#honored and mildly scared

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

how did I visit CN for over 700 times what

WHAT are you ON my guy (gn)

[itadorey]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐏? — wriothesley

pairing: wriothesley x reader summary: after months of pestering, wriothesley finally gives in to charlotte's request for an interview, only to be surprised when you arrive at the fortress of meropide in her stead. genre: fluff, strangers to romance, kinda love at first sight, slightly awkward interactions notes: inspired by that line where charlotte says it's impossible to get an interview with the duke, i think wriothesley is def ooc but i also think he would be a decent flirt idk he has those vibes like he can definitely tease wc: ~4.2k

a shiver runs down your spine as the elevator you're on descends deeper underground, and you waste no time in exiting when you finally come to a stop and the doors open.

you carefully step out into the large hall, intuitively following the path as the elevator doors close behind you. the air feels even colder now that you're actually in the fortress of meropide, and you do your best to ignore the curious glances sent your way as you finally approach the front desk.

"hello! can i help you?" the receptionist, monglane, asks with a friendly smile. you take a moment to answer, too busy studying your surroundings as you lean forwards against the desk.

"um, yeah," you begin to say, pausing to shake your head lightly and give her a smile in return. "i'm with the steambird. i'm here to see the duke."

the receptionist's smile tightens considerably, and you manage to catch a glimpse of the mildly annoyed glint in her eye as she turns to shuffle some papers. "i'm afraid the duke doesn't have time for interviews today. you can always try requesting an appointment some other time."

"oh no!" you say hurriedly, waving your hands in an attempt to catch her attention. "i actually do have an appointment."

the skepticism in monglane's eyes is as clear as day, and you find yourself shrinking back when she studies you closely.

"so," she begins, hands dropping the papers she had previously been holding. "if i were to go get the duke and ask him if he has an appointment with the steambird today, he'd say yes?"

"yes," you respond confidently, tilting your head up slightly in a silent challenge. monglane sighs at your words, her lips parting to say something before someone else interjects.

"are you the reporter from the steambird?"

both you and monglane turn to face the newcomer, and the first thing you notice is how shockingly blue his eyes seem to be. you shift in place as his eyes trail over your form, studying him in return and barely registering the half-hearted smile he sends you before turning and giving monglane a nod. she nods once in return before giving you an apologetic smile, holding out her hand to press a visitor's pass into your palm.

"i am," you finally say, standing awkwardly as the man continues to stare at you. there's a slight clearing of the throat from monglane, and the soft noise seems to snap the man out of whatever thought he'd been lost in.

"you're not charlotte," is all he says, curiosity tinging his words as he motions for you to follow after him. you give monglane one last wave before trailing after him, reaching for the pen in your pocket as you introduce yourself. he repeats your name quietly, and you find your cheeks growing warm when you notice the look he sends you as he does so. "that's a pretty name. i'm wriothesley."

"it's an honor to finally meet you. charlotte sends her apologies," you say, choosing to dismiss his comment in an attempt to remain professional. you're scared a flirty remark might leave your lips otherwise. "she's recently fallen ill and asked me to go through with the interview for her. she walked me through all the acceptable topic and she also sends her thanks. she's aware that you're a busy man and both her and i want you to know that we're incredibly thankful you finally gave us the opportunity interviewing you."

"i thought it was about time," he says in return, shooting you a teasing grin as he leads you out of the tunnel. he sighs to himself as he wonders if you're deliberately ignoring his compliment, or only doing it to preserve your professionalism. the way you flush at his smile suggests that it's the latter. you remain silent as you finally step into what seems to be the center of the fortress of meropide, pausing in slight shock as your eyes take in the large structures around you.

the large tower in the center immediately catches your attention, and you let yourself turn in a slow circle, your eyes tracing the upper levels and taking note of the tunnels that seem to lead in and out of the central hub. you straighten up when you finally notice wriothesley standing in front of a door, his arms crossed as he watches you with an amused smile.

"may i take some pictures?" you ask sheepishly, tucking your pen back into your pocket before grabbing your kamera. you gesture vaguely to the room around you, unintentionally doing another turn and drawing out a soft chuckle from wriothesley. "i'm sure some pictures would only help people realize that the fortress of meropide is quite different from what they expect it to be."

"sure, knock yourself out," wriothesley says, nodding as he leans against the door behind him. you give him a smile in return before snapping a few pictures, doing your best to imitate charlotte's style of photography and capture images you think she might like. by the time you finish, wriothesley's eyes are still on you, and you find yourself unable to do anything but give him a sheepish smile.

"don't worry, i made sure that you're not in any of the images," you say quickly, nodding firmly as he gives you an unreadable look. "i know that was one of the interview requests."

"i don't mind," wriothesley blurts out before he can stop himself. he does his best to refrain from slapping his palm to his forehead as you give him a pleasantly surprised look, and he hopes that you don't notice the way he inhales sharply as you give him an excited smile. "i mean, as long as it doesn't end up on the front page."

"well then, may i?" you ask, fumbling with the kamera when he nods. you step forwards to position him in front of the door, making sure there's enough light to get a good picture. you're quick with your work, and before you know it, you have a picture of wriothesley standing in front of heavy metal doors, his arms crossed and the hint of a smirk on his face as he looks at the kamera.

it's a good picture, and you can't help but notice how handsome he looks in it. you're half tempted to disregard his words and put him on the front page anyways.

"shall we continue?" wriothesley asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. you nod softly, following after him as he finally pushes the door open and immediately being engulfed in cool air. you thank him when he holds the door open for you, stepping into a smaller room and waiting for him as he shut the door behind him.

there's a brief silence as the two of you stare at each other, and you're suddenly very aware of the fact that you're alone with the (incredibly handsome) duke of the fortress of meropide.

"shall we continue?" you repeat softly, causing wriothesley to clear his throat and nod before going up the stairs. you follow after him, holding on tightly to the railing. the staircase lead to another room, and you take note of the bookshelves lining the wall behind a large desk, which seems to be covered in scattered papers. you avert your gaze as wriothesley darts forwards to gather them all up, placing them neatly into a drawer before gesturing towards the sofa.

"we can take a seat over there," he says calmly, taking note of the respectful way you avoided looking at his documents. he follows after you as you make your way towards the couch, settling into the comfortable cushions before bringing your pen and notepad out. a shiver makes its way down your spine as you make yourself comfortable, and you find yourself absentmindedly wondering if the entire fortress is as cold as wriothesley's office.

"are you cold?"

you let out a distracted hum, turning to face wriothesley as he looks down at you with a soft frown. a slight shake of your head is all you give when you finally process his question, only to receive a disbelieving look in return.

"it's okay," you reassure him, flipping your notepad open to the questions charlotte had prepped in advance. "nothing i can't handle."

"i can make us some tea, if you'd like?" he asks, reaching for the teapot sitting on the coffee table in front of you.

"oh no!" you protest, shaking your head as you reach forward in an attempt to stop him. your hand closes around his forearm, and wriothesley finds himself frozen in his spot as you smile up at him. "i wouldn't want to be a bother."

"i assure you it would be no bother," wriothesley says in an attempt to reassure you. he reaches forward with his free hand, picking up the teapot as you let him go with a quiet apology. "if anything, it would make sense to chat over a cup of tea, would it not?"

"well, if you insist," you respond softly. a comfortable silence ensues as as he busies himself with preparing the tea, his movements smooth and almost graceful as he feels your gaze on him the entire time. you're half-mesmerized, watching him as he prepares everything and ends up with a pot of steaming, perfectly brewed tea.

he almost stops in his tracks when he turns around and immediately meets your gaze, the sparkle in your eyes almost causing him to lose both his confidence and his grip on the tea tray. he hurries towards the couch to avoid any potential embarrassment, smoothly pouring out two cups of tea before settling into the couch.

you flinch slightly when he half-accidentally, half-purposely lets his thigh press up against yours.

"let's get started?" you ask after taking a sip of your drink. you take the opportunity to scoot a bit away from wriothesley, trying to maintain your composure as you set the teacup down and reach for your pen and notebook. you flip through the pages until you reach charlotte's neatly written inquiries, and you inwardly cringe at the thought of marring the page with your slightly messier scrawl.

you angle yourself in wriothesley's direction, raising an eyebrow in silent question when you don't receive a response. he nods his head hastily when he realizes he's been silently staring at you, and he puts his cup down next to yours before making himself comfortable. your mouth goes dry as he sinks back into the couch, and you avert your eyes when he casually throws one arm across the back of the couch.

"so," you begin, clearing your throat before leaning back against the armrest. "to start us off: what do you think makes the fortress of meropide different when compared to other prisons?"

there's a moment of silence as wriothesley ponders your question, and he tilts his head to side as he tries to come up with a good response.

"to begin with, i think people tend to forget that prisons aren't just made for criminals to serve out their punishments," wriothesley says slowly. you nod along to his words, glancing up at him every so often as you try to jot down everything he says. "people are sent here to serve out their sentences, yes, but this place also serves as a type of... rehabilitation, if you will. as you could probably tell, there has been a community established over the years. people do what they can to contribute and earn credit coupons and it's become a place where they can feel like they finally belong."

you hum in acknowledgment as you scribble down his response, the scratching of your pen filling the silence between the two of you. wriothesley takes the opportunity to observe you more closely, taking in the way your hair shines in the dim lighting and the way your eyebrows furrow in concentration. he fails to avert his gaze when you finally look up, too distracted by the way you fiddle with the notebook pages to realize you're asking him another question.

"pardon?" he spits out, tilting his head towards you slightly. "can you repeat the question?"

the corners of your lips twitch in amusement, and you simply nod before taking another glance down at your notes. "a lot of people credit the success of the fortress of meropide to you. would you agree with them?"

wriothesley nods absentmindedly, freezing slightly when he realizes his response can come off as a little cocky. you try your hardest to keep yourself from giggling at his actions, simply choosing to wait and see what else he has to add.

"i mean, i wouldn't take full credit," wriothesley finally says, nodding to himself in approval. "i can admit that the place wasn't the best when i first arrived, and after i got to the position i'm in now, i thought i owed it to myself and the others to help that sense of community grow. a lot of folks here aren't as bad as they seem, and i think that if they really want to atone for their crimes, who am i to make their life more difficult? besides, it's always helpful to have people like sigewinne around. they always do the most to keep the place running smoothly."

"that's very admirable," you comment, shooting him a quick smile. there's a pause in your words as you take another drink from your teacup, and wriothesley is quick to copy you, his knee bumping against yours as he leans forwards for his cup. the two of you freeze for a split second, and wriothesley feels his heart speed up just the slightest bit when you don't move away from him. a smile threatens to spread across his lips.

"why did you choose to stay down here and take on the role of warden instead of heading back up to the surface?" you ask once the two of you have emptied your cups. wriothesley freezes at your question, and you give him a confused look before you take another glance at the notebook only to freeze as well.

there, scribbled in the margin next to the question, is d.n.a.

d.n.a. do. not. ask.

you feel yourself flush with embarrassment as you scramble to apologize, half formed words leaving your mouth as you try to avoid looking at wriothesley. you curse yourself for not paying close enough attention, worry flooding your veins as you think about how charlotte might react to your interview fumble.

"i am so sorry. please forgive me, i didn't notice charlotte's note saying not to ask that. we can move on to the next question or we can even end the interview here if you'd like," you manage to say in one breath. there's a noticeable tremor in your hands as you neatly gather all your notes and shove them into the notebook, not even waiting for wriothesley's response before acting. you only stop when his hand wraps around yours, halting your movements and drawing your attention back to him.

there's a tense silence as you wait for him to speak, and you find yourself wondering if his eyes are more blue or silver. it should be easier to determine considering how close the two of you are, but the dim lighting make it harder for you to decide. you fail to notice the way his gaze briefly drops down to your lips.

"it's fine, i'll answer the question," wriothesley finally says. you're brought out of your thoughts when you hear him speak, and your eyes widen in surprised as he leans back and makes himself comfortable again.

"are you sure?" you ask softly, letting out a soft sigh when he raises an eyebrow. "i just mean that you don't have to if you don't want to."

"i'm sure," is all he says. he gives you a reassuring nod when you don't make a move to reach for your notebook, and you gingerly remove your hand from his when you realize you've been still for too long. you try to channel your professional persona once more, but the embarrassment from earlier still has you faltering slightly as you uncap your pen.

"alright, go ahead."

"as i said earlier, things weren't always the best down here," wriothesley begins, immediately capturing your attention when you notice his softer tone. "having credit coupons is incredibly important if you want to survive, and although sometimes people don't always recognize it, having connections is equally as important."

there's a brief pause as he waits for you to scribble down his words, and you nod firmly when you catch up, eager to hear what else he has to say.

"you also tend to get used to life down here," he adds, his gaze now focused on the teapot in front of him. "a lot of people don't want to return to the surface because their afraid of being judged for their actions. down here, it's as if they got some kind of new start. it becomes a sort of save haven for them, and they might even get to live a life they can say they're satisfied with.

"i had a rough experience when i was still serving out my sentence and thought i could change things for the better. as i said earlier, who am i to make their lives more difficult if they're willing to put work in. these people just wanted somewhere to lead well-ordered lives, and i gave them the 'tranquility' they required," wriothesley reiterates. "by the time my sentence was up, the position of warden had mysteriously opened up and i thought i could do a pretty good job at cleaning up and running the place. i've been able to fix most of the things that were wrong here when i was still an inmate and i haven't had many complaints yet."

