask anyone.

But lately, Remus had noticed that Sirius had been repeating the same sentence in French practically every day. He recognises the sound of the words in Sirius’ mouth.

So today, Remus waited until he was alone with Sirius, waited for Sirius to say what Remus knew he would. And when he did Remus repeated the words in his head a million times until he remembered them. And now Remus was in the library and looking up the words in a dictionary. 

He knew that he could’ve gone to Lily and asked her to translate it for him but he didn’t want to. He knows it’s stupid but he feels like this is something that Sirius is saying to him and only to him. Remus had never heard Sirius whisper in French to anyone else. And as much as Remus pretended to be annoyed by it, he actually liked that he had this with Sirius. He liked that they had something that was just their own. And even though it was probably nothing, he didn’t want to share it with Lily right now.

Chaque jour je tombe plus amoureux de toi. That was the sentence. Remus looked up each word individually and came to the conclusion that he must have heard wrong or maybe the words were spelt differently to how they were pronounced. Because there was no way in hell that Sirius had said these words to him. It was impossible. Right? Remus didn’t know. And he knew that the only way he could be sure was by asking Lily. He had asked Sirius a million times to no avail. And he needs to know what Sirius has been saying to him, especially now that there’s a chance… No, Remus tells himself, you just translated wrong. Don’t get your hopes up. So Remus gives in. He’d rather ask Lily and find out what Sirius has been saying to him every day for the last month than keep this to himself without even understanding it.

“Hey Lily,” he started, getting her attention. Remus had waited until the two of them were alone, just in case he had translated right. Which he hadn’t. He knows he translated it wrong. But he’d still rather nobody knew about it. “What does ‘chaque jour je tombe plus amoureux de toi’ mean?” He fumbled across the words a bit, hearing how terrible his pronunciation was. Lily looked at him, her eyebrows raised.

“Where on earth did you hear that sentence?” she asked.

“I read it somewhere,” Remus lied easily. “So what does it mean?”

“It means ‘every day, I fall more in love with you.’” Remus’ jaw dropped open. “Remus, who told you they’re in love with you?”

“What? Nobody! What makes you think someone said that to me?”

“You said that you read that sentence somewhere but if you had read it, you would have no idea how to pronounce it. Besides the look on your face when I told you what it means is more than enough. So who was it?”

“None of your business,” he said. “But y–you’re kidding, right? That’s not actually what it means. Right?”

“No, I’m not kidding, Rem. That’s what it means,” she replied, laughing at the look on his face. “Come on, tell me who it was.”

“No fucking way,” Remus said. “Besides, they’re probably joking. I mean… no, they’re definitely joking.” Lily shrugged.

“Just ask them,” she said. “And then you have to tell me who your secret admirer is.” She poked him in the side.

“Stooooop,” he said, jumping away from her and laughing against his will. “I’m going.” He got up and started walking away.

“Have fun with your mystery lover,” she called after him without looking back. Remus rolled his eyes but his mind was racing. So apparently he hadn’t been wrong. That was what Sirius had said to him. What does this even mean? He’s teasing you, said a voice in his head, like always. Sirius doesn’t love you. Not like that. But he said he does. Don’t be stupid. Sirius isn’t in love with you. He’s joking. Like always.

The next time Sirius said it, they were in the Room of Requirement. Sirius had ambushed Remus in the middle of his prefect rounds with Lily levitating a cardboard box in midair. Typical. He had practically given Remus a heart attack by interrupting his conversation with Lily, leaving Remus to wonder just how much of the conversation he had overheard.

“So have you talked to your mystery French lover yet?” Lily had teased. Remus groaned.

“No, I haven’t,” he said. “And I probably won’t.”

“Why not?” Lily demanded. “They’re being very romantic, Remus, you should at least appreciate their effort.”

“I’d appreciate it more if they’d just tell me what the fuck they want instead of sending me coded messages that they know I don’t understand,” Remus grumbled.

“Moonyyyyy,” Sirius said, coming up from behind him. Remus jumped, turning around, heart racing in his chest.

“Sirius? What are you doing here?” he asked. “You know it’s after hours, right?” Sirius snorted.

“Yes, Remus, I am fully aware of the fact that I’m breaking a school rule,” he said, smirking.

“Are you aware that technically Remus and I have to turn you in?” Lily said.

“Ah, but do you really plan on doing that, Evans?” Sirius asked.

“That depends,” she replied. “Why are you here?”

“Right,” Sirius remembered, then he turned to Remus. “James forgot to put this box with the rest of the stuff for tomorrow so I said I’d take it. And you’re coming with me.”

“Remind me why again?” Remus said.

“Moony, come on, don’t make me go alone. I’ll be lonely,” Sirius pouted.

“You are insufferable, did you know that?”

“And yet, you’ve tolerated me for 6 years now.”

“Yeah, the keyword there is ‘tolerated’,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. “Lils…” he started, turning to her.

“Nope,” she said before he could even ask. “No way. You are not leaving me to do these rounds alone because then I’ll die of boredom. So unless you want me to tell McGonagall that your planning something for tomorrow, you’re going to finish this floor with me and then I’ll go back to the common room and you can do whatever the fuck you want.”

