#i am so impossibly delighted none of you even KNOW

[koukaaa-descent]

WHAT HEY HEY HEY HELLO!?!!?!?!?!?!!?!?!!? HII!!?!?!!?!?!? I'm gonna pass out the world is gettigng dark

so! there is a life before all of the tragedy, even if it's impossibly short

In the depths of space, it gets very lonely. The stars should be enough company—but they never quite filled the silence as another living thing could.

Indigo is staring at the bottom of the bunk above. He is contemplating something that he should not be contemplating. A low warble echoes into the quiet, low and hardly audible, the little creature that made the sound having just woken up. Again.

He tries to blink the exhaustion out of his eyes, but it hardly works. Indigo yawns, jaws opening wide and baring every single sharp tooth to nobody at all. It's only been three days caring for this little thing, and he's exhausted. There were only so many times that one could wake up ten minutes into a nap before sleep stopped having meaning. Crawling his way out of the stiff bed, Indigo limply falls onto the cold steel floor instead.

A thin, helpless chirrup goes gently into the quiet. In some odd way, it echoes through him, pressing against every bone and organ inside of his body with an insistence he could not yet recognize.

Indigo drags himself upright, blinking hard to clear the spots from his eyes. Bundled in the bunk just above his own is a little creature, marked by his presence. Changed, perhaps. Dark skin spattered with his namesake. Eyes still squinted-shut, talons still underdeveloped. Unable to even crawl.

And yet.

"You have no business having so much energy," Indigo rasps, half-baffled by its restless form. It makes soft, snuffly little sounds, thick with something that Indigo had no name for. He can barely see the dull glow of its scrunched eyes, brief and fleeting.

At the sound of his voice, the little beast finds it in itself to throw its head back and let out a plaintative croak, clearly hungry. "You have no reason," Indigo repeats again, not even irritated.

Figuring out how to butcher the wildlife on Vow was an interesting experience, sure. Storing the meat on the ship was a whole other ordeal that Indigo does not want to think about. Three hours spent contemplating and planning only to learn that there was a refrigerated compartment in the wall near the bunks. Three.

He crouches down to crack the fridge open, staring at the amount of meat left inside. He should really consider seeing if the Company sells bags. The amount of blood pooling inside is... decidedly not very sanitary. Indigo had tried to drink it at one point, but, well, it started clotting. Nobody ever wants to drink clotted blood.

Getting a soaked towel and throwing it outside when there's dogs is the closest thing to useful as the blood-puddle can get, honestly.

Indigo has been staring at the raw meat piled inside of his mini-fridge for at least a minute. The little beast croaks more insistently this time, growing impatient. He closes his eyes and tries not to give in to the strange sense of melancholy the sound makes him feel. There would be time to contemplate his emotions later.

The meat is ice cold in his hands, perfectly preserved. Indigo debates with himself as to whether or not he wants a snack as well, but eventually tells himself that he can eat the next time he lands on Vow or March. Both have enough wildlife for any purpose.

Idly, Indigo holds the strip of flesh above his little beast's hooked beak, resigned to the inevitable. As usual, it darts out and swallows most of the gore in one quick snap. It also happens to latch onto his hand and pierce the skin. Again.

Just as it has, already a dozen times before.

Just as it will, a thousand times more.

(He's going to lose a finger at this rate.)

[synqiri]

KISS ME ONCE (BEFORE YOU GO).

or, the kind of kiss he is.

PAIRING: sunday, scaramouche x gn!reader

WARNINGS: none

WORDCOUNT: 1K || CONTENT: implied arranged marraige (sunday's part), fluff, slice of life, lots of kisses, mild angst(?)

NOTES: im never shutting up ab sundays wings sorry

SUNDAY as a kiss hello.

he is calm and collected and elegant, and his kisses are very much the same. most often, it is a kiss on your knuckles as he greets you, his hand in yours and his head dipped low. he’ll smile, perfectly practised and purely business, and after he has deemed it suitably romantic enough, he’ll drop your hand. you’ll smile through it all. you’ve long since grown used to it.

still, you like to believe he has at least a semblance of affection for you. in the privacy of your shared home, his kisses feel less perfunctory and his smile more genuine. he’ll laugh as you converse, subdued and uneven as if he’s long since forgotten how to laugh, but they are laughs nonetheless.

and when he kisses you good night, he’ll press one to the tip of your lip, never on the lip itself, never for longer than a second. you’ll wish him good night in turn and act as if all is well, though all you wish is for him to love you a little more.