"you haven't," you agree, nodding softly before giving him a smirk. "even neuvillette has been known to sing your praises from time to time."

wriothesley barks out a laugh, earning an amused huff from you as you continue to write. he watches you for a while before softly speaking up once more.

"why did you choose to work for the steambird?" he finally asks, interest lacing his tone as he leans forwards. you blink at him once, twice, before bashfully shaking your head, aiming your gaze back down to the notebook to finish writing your thoughts down.

"im afraid my story is nowhere near as interesting as yours," you murmur, glancing up when wriothesley huffs out a laugh.

"i'm sure that's not true," he replies easily, a smile tugging at his lips. "regardless, i'd still love to hear about it."

"maybe after we're done with charlotte's questions," you say noncommittally. the rest of the interview goes smoothly, your earlier blunder forgotten as your confidence returns. there's a lot of soft smiles and banter exchanged between the two of you, and you find yourself wondering why wriothesley always refuses interviews when it's clear that he's great at giving them.

you don't even entertain the notion that the only reason he's so willing to speak is because you're the one asking the questions.

"well, that's it," you finally say, scribbling a few more comments before carefully shutting the notebook. you look towards the other end of the room, catching sight of the large grandfather clock and doing a double take when you notice the time.

"i believe i'm still owed an answer to my earlier question."

you turn to see wriothesley giving you a playful look, and you huff out a laugh before standing.

"i'm sorry but i hadn't realized it had gotten so late," you say quietly, eyebrows furrowing as you give him an apologetic look. "i'd love to stay but i have another interview in an hour and i was hoping to ask sigewinne a few things as well before leaving the fortress."

"that's quite alright," wriothesley states as he stands up, motioning for you to follow him. "i suppose we'll just have to reconvene at a later date. come, i'll show you to the infirmary."

you can't help but smile at his words before trailing after him, following him down the staircase and out the heavy metal doors as you reemerge into the central hub.

"if you really want those answers, perhaps you'll consider scheduling another interview with me and charlotte," you propose airily when you're in the elevator, noticing the amused glance wriothesley shoots you out of the corner of your eye. "i'll answer your questions if you're willing to answer more of ours."

a chuckles leaves wriothesley's lips as he leads you out onto the upper level of the fortress, heading towards the right and passing one of the pipe tunnels. "is that so?"

you hum in agreement to his question, following him up a set of steel steps that lead into the next pipe tunnel. you steal a glance at him when he slows down to walk besides you, raising an eyebrow when lets out a breath.

"how about we talk over a cup of tea?" he asks, eyeing you briefly before continuing. "but just you and i? perhaps i can show you my favorite cafe in the city?"

the two of you come to a stop in front of the entrance to the infirmary, and you see sigewinne wave at the both of you before tidying up the table in front of her.

"i think that sounds marvelous," you chirp, unable to fight the grin spreading across your face.

"great," he says, unable to keep from staring at you.

"great," you parrot, feeling your cheeks heat up under his gaze.

"it's a date," he states, smiling when your eyes widen in slight surprise. he wastes no time before turning away from you, facing the head nurse who has been pretending not to hear your conversation. "sigewinne, i trust you'll help our guest with whatever they need? i'll take my leave now if there's nothing else you need."

you nod at his words, cheeks still feeling abnormally warm as you walk past him and enter the infirmary. your hand comes up to squeeze his arm in passing, and now it's wriothesley who finds himself with a faint blush tinting his cheeks. "thank you for your hospitality, wriothesley. it was a pleasure getting to interview you."

"trust me, the pleasure was all mine."

sigewinne resists the urge to turn around and give wriothesley a knowing look.

"so? how did it go? did you manage to get on his good side?" charlotte asks, her eyes sparkling with excitement even as she lays under a large pile of blankets. you barely have one foot in the door before she begins to interrogate you, and you laugh lightly as you approach her bed.

"i think so," you murmur in response, reaching out to feel her forehead and humming in delight when you notice her skin feels cooler to the touch. "your fever has broken."

"yay!" she giggles, wiggling underneath the blankets as she takes the glass of water you offer her. there's a moment of silence as she drinks, and you take the time to organize her notebook and neatly place your rewritten notes within the pages. you're so engrossed in your actions that you almost miss charlotte's next question. "but what do you mean by 'i think so'?"

"you tell me," you answer slyly, holding out the leather notebook. charlotte takes it from you eagerly, skimming through the pages and reading your notes. her jaw drops when she sees which questions had been answered, and she wastes no time before fixing you with a bewildered stare.

"he answered one of the questions on the 'do not ask' list?" she nearly shrieks, kicking her feet underneath her blanket in excitement. "i would've added a few more questions if i knew he'd be so willing to share!"

"i'm sure he wouldn't mind being asked a few more questions if they aren't too personal or invasive," you respond breezily, trying to make your next words seem casual. "maybe i could take some time and ask him the next time we meet for tea."

you easily take the glass from charlotte's bedside table, moving over to the carafe you had left on her dresser and refilling the cup. when you turn back around, you're met with an expression of exaggerated shock.

"what!" she hisses, hands tightening considerably around the notebook. you fight back a smile when she flings it to the side, motioning you towards her and waving away the glass of water. "what does that mean?"

"i may or may not have a date with wriothesley sometimes next week," you admit, smiling bashfully before turning and rummaging through your bag. "oh! before i forget, here's your kamera. i wanna get your opinion on the pictures i took."

"forget the pictures!" she exclaims, tossing the kamera onto the pillow next to her. "you have a date?"

"yes, a date," you confirm nodding and breaking out into giggles at the same time as charlotte. the two of you gasp for air as you finally settle down, and you find charlotte giving you an impish look. when you raise an eyebrow in question, she simply dissolves into giggles once more.

"a date! wow, who knew i was such a great matchmaker!"

ty for reading!! reblogs are appreciated <3

[nereidprinc3ss]

Ok so this might be an odd request but I’ve been really sad about the fact that the network vetoed bisexual Reid so I was wondering if you could write boyfriend Spencer coming out to reader and just having it be really sweet and fluffy??

this is the cutest. great minds are bisexual reid truthers. i am honored to do this for the tumblr community and the world at large

warnings/tags: potentially VERY slight internalized homophobia from spencer if u squintttt but he's just nervous that's all!! my boyfriend has never done anything wrong in his life!! fem reader

“My type is you,” you say sweetly, angling your head up to look at your boyfriend. The two of you have been laying on the couch for the better part of an evening, (more accurately, he’s on the couch, you’re on him) talking about nothing and everything. Somehow the conversation has meandered to this—him asking you what your type in men is, of all things. 

“What a convenient answer,” Spencer teases, pushing your hair away from your face. You laugh, leaning into the warmth of his touch. 

“I mean it! I don’t think I ever really got what all the excitement was about men until I met you.”

He hums, a satisfied little smile on his face. “That’s very flattering.”

“What about you?”

His brows dart up. 

“What’s my type in men?”

An inadvertent laugh bubbles from your throat—slowly going stale in the air while you watch as Spencer actually flushes. It dawns on you with a splash of anxiety and a generous helping of guilt that maybe it’s not exactly a joke to him. You attempt to play it off casually, keeping your tone even but receptive. 

“Well, I meant in women. But, if you have a type in men, by all means, tell me.”

Hazel eyes dart between yours as his hand continues carding through your hair—and then he’s looking away, studying the wall behind you like there’s more there than faded green paint. 

Silences stretches as you chew on the inside of your cheek, worried you’ve somehow said the wrong thing. You wriggle higher up his body and gently grab his wrist, interrupting what you suspect is a self-soothing motion. 

“Hey,” you murmur, pulling his hand to your lips and pressing them to his knuckles. “Come back.”

Finally he looks at you again, mildly surprised like you’d tugged him from the very depths of his thoughts. But his eyes are soft, grazing his his fingers over your lips. 

“I’m right here.”

“You know what I mean.” The words are gentle. His thumb catches on your bottom lip and you nip at it playfully, trying to lighten his suddenly heavy mood. It’s hard to tell if it works—he continues tracing your lips absentmindedly, biting his own. When he speaks, his voice is quiet and wavers ever so slightly, the way it does in the rare instance that he’s not 100% sure of himself or what he’s talking about. 

“I was thinking about your question.” You don’t dare speak for fear opening your mouth will somehow break whatever self-hypnosis is keeping him honest. “I don’t have a specific type. In women. Or… or men.”

His voice is so fragile that you have to run it back in your mind a few times to process what he’d said. Several layers of clothing do nothing to dull the rapid drumming of his heartbeat against your chest. And your poor boyfriend looks so scared during the moment of silence while you’re thinking that it breaks your heart. He needs a sign, something to reassure him that it’s okay, before he backtracks and dissociates entirely. Delicately your hand slides up the side of his neck and jaw. You crane your neck to press a long kiss to his flushed cheek. It’s okay, you’re okay. We’re okay. The world is still turning. His chest rises and falls slowly in a deep, silent sigh. 

“I love you,” you remind him once you pull away, wiping away the slight sheen of chapstick your kiss had left. He catches your hand, wrapping it in his larger one. The guarded look in his eye does a poor job of concealing how badly he wants to please you, and everyone, and how scared he is that maybe this was the wrong answer. That maybe this is just another way he is not quite right, and you’ll tell him so, just like everyone else always has. 

“You’re not—you don’t have anything to say?”

Gentle fingers brush away invisible tears under his eyes, sweeping over the skin with the utmost care. He’s not crying, but you imagine at one point or another he had, and since you weren’t there to wipe away the tears then, maybe you can make up for it by being here now. 

“Is it something you want to talk about?” you ask, fingers still skimming over the angular plane and valley of his cheek. The darting of his eyes between yours, the slight furrow of his brow, the pressed-together lips—he’s profiling you. Trying to extract your thoughts through osmosis. 

“I… I’ve never told anyone before.”

Your stomach twists. You hate that there’s any part of him he feels he has to hide—and that he’s done it for so long. 

“Well I’m glad you told me, angel.” 

His eyes are like warm honey as he looks up at you, dulling that sharp, defensive edge as the endearment slips past your lips. Usually it’s the other way around, and you hope it soothes him even half as much as it always does for you. 

A surprised laugh is expelled from your lungs when he pulls you down into a crushing hug. Immediately, gleefully, you reciprocate, pushing your arms under his waist and tangling your legs with his, holding on ferociously and for dear life. His face is buried in the hollow of your neck, so you have to assume that much like you, he’s picked this over oxygen. 

“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he breathes, lips brushing your neck and hair. Muffled, because there’s no space between you. Your eyes sting and tear up almost immediately. A joke forms on the tip of your tongue; low bar? But you bite it back, unsure if you can manage persuasive sarcasm in this moment. “And, for the record, you are the most beautiful human being I have ever met in my life. Nobody else has or will ever come close.”

You laugh tearfully into his collar. “Spencer, I’m not worried about that.”

“I know you’re not,” he says, finally coming up for air. You do the same, laying on his shoulder contentedly and looking into his eyes. “But I’m telling you anyway because it’s true and I want you to hear it.”

A contemplative moment passes, and you wonder how it’s possible to be falling even more in love with him. You’d thought you already loved him as much as any human being had ever been capable of doing. You hope love has no end. You hope you keep falling deeper and deeper forever. 

“You should know something,” you say, looking down to toy with the collar of his shirt. He hums. 

“What should I know, angel girl?”

“You should know that I’m still going to fight anyone who tries to flirt with you. I don’t care if it’s a six five body builder or a seventy year old woman with a walker. You’re gonna have to hold me back.”

A bemused smile tugs at his lips. 

“You would physically fight an elderly woman?”

“Or a six five body builder,” you agree. Spencer faces the ceiling like he’s watching the scene play out. 

“Okay,” he snorts. “I don’t love that, but okay.”

“It’s what you signed up for,” you mumble, snuggling back into him. His hand finds the back of your head and tangles comfortably in your hair once more. 

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[the-karma-cafe]

Medium honor Arthur picks up character but it’s for a crime she didn’t do! Oh and outdoorsy love stuff

a/n: omg ok i dont know what you mean by outdoorsy love stuff is that SEX or is that FLUFF (im giving you both) thank you for the request !!

warnings: DID NOT PROOFREAD, sex (hell no !!!), spanking, he's a little mean but not really (as medium honor usually goes), mildly dubious consent

Warm | Arthur Morgan

It was the age-old story of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. When I discovered Mrs. Braithwaite on the floor一thick, wine-red blood pooled beneath her chest一I’d barely had a second to react before one of her sons screamed, tackling me to the ground. His fingers were bruising against my arms, shaking me, asking what the fuck was the matter with me, telling me I’d fucking swing for this. 

I don’t even remember how I got away from him, slamming something into his skull and breaking free from that iron grip, leaping off the balcony without a second thought.

It was only miles away on one of their prized horses did it finally hit me that whatever case I’d had to defend myself with was long gone. I wouldn’t be able to show my face in Rhodes again一or really anywhere else一with a high-profile family like the Braithwaites on my ass.

I kept riding further north, hoping to put as much distance between me and that damn corpse as possible. Of all the people, it had to be her, and it had to be me. 

By the time I reached Valentine, I’d felt more sorry for myself than I had in a long time. Thanked my lucky stars I always kept my money on me and bought some supplies there to… well, live on the lam, I supposed. 

But for the first couple nights, I moped. Stayed in the saloon every morning and the hotel every night一not much else to do in a livestock town. 

When I felt a bit better, I sold the Braithwaite horse. It was big and proud and all sorts of attention-grabbing. I bought a different one一drab and small, but fast. 