“Evans…” Sirius pouted.

“Nope, that’s non-negotiable, Black. Also, do I want to ask?” She gestured to the hovering box.

“The less you know, the better,” he said. “Although, I would avoid the classrooms near the dungeons tomorrow if I were you.” She nodded and Remus thought he saw her smile slightly for a second.

“You go on, I’ll catch up,” he said to Sirius, knowing that Lily’s mind would not be changed. He couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t have let her leave him to finish this chore alone either. She was right, it was painstakingly boring. Which is why he would much rather be with Sirius. But it was only fair that he finished tonight’s rounds with her; she did cover for him around the full moon, after all.

Sirius pouted but knew better than to argue and turned to go to the Room of Requirement. Remus watched him and he disappeared up a flight of stairs. Only then did he notice Lily was smirking at him.

“What?” he asked, sounding a bit defensive.

“So Sirius is your secret French admirer?” she said.

“W–What?” he spluttered. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, for one, the look on your face when he showed up right behind us while we were talking about your mystery lover,” Lily said. “It was the look people make when you’ve just been talking about someone and then they show up and you’re worried that they may have overheard you.”

“That… is a very specific look,” Remus said, avoiding the question she was asking.

“Then you smiled at him when you called him insufferable,” she said.

“So?”

“So it was one of those I’m-smiling-at-you-while-I’m-teasing-you-cause-I’m-secretly-in-love-with-you smiles.”

“Again, that's a very specific expression,” he said.

“Look, I know you like him, so will you just admit it already?”

“Why? What good would that information do you? It’s for me to worry about and for Sirius to never discover, ever.”

“Remus, you’re kidding, right?” she said. “Sirius literally told you that he loves you, in French no less.”

“Exactly, Lily. In French. If he actually meant it, why would he say it in a language that he knows I don’t understand? He just knew that I would look it up and he wanted to make some joke.”

“I really don’t think so, Remus,” Lily said, shaking her head. “I think he really loves you.”

“He doesn’t,” Remus said. “He can’t. Not like that.”

“Remus, do you love him?” she asked. Remus closed his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I love him.”

“So why are you doing this to yourself? Just ask him what he meant when he said it. You don’t even have to tell him anything, just ask him what he meant.”

“But… what if he says it was a joke?”

“First of all, I don’t think he will,” Lily said. “But if he does, that’s what you’re expecting, isn’t it? It won’t be a surprise or anything.”

“I know, I know, I just…” Remus sighed and looked away from her. “I don’t think I’m ready to hear him say it. To be properly rejected.”

“Oh, Rem,” she said. They had reached the end of the corridor and Lily stopped to hug him. “Obviously I’m not going to make you do anything. You know what I think. Go find Sirius now, he’ll be waiting for you. Do what you think is right.”

“Yeah,” Remus said, hugging her back. “Yeah, okay.” So Lily went in the direction of the common room and Remus went to the Room of Requirement.

He found Sirius sitting with his back against the wall, the box beside him.

“You’re an idiot,” Remus told him, trying to put the conversation with Lily out of his mind. “You’re practically begging to get caught.” Sirius shrugged.

“I was waiting for you,” he said. “Come on, let’s go in.” They paced back and forth in front of the wall three times. We need a place to hide our things, Remus thought. A door appeared and Sirius opened it, leading the box in with his wand. They had been here before to hide loads of things. The room was pretty cluttered from years of students dumping their things in it but they knew where exactly to hide the box so that they’d be able to find it tomorrow when they needed it. Remus followed Sirius through aisles upon aisles of junk, looking at all the broken, discarded things people threw in here.

They found the corner where they’d left everything else and Sirius added the box to the rest of the pile.

“Are we done here?” Remus asked.

“Yep, we can leave now,” Sirius said. They had started walking back towards the door when Remus heard Sirius say it from behind him.

“Chaque jour je tombe plus amoureux de toi.” Remus turns to him and stops him in his tracks.

“Pads, why do you keep saying that? Who are you talking to?”

“Remus, you are aware that you’re the only one here right? I’m talking to you.”

“Then why… why are you—?”

“I know, I know, you don’t understand French,” Sirius says. “That’s why it's fun. It’s amusing to know something that you don’t, for once.”

“Sirius… I know what that sentence means,” Remus says quietly. Sirius’ neck snaps up.

“What?”

“I know what that sentence means,” Remus repeats.

“No, you don’t,” Sirius says, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I do. I asked Lily after the last time you said it. She translated for me.”

“Fuck, I didn’t know Lily could speak French,” Sirius says, rubbing a hand over his face. “So… so this whole time you’ve known what I’m saying? So you know that I… you know that I… oh god, Remus I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I didn’t want to… I was just…” Sirius starts to back away, shaking his head and looking anywhere but at Remus. Remus reaches out and grabs his hand.

“Don’t go,” Remus says. “Sirius. Is it a joke? Are you making a joke? Actually, no, don’t tell me. Cause if it’s a joke I’d rather you bury me under all the crap in this room and spare me the pain.”

“What?”