except… he does. 

there is one night, one random, ordinary night that you are roused from your sleep. he has taken your hand in his, you realise, and you pretend you are still asleep. the entire time, he doesn't say a word. the entire time, he fiddles with the ring on your finger. for a second, his fingers brush against your cheek, but the touch is drawn away quicker than it had come. he sighs, and the sound of it echoes in the largeness of the bedroom. you can feel his gaze on yours, sweeping and thorough, but his expression is something you can only imagine. 

that night, you don’t remember when you had fallen asleep, yet neither do you remember his hand dropping yours.

after that, you can no longer see him in the same light. or perhaps in all the years you’ve been married, you’ve never truly seen him at all. when you tell robin of this discovery over lunch, she can only laugh.

“how cute,” she gushes. “i’ve always found my brother to be quite the open book when it comes to you. want to know a secret? his wings say it all.”

the next time you greet him in his office, you follow her advice and watch his wings. 

they flutter.

in all honesty, it is barely a twitch, barely noticeable and impossible to catch for anyone unless they had known it was there in the first place. still, it is proof enough. proof that he liked you far more than he let on, far more than you ever expected.

as per routine, he takes your hand in his, ghosting a kiss over your knuckles and smiling his picture perfect smile. this time, you grin back.

“has something pleasant happened?” he asks. “you seem to be in a good mood today.”

“no, nothing much — i was just happy to see you.”

he chuckles softly, and he almost looks delighted. “as am i.”

(it's wonderful, this newfound feeling. you're glad that with him, you still have an eternity to share.)

SCARAMOUCHE as a kiss goodbye.

he is sharp and guarded and hot-tempered, and his affection never comes easily. in fact, some may consider his interest a curse rather than a blessing. though, you’ll never change it for anything in the world, for you adore him too much to back out of it now. his kisses are much like him, demanding and greedy and forceful, with his hands clawing into your skin so hard you’re sure they’ll leave marks. you relish these types of kisses, and you give as good as you get.

he is also possessive and overcautious to a fault, and while he will never admit it, you know it’s because he fears you’ll leave. still, you know you won’t, not even if it kills you.

there is no one in the fatui who does not know that you are his. he has made sure of that effortlessly. there was a point in time he massacred anyone who did so much as look at you wrong, and you play your part wonderfully, standing by his side with your head held up high.

occasionally, he lets his guard fall, and you love those days as much as you hate them, for they always mean he has to leave for a mission. on those days, his kisses are gentler, peppered all over you as if to mark you his. on those days, his kisses are just as greedy, his grip on your body impossibly tighter.

“how long will you be gone?” you ask him curiously. “even that dottore is going with you. that’s rare.”

“it depends on how it all unfolds.” he shrugs, a casual ‘eh’ leaving his lips. then, he smirks, a dangerous glint in his eye. his hand reaches up to caress your cheek from where he is stretched across the bed, his head on your lap. “worry not, my heart. i will return a god, and i will have all of teyvat in the palms of my hands.”

you don’t tell him you already think he’s divine, nor do you ask if he could be satisfied with just you. you know better than to do that, anyway. he is greedy and ambitious and would never be satisfied until the world turned to ashes, you've known that from the moment you decided to love him.

so instead, you take his hand, smacking a big, fat kiss to the inside of his palm. he scowls, glancing away, but you don't mind a bit.

“that’s for good luck,” you tell him brightly. you tap on your lips twice then. “won't you kiss me back? i know you've got to be at the port in an hour.”

he rolls his eyes, getting up and out of bed. “don’t be ridiculous. no power in the world can bless someone with luck — and you think a kiss will?”

“it's only for fun,” you say, pouting. “whatever, it’s fine. see you when you come back home!”

he says nothing in reply, yet the wicked grin on his face already says it all. he shrugs on his coat, tipping on his hat — and he is off, just like that. 

(months later, as he is falling, he wishes he had kissed you goodbye.) 

[trulyumai]

make that two

—synopsis: yeah, Eddie was down bad. he couldn’t even read a few sentences in before casting his gaze back on you. I mean… could you blame him?

—warnings: none!

—pairings: eddie munson / gf! reader

You sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a hefty textbook while Eddie paced nearby, running a hand through his curly hair.

“Okay, so we need to focus on the themes of existentialism in this novel,” you said, trying to keep your tone light. “How about we start with the main character’s struggles?”