Sooner than I thought, the news had travelled. A new bounty poster was slapped right on the wooden post outside the saloon, my sketchy reflection glaring back at me. MURDEROUS MAID. 

I pursed my lips. They could’ve spared me the alliteration.

Tore it down, stuffed it in my bag, and left town. Wouldn’t take long for a small town like Valentine to put two and two together. 

The bounty was nothing to sneeze at. I was almost flattered. Wanted alive, $500. I figured it’d take a lot to deter bounty hunters from $500, so I took to the mountains. It was likely just a matter of time, but by god was I going to make them work for it.

Now, here I was, having found some barn to hole up in, next to the remains of a torched homestead (I’d briefly picked through it and rescued a dented can of peaches and a lock box holding some fancy necklace). Would’ve preferred the house, but shelter was shelter. Peaches (affectionately named after said can) seemed to like it in here, at least.

“You want one, boy?” I held one out to where he sat a foot or so away from me. For only having just met me, he was a sweet horse, resting his head on my lap while I slept, following me around while I hunted (although I quickly found he loved to scare off game, and it took a lot of convincing to get him to just stay put, goddammit).

Peaches leaned his big head forward and sniffed at the proffered fruit. To my surprise, he snorted and turned away from it, flicking back his ears and giving me a severe side-eye. “What!” I laughed, bringing it back away from him. “Now you tell me.”

He huffed out of his nose, like it should have been quite obvious, thank you very much. I giggled and continued to eat, idly watching the flame flicker in one of the lanterns hung from the ceiling. 

I eventually drifted off to sleep, still not any closer to figuring out my future than I was a month ago.

The next morning, I ventured back into the wilderness to hunt. So far, I’d been a bit less successful than I’d hoped, but I had done well enough for myself. 

I breathed out slowly, my arm steadily following the movements of a buck a couple yards away. My breath puffed out white in front of me, warming my nose. This was the closest I’d ever gotten to game this big.

The buck lowered its head, nosing past the snow to the damp grass below. I kept my arrow aimed above, where I knew its head would return. A breath in. C’mon…

It raised its head, staring off to its right somewhere, and I stretched back the string, my grip still a bit wobbly against its force. Another breath out. 

A whisk of air whooshed over me, and I startled, releasing my grip on the arrow. It flew a couple feet away before planting headfirst into the snow. Something forcibly tightened around my torso, crushing my arms against my sides. What the hell?! I yelped in surprise and wobbled from my perch, falling backwards.

My head dented the snow behind me, sending it down my collar and into my hair, freezing my neck and ears. “Ahh!” I struggled against the coil around me, simultaneously flinching away from the cold now assaulting my warm skin.

Footsteps crunched over to me, and an upside-down face and chest soon came into view. He looked down at me with a pleased expression on his face, or at least it seemed like it, it was hard to tell behind that high collar and tipped hat. 

He rounded to my front and his gloved hands yanked at the rope, pulling me slightly up from the snow to face him better. He squinted at my face, now surely pinkened from the snow I could still see on my lashes. His chest rumbled with approval, and he nodded, more to himself than me. “Thought so.”

“What?” I exhaled, staring up at him dumbly. 

He cracked a smile, and this time I could tell. “The murderous maid, I take it?” 

My blood ran cold. Oh, fuck. I had almost forgotten, tucked away in this silent, snowy haven. 

Apparently my expression was all it took to confirm things for him. His smile turned to a smirk and he tugged at the rope, bringing me up to stand. I instinctively pushed away from him, but he held me firmly to him, his arms thick and strong (my god this man was big). He looped the rope around me again before tying it securely at my front. 

Then, he promptly threw me over his shoulder and began to walk. 

“Let me go!!” I thrashed from my perch, kicking at him. 

He growled and tightened his grip on my thighs. “Kick me again and I'll make you regret it, girl.”

A fearful whimper slipped past my lips and I stilled. 

“That’s what I thought,” he grunted, but his grip didn’t loosen. 

He whistled, loud and sharp, and I heard the familiar sound of hooves approaching. The image of Peaches by himself in the barn flitted through my head.

“Um, mister?” I whispered, my tone timid and polite. The tone I used to use with the Braithwaites. 

He heaved a sigh, annoyed with me. “What.”

I bit my lip. I didn’t want to anger him further. “My… my horse. He’s in a barn nearby, I don’t want him to be stuck up here all by himself.”

He didn’t respond to that. I grimaced. If I’d kept the Braithwaite horse at least he would’ve saved it to sell it一Peaches was likely barely worth the walk to a man like him.

His horse slowed to a stop nearby, and the man none-too-gently threw me over its back. I winced, feeling its butt dig into my stomach. 

The bounty hunter made quick work of me, tying my legs together and then securing me to his horse. He patted my thigh, “Comfy?” I could almost hear the smug look on his face.

“More ’n ever.” I grumbled, mostly to myself. He barked a laugh and pulled away from me, leaving me cold. He mounted up on his horse and began to ride.

I couldn’t see much from my “seat,” but I began to vaguely recognize the path he followed.

“Are you…” I started, my voice quiet. I turned my head to look up at him, and raised my voice. “Are you goin’ back for him?”

He didn’t answer, and made no move to indicate he had even heard me. 

Not wanting to push my luck (or Peaches’), I stayed quiet.

Sure enough, we reached that barn and he dismounted. When he returned, Peaches was in tow, neighing happily when he saw me.

I laughed brightly despite the situation. “Hey, boy!!” The bounty hunter released his reins and Peaches bounded up to me, nuzzling and snorting into my hair wetly. I giggled and tried to move my head away. “Oh my god, Peaches, gross.”

“Peaches?” the man echoed, a note of disbelief coloring his tone.

I turned and smiled up at him. “What?”

He shook his head, gesturing to the horse. “Ain’t he a boah?”

“So?” 

He snorted, but didn’t answer me, instead mounting back up on his horse. My smile faded from my face as we continued. My last days of freedom.

I stayed quiet as we rode, figuring that was the best way to get on his good side (I didn’t need to get smacked for yapping). The horse’s gait made me feel sick enough that I didn’t want to, anyway, its back poking into me, alternating between every corner of my stomach with each step.

Eventually, the snow began to taper off down the path, though a chill still hung in the air. I shivered, the back of my jacket still wet and cold against my neck. The sky was beginning to darken, subtly and colorlessly as winter skies often did. 

Wordlessly, the bounty hunter turned us off the path and into the trees, likely seeking some spot to set up camp for the night. Peaches followed dutifully behind us, although he seemed to have sobered a bit, as if sensing my discomfort. 

He must have found a spot he liked, as he dismounted and reached by my side for his tent and bedroll. He pulled them off and got to work setting everything up. 

I felt my eyelids droop, my body finally able to relax with the horse stopped. 

Not ten minutes later, I was jolted awake by hands grabbing me off of the horse and hoisting me up. I made a small noise of surprise in my throat, feeling him drop me back onto his shoulder, carrying me over to his makeshift camp. Truthfully, I had thought he’d just leave me on his horse for the night. 

I wasn’t sure if this was better or worse.

The bounty hunter dropped me to the ground by the fire, and I huffed, adjusting myself to sit upright. The warmth wafting off of it confirmed that this was definitely better than being stuck on that horse all night. I leaned closer to it, and made to bring my hands up, but was cruelly reminded of the ropes keeping them by my sides. I heaved a sigh.

A bottle appeared in my vision. I blinked down at it in confusion, before looking up at the man who held it. “Whiskey?” I prompted.

“If there’s any time to drink, it’d be now.” He nudged the lip of the bottle closer to my mouth.

I held his gaze for a moment longer before turning to it. “…Can’t argue with that.” I pressed my lips against it. He lightly tipped the bottle, letting a good mouthful flow past my lips. I choked it down, then another, then another, then another, before finally wrenching my face from it, coughing. “Jesus!”

He laughed, corking it and tucking it into his satchel. He knelt down behind me and I felt a pressure on the ropes before they snapped away. I brought my arms forward slowly, rubbing my hands over them. He stood and rounded the fire, plopping down on the other side of it. I looked up at him in confusion.

He grinned. “Gave you enough whiskey that even if you try to hop away,” He paused, his grin turning wolfish, “You won’t get far.” He stretched out languidly, finally allowing himself to relax. 

Heat crept up my neck, flustered at his reasoning. “You just get all your bounties drunk?” I spluttered.

He shrugged.

I huffed, holding out my hands towards the fire to warm them. “Creep.”

“I ain’t the one goin’ around killin’ old ladies.” He retorted.

I threw my hands in the air in exasperation. “I didn’t kill her!” 

“Sure sounds like you did.”

I raked my hand through my hair. “Why the hell would I kill the woman payin’ me to live?” I met his gaze again. 

He didn’t seem very sympathetic. Another shrug. “Lots of people wanna kill their boss.”

“Not me!”

He snorted. “I’m shoah.”

I shook my head at the fire, deflating. “I had it made working for her. Easy work, good pay, didn’t really have to talk to anyone, and,” I shrugged my shoulders, “best part of having a lady boss is she won’t let the men get away with being terrible to you.”

He stayed quiet, and I felt myself ramble more, “I mean, sure, she was a miserable old hag, mean ’n sour, but as long as you stayed out of her way and did your job, she was cordial enough.” The image of her on the ground flicked through my mind. “Shit.” I pressed my palms into my eyes, wiling them to cast it from my brain. “Can’t believe this is how it ends.”

The drink began to encroach further into my head, making my thoughts hazy. I cursed again under my breath, the reality of the situation truly, truly, settling in. This was it for me. Swinging from a rope for a crime I didn’t commit. 

“You really didn’t do it.” 

I scoffed, not meeting his eyes. “Been sayin’ that, haven’t I?”

“…That you have.” 

Silence fell between us once more, each left with our thoughts. It felt nice to be believed by at least one person before the end. 

A gust of wind blew by, and I shivered, reminded of the wet coat I was still shrouded in. I glanced over the fire at the bounty hunter, but he didn’t look up, eyes hidden under his hat.

“...Mister?”

He raised his head, and that piercing gaze met mine. I faltered, almost losing my voice to it.  

He heaved a great sigh. “…Arthur.”

“What?”

He sighed, raising his hat momentarily to rake a hand through his hair before placing it back down again. “Call me Arthur.”

I smiled softly in spite of myself. “Okay.”

“…And what did you need?” Arthur prompted, as I had already forgotten. Perhaps he was right about that whiskey.

I rubbed my hands on my arms. “Do you have any… drier clothes I could wear?”

He nodded, pushing up from the ground. I watched him make his way over to his saddlebag, watched him rifle through it for something dry. 

It had to be the whiskey. Or that he was the first to believe me. Or that he was really the first person I’d seen in weeks.

His back was just so… broad. My eyes followed how the muscles underneath his shirt moved, following his arms’ movements. My mind helpfully supplied how one of those big arms felt wrapped around my thighs, how that big hand felt patting my thigh, so close to…

He turned around, and I forcefully muted my thoughts, spreading a polite smile on my face. He made his way back to me, some bunched up garment in hand. I began to shrug off my coat, struggling with it as it snagged on my undershirt and held tight to my shoulders. 

Arthur watched me try to figure it out, but eventually I just gave up, so fatigued from the day that I just didn’t care anymore. He chuckled, kneeling down next to me. “Outsmart you, did it?”

I rolled my eyes and sighed. “I’ll deal with it in a second,” I offered a small smile, “Thank you.” 

“I got it,” he said, and at first I wasn’t sure what he meant. He dropped the coat in his hand and moved in front of me. I watched him wordlessly, suddenly feeling very tired of talking anyway. 

Arthur’s eyes met my own for a moment, searching my face. Whatever he found there, he seemed satisfied with, and he moved his hands to the buttons of my jacket. He started from the top, unbuttoning each at an impossibly slow pace, or at least it felt like it.

He smoothed his hands up to my shoulders, and gently pushed off each sleeve, taking out my arms. I shivered again, my skin now freshly exposed to the cold. I spied the slightest twitch of his lips. He reached around me, his body hovering slightly above mine, his neck an inch from my lips. I felt myself lean forward, my nose brushing up against him. His hands pulled the rest of my coat off from behind me, and he sat back, bunching it into a ball. He then took his dry coat and pulled it over me in its place, rubbing his hands slightly up and down my arms. “There,” he said, and rested back on his heels again. 

I blinked up at him, my lips slightly parted. His face softened, his lips pulling down into a teasing smile. He reached out and cupped my cheek, and I leaned into it almost immediately, not caring enough to be embarrassed by it. So big and warm. “Lookit you…” he cooed, his thumb stroking my skin. “Feelin’ that drink already?”

I hummed noncommittally, too focused on the newfound warmth from his jacket around me and his hand on my cheek. 

Arthur huffed a quiet laugh, “Guess that’s a yes.”

He stood, dropping his hand from my cheek, and my head dropped slightly. I sighed, snuggling into his jacket to make up for it. It wasn’t the same. 

“‘M still cold.” I complained.

“Yer insatiable.” He said, but knelt back down again nonetheless. I raised my head to meet his gaze. He thinned his lips. “Don’t think I’ve ever had such a whiny bounty.”

“Sorry, Arthur.” I mumbled, looking over at his tent longingly. It wasn’t my barn, but it would give at least some protection from this wind, as opposed to sleeping out here. 

Before I could ask about it, air whooshed beneath me, and I yelped in surprise. Arthur had hoisted me up into his arms, and began to carry me to his tent. My eyes widened slightly. “A..Arthur?” I whispered, subconsciously snuggling into his chest. He was so strong, it was like I weighed nothing to him.