“It’s not a joke, is it?” Remus asked, a pleading look in his eyes.

“No,” Sirius said, softly. “It’s not a joke. I’m sorry, Remus, I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh,” Remus said, pressing a finger to Sirius’ lips. “Sirius,” Remus tucked Sirius’ hair behind his ear. Remus was vaguely aware of Sirius stepping towards him, towards his touch. “I love you, too.” Sirius gapes at him

“Really?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Remus says. He’s still holding Sirius’ hand. He pulls Sirius closer and lets his other hand graze Sirius’ cheek.

“Puis-je t'embrasser?” Sirius whispers.

“Pads, I… I don’t know what that means.” Sirius lets out a small laugh and looks down at the floor. Then he looks back up at Remus, his grey eyes glistening in the last sliver of sunlight. He’s biting his lip.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” Remus says, without thinking. He feels the blush blooming on his cheeks but Sirius is already kissing him, rising on his tip-toes to make his lips reach Remus’. Remus feels electric currents dancing around his body, unable to contain the excitement. He’s kissing Sirius. Sirius is kissing him back. Sirius loves him. Sirius loves him in the same way that he loves Sirius. Sirius is snaking his hands around Remus’ waist pulling him closer. Sirius’ hair is soft, tangled between his fingers. Sirius is here, in his arms, and it’s everything Remus has been wanting and more.

“Wait, so now can you tell me everything you’ve been saying in French the whole time?” They’re sitting in the same large armchair, hands still linked together, legs tucked against their chests, knees and thighs and hips pressed together. Remus is very aware of every point where his skin is making contact with Sirius’. He’s counting them.

They found the armchair in the Room of Requirement; it’s unclear to them whether the chair is something that’s been dumped in the room by somebody else or if the room conjured it up because they were looking for it. 

Neither one of them wants to go back to the common room yet. Remus doesn’t want to see Lily’s smirk and to have to admit she was right at the moment. He’ll do that tomorrow. Right now, all he wants is to be with Sirius. To press little kisses to his nose, his cheeks, his jaw, his lips just because he can.

“Oh god,” Sirius says, burying his face in between Remus’ shoulder and the back of the armchair. “It’s like you want me to embarrass myself.”

“This surprises you?” Remus kisses the corner of his mouth. Then his jaw. Then his neck. Just because he can. “Please.”

“Ah fine,” Sirius gives in. “Um, what do you want to know?”

“What did you say that day at the lake?” Remus asks.

“Oh that. I said, ‘on devrait t’arrêter pour excès de beauté sur la voie publique’. It means uh… ugh, you’re going to laugh at me for this. It means ‘you should be arrested for excessive beauty in public’,” Sirius said, blushing. Remus rolled his eyes but he felt his cheeks heat too. He smiles a little.

“What about that day on the Astronomy Tower?” he continues.

“Ugh,” Sirius buries his face in his hands. “You’re trying to kill me. I said, ‘il y a tellement de soleil dans tes yeux que je bronze quand tu me regardes’. Which means, uh… ‘there’s so much sun in your eyes that I get a tan when you look at me.’”

“You’re quite the poet, aren’t you?” Remus smiles. “And what about tonight?”

“I thought you said you knew what that meant,” Sirius says. “Or were you bluffing the whole time?”

“No, I know what it means,” Remus says. “I just want to hear you say it. In English this time, please.”

“So demanding,” Sirius teases. “I’ve said it in French a million times already and you want me to say it in English? What difference does it make?”

“Well, none to you, you speak both languages.”

“Oh, alright,” Sirius says. It’s the first time Remus has seen his face really go red. He decides he likes it. “Every day I fall more in love with you.” Remus can’t hide his smile, nor does he want to, as he leans in to kiss Sirius. He brushes his lips against Sirius’ timidly before connecting them, his hand caressing Sirius’ cheek. Remus loses count of the points of contact between him and Sirius as their bodies melt together and Remus worries that he’s about to wake up from a dream. But when he feels Sirius’ hand gently tracing the scars on his hand he knows that this is real, that Sirius can really love him. Sirius does love him.

People come to the Room of Requirement to throw things away, to hide things that they don’t want anybody else to know about, to leave things they never want to see again. But that night, Remus didn’t just leave something in the Room of Requirement. He found something, too.

[wri0thesley]

Nat😫😫😫 I'm just reading your naoya posts and I cant😫😫😫 why do I love this arrogant man😫 is it possible to write something of a connected fic to your arrangement story about how he feels jealous over a similarly docile reader (doesnt have to be connected if you dont want tho!!). like he hears about how the reader has been getting marriage proposals from other men since naoya hasnt given an affirmative to your family,,,, and now the reader is forced to consider other candidates (although she still cant atop thinking about our favourite princely asshole) and naoya cant handle this thought lol he deserves to know what angst and the pain of yearning tastes like😌 I hope this wasn't too confusing aaaa😭😭 I love your writing, and im glad youre in this jjk brain rot too🤧

patience - naoya x fem!reader (1.5k)

arrangement // patience // my jjk masterlist

warnings: naoya remains an asshole. submissive reader, arranged marriages, mentions of murder, talk of adultery. pining/angst. not sfw, minors dni!

naoya hates that he can’t stop thinking about you.

Naoya hates that he can’t stop thinking about you.

Oh, he’d meant it when he’d spat ‘pathetic’ and ‘useless’ and ‘worthless’ at you – your bloodline was unimpressive, your lack of cursed technique tragic, your clan elders absolutely idiotic for sending a nobody like you to tempt him. But . . . something about the look in your eyes, the meek little bow of your head, the way you’d listened to every one of his orders with a soft little gasp and a desire to follow them to the latter . . .

He hasn’t told your family that he’s not interested in you, but word gets around the jujutsu community when someone is looking for a spouse. After all, they’re determined to retain blood purity, to keep techniques in the bloodline – your family soon hear that Naoya is still considering all of his options. That other pretty young daughters from other bloodlines have been to see him.

(Naoya rejects them all, for frivolous reasons that he doesn’t want to admit are frivolous. He hadn’t liked the look in that one’s eyes. He didn’t want his children to inherit the colour of that one’s hair. That one had walked two steps behind him, not three--).

You haunt his thoughts. You and the bow of your head, the bite of your lip, the way you’d looked with tears brimming in your eyes. The suggestive curve of you beneath your kimono.

Ugh.

He hears, too, that your family have been exploring their other options. They’d seemed thrilled, at first, that Naoya hadn’t utterly swept you off the table – but six months have passed, and they want their daughter married and out of the house and fulfilling her duties.

He hears about your marriage proposals through that same grapevine. He hears that other men say you are pretty and quiet and obedient, that you will make a fine wife, that you will listen to commands and give soft smiles and raise children like you ought to--

And once, he smashes a glass from gripping it too hard as some nobody in the Kamo clan mentions that he’s going to ask your family for your hand in marriage.

You say no. He hears, too, that your elders are growing frustrated with your dismissals of proposals. They have left behind the thought of marrying you into the Zenin clan, but clearly you’re still clinging to the idea that Naoya might want you despite what he’d said.

He doesn’t, he tells himself, when he wraps his fist around his cock and pumps it and thinks about your look of surprise as his come splatters across your face.

He doesn’t, he tells himself, when he compares a young lady sent to entice him with you. When she looks him in the eye and he thinks that you would never do that, that you would keep your head bowed, that you’d be deferential as he needs you to be.

He doesn’t, he tells himself, as a servant cleans up the shards of glass that he shatters and he asks the Kamo clan member if perhaps he would like to spar, and he hits him just a little bit too hard so he ends up wheezing and doubled over on the training mats as Naoya stalks out of the room.

It’s not his style to pine. He has the pick of every eligible young lady in jujutsu society; he should not be hung up on such a worthless, pathetic little thing.

He hears of another proposal. This one, apparently, hasn’t been rejected straight-out – this one, you seem to be considering. Other members of the Zenin clan don’t understand why his jaw sets at the news.

“You didn’t want her, did you?” He asks. “You didn’t seem keen after the meeting.”

One of his other distant cousins, an upstart too big for his boots, grins.

“That was before she was hot property, though,” he leers at Naoya. “Our golden boy doesn’t like the idea of people coveting his trash--”

Naoya has struck him before he can think and stalked out of that room, too. Something about you has truly opened the can of worms that is Naoya’s violence, and he refuses to admit to himself that it’s because he wants you.

It’s not because you’re hot property – though, certainly, the way other men talk and laugh about you and the knowledge that you’re wanted serves to set a fire within him. It’s because he can’t stop thinking about you.

He tries courtesans. He chooses pretty, well-mannered ones who look a little like you – but their eyes when they look at him are glassy. They’re not the same as yours, brimming with life and want and confusion at the position you’ve found yourself in and the way your body responds to Naoya.

He doesn’t admit to his mistakes. He doesn’t think ‘I should have accepted the proposal, I should have joined the clans’ – instead, he thinks ‘I should have fucked them then and there. I should have made them scream my name until their reputation was ruined and everybody knew they came apart on my cock. It’s their fault that I can’t get them out of my brain.’

He walks with fists and teeth clenched and snaps at every servant who dare looks his way. Naoya has always been unpleasant, but he’s downright impossible with his spine in knots and his eyes narrowed.

He’s going to have to do it. He’s going to have to contact your family, ask for another audience, if only to get your fucking face out of his mind--

He’s not expecting to come across you before he’s even made the call, standing in one of the gardens of the Zenin estate. You’re wearing the same kimono you had first visited him in, and he hates that the sight of it makes a throb low in his belly as he remembers seeing it crumpled on his bedroom floor. He swallows as he stalks towards you and you turn, your pretty eyes widening – he sees the flash of memory, the flash of desire. He wonders if anybody would dare speak to him if he took you right here, in the garden--

An older man opens a door behind you.

Naoya recognises him only vaguely. The Zenin estate is swarming with various, less important Zenins; this one’s a great-uncle, perhaps? Or a cousin thrice removed? He’s someone unimportant in the grand scheme of things, save for the way that he walks up to you and wraps an arm around your waist.