“You’ll just whine all night if I don’t let you stay in here.” He explained, ducking past the flaps to drop me down on the bedroll. He was probably right about that. Or maybe this was just another way of making sure I didn’t escape while he slept.

I rolled under the cover, snuggling into it as far as I could. I inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of him, so much stronger here than on his jacket. My eyelids fluttered closed. 

I felt him sigh and enter the bedroll next to me. It was a tight fit, Arthur pressed against my back to keep any amount of cover atop him. His hand rested on my hip, heavy and possessive. “Warmer?” He whispered, his breath tickling my ear. He was so close.

“Mm-hm,” I hummed, my voice barely coming out. 

I thought that was it, but then…

His voice dropped lower, quieter. “…You sure?” 

A shiver ran through me. What? His hand squeezed my hip lightly, pulling me closer into him. His breath ghosted past my ear, against my neck. Was he…?

I exhaled shakily, some deep part of my whiskey-addled brain telling me that this was my chance. That if there was anything that would convince this man to let me go…

Lightly, I pressed back into him, sighing when I felt his hand smooth to the top of my thigh. “Could use a bit more,” I murmured.

It was all the prompting Arthur needed. Hot lips pressed against my neck, his hand insistent on molding my ass against the hard line in his pants. My breath hitched in surprise, and I felt myself rock back against him before I could think. He cursed under his breath, dragging his hand forward and between my thighs. I attempted to part my legs, allow him better access, but was met with resistance. 

Oh, right. The rope. 

He laughed behind me, smoothing his hand back to grab my ass instead. I squeaked in surprise, feeling him push me onto my stomach. “Don’t think you’re gettin’ out of those anytime soon,” he promised. I flushed at that.

Arthur yanked me back, forcing my ass into the air. I felt his hands palm me, smoothing circles into my pants. “Looks even better like this,” he muttered, and I couldn’t tell if he was talking to me or himself. 

Before I could respond, he reached around and unclasped my pants (much faster than my jacket), pulling down at the sides just enough. The rope bound me mid-thigh, so he could only get my pants down so far. A cool breeze blew past the tent, and I felt a bit of it ghost against me. My face reddened, feeling all at once how wet I was. Really? I felt surprised at myself.

I squirmed, rubbing my thighs together. “Arthur, are-“

A slap to my ass silenced me. I squeaked and jolted forward, the heat in my face increasing tenfold. “Dealt with enough of yer whinin’ for one night.” He bit, soothing his hand over where he slapped. 

I exhaled, burying my face deeper into the bedroll, feeling my hips sway against his hand, begging for more. 

His hands smoothed down my ass, reaching down to squeeze my thighs apart, to better see me, see how wet I already was for him. I hoped he couldn’t see. It was bad enough to have him feel- 

“A-Ah…” my breath hitched, feeling his thumb drag down through my folds. 

He hissed, sliding the pad of his thumb against my clit. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re soakin’,” 

I squirmed against his touch, trying not to moan, unsure if I’d be punished again for it. He pushed his thumb back up, pressing it inside of me, and I felt myself try to part my legs again, to feel more of him, deeper, and almost cried in frustration when I couldn’t. 

I heard him chuckle again behind me. “Aww, I’ll take care of you, darlin’, don’ worry,” he said, moving his thumb out to trace back down to my clit, pushing another finger inside of me in its stead. I muffled my moan into the pillow. 

Arthur continued working at me, circling my clit with those deft, rough fingers of his, slowly pushing in and out of me. I pushed back against him, desperately trying to feel more, but every time he just shoved me right back where I was before, keeping up his torturous pace.

All at once, he pulled away, and I whined. Another slap to my ass as a result, and I let out a muffled groan, feeling my eyes roll back. “What’d I say about whinin’?” He admonished.

I wiggled my hips back, hearing him undo his own pants. Please, please, please. He was all I could think about, my legs desperately trying to separate, to take in more, more, more. 

I almost wept when I felt him nudge against me, coating himself in the wetness he’d created. I pushed back, trying to take him in, knowing if I angled it right he wouldn’t even need to help me. His hand kept my ass steady, soothing circles onto it. “So needy…” he mocked, smoothing his hand down to my hips, to my waist, squeezing there. 

Slowly, god, so slowly, he pushed into me, forcing me open around him. I moaned obscenely, unable to keep it back anymore. He didn’t seem to care this time, letting out a low curse of his own under his breath. Almost there, almost there… and he thrust into me, making me gasp at the sudden movement. 

He pulled back and rammed back in, setting a bruising pace. I pushed back into him with each thrust, the ropes cutting into my thighs with how I fought against them, trying to take in as much of him as possible each time. 

His hands gripped the tops of my thighs and part of my ass like a handle, using me like some kind of toy. “God-damn,” his voice came out staccato, matching his movements, “you’re so fuckin’.. tight.. for me…”

I whimpered, arching back, so lost in pleasure that I truly didn’t care what he did to me. He could have whatever he wanted, as far as I was concerned. 

Drool dribbled out of my mouth, wetting his pillow. I felt limp under him, only kept upright by those rough hands of his.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his movements becoming less regular, more frantic. He swore again before pulling out of me, spending onto my ass and back. 

We stayed like that for a moment or two, catching our breath, before he swiped off my back with something and collapsed next to me. 

I flopped onto my side to face him, my legs still bound together. “Thank you, Arthur,” I whispered, “I’m much warmer now.”

Arthur snorted, snaking his arm around me to pull me to his chest. “My pleasure.”

-

The next morning I awoke alone in his tent, hearing him shuffle around outside. I blinked blearily, reaching up to rub the crust from my eyes. I yawned, laying onto my back, stretching my legs apart.

Wait. Stretching my legs apart?

I glanced down to visually confirm the sensation, finding my legs freed from the rope. I also noticed my pants had been pulled back up to cover me.

I sat up, peeking through the tent flaps. He sat at the fire, his back to me. Was he just letting me sleep comfortably before we left?

Despite the threat of death hanging over my head, I felt myself warm at the thought. This was a much sweeter awakening than I had expected.

Before I could think about escaping, or at least putting off our trip to the hangman, Arthur turned, as if sensing I was awake. "Mornin'," he greeted, his voice soft and low. I shrank a little under his gaze, and whispered a greeting back before creeping out from the tent. 

Once outside, I shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around me. Arthur grunted, beckoning to me. "C'mere,"

I obeyed, walking over to where he sat. He spread his legs, patting the ground between them. I blinked down at him blankly. 

He rolled his eyes and snatched at my hand, pulling me to the ground. I made a small noise of surprise, falling to sit between his legs. His arms and knees caged me in, bringing me back into his chest. This was so strange. 

But not unwelcome.

I snuggled back into him anyway, not about to turn my nose up at the last physical affection I'd ever receive. 

We stared into the fire for who knows how long. I almost didn't breathe, trying not to remind him that we had places to be. 

Arthur squeezed me lightly, propping his chin on my shoulder. "Y'can relax," he sighed, his accent thicker now, in the morning. "'M not bringin' y'in." 

What? My breath hitched, my heart beating faster. Was he serious? I turned in his hold slowly, craning my neck to look back at him. I didn't trust myself to speak.

He met my gaze, his expression unreadable. 

"...Thank you," I said dumbly, breaking eye contact. Well, now what? 

Now, I certainly didn't want him to change his mind.

I turned a bit more in his hold to better face him, feeling his arms adjust around me. I smoothed my hands up his shirt and met his eyes again. He watched me carefully, suspiciously, like he was expecting some kind of attack. 

I moved slowly, not wanting to startle him, inching my face closer to his. I watched his eyes drop to my lips, his own parting in anticipation. I hadn't noticed before, but I seemed to have some sway over this bounty hunter, readily accepting whatever touch I offered him. 

I smiled softly at that, and closed the gap between us, gently pressing my lips to his. Warm. 

He melted the slightest amount, his shoulders sagging, his chest leaning closer to me. He was sweeter, now, in the morning. Softer, more patient. I slipped my hands up behind his neck, scratching lightly at the hair poking out from beneath his hat. He sighed into my mouth, his arms squeezing me closer to him. 

I wasn't sure how long we stayed like that, warm and close. When we broke apart, he cleared his throat, looking past me to not meet my eyes. "You..." his voice scratched out and he cleared his throat again, "Y'can stay with me, if you want. 'Till this whole thing blows over."

I had a sneaking suspicion it would be a long time yet. I nuzzled my nose against his jaw. Staying with him was safer than anything I would try on my own. "Thank you, Arthur."

He hummed. 

a/n: on a scale of 1-10 how terrible is it that i posted this from class NOT WROTE IN CLASS posted from

anyway teehee hope you enjoyed and also hope it wasnt obvious that i kinda had no idea where to go with this teehee im just a girl

(also posted on ao3 under same user)

[vagabond-umlaut]

Honey & Maple Syrup

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader; Arranged Marriage; Childhood Friendship To Complicated Feelings™️; Flangst; Explicit Smut [P-In-V; Switch!Gojo]; Angst With A Happy Ending; Porn With Feelings™️; Brief Mentions Of Reader Being Mildly Injured In A Mission. This is 18+ Content -> Minors & Ageless Blogs Please DNI!!!

Oneshot From Series: One Day, Three Autumns [Can Be Treated As A Stand-Alone]

Satoru Is So Emotional While Making Love To His Wife. Said WIfe Too Gets Really Soft Very Quickly For Her Husband— Albeit She Knows To Mask Her Emotions Behind Her Incredibly Dumb & Mildly Yandere-ish Jokes. She's Such A Tsundere, ISTG!! [Gojo Has No Problem With That Aspect Of The Reader, Though. Sweet For The Reader, IG...]

Uh-huh, sex with Gojo sure is something else but do you know what's even more of a something else?

Sex with Gojo on the floor of your living room at three in the night— those clothes of yours scattered over the tiny distance from the front door while your husband pounds into you in a frantic rush, tears filled in his blue eyes as his lips slot against yours messily– the moisture on his long lashes dripping onto your wet warm cheeks.

The mission you returned from wasn't too difficult; the blood on your clothes weren't much of yours either. Yet... all it takes this man is one look at you from head to toe, before his sleepy gaze switches into an extremely worried gaze and he pulls you into the safety of your home and into the safety of his arms, then tilting your chin up and claiming your lips in a fiery needy kiss—

Though nowhere as needy as the moan he lets out now, on your legs tightening round his waist and driving his shaft even deeper into the trembling, throbbing, leaking mess you've become down there.

"Nngh, sweetness– p-please!" he whimpers into your ear, sharp nose nuzzling into your temple, as he delivers yet another powerful thrust, drawing a garbled version of his name from your mouth– making the muscles in your body relax yet tense, ache yet tinge in pleasure– "It's so, so tight, fuckk-" he drawls out, rolling his hips against yours. Eyes squeezing tight shut. Lifting his head from beside you, his lips part in yet another throaty moan. "'s sooo good- yea, perfect f'me– aren't ya made for me, my love?"

"Am I?" You inquire softly, relishing in the way he reaches you deep in your walls, filling the hollow; though you keep your eyes wide open to drink in the ethereal glow your man is radiating, in the dim moonlight through the curtains. "I'm makin' you cry— ah, 'Toru—" your guilt gets washed away in a wave of unadulterated pleasure– Gojo's fingers flex around yours on one side of your head, whilst his free hand brushes a tear rolling down your cheek into the cold marble below.

In reverent affection. In adoration, your pleasure-hazy mind whispers.

Two plush lips press into yours before retreating an inch away. "You're perfect, sweetness," Gojo says, slowing his motions a little– an action which makes you move to buck your hips upward, only to be stopped by a large palm covering your waist and holding it in place, "And don't feel guilty for anything– you're too good for me, too precious for me– 'm always scared I might lose you. I... don't want anyone– anything to take you too away from me— you–" his voice assumes a rare tremble; he resumes, moving his hand from your hip to cradle your cheek.

"You do understand that, sweetness— don't you?"

Some other time and you suppose you'll be busy wondering, how on earth this man has that short his recovery time to be blubbering one minute then reassuring you the next— now is no such time, however.

Fresh tears curtaining the steely determination and tender affections in those azure pools of power. Fingers flexing yet again, as if to grasp and engrave the feeling of your fingers intertwined with them forever. Calloused palm caressing your cheeks, gentler than a rose petal.

Your husband— The One And Only Honored One— looking at you as if the only deity he deems is worth believing in is right in front of him, under him— Every strand of his soul worshipping every atom of your being, as if that is the only means he might achieve enlightenment—

You don't know how to deal with the storm of emotions your sudden realizations wreak through your body [one disadvantage of marrying your childhood best friend is how easily you can read him, during an emotionally charged moment, further increasing the weight on your emotions-weary self...]— You do know how to deal with the storm of emotions wreaking havoc in your husband, though. [Count this as an advantage of marrying your childhood best friend— you take quite a great deal of pride in knowing none can read Gojo the way you do.]–

Pulling him down, until his well-defined chest collides with the soft flesh of your breasts, you take advantage of the sudden loss of grip he has on you to flip him onto his back — and lean down, your nose bumping into his and your lips separated in small huffs, being mere yet too much an inch away from his, open in a small shocked circle.

Notwithstanding the dull ache in your calf nor the stinging pain at the apex of your thighs the abrupt change in position has brought along– you smile.

Too much drunk on the emotion you know one must never allow their ridiculous hearts to experience in your line of work; though, you think you can be a hypocrite for tonight– the first and only time in your life.