“Ah,” the man with his hands on Naoya’s property says. “I see you’ve met my betrothed.”

His heart stops cold. He’s nobody. Unimportant. Nothing.

He’d called you the same thing; an ‘act of charity’. So why does the sight of an arm around you attached to a man too old and not powerful enough to be a threat make Naoya feel like he’s chewing rocks? Naoya manages to spit out a;

“Congratulations.”

“Yes,” the old man (great cousin? Naoya doesn’t make a habit to remember people he can’t use later on) says, pulling you closer, groping at your hip through the kimono as you keep a sedate, smile on your face without looking directly into Naoya’s eyes. “You’ll be seeing her around a lot. I hope she didn’t bother you.” A squeeze to your ass, this time, shameless. “Say hello to the future leader of the clan, sweetheart.”

(At least this man’s on Naoya’s side, he tries to console himself, but it doesn’t work.)

“H-hello, sir,” you say, and your voice is as tremulous as he remembers it. His cock stirs. He hates this.

“Sorry to bother you,” he inclines his head politely and tugs on your arm, pulling you away, leaving Naoya kissing his teeth and trying to not simply slit the man’s throat with the knife in his hakama and take you for his own.

What had the scum said? ‘You’ll be seeing her around a lot’. He supposes, then, that you’ll be sequestered in one of the other chambers in the Zenin estate--

A slow smile spreads across his face.

You wouldn’t say ‘no’ to your clan leader, would you? And . . . your future husband is old. Any Zenin is a Zenin, is it not? Even if a son is born with Naoya’s features, Naoya’s technique . . . nobody would say anything to him about it. And you’re in reach. Close to him.

He only needs to get you alone before the wedding to make sure he gets to take your maidenhead. He hates the thought of another man’s filthy hands on you, but accidents happen all of the time--

And then you’ll be a widow. You won’t be expected to marry for a while. And if you’ve already borne fruit and proved yourself – perhaps Naoya will even play the chivalrous leader and lower himself to take you for his own.

Yes. Just a little patience.

This is an arrangement he can get behind.

[tommyspeakycap]

Can I request some chilly fluff? Anything really, just some cute sweet chilly fluff with a little bit of angst maybe?

of course! here's an idea that's been swimming around my brain all day lol

helping hand

ben isn't coping with his newest responsibility and his best friend comes to save the day once again

It's honestly less about the news than it is about the fact that you didn’t here it from him. Texts have gone mostly unanswered since you read that online article you first believed was false, only for it to be confirmed by him. You offered a congratulations despite the pain it brought to you to hear that you had completely lost your chance.

You had probably called him about a million times, each time ringing out and some even being hung up after merely a few rings.

At first, you worried that something had happened. Then you managed to wrangle the news out of Mason that everything was well, you let yourself have those days of utter heartbreak that he had found a girl, started to settle down and then completely cut you out of the picture. This was the first time in all of your 23 years that you hadn't been able to speak to him about things that were going on. He seemed to have completely fogotten about you and you couldn't bring yourself to think of a reason why.

She never really did like you, his girlfriend. You could only imagine it had something to do with the fact that Ben was incredibly close with you. A lot of girls had been unhappy with the fact that while dating Ben, they were subject to teasing that everyone was surprised he was dating when they had thought he was so clearly in love with you. You understand that, it would be irritating but nothing had ever happened between you and Ben that might suggest you would ever get together. People just love a rumour.

What had really hit you, however was seeing her from the Instagram you followed. She didn't even appear to be in London, never mind with him and that made no sense by the timeline you had managed to figure out.

That's how you found yourself standing at his door with what felt like a million bags and a feeling of hurt you had never actually had before. You cornered Mason, refusing to leave until he told you what the hell was going on and when he did, you were gone like a flash with a broken heart to seek out the man who needed you now more than he ever did.

Your heart shatters even more when you step into his house, pushing it open and pulling out the key he gave you a few months ago as you head carefully to the kitchen. You can hear him trying to talk, his voice strained and croaky as he attempts to speak over the sound of the screaming baby girl.

"Come on sweetheart," he begs, "Please take your bottle, I promise you're just tired."

His house is messier than you've ever seen it with gifts unopened, blankets and bottles, baby toys and clothes strewn around everywhere you could see.

You're quick and quiet to get to work clearing the place up, clean clothes being folded and sat in his clean laundry hamper while sorting the dirty things and shoving them into the washing machine by colour before tidying away all the blankets into the baby boxes he had set up in his front room. The infant upstairs screams the entire time you whiz around, throwing an entire bin bag worth of rubbish out of his kitchen before restocking all the shelves and his empty fridge with food for him and milk powder for the little girl. The pizza you shoved in the oven the second you arrived was finished after 15 minutes, so you plated that and left it on the kitchen island before you decided to make you presence known to him.

"Need a helping hand?"

His head whips around rapidly, instinctively tucking his daughter closer into his chest before he recognised your voice and turned his face back away from you. "You shouldn't be here, (y/n)." He mumbles, bouncing his legs to try and get that screeching to stop before he starts crying again himself.