You press a swift kiss to the corner of his lips. "I'm here, 'Toru and I'll be here, worrying you and annoying you to your wits' ends, till death does us apart– maybe after then too, I'm going to haunt you and the next woman you marry, till she runs away and you're left all alone for me to monopolize again— Heh, sounds like one hell of an antidote to your insanely stupid worries– doesn't it, Satoru?" you ask with a grin.

A huff of a laugh sounds from the addressed man. Raising yourself a little, you narrow your eyes, ready with biting retorts— only to pause on catching the upwards curve slowly forming on his lips— so small yet so blinding in quality, as it grows and stretches, bringing out the adorable dimples in his cheeks, eclipsing the fear and concern in his features by its priceless beauty, you know no fake smile can possess— no matter how bright, how wide, how well-practised they are.

Heart thundering within your chest, you brush away a tear clinging to his eyelashes with a thumb, moving to plant your lips to his face once more.

Ah, well— you tell yourself with a happy little sigh— perhaps, you can be a hypocrite for a bit longer than tonight.

I do not own the characters used. Divider is by @cafekitsune. Please do not plagiarize or translate or repost this. Hope you enjoyed reading this! 😊

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[shoshiwrites]

I shall join you in the trash can my dear. For Jo & Bucky from the NSFW prompts (because I am unhinged about this):

[ UNZIP ] sender unzips/unbuttons receiver’s dress/shirt - s l o w l y 🫠

Emaaaaa! Thank you so much for this prompt, and for entertaining my Jo/Bucky ramblings at any time of day. It means so much that you're in the trash can with me on board. This was......... supposed to be a smut prompt and we ended up with............3200 words of Scenes I Really Needed To Write For Them Actually, comma mildly spicy 🙈 Bucky Egan x War correspondent OC. Also on Ao3!

leading with my heart again

She’s read the same page three times.

The coffee’s drained, and the cup of tea, and maybe she ought to stop now, now that her hand is shaking a bit holding the pencil, from the caffeine or everything she hardly knows. 

A hotel bar with a hole in it. When she blinks she can still see the smoke. A few stragglers at the end of the night. Even though the nights don’t end here, they haven’t for years. Local drinkers. Society usuals. A handful of correspondents. Al Stern, a friend of Marian’s. She’d broken out a fresh bottle of gin in his honor. Blanche Aurand, narrowly escaped from Marseilles, her photographer friend. Salim? Jo’s met them all. 

You’re scared, she wants to say. Like it’s not her own self sitting here, the ticking of the clock and the tap of her foot, her toes in her shoes. She reaches up to fidget with the tiny gold hoop in her ear.

The bar is gone now, and so are they.

She hasn’t heard much by way of Thorpe Abbotts lately. She’s trying not to let that bother her. 

If Kay were here, she'd tell her to sit up straight and quit looking like a gargoyle. If-

“Thought I’d find you here.”

His voice is a momentary shock, and still familiar, like a sun-drenched room. He leans against the bar, nods at the man polishing glasses to let him know about an order — the bartender who looks too similar to the last. If she closes her eyes, she sees a white jacket covered in brick-dust, or blood. 

She smells the major’s aftershave, through the smoke of the bar and the bitter coffee. 

He dips his head, an explanation to what she imagines is her still-bewildered face. “Rang your office.”

She really does try to sit up straight, now. Suddenly ashamed, or something like it, of herself next to his freshly-cleaned uniform. Her slacks with a broken crease, a blouse with a wrinkle or two. Her hair’s a mess, or feels like it. “Oh.”

She blinks again, sees that he’s holding a metal tin in his hand — barley sweets, nestled in waxed paper — and a small bunch of torn green stems attached to white-petaled flowers. 

“No cherry,” he says. He looks fondly annoyed, almost. “I told them a few packs of smokes oughta change their tune, but I think they were really out.” 

He surveys the space in front of her, the rings of coffee and the scattered pages and the folded newspaper, the front splash of the dead. Her people, his people, their people. Everyone belonging to someone. She hears him clear his throat. Like he already knows the answer to the question, the one he doesn’t ask. Did you know them? Yes. 

The barkeep’s looking at the two of them expectantly. “What can I get for you?”

She replaces the cup on its saucer, places the little spoon next to it and slides the whole operation towards him. “I’m alright, thanks, Louie.”

The major orders a whiskey, doesn’t let her put it on her tab. He’s not too insulted about it though, he knows her. The question’s silent again, when he’s got his glass, the nod of his chin. Who’re we drinking to tonight?

But she knows now, she knows you don’t ask. His eyes are dark here, in the fading light. The mask-marks, the circles under his eyes. The stray curl always out of place.

“So,” he says, gathering himself, setting the glass back on the bar with a dull thud. “How much time do you need?”

“Time?”

“To get all…” he gestures with his hand. “Unless you’d rather we sit around here all night.”

She taps her fingers on the bar, watches her watch and chain catch the light. Looks up at Major Egan standing there, wondering just how much Kay will kill her if she walks back out of this hotel in a plain black dress. “Depends if you like a girl’s hair with only a few knots or none.”

He makes a noise of dismissal. “I hope Kay won’t be too sore about me whisking you away.”

A remark about Captain Demarco takes shape on her tongue, but she swallows it. “Make it twenty, but I’ll be quick.” 

Upstairs, she does what she can with her curls, washes her face and tries to shape her brows, reapplies her lipstick. The deep cherry color is hardly forgiving, and she has to concentrate to be careful enough with the lines of her cupid’s bow. For a brief moment she thinks of it smudged, on her teeth, on his mouth.

The dress she’d brought over is indeed black, cocktail-length, collared, with a little piped pocket, a bit of detailing. Maybe it’s a little dated, she’ll acknowledge that, but she’s tried to keep it tailored to the current style, fitted, hemmed shorter. Kay would try to send her out in something bright, rose-colored or teal, never mind that it’s October in London. She admires Kay’s boldness. Loves it, in fact, but it’s not for her. 

The bracelet stays, the watch, her earrings, her mother’s medallion beneath the collar of the dress. Heels with thin ties wrapped ‘round her ankles, and her coat. 

Hastily, she’d put the flowers in an empty bottle of Fernet-Branca, figuring Kay wouldn’t mind. He’d had less of an explanation for them than the tin of sweets, something about passing them on his way, something like a boyish smile.  Just as quickly she plucks one, laces it into the back of her updo. It’s already been cut, anyway. She wonders where he’d got them, wonders if she’ll ask. She remembers the florist down the street from her apartment in Philadelphia, the spring flowers outside Pittsburgh. She can’t see it, but he will, standing above her. 

Back down in the lobby, the tips of her fingers brush his shoulder at the low armchair, the last of his drink still in front of him. 

“Now, aren’t you a sight.” It’s not the same voice as usual — quieter. Like he’s drinking her in, like the whiskey at the bottom of the glass. “Too pretty to be out with me, that’s for damn sure.”  

She smiles, and she doesn’t even have to try, sure that her cheeks are a little pink. “Kay won’t be sore about me leaving, but she might have my head about this dress.”

He looks truly confused. “Why?”

Her hand gestures without thinking at the simple sweep of the skirt; she’s suddenly very aware of her legs. “Too boring.”

He makes a face. “Hell with that.” A small sniff, as he reconsiders. “Sorry.”

For the first time, she laughs. “I won’t tell her you said that.”

“Tell her whatever you want, you still look too good to be true.”

Now she’s really blushing. “A sight for sore eyes, huh?” The pendant rests in the dip of her collarbone, beneath the neckline of her dress. She feels it, feels the clasp at the back of her neck and the chain. 

“You don’t know the half of it.” He stands, taking the glass, polishes the last sip of his drink.

She lets herself put a hand on his jacket. “Let me buy your next one?”

He reaches for her hand, for her wrist under the sleeve of her coat. “Now, I’ll have no more of that talk, Josephine.” 

The streets are dark outside, an excuse to stay close to him. A door materializes, a small place with small tables, glowing candles and bottles of liquor and wine. It’s all very respectable, the twirl they take around the floor, and then the next, his hands at her waist, hers up around his neck. A bead of sweat works its way down the back of her neck, between her shoulderblades. He dips his head to ask if she’d like to sit, his temple damp and tacky before her mouth, in the warm room. They do, after another dance, sit and watch the couples sway from a table on the side, listen to the jukebox. I need no soft lights to enchant me- 

She lets him buy her one drink, and then two, the dark rum color catching the candlelight at the bottom of the glass. She doesn’t feel under watch here like she does at the base. Though, there’d been plenty of moments there that maybe they shouldn’t have been allowed. They. She doesn’t know what that means, here in this war. You dance one night and find an empty space the next. Or someone else. His ankle nestles against hers under the table. She wants to kiss him.

What’s stopping her?

His eyes are so blue, and she knows she’s staring. “Got something for you. If- if you want it.” It snaps her out of it a moment, her brow furrowing as he reaches into his pocket. A small gold pin in his palm, the Air Corps insignia. The kind he wears on his collar. “Since I made off with that scarf of yours.”  

The white one, he means, with flowers and Swiss dots. She’d worn it up. He’d taken it as a joke afterwards, smiling, a crack about it being prettier than the one he’d got, but not as pretty as Major Cleven’s. Buck’s. A joke, or so she’d thought. Her mistake to think a pilot’s lucky charms weren’t the most deadly serious things of all. She knows, now. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to think he meant it. 

She could wear it, here in London. His pin. A person would know she had someone. Someone. She doesn’t know how to explain him, for all her words. Brave, like all of them. Brave and funny and flirting, the fiery death or the pretty girl. A heart she wants to curl up inside of. And he’s here in front of her, fidgeting, waiting for her to say something. Here, hands and shoulders and knees. It hurts to think of anything else. She would know who she had.

“See,” she says softly, meeting his eyes. She feels like a schoolgirl, watching him. “Knew what I was doing, wearing black and gold.” She reaches to touch his palm, about to take it and pin it on. He moves to do it himself, leaning forward. She shivers, the touch of his fingers at her throat, under the collar of her dress.

If you would only grant me the right-To hold you ever so tight-

Maybe it’s the light, or the drinks, or the music, or the fact that staying ten minutes past last call could have put her on the front page of that newspaper too. Every mission, the odds go down.

Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at her, like he’s hoping she’ll ask him for something he can give. 

He’s so close to her now. Maybe-

“Mmph-” He tastes like spice and alcohol, the sweat of his upper lip pressed to hers. He releases the pinch of fabric in his hands, the pin now fastened to her lapel. It hardly takes a second for his hands to find her jaw. His touch loosens the tension of her shoulders, sparks warm and firelit in her belly. She stays, lets the kiss grow sloppier until her tongue is pressing against his teeth.

They only stop because she needs a second to catch her breath, to watch him smile at her like she’s somehow surprised him.

“Why are you smiling?”

He doesn’t stop. “I’ll give you one guess, Josephine.”

She thinks better of a retort, lets her cheeks go red and leans forward again, a noisy kiss against his mouth. 

A voice in the back of her head sounds a warning, something distorted, through the sound of the music and the smoky haze. The singer’s own shines through, the brassy big band music that always makes her think of him. There I go, leading with my heart again- She ought to head back to the hotel now, before the night calls for another bar, another drink or three, a bed. And there I go, acting not-so-smart again-

She stands, smooths her skirt, adjusts the soles of her feet inside her shoes. “One more spin?” 

Something falls out of his eyes; he looks like he wants to argue with her, but he doesn’t. A few seconds before he answers. “Early morning?”

She nods, and it feels like the worst lie. Even though it isn’t, she’s got a briefing with the Ministry of Information tomorrow, and plans to meet another source for coffee. Probably more drinks, she thinks. It would hardly be the first time someone showed up for a meeting hungover.

But though it’s unwise, I can’t disguise my love-

Afterwards, they walk back out into the cold night, the smell of his aftershave still in her nose. He touches the flower at the back of her hair. “You got your last dance, can I get a last kiss?”

It surprises her, the forlorn note in her voice. “Where did I use the word last, Major?”

He sighs, or something like it. “Don’t have to, it’s written all over your face.”

Her fingertips find his lapels, the top of her head nuzzled under his chin. “I would hope I’m less readable than that.”

A laugh escapes him, though it’s hardly full of humor. “You’re really not.”

Like you, right? “A shitty pokerface, remember?” 

“‘Cept this time it’s not about the coffee.”

“What’s it about, then?”

He doesn’t answer, leans down and kisses her and steadies her with his hands, what she imagines is her own lipstick tacky against the sides of her mouth. He doesn’t stop, and neither does she. His hand burrows between her coat and her dress, hugging her waist. She presses against it.

They should be walking, or ducked under an eave, not out here like this after dark. This corner. 

Her back automatically straightens when they hear a bicyclist go past, a little huff from his lips and hers as she breaks away. 

“I can still bring you back-” he says belatedly, “if-”

He’s offering her this. Maybe she can admit it to herself now, wanting it too much to refuse.

She shakes her head. “It’s alright, John.”

There’s something in his eyes at that, no Major, just John. “I’m glad.” His voice is heavy when he answers her. Low. His fingertips press against her waist. “I’ve been thinking about this damn dress all night.”

“The dress?”

He smiles, the scratch of his mustache against her cheek. “Alright, the zipper.” He laughs softly, what he imagines her face must look like in the dark, under the cloud-filled sky. “Just bein’ honest.”

Her mouth hovers at the corner of his jaw. “I’d expect nothing less.”

“What else do you expect?” Her chest feels like it’s full of butterflies, when he asks.

“That…you won’t stop talking.” She kisses the spot under his ear. “Please.”

He snorts. Maybe she’s imagining it, the slightest breathiness to his voice. “Now tell me what you really think of me, Josephine.”

Can I? she thinks. “Well, what do you expect?”

He pauses, considering. “That you’ll keep kissing me. Makin’ me blush.”

“I make you blush?”

“Like a tomato, Josephine. ‘Least it feels like it. One flash of those knees and-” She smacks him lightly across the lapel. “Hey.”

“I guess I told you not to stop talking.”

“Yes, you did. Now where was I-”

“My knees.”

“Right.”

A few more couples make their way outside, swirls of perfume and rum and sweat, almost bumping into them. She knows what she’s asking, now. “Maybe we should, uh-”

“Maybe you’re right.”

His hotel is closer, they’d walked by it on the way. She tries not to duck her head in the lobby. He kisses her on the landing of the stairs and again outside the door, forehead lingering against hers.

It’s a large room, larger than she expected, certainly not the little thing she and Kay share at the Highgate, the wallpaper peeling by the radiator. There’s not much of him here besides a bed that’s half-made, a garment bag by the front leg of the desk.

“It’s a nice room,” she says, trying to banish the wobble in her stomach. 

He makes a noise that sounds almost like a laugh. “They know how to charge officers around here.”

“Still.” She reaches back to fidget with the clasp of her necklace. “I uh-”

“Something wrong?”

No. “It’s been-” She’s suddenly embarrassed, left ignorant as to how this is supposed to go. Not ignorant, just-

“Can I get you a drink? We could get something sent up.”

“No, thank you.” It’s probably too late, anyway. He takes off his jacket, drapes it over the back of the small chair at the desk. She takes a deep breath. “I suppose you should kiss me again.”

He smiles, deep and wolfish. “You suppose, huh?”

“Yes.” He does, lets her thread her fingers in his hair. “Suppose I should let you sit, too,” she says. 

“However you want, sweetheart.”

She wants to slap herself for what comes out next. “Really?” 

He looks at her like she’s a little bit crazy. His eyes are gleaming in the low light, dulled against the closed curtains. “You say jump, I say how high.”

She shakes her head before she can stop herself. Her voice is small, and wanting, and she feels suddenly like she’ll fall apart if he doesn’t keep holding her. “Please, just kiss me.” 

Don’t make me think. Let me forget everything except you. 

“Just say the word,” he says, but he’s already got his mouth on hers. 

She’d stopped caring about her lipstick hours ago, and to hell with everything else now. She’s in his lap, here in a locked room, his hand high up her thigh and her own pressed on top of it.

Soon, her dress is around her hips, and he’s got his hands on the top of the zipper, stopping when it catches. He presses a sloppy kiss to her neck, the dip of her collarbone, exposed. She helps him open the rest of the dress, awkwardly, twisting an elbow. He stops, and looks at her with a hazy stare; two kisses, one above each breast, and one to St. Christopher between them. She undoes his tie, not quite an easy task when he’s lavishing kisses on her shoulders. Keeping his promise. She ought to, too. She presses her mouth to the freckles dotting his chest, and one for his crucifix, another for the medallion. Maybe, she thinks, they should use the rest of the bed.

“I’m glad I stopped by,” he says, quiet and rasping and a little bit breathless, his cheeks a shade of coral in the light. 

“You found me,” she says, and it sounds like thank you.

He seems to consider this, his hands stilled under her dress. She can feel him, underneath her. It sends a rush of sparks through her chest, her stomach, her hips. “I did.”

“You did.”

I trust you, she wants to say. But she doesn’t, doesn’t know what to say next. Only brings a hand to his cheek, and his curls, only kisses him again.

[08melancholie]

in typical "i can fix him" fashion, i like to indulge in shameless delusions about Micah falling obsessively in love with me (/the reader) and being absolutely destraught over it because suddenly his whole world view is being turned upside down. Suddenly there's more to life than surviving and fighting, and he has to figure out himself and his values all over again because of a woman he's come to love more than himself. I'd love to hear your take on obsessive love, actually-kinda-wants-the-best-for-you Micah, if you'd like <3

((PS: im so sorry if this is cringe))

Trust me, I do not believe in cringe on this account🙏

As far as obsessive love with Micah goes, I can totally see it; in his own little ways.

He's definitely more subtle about it. Before getting together, you'll literally have no idea at all that he was heavily infatuated with you. He's discreet because you cant be a rough, mean cowboy while being in love and acting like a schoolgirl with her first ever crush.

There's a part of the game where we see him ask Mary-Beth to dance that one time. He's stuttering and nervous; and that's how I imagine he'd be with you at first. It's all so new to him, falling in love, so it's only natural you'll see a more vulnerable, almost scared side of him. Softie Bell, I love you.

He won't be too physical with you outside of intimacy, like he's not a cuddler but if you were to ask him, he'd oblige a few times to keep you happy—because he loves you. Just kind of laying down with you and doing whatever comes to mind; rubbing your back or head slowly. We know he's a heavy insomniac so if you fall asleep, he'll just stare at the tent ceiling and space out, waiting for you. He'll never admit it, but he loves having you in his arms.

He'll show his upmost trust and love for you with things that might seem minuscule to an outside perspective; like letting you handle Baylock or his precious guns which would be a huge sign of trust on his end. He once left his guns in your care for nearly three hours and it was the best thing ever.

He'll definitely handle you more gently—like he does his guns. You're both precious to him, that's for sure. I can see him being too scared to even touch you too roughly or hug you too tightly at first, as if you were made of porcelain or something. Over time, he gets a lot more comfortable as he warms up to the feeling—and after you tell him he can touch you like a normal person would.

God forbid someone tries to even talk to you when he takes you out—immediate threats and many bar fights you witnessed go down in which Micah went ballistic. Most nights out end with you and him at the medicine wagons, both on your own crate as you scold Micah for his temper while you clean his face up. Was it partially just his plan to have you touching him and cleaning him up longer? Maybe.

Just mildly a stalker, by the way. Oh, you're doing chores around camp? Wow, what a coincidence; Micah is in the exact spot where he can watch while not being too obvious about it! Wow, that's a crazy coincidence, surely!

Probably has your whole routine/schedule memorised; he knows when you're doing what chore, and he knows where he has to go to be able to watch. He's a little creep and we love it.

Honorable mention — love language.

His love language is definitely quality time. If he catches you alone somewhere, he'll walk over and do literally anything just to be around your presence. You could be doing chores and he'll just walk over and lean on the nearest tree or wagon to you, take his knife out and start sharpening it. Literally anything to spend time with you at this point. Won't make an effort at smalltalk because he actually enjoys sitting in silence with you, but will occasionally let you yap his ear off when you have something to say. "Mhm..; Oh, yeah?; You don't say?; Wow, yeah?" He'll respond with whatever just to keep you talking to him, loves the sound of your voice.

this was me using the req to my advantage to spit out all the micah content plaguing my brain. pls help he wont pay rent or leave the premises. hell, i'm the one that's obsessed as of now.

In conclusion;

Micah is secretly obsessed with you and will never truly admit it—even if it's goddamn obvious to everybody.

[nocandnc]

I wonder that in the wedding of Kafka and Mina, what would Okonogi and Hoshina do? Also who would try to catch the bouquet during the wedding reception? (I believe that would be Hoshina=))) And what was other's feeling after seeing that? Thank you for your time^^

Hi there~

It's funny you bring this up as I have a wedding-related OkoHoshi ficlette idea I've been tinkering with lately, though I don't know if I'll go ahead with it...

Anyways, KafMina wedding!!

They do strike me as the type to go with a modern western-style wedding, bouquet tossing and all! White is very much Mina's colour and she'd look gorgeous in a full bridal gown (Kafka is mildly scared to find a pistol strapped to her thigh later into the night, which she claims - somewhat unconvincingly, might he add - is a precaution against kaiju other than her new husband.)

Regarding Okonogi and Hoshina... I think they might be left out of the wedding party to be honest. Instead, Reno and Kikoru take up the position of Best Man and Maid of Honor respectively (+ Bakko as ring bearer). Not because Kafka and Mina wouldn't want them to take part, but if the Captain is busy celebrating her wedding day then the Vice Captain needs to be at the ready to take care of any urgent kaiju matters on her behalf, right? It just makes practical sense. As for Okonogi, well... she'd just feel too awkward being part of a fancy ceremony like that, even if the eyes weren't necessarily on her.

But Hoshina and Okonogi still attend as guests of course!

While Hoshina isn't a part of the wedding party proper, Kafka and Mina still pull him up on stage to give a speech early into the reception festivities. Okonogi makes no speeches but claps as others say their piece, eyes misty from joy and laughter.

The heartfelt anecdotes and silly jokes wrap up, after which there is cake and music and drinks of all kinds.

When it comes time to throw the bouquet, several ladies gather near the front in hopes of improving their chances of getting married catching the beautiful flower arrangement - but it turns out Mina's throwing arm is just as impressive as her firing one and she overshoots the crowd by a large margin.

It flies across the venue in a long arc, petals scattering along the unexpected trajectory.

Soshiro barely registers the object entering his peripheral but snatches it from the air flawlessly all the same - as expected, it takes the Vice Captain to catch the Captain's throws. He laughs a little at the bouquet that's now securely in hand, followed by further laughter as the attending women groan and cry out in disappointment.

"How could you, sir!"

"That's supposed to be for us girls!!"

"I caught it fair an' square!" He shoots back, waving the bouquet at them like a baton. "How about you try puttin' in a little more work for it next time!?"

It's all in good fun though, for the women laugh too and quickly return to drinking and dancing and the eating of cake.

Somewhat prior to this, a reticent Okonogi was dragged onto the dance floor by Akari and the rest for several fast-paced songs. Though she'd admit to having a bit of fun, that one bit was still more than enough for her. The Operations Leader sticks to lingering near the drink bar after this, quietly taking photos now and then - even snapping a shot of their Vice Captain catching Mina's bouquet when the cameraman wasn't ready - but otherwise content to watch the cheerful chaos from a distance.

A wallflower like her had no aspirations of catching flowers.

...Which is why Okonogi Konomi is all the more startled when the much-sought-after bouquet is suddenly shoved into her hands.

"Huh?"

"Hold these for me, would you dear?" Vice Captain Hoshina asks before she's even fully registered his presence.

"What??"

Amused by Konomi's bewildered state, Soshiro flashes his sharp canines at her along with his phone - a familiar Kaiju warning blinking violently across the narrow screen.

"Duty calls!"

[blushweddinggowns]

Steve was completely normal the next day. Infuriatingly, normal. Flirting with girls and spinning his hat around. Normal enough for Robin to start to think she had a full on hallucination last night. But she wasn’t crazy. She knew that she saw those two going at it, all in front of Eddie's signature shitty van.

Didn’t she?

“You’ve been quiet today.”

Robin jumped at the sound of Steve’s voice, completely lost in her own thoughts. He was staring right at her, popping his gum as he went on, “You don’t even bring the flirting board out. Did you get bored of it or are you finally willing to concede that I’m a great flirt?”

“I’ll never concede that,” Robin said easily. It was true anyway, the guy was freaking terrible at it, at least with girls his own age. Now housewives and cougars he had a knack for. But anyone who could possibly be girlfriend material ended up leaving with a giggle and a funny story about the dork in the sailor suit trying to pick them up, and nothing more. 

But Robin had a feeling that maybe Harrington had been downplaying his skills in that department afterall.

He raised a brow at her, “So what’s your problem then?”

“I’m just tired,” She lied, “A consequence of having to be here so late. Alone. Thanks again for that by the way. Hope your night was worth it.”

The little shit didn’t even try to look like he felt guilty. He just smirked, “Oh, it was. And I’m holding up my end of the deal aren’t I? I’m not flirting with grandmas for kicks over here.”

She had to give him that. He really had been turning up the charm for the mall walkers. But still…

“Aw, poor you. Like you wouldn’t have been trying to get in someone’s pants without owing me,” She said, trying for casualness. Like she wasn’t watching for his every reaction out of the corner of her eye, “Isn’t the hump and dump the Harrington way?”

He rolled his eyes, his voice on the colder side when he answered, “Don’t believe everything you hear Buckley. I happen to be the perfect gentleman, thank you very much.”

Weirdly enough, part of her was starting to believe it. 

But still. Even if she saw them kissing, it left too many unanswered questions. What about the trail of heartbroken women he had left in his wake? What about Nancy Wheeler, the only girl who ever landed him for more than a day? They had been pretty serious before he’d gotten dumped, hadn’t they?

But now that Robin thought about it, no matter how many women came into Steve’s life, Eddie remained the only constant. Hell, in the short few weeks she'd been around him, it was obvious that he was obsessed with Steve, and vice versa. He was in nearly every day, until the manager banned him for being "distracting" to the workers. Which was half true, but Robin had a feeling it had more to do with him scaring customers away with his looks.

That was the only semi-scary thing about him though. He never really freaked Robin out that much, despite what others said about him. He was still in the loser category afterall and those were her people. Yeah he was loud, dressed like a confused goth, and sold drugs, but he wasn’t violent. He was shit stirrer, sure, but outside of appearances he was just mildly intimidating, at least to Robin. But when he was with Steve, even that was out the window. He basically just became a ray of sunshine, sweet, happy, bright, and weirdly enough…obedient? 

He basically did anything Steve asked of him, whether that be getting him lunch or helping them close up, the guy just did it. No questions asked, like it was an honor to be on Steve’s beck and call. Though Robin was sure the free ice cream helped.

Steve had sulked for days after Eddie was banned, and Robin thought it was because he lost his free personal assistant. But now…she didn’t know what was going on. 