How had everything ended up so messy? He found a girl that he thought he loved, he had his best friends and he had you. She got pregnant and he was ecstatic until she told him she wasn't interested in having a baby. It was too late to do anything about it, so she gave birth to that baby and legally signed over parental rights wholly and fully to a destroyed Ben. You, of course, had to find this out half from the tabloids and half from Mason. Ben was absolutely affronted. He was mortified. How had he gotten himself in this position?

You were the first and only person he wanted to tell. He was desperate to seek out your arms and have an absolute sob to you so you could help him fix this like you do with everything else, but he couldn't bring himself to face you. He cut you off slowly and carefully without even noticing himself because she had coaxed him into it. She played him like a fiddle, let him grow her platform and fund her lifestyle until she had everything she wanted from him and left him with something that was supposed to be theirs to love forever.

As if things couldn't get worse, from the moment he found out she was having a baby he had realised he didn't want kids or a life with anyone but you and now here he is, with a baby that has no mother and he had lost you. How could he just go back crying to you now after all the hurt he had caused you? What kind of person does that? He made this mess and it was his to clean up.

"Mason told me what happened. You can fight me all you want, Ben but I'm not going to go anywhere so you may as well just let me help." You say firmly, not inviting a single space for him to actually contest your words. His shoulder deflate even further than they already are as he finally turns to meet your eyes.

There's bags and dark circles beneath his with greasy, messy hair and a shirt he probably hadn't changed in longer than he should.

"I'm sorry." He croaks, clamping down on his lip with his teeth so he doesn't immediately burst out crying at the sight of you standing there in his house. God, he's missed you so much he couldn't even begin to put it into words and his emotions are so messed up from the lack of sleep that he'll cry at just about anything right now. "It's forgotten about. We don't have to talk about it, I'm here to help."

The weight that lifts off of Ben's shoulder is the kind of immense relief that only really you can bring to him, honestly. There are few people that he has ever met that can ease him like you can and knowing he doesn't have to explain this whole situation really is something he's so thankful for.

"This is Lilly," he says weakly, nodding his head down at her whining. You smile immediately and without thought, stepping forward to get a closer look at the small baby, only two weeks old and already giving her dad a run for his money. "Hello Lilly," you coo softly, raising your hand to stroke her cheek with your finger in the most gentle manner he's ever seen. "Can I? I feel like I've missed out on two weeks worth of aunt (y/n) cuddles."

He tries not to think much into the fact you refer to yourself as her aunt because if he lets enough thought onto it, he'll find himself breaking his heart over you all over again. Ben nods, passing her into your arms carefully.

"I'll feed her, I made some pizza for you so you should go eat." You hold our your hand to take the bottle from him, but he frowns. "I-" Ben stutters, "I don't want to just lump you with her, plus she's upset so I shouldn't leave her y'know? It's not fair on-"

"Go and eat Ben, and have a shower while you're at it. We'll be fine in here, I've babysat a million times before." You shrug, taking the bottle from him as you step further into the nursery instead of standing in the doorway cradling the still whimpering little girl in her pink onesie. "But I-"

"Go."

"I should-"

"Ben go, now."

Ben sighs in defeat and turns on his heel, the rumbling of his stomach finally giving him away as he realises just how hungry and smelly he actually is. No wonder the infant was crying in his hold.

He trudges downstairs, hearing the sounds of those winging dying down as he does, half expecting to walk into the messy swamp he had left when he went upstairs earlier this morning, only to see the whole bottom floor of the house was basically as spotless as it had been the day he moved in, bar the baby variety adjustments he had made to welcome the new arrival.

He makes a mental note to thank you more and do some grovelling and apologising later on. He knows he has to do it and he knows he'll explain in more detail what really happened probably later today, but for now he will scoff that pizza down his throat faster than he has ever consumed a meal in all of his life before raining the cupboards that he discovered you had stocked. He is reminded with every step he takes around his house that this is you, again, here holding him up when the world around him feels like its completely crumbled.

This is what you do, you keep him together, fix him up after the heartbreaks and breakups preparing him for the next girl who's pieces you'll have to pick up when they hurt him. This time he doesn't want another girl, he wants you. This time, the one time that he would be miles too late. He's got a baby now that he needs to focus on and he can't imagine that you're going to want an instant family even if you could really see past the fact he had ghosted you for nearly five straight months from the moment he found out his girlfriend was pregnant. He can't forgive himself, so how on earth would you?

If he would ask, you would tell him you already had. Seeing how hurt he was, how genuinely sorry things had ended dup like this with everyone in his life he was was enough for you. It was enough to cause you actual physical pain. You never could hold a grudge considering the situation he had ended up in.

Ben had never ever once in his life being more thankful for his shower. He’s also pretty sure he fell asleep against the wall with the heat of the shower steam loosening his muscles and the fatigue of barely an hours sleep catching up to him. He towel dries off his hair, letting the towel hang around his neck as he rubs it against his head while he pads along the soft carpet of his hallway from the bedroom to his beautifully done pink nursery where he hears no crying, at all.

But he does here soft talking.