Maybe this shouldn’t have been as shocking as it was. It’s not like there hadn’t been rumors. People had been making fun of them for being close for years.  But they were teenage boys around other teenage boys. How seriously was Robin supposed to take that? And teenage boys calling each other gay was like…a constant. Not just for Steve and Eddie. For literally any guy who did something slightly out of the norm was up for the title. Someone found out that a dude liked baking? Bam, gay. A guy dare cries in front of his friends after he gets dumped by a girlfriend? Super gay. She even heard a dude be called a fag for admitting to liking soccer for God’s sake. There was no rhyme or reason to male straightness, how was she supposed to know which rumors were true? 

She needs more, some kind of confirmation that guarantees she’s not wrong about this whole thing. And on a particularly slow day, she finds it. She hadn’t gone into work with the intention of eavesdropping on Steve through the break room door, but that’s where she landed. 

They had only been on shift for two hours and the guy was already on his second fifteen, insisting that he only had to make one “quick” call before going back to work. And she just…followed him back there, her curiosity getting the best of her.

“I know, I know. But it’s only a few more hours,” Steve’s muffled voice sighed, “I just wish you could still come see me. That rule is total bullshit.”

By this point Robin was pretty used to the tone of Steve’s voice. He usually sounded bored, always with a little edge of cockiness, unless you did something to rile him up. But he sounded different on the phone. Kinder. Sweeter even. She wasn’t sure. 

“Aw baby, are you down that bad?” Steve cooed. That cockiness she was used to was back in his voice, but now it was mixed with something else. Like he was breathless or something, she didn’t know, “Want me to walk you through it? I got ten minutes.”

Robin furrowed her brow, more than a little confused. Walk him through what?”

"Well if it feels so tight why don't you take it off?” Steve purred, barely loud enough for Robin to hear, “There you go. Isn't that better?"

Robin froze, mind racing at what she was hearing. But that couldn’t be right. She had to be misinterpreting this somehow, right? There was no way in hell that Steve would be have freaking phone sex at work-

“Yeah sweetheart, you can touch yourself now. Can you make it a little wetter baby? That’s it, good boy. Love when you get all whiny.”

Jesus Chrsit, he was. She had to stop listening after that, half out of embarrassment and half because…it just felt wrong. Though she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious about where that conversation went. Extremely curious. But the small ounce of decorum she had left wouldn’t allow for it. 

Steve came out of the break room with a flush and a smirk ten minutes later, like the fucking weirdo he was. 

While he was distracted with their third customer of the day, she snuck back to the break room and pressed re-dial, not surprised in the slightest when she was met with a breathy, “Munson residence!" on the other line.

She hung up immediately at the sound of Eddie’s voice. That was all the proof she needed. There was no doubt about it now. Steve and Eddie were together. And had been for awhile. That four years comment wasn't looking like an exaggeration. 

And just like that her entire high school worldview was smashed into a million pieces. Because Steve fucking Harrington was in a relationship with a guy. A serious relationship. The same dude that she spent years obsessing over and being jealous over because of his charms, was as gay as she was. 

What a world. 

But somehow, this massive realization didn’t fix the jealousy. Because before she was jealous of all of the attention he got, from people she always thought he never deserved. But now she was jealous over the fact that he had managed the impossible. He was in a committed relationship with a man, a man whose dick he sucked while they were driving and who he walked through jerking off on the phone. While no one else was the wiser. How the fuck had he managed that? In this town of all places? While Robin was over here still pining away over every pretty blonde girl that smiled at her, Steve was living her closeted gay dream. How could she not be jealous?

But at least now it was mixed with some awe. Because if Steve Harrington could get away with being gay in Hawkins, why couldn’t she? She just wished she could talk to him about it. She just didn’t know what to say. But she knew she wanted to say something. 

Like maybe, Hey, I totally saw you making out with your boyfriend and I'm so far past being cool with it, I actually think it’s amazing. And oh I’m also gay and can we be best friends? 

Honestly though, from the little she did know about the guy, maybe that speech would be taken pretty well. She just didn’t know how to bring it up. Or when. 

But she was going to, eventually. She was going to get to know that dingus if it killed her.

Part two to this & from an this fic

[pjsk-headcanons]

inspired by genshin anon here are my zenless zone zero hcs

ichika really enjoys the game but she cannot get perf.dodge/perf.assist/anything timing based because she is constantly listening to miku music while playing and the dissonance between the combat timing and the music timing messes with her. she is definitely a qingyi main, solely because the pigtails remind her of miku. she wants to install some skin editor mods but is terrified of being banned because of it and losing her c6 u5 qingyi

saki started playing at launch but lost interest quickly because it's not the same style of game as genshin

honami plays and is spookily good at the game. she usually just dissociates into the void. she is a soldier 11 main, the "right timing" mechanic scratches her brain.

shiho does not play but is obsessed with jane doe. she stole shizuku's login to stare at jane ingame for hours.

all of mmj "play" zzz because of a brand deal, but of the four, only shizuku and minori actually play.

minori is a bit of a klutz and like ichika, sucks at quickswap mechanics, and she mains nekomata. she has lost the 50/50 every single time she pulled, and has nekomata c6.

shizuku is a hardcore player, has been playing every day since launch, has spent all her battery charge every single day, has a timer so her charge doesn't cap & she doesn't miss out on any. her ign is something like "mr.chop luvr". she mains whoever's on banner, it changes every banner. at the moment she's a jane main, but will switch when the newest character is up.

kohane plays and mains piper because she likes her playstyle, but she doesn't actually know how to use her. she sometimes asks toya for help on stuff and he ends up going on a 3-hour-long autism infodump. she is too scared to interrupt and tell him that she just wants to know which wengine is best for piper.

toya is a hoyonerd. he's been playing since flyme2themoon and remembers the days when kiana was still "voiced by" hatsune miku (hoyo just didn't have the money to pay VA's and used a vsynth to solve the problem). is a firm believer that zzz is somehow tied to the honkaiverse despite dawei saying it is not. he is an anby main and pulled for u5 ice jade teapot for his anby.

emu plays, but not really. she likes the little games godfinger arcade has and only logs in once a week to defend her honor in top 1% of snake battle. when she does actually play tho, she mains corin.

nene plays and has horrible rng. she goes to hard pity every single time and always loses the 50/50. atp she mainly just pulls on standard banner to get closer to the 300 pull character selector - she desperately wants grace. is an anton main in the mean time.

kanade plays and really enjoys the mechanics, she didn't like genshin because of how awkward the combos always felt to her. she likes hi3 & zzz because of the character collab combos in fights, and feels great joy when she triggers chain attacks. she doesn't have a dedicated "main" because she mains koleda&ben combo.

mafuyu does not play but she would if she could - she thinks the character designs are mildly intruiging. is an ellen enjoyer, relates to ellen's uncaring meticulous methods of "cleaning". also shork gorl.

ena plays. after the mmj/zzz brand deal she got airi's discarded account that had been given c6 u5 soldier 11. does not play 11 very well, and sometimes pesters honami for tips.

— 🔆 anon (if that's not taken)

.

[l0v3lyr0ses]

Hello! If you write for springtrap, then this req for him please!

Basically reader tries to get Springtrap admit he’a a serial killer, but the reader is actually interested in murders so is kind of okay with him being sk?

It’s just curious reader basically

Hope it’s okay!!!!

this is an old anon request but i decided to post it anyway! i was having trouble at the time writing springtrap bc i was still catching up on fnaf lore (i still hope i managed to write him accurately!)

tw: springtrap is toxic (unsurprisingly)

Springtrap with a curious s/o!

springtrap is very much aware of what he's doing and that everything he's done in the past is wrong, even so Springtrap seems to think that you're lucky, honored to be his s/o when he could have just killed you instead

Springtrap on multiple occasions has reminded you that the reason you've survived fazbear frights is that he's there to save a fragile human like yourself.

many occasions had you tried to get a confession out of springtrap, but he would dodge the question every time by either saying "none of your business" or "you should be honored to be around me"

once he did finally admit to the many crimes he has done, Springtrap did not know whether to be pleasantly or unpleasantly surprised.

you weren't scared and about to run to the cops with an absolutely insane story, nothing had changed. except for the curiousity about the murders, you were almost eager to know more

Springtrap initially thought it was fucking weird that a human did not see, being a serial killer as a deal-breaker, honestly, he was even more caught off guard by your curiousity

he's happy to answer any questions but he's still mildly concerned if you have a kink for serial killers or something?

Springtrap would've hated to have to stuff you into a suit because it was something of a deal breaker, he's not losing you, luckily it did not come to that

[rpfisfine]

hello ive just gotten into idat and boyboy and you seem to be the most active account i can find and i know this is a stupid question but i actually cant tell are they gay and in love or is it just a bit and they have wives or some shit😭😭😭😭

IM ACTAUULY DYING.....MY CHEST IS CAVING IN....... it's not a stupid question at all its sth that plagues and haunts pretty much everyone who has ever watched at least one single video by them and i think this comment on the "are we gay?" buzzfeed quiz video on patreon in particular rly sums it up:

but yeah jokes aside in all seriousness they aren't actually gay (sad.) and are a self-proclaimed pair of "average straight friends" or whatever who also happen to be housemates. but i am convinced they are in love tbh like i honestly dont think that part is a bit at all. also they said once that their relationship is like that of a "conservative straight couple, scared of having sex with each other". and they don't have wives and aren't really actually confirmed to be dating anyone either at least at the moment but some of us just kind of collectively assume that they both have girlfriends however the possibility of them being single is equally as likely. im so honored you chose to seek answers on my blog which is, yeah definitely the most active one to put it extremely mildly youre right. i hope this answers your question at least a little bit although to be fair it probably doesn't i'm sorry

[fan-girls-r-us]

My slightly unhinged EdelBert headcanons:

- In private, Edelgard enjoys kissing Hubert; chaste pecks on the cheek, short kisses on the lips, sloppy make out sessions, mildly appropriate “church tongue”, it doesn’t matter. But she likes kissing him after his morning cup of coffee the most out of all of them.

- Hubert is secretly a remarkable poet. He’ll never admit to it, though. Most of what he writes (that he doesn’t burn) are sonnets dedicated to Edelgard.

- Edelgard enjoys snuggling. Hubert is (secretly) happy to oblige.

- Hubert can also sing rather beautifully, he just hates doing it. Prior to the Officer’s Academy, Edelgard was the only one who knew this. She is also the only person who can get him to acquiesce and sing.

- No one can convince me that Edelgard wasn’t hurt by Hubert’s lack of direct acknowledgment regarding her disappearance (revealed in Three Hopes) until they were in their 20s.

- Similarly, Hubert never told Edelgard the story about his ill-fated campaign to bring her home when he was ten— not because it was unimportant, but because he feared it would reveal his true feelings for her. And that scared him more than anything. It’s also likely the reason for his reluctance to discuss the above point as well.

- Should Edelgard and Hubert ever have children, she would absolutely be the “strict mom”, while he would 100 percent be the closet “fun dad”.

- Hubert was likely viciously tormented by his younger siblings for his love/devotion to Edelgard, which he ALSO refused to admit. The most ruthless teasing came from his sister, who just wanted her big brother to be happy.

- Even after they enter a relationship, Edelgard and Hubert argue. It’s not often, but when it happens, it’s bad. During one particular knock-down, drag out fight of theirs over her recklessness in battle, Edelgard screams, “you’re supposed to follow my orders!” To which, Hubert yells back, “My apologies, my lady, I was under the impression that we were equals.” They don’t speak to each other for several days, until Dorothea intervenes and makes them talk out their issues.

- We’re supposed to understand the paired ending cards as “pages from a history book in the distant future”. Given the ambiguity in a lot of the endings, Edelgard and Hubert’s included, it seems as though they should be taken with a grain of salt— as history is only as good as the records you keep… with that in mind, it’s possible that Hubert outlives Edelgard due to the toll of the Agarthan experiments. Upon her death, he burns all paper evidence of their personal lives (come to think of it, probably all evidence of any type) in order to keep their private lives private. So concrete evidence of their existence, which would have been plentiful while they were a part of the government, was wiped out (as per the “fade from history” line in the end card) when they went to live as private citizens— as Hubert was now in full control of the narrative. There was no longer evidence of them admitting their feelings, and it’s not like any of their friends would rat on them, so history was left to speculate based on what was widely known about their public personas; what is stated though, is far from the case. Regardless, Hubert doesn’t live much longer after Edelgard’s passing… and we all unfortunately know why.

- Should Edelgard marry someone else, (*ahem* Byleth *ahem*) Hubert refuses to stand in her way, despite his feelings; he’s just happy that she’s happy. He even walks her down the aisle on her wedding day and stands as her “Man of Honor”, as much as it kills him.

- Hubert prides himself on his attention to detail when it comes to Edelgard; he notices everything about her and her needs, even before her sometimes. Which is why it comes as a shock to him when she tells him that she’s pregnant, because he never would have guessed that as being the reason for her slightly strange behavior as of late. You guys ever see that one scene in BBC’s Sherlock where John asks Sherlock to be his best man, and Sherlock’s brain does the blue screen of death? Well, that’s what happens when Edelgard informs Hubert that they’re going to be parents. XD

[letapollojusticesayfuck]

[PREV]

April 20, 2026: 10:15 AM

You surreptitiously take your phone from your suit pocket and open up LinkedIn. You aren’t sure why, but you have a bad feeling about how this trial is going to go. Can’t hurt to make sure your information is all up to date!