“Giving your daddy a hard time eh, pretty girl.” You hum softly, slowly swaying from side to side. She lays in your arms, looking up at you and stealing every bit of your heart with her daddies eyes. “He deserves it a little, you know. Just ‘cause he done me out of some adorable baby cuddles y’know?” Ben can hear the teasing smile on your lips as he leans against the doorframe out of your sight, keeping quiet so as not to be detected. “But he’s a good man, sweet girl. One of the best, actually. And i know he’s already such a good daddy to you, he loves you so so much. Do you know that, eh?” You say quietly. Ben catches the sight of you swaying that amazed little baby who coos up at you, reaching for your finger to hold. “Mhm, and i love you too. You have no idea how loved you are.” That’s one thing Ben can agree on.

“And you might not know it now because you’re little, but i do know one thing for absolute certain; I’m always gonna be here for you, and for your daddy even if he’s as stubborn about it as they come. You’ve got to help me out though, eh sweet girl? Be good to that daddy of yours. Yeah, sleepy baby? Mhm, my sweet girl.” The way you hum, bouncing her carefully and swaying in just the right way for her to fall asleep in your arms. Ben watches you for only a minute more, softly singing a little lullaby to her that makes Ben’s heart swell to ache so much that he has to take a small little video before he heads off downstairs with one last look.

When you finally greet him downstairs with a tight hug that he sinks into immediately, resting his cheek on your shoulder as your hands massage your fingers through his freshly cleaned hairs as his arms hug around your waist. “I’ve missed you.” He admits, words muffled by your sweatshirt. The feeling of your fingers at the nape of his neck makes him hum in content and sink into you peacefully just like his baby daughter did not half an hour ago. You’re just perfect for them both in every way and there is not one bone in his body that doesn’t wish he had started his family with you.

But with that realisation comes one more; that he will not settle until he has given everything he has, tried with every morsel of him to earn your forgiveness. He might not of started his family with you, but he is damn determined to make you part of it.

[tumbledfreckles]

Your shirtless JP submission was incredible ❤

What I was going to request is a combination of shirtless James and your current "names" drabble kick. It may kill me, but I'm willing to take the risk if any inspiration strikes you 😉

I hope this is okay! I don't think it quite beats the locker room, but this is what came out!

As moments went, it wasn’t one of her best.

Lily could admit this quite readily from her current position. She could also admit she hadn’t meant to end up here. Mistakes had been made. Consequences must now be worn.

Fuck.

If only it wasn’t so embarrassing.

If only he hadn’t taken off his shirt.

“Evans?”

“I’m fine.” The words were bitten out of her. Automatic. More than a tad defensive.

“You sure? You hit the ground pretty hard.”

“It was nothing. I’m fine.”

“Can I at least help you up?”

Lily blinked one eye open, seeing a shadowed silhouette above her. Her other eye slowly followed, though she squinted and grimaced in pain. The dull ache in the back of her head pounded with much sharper alacrity as she recognised the shape of James above her. As if she needed to. As if she hadn’t already recognised his voice.

“Sure,” she sighed, taking the hand he offered.

His warm calloused fingers clasped around her own as a spark travelled from her head all the way to her fingertips. Or maybe the spark had started in her fingertips? Maybe it had started in his?

Merlin, her head hurt.

James pulled Lily up with ease, catching her around the waist with his other hand to steady her once she was on her feet. She felt her eyes close involuntarily, swaying precariously on the soft grass. Her head pounded, spinning the world in circles, and she cursed her clumsiness for making such poor decisions on her behalf.

A low groan escaped her throat.

“Alright, Evans?” Her hair was brushed back from her face, his thumb stroking gently across her cheek. “That was quite a spill.”

Lily forced herself to open her eyes, but the glare that followed was completely natural. “Peachy.”

“Do you want me to take you to Pomfrey?”

“Definitely not.” Belated embarrassment, as the throbbing ceased just enough to allow other thoughts, other emotions, tinged her cheeks red, and she ducked her gaze.

Holy shit.

And there.

There it was.

Right there, right in front of her, way too close for comfort, way way too close for her to not want to stare, want to touch, want to lick, was the reason for her fall.

Lily couldn’t tear her gaze away. James’ shirtless chest, bare, ripped stomach stared back at her. Smooth, tanned skin shone, the occasional bead of sweat highlighting muscle definition in a way that left her mouth dry. Toned muscles pulled and stretched, a fine dusting of hair trailed down under the waistband of his Quidditch pants.

Look up, Lily.

Her eyes flew back up to James’ face, to find him looking at her strangely. For several awkward, humiliating moments, Lily thought he’d realised she’d been gawking at him, and was about to take the mick something terrible. Then she realised he’d asked her something, probably more than once.

“Sorry, James, what did you say?”

“I asked if you remember what -” James stopped short and frowned. “Wait, what did you just say?”

Lily blinked, a still painful process that required a lot more conscious effort than it should. “I asked what you said?”

He was shaking his head before she even finished speaking, “No, not that.” He stepped a bit closer, squeezing at her hip. The touch startled her. She hadn’t even realised James still held her. A feat that hinted strongly at an emerging concussion, given she’d recently succumbed to the idea that she’d developed a constant awareness of him.

“What?” She wanted to move back, but his grip was insistent.

“You called me James.” His tone was soft, uncertain.

“What? No,” she went to shake her head, but stopped quickly when her vision blurred. “No, I didn’t.”

“You did,” he argued, lips quirking at the ends. “Just how hard did you hit your head?”

“Hard,” she sighed. It was the wrong thing to say, however true. James started to frown, concern taking over his features, and she hastened to put him at ease. It wasn’t his fault. Well, it was, but not in a way she could tell him. “Hardly, it was just a bump. It’s nothing, I’m alright, stop fuss…” her gaze had snagged on those abdominals again, chiseled and just begging to be fondled.

Jesus Christ, he was fit.

“Evans?”

“James, I’m fine.”

He blanched, letting go of her waist this time. He stared at her, and Lily didn’t blame him. Looking back wasn’t an option, looking down is what had gotten her into this mess in the first place, so Lily fixed her gaze just over his shoulder, just past his ear, out toward the lake, instead.

“You did it again.”

Lily huffed. Rolled her eyes. Refused to engage.

“You called me James, again.”

“I have a concussion. It slipped out.” She tried to make herself sound bored. Undisturbed.

But she wasn’t bored.

And she was disturbed.

She’d never called him James.

She’d also never tripped over herself because he’d pulled his shirt off, walking back across the grounds after practise, but that seemed a lesser issue right about now.

James stepped closer, reaching to take her elbow. “Just let me take you to the Hospital Wing.”

“No.” She tried to pull away, but he held tight.

“You’re not yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“You called me James.”

“I wasn’t thinking straight!”

James let loose a growl. “Well, which is it? Either you’re fine, or you’re not.”

“I, you, well, uh,” Lily gave her own small fit of noise, frustration, confusion, and embarrassment and pain boiling over.

“Evans?”

“I don’t know, alright?”

“Let me-”

“No.”

“Evans, you’re -”

“Stop it! Look, could you just put a bloody shirt on so I can think straight?”

Oops.

James stared at her for a second time. Probably wondering if she’d lost her mind. To be fair, Lily didn’t think he’d be wrong coming to that conclusion. She felt absolutely stark, raving mad.

“Lily.”

He’d never called her that, either. The use of her first name tipped her gaze to his. His thumb helped, then gently traced the edge of her jaw. It softened the blow her ego had incurred, dulled the drilling in her skull. He smiled, a tender, gentle, beautiful thing that felt like a balm.

It made his next words that much more jarring.

“Are you telling me you hit your head because I took my shirt off?”

Turns out nothing will clear your head like a very fit, very shirtless guy realising that you might be attracted to him.

“No.” Lily backpedalled. Hard.

“Is it possible you were distracted by me?” He was enjoying this too much.

“No.”

“Evans.”

“You’ve got it wrong.”

“Evans.”

“That is not what happened.”

“Lily!” Her own name brought her up short again, just like his had him. It sounded so different when he said it. He took advantage of her quiet and continued. “It would be okay, if it was, you know.” James ran a hand through his hair, before reaching out, twisting a lock of her own around his finger. “I’ve done far worse for your attention.”

“I’m aware.” He was so close, her voice lacked its usual bite. “That’s not what this is.”

He was so warm. So practically naked.

“What is it then?” He was practically against her now, her jumper brushing against his skin.

“Concussion.” Her hands came out to push him away, but the moment they landed on his skin, she became mesmerised by the silky feel, the heat that radiated out of him, and couldn’t complete the action.

James’ hands both cradled her head now, soothing and stroking and caring. Lily tried not to wince as his hands ran over the emerging lump at the back of her head, but he saw it anyway. His frown was back as he looked down into her eyes. “I’m taking you to Pomfrey in a minute. And I’m not listening to arguments.”

How was she meant to counterpoint when he was overwhelming her? She nodded dutifully.

He dipped his head, pressing his lips to her forehead in a soft kiss. “I’m sorry for making you fall over,” he murmured.

“You didn’t” Lily tried to refute him, but James wasn’t listening as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Let me make it up to you, then we’ll get you checked out.”

“What -”

Oh.

As far as apologies went, it was a pretty good one. James caught her lips with his, pressing his body against her, angling her head delicately, as if she was this fragile, breakable, precious thing. It was undeniably sweet, with more in that kiss than Lily’s poor, melted, muddled brain could process. The tingles she’d felt in her hand, the ones she’d thought had come from her brain, she knew now they were definitely from him, as they raced through every location where their bodies connected.

James was smiling as he pulled back. “I should take my shirt off more often.”

Lily winced, though she knew her lips curved upwards as well. “Only if there’s a bed, or something soft behind me.” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t mean -”

“I reckon that could probably be arranged,” James chuckled as he put his arm around her. “But let's go get that head checked out, make sure you're not going to change your mind when the world stops spinning.”

Unlikely, Lily thought. But she wasn’t going to ruin a pleasant trip back to the castle, tucked up in James’ arms, by letting him know. If she was lucky, played her cards right, maybe he’d even apologise again on the way.