After quickly editing your “About” section to reflect the impressive amount of real-life trial experience you’ve gained in the past ten minutes, you feel an uncanny tingling sensation down your spine that can only mean one thing: you’re being watched.

Looking up very, very slowly, you find the eyes of the courtroom on you. Mr Gavin is regarding you with icy disappointment, while Phoenix Wright looks mildly amused. The prosecutor (what was his name again? Plantain?) nearly has steam coming out of his ears, and the judge…

The judge presses his lips into a thin line. “Glad you could join us, Mr Justice. I’m sure you have more interesting things to be doing on that newfangled device of yours than paying attention to the courtroom, but i will have to give you a penalty for this.”

Ack!

Rubbing the back of your neck (as is your nervous habit), you try to grin without it coming out as a grimace. “Sorry, Your Honor. I just received an…important memo.”

“I am certain that it was very relevant to your job prospects,” Mr Gavin remarks from beside you. Crap! He definitely saw what you were doing.

“While Mr Justice was otherwise occupied, the court has established that Mr Wright’s fingerprints were found on the murder weapon, in such an orientation as to suggest that he held it inverted as though to strike the victim. This is contradictory to his statement that he never touched the bottle! We also clarified that it was indeed also Mr Wright who placed the call to emergency services about the incident in the club’s basement…though he did so from the ground floor.”

Mr Gavin nods. “Yes. As one may expect, there was no cell reception in the basement room—requiring my client to leave in order to make his call. However, the prosecution has indicated that they have evidence that shows the defendant was in the basement room at the ‘very moment the crime occurred’—so you may as well call your so-called ‘decisive witness’ to the stand already, Payne.”

You’re starting to think that this trial really doesn’t need you to be involved, and perhaps also that everyone else in this room has complicated backstories regarding how they all seem to know each other already.

Mr Wright leaves the witness stand, only to be replaced by a woman clad in thick fur clothing, who looks scared out of her mind to be here. You take a moment to assess the situation and plan out your next move:

[albentelisa]

Hi. So you remember the Lady of the Lake, right? Well, what if she had managed to disguise herself as a mortal woman?

That human form she took on is non other Barabra Lake, thus already making Jim half human.

When he gets the amulet in this AU, he knows his mom hates Merlin, so he doesn't tell her at first.

Oh, in this AU Bular is definitely not the only one sent flying. Merlin will get that honor for sure as well. James Lake Sr. too, I guess. And maybe even Strickler (if he ever tries something dumb, LOL).

Jokes aside, I'll say that James Lake Sr is the one responsible for Barbara's disguise. My headcanon is that Nimue can grant wishes, but she chooses to grant those only if someone voices their deepest desires (as she hates hypocrites). So, one day James amid his travel to Britain, somehow wandered into the Nimue's current abode and voiced his wish to meet his perfect woman (he was just fooling around and had no idea that it would be granted). Nimue assumed a mortal woman's form of Barbara appearing right before him. Just to say, their relationship didn't work because there never was any true love between the two of them.

Nimue would prefer to return to her old life after the breakup, but she stays with humans because it's something Jim genuinely desires. And honestly, his wish is the one she is actually happy to grant.

As for Jim in this AU, he knows a bit about his mom, but definitely not everything. Like, he's aware that Barbara is inhuman and even caught a glimpse of her monstrous form once (it's an experience he'd rather forget) and that she dislikes Merlin for some reason (Barbara never told her son about her imprisonment, so Jim is entirely unaware how serious that hatred is).

Jim inherited his mom's abilities but cannot use those as he was traumatized after seeing Barbara's inhuman form and is scared to turn into something similar so he subconsciously seals those.

Why Barbara never learns about Jim finding the amulet despite being able to read souls? Well, she refuses to read Jim's soul, respecting his privacy, and because she knows that Jim doesn't lie or hide things from her (well, he DID before the amulet).

However, Barbara read Strickler's soul. She knows he's inhuman, but well, he has no ill intent towards Jim. And Jim's plan to keep things secret from his mom flies out of the window because she also learns about Strickler's desire to get the amulet from her son.

Barbara is pissed (to put it mildly) that Merlin's amulet chose her son. For her, it's like the hateful wizard's trying to control Jim (like he did with her). However, soon she realizes that Jim wants to be a hero himself and vows to support him. She tinkers with the amulet though as she believes that her son should fight for his own ideals, not her former tormentor's glory.

Barbara becomes a team member, but her abilities are limited (because it's either keeping her human form or regaining her full powers). She isn't ready to drop her human disguise though because of Jim (as she is scared he won't be able to see her as his mother anymore).

Strickler changes the sides pretty fast because Barbara sees that his true desire is the liberating changelings and encounters him about it. The same goes for Nomura. Strickler tries to recruit Otto too, but he is too scared to betray Gunmar. Otto is also the one who frees Angor Rot here, hoping to use him as a bodyguard from both Jim's team and Bular (who is pretty much enraged after the two changelings desert).

NotEnrique gets planted into Claire's family (as well as some other changelings are transferred as the Janus Order has a shortage of manpower now).

Jim still encounters a stalking, and to defeat it he unwittingly goes full monster form which terrifies him to his core. He starts questioning whether he has any right to be with his friends. Toby tells him that it doesn't matter.

Much like in the canon, Claire snoops around and learns Jim's secret about the trollhunting. She joins the team before they learn about NotEnrique, so the eventual reveal hits her the most. Claire tries to find the Killahead alone to travel to the Darklands, and she locates it but gets kidnapped by Angor Rot. Otto uses her as a hostage to get the amulet from Jim.

During the Battle of Two Bridges, Claire manages to wrestle the shadow staff from Angor, Otto and Angor escape, and Bular is sucked into the Darklands (getting his wish to reunite with his father).

Now the only thing remaining is to save Enrique, but it meets more opposition at the Trollmarket as there is a risk to unseal both Gunmar and Bular. Even Strickler thinks it's unreasonable.

Meanwhile, Otto tries to get the bridge back. He still hopes to get Gunmar's trust back. He exploits Angor for that and sends assassins from the Order after different members of Jim's team.

Angor makes a deal with Jim and gets free eventually.

However, Jim goes to the Darklands alone in this AU as he feels guilty because many of his teammates have some injuries after the Janus Order's non-stop attacks.

In the Darklands, Jim notices that something is wrong with him. Apparently, the constant sense of danger makes his inhuman half resurface. So far those are partial transformations that he can reverse but those might get worse. At some point, he stumbles upon Bular who is exiled after his failure. They fight initially but make a truce as Bular is lost and has no idea what to do now.

Together they locate the nursery and save Enrique. Jim plans to bring Bular along with him to the surface and give him a second chance, but they only manage to get Enrique as the bridge is destroyed (and it's only partially Usurna's fault as the guards see Bular walking along with Jim and misunderstand everything).

Barbara is enraged, especially after reading Usurna's true intentions in her soul. Alas, most of the Tribunal doesn't believe her accusations (Vendel and Blinky are the only ones aware of her true identity), and both Vendel and Blinky are accused of treachery and conspiring with Gunmar. The rest of the team escapes and then they are divided into two teams to jailbreak Blinky and Vendel and to recover the Bridge.

Barbara manages to force open the passway to the Darklands (as she had altered the amulet before so she has some control over its abilities now) and the team goes to the Darklands searching for Jim. The fight against Gunmar happens there and Jim defeats him with the help of his team. Bular decides to stay in the Darklands and rebuild the Gumm-Gumm kingdom, but this time make it a better place for other trolls.

However, the victory is soured by the fact that the entire team is considered criminals at the Trollmarket now as Usurna has seized control. She also makes a pact with Otto, who wants to liberate Morgana. Otto steals the amulet from Jim and destroys it to get a map to Merlin's tomb. Initially, Trollhunters have no idea why Otto did it, deciding it was just a revenge plan.

Otto wakes up Merlin by accident but still gets his staff and escapes. Merlin gets out and after some misfortunes finds Douxie and they go to contact Trollhunters. Obviously, Barbara isn't happy. She isn't going to help Merlin but begrudgingly agrees when Douxie and Jim ask her.

Meanwhile, Usurna and Otto free Morgana and get some powers from her. Morgana feels that those two are better for her plans than Gunmar as neither of them would risk opposing her. She also unites forces with Morando.

Jim's team learns about Aja and Krel's secret and all of them realize that their enemies work as the united forces now. The decisive clash happens and the good guys come victorious. The Trollmarket finally is free and Jim's team can go there without any complications.

Merlin isn't happy though as it seems that he anticipates something bad to happen. Not that anyone is interested in listening to his thoughts, especially Barbara who would rather send him flying somewhere.

Some time passes, and Barbara has a visit from Bellroc who proposes a truce to eradicate humanity (as the Arcane Order is sure that Nimue is as pissed about magical creatures' oppression as they are). They are surprised when she refuses.

The Arcane Order still needs Nimue's power so the Green Knight kidnaps Jim, and the Order tries to force his latent abilities out. They also attack the flying castle in the hope of capturing Nari too. Douxie, Claire, Steve, and Toby end in the past. Claire is the one who gets in prison, though as she carelessly uses her magic before Arthur and his knights. Morgana breaks her out together with all the trolls.

While visiting Nimue in the past, the team finally gets why Barbara hates Merlin that much in the present. Nimue also sees that Claire's hidden desire is to liberate Jim from the Arcane Order's control (even though she has no idea who Jim is) and during the parting she gives her a hint that Jim should snap out of it himself.

When the team is back to the present, they are forced to face the Arcane Order, Green Knight, and Jim who lost his human form entirely and pretty much berserk at the moment as he isn't familiar with his new form and all new sensations attached.

Merlin (being Merlin) suggests capturing and sealing Jim somewhere. Luckily for him, Barbara hasn't heard that. Claire is pissed though. She tries to get to Jim and reach his mind, and nearly succeeds but is forced to retreat as the Arcane Order interrupts her.

Meanwhile, Green Knight finds and kills Merlin while seizing his staff (as Jim has learned where the seals are hidden and told the Order about those). Now Bellroc and Skrael only need to capture Nari.

Claire makes an attempt to reach Jim through the Shadow realm. She meets Morgana there (Morgana was sealed there after her defeat and still isn't liberated) and tries to reason with her (Claire wasn't possessed by Morgana in this AU, so she is more open-minded about it). They both try to find Jim's soul and see that he is scared, confused, and lost. This time Claire manages to reach him and ensure that no one is scared of his monstrous form. It helps Jim to regain control and turn human once again.

[stitching-in-time]

Voyager rewatch s2 ep23: The Thaw

I'll come right out and say it, this is one of the dumbest episodes of Star Trek I've ever seen. Seriously, why do we dunk on Threshold or Move Along Home when this exists??

The opening scene with Tom and Harry hanging out and chatting in Harry's quarters is the most interesting thing that happens in the whole episode- we learn that sound travels easily through walls in the crew quarters, which must have caused a lot of drama on the ship that probably would have been juicier than half the plots of actual episodes lol.

This episode wants so desperately to be psychological horror, but this circus, that’s supposed to be so menacing, is just like, mildly wacky?? And every time they try to kill someone, whatever device they use is painted literal Barbie pink, so it's a little hard to be terrified when the threat being posed is 'oh no! we're caught in a virtual reality simulation with Barbie's Dream Guillotine!' lmao

And the PLOT HOLES! PLOT HOLES EVERYWHERE!! Why does the clown kill off the people if he needs them to survive?! He won’t let them go, but he’ll kill them willy-nilly?? What?? That doesn't make any sense. And if the people know they’re in virtual reality, why would being virtually guillotined scare them at all, let alone enough to give them heart attacks??? And why do they not just kill the clown?!? Why don’t the Voyager people just kill the clown?!? He’s not a real person, he’s a computer program, you’re not even killing an actual life form- problem solved!!!  (Also, the evil clown is supposed to read people's minds, and says that Harry misses Libby, but the first scene had Harry telling Tom he's been seeing the lieutenant Tom's been trying to date for six months- clearly he doesn't miss Libby that bad lol. And clearly Tom got over Kes pretty quickly too! It's like Star Trek: High School on that ship!)

We do learn that Harry Kim's parents are apparently civilian doctors, so that's kinda interesting I guess. (I felt very sorry for the baby they uesd for baby Harry though- poor kid seemed terrified of all the weird masks and makeup everyone was wearing. This episode is scary if you're a two year old, but if you're older than that, not so much.)

And why is the evil clown Michael McKean?! Hiring a comedian, and a well known one at that, to play a character who's supposed to be scary, is... a choice. Mostly he was just annoying more than anything else. (And I do like Michael McKean in comedy roles. In fact, I just watched the movie 'Earth Girls Are Easy' the other day, where he played a surf bum, so it was even harder to take him seriously with that movie in mind- although, I will say, that movie is a great example of how to make someting so over-the-top bad that it's actually good- this ep did not even come close to achieving that, unfortunately.) I just.... I have so. many. questions.

The ONLY scary thing in this entire episode is Captain Janeway at the end. When she does that lowered voice, with the simmering wrath underneath, and then the gleeful triumph of watching some idiot realize they just got played?? Ugh. MA'AM. WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO BE THIS HOT?!

It’s like wow, okay bad guys, she’s gonna end you, and you will probably die in some kind of strange state of beatific awe at the sheer majestic honor of having your ass handed to you by this badass queen. I love her so much!! Anyway, I give this episode zero stars from a story standpoint, but ALL THE STARS for Captain Janeway’s hotness and badassery in the final scene.

Tl;dr: A complete dud on every level, only worth watching for the fun of the first and last scenes.