Eddie paused mid-pace, his dark eyes drifting toward you. You looked up, and for a moment, the world outside faded. His lips curved into a lazy grin, and you could see the admiration etched in his expression. “Honestly, sweetheart, I think you’re more interesting than this assignment.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, unable to suppress a smile. “Come on, Eddie! We can’t just blow it off. We’ve got to pass this class.”

He sat down beside you, resting his chin on his hand, a teasing spark in his eyes. “Yeah, but look at you! How am I supposed to concentrate when you’re sitting there like the goddess of wisdom?”

You felt your cheeks heat at his compliment. “You’re impossible,” you laughed, nudging him lightly. “Focus, or I’ll start charging you for tutoring sessions.”

Eddie chuckled, leaning closer, his presence warm and comforting. “Alright, fine. Let’s talk about ‘existentialism’ or whatever.” But his gaze remained fixed on you, and it was clear that his mind was elsewhere.

“Eddie,” you said, trying to pull him back to the task at hand. “The themes—”

“Yeah, themes,” he interrupted, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. “But seriously, how do you make studying look so good? It’s not fair.”

You tried to stifle a grin, but it was futile. “You’re just saying that to distract me!”

“Guilty as charged,” he said, feigning a dramatic sigh. “But can you blame me? You’re like a ray of sunshine on a gloomy day.”

You shook your head, exasperated yet delighted. “Okay, Mr. Munson. Let’s make a deal. If you can stay focused for ten minutes, I’ll reward you with… a kiss.”

Silence ensued. You almost wanted to take the words right back before he bolted up.

His eyes widened, and you could practically see the gears turning in his mind. “Ten minutes? That’s a long time in Eddie-world,” he said, puffing out his chest playfully. “But I accept your challenge, fair maiden!”

As you both settled into the assignment, Eddie’s mind wandered again, his gaze drifting back to you. He watched the way you flipped through the pages, the way your hair caught the light, and the soft concentration on your face. It was impossible to focus when you were there, right in front of him, like a muse.

Shit, was he always so.. smitten like this?

“Okay, okay,” he muttered, breaking the silence. “This isn’t working. I’m failing already.”

You giggled, finally meeting his eyes. “You’re such a dork.”

“And you love it,” he shot back, a smirk tugging at his lips. “But really, I can’t help it. You’ve got this… magnetism. It’s like a spell you’ve cast over me. Wait.. you’re not some warlock are you?!”

Your heart raced at his words. And no matter how much you wanted to laugh, you still grunted out a displeasurable sound. “Eddie, focus! We need to get this done!”

With a dramatic sigh, he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. “Fine, I’ll focus. But just know that my thoughts are filled with visions of you. It’s your fault I can’t pay attention.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, feeling lighter in his presence. “Alright, one more attempt. Let’s break it down together.”

For the next few minutes, you guided him through the key points of the assignment, his attention wavering but gradually sharpening as you spoke. When you finished, you leaned in closer, a smile on your face. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Not with you around,” Eddie replied, leaning in as well, his eyes sparkling with mischief and admiration. “Now, about that kiss…”

“Eddie!”

….

“…please?”

[nix-nihili]

matching piercings for payneland (alongside wedding rings), send tweet

okay but seriously. years down the line, Charles convincing him to get a piercing. "try it out, mate. you can always remove it if you don't like it, yeah?"

and Edwin's all "alright, if you insist. I suppose it will not hurt to indulge." and he pulls some ghost manipulating-their-appearance bit and manifests a piercing and it's something small, a stud, a hardly noticeable weight, but it's there, the first big, semi-permanent change he's made in his appearance, even if he cannot see it.

but he can feel it between his fingers as he brushes the pads of his fingertips over it, trying to familiarise himself with the piece of jewellery, his first piece (because the wedding rings are soo happening).

he's oh so familiar with Charles' earring, that bright gold star that flashes in the light, so intrinsically Charles, so beautifully Charles. he's run his fingers over it enough times, the small length between each point ingrained into his memory where he could sketch it out to size without reference. it is always a delight to feel when he cups Charles' face when they kiss, the bottom point passing over his pointer or the junction where his pointer and thumb meet. it's a metal he can feel, a metal that doesn't burn like iron, a metal that's always cool to the touch.

"how's it feel?" Charles asks, curious, expression strangely placated. "d'you... like it?"

Edwin thinks about it. the only piece of jewellery he's ever adorned was the Cat King's bracelet and that had been a whole affair. mostly unpleasant – restrictive – but this was none of that. this was a choice, one Edwin was realising he did not regret making. "I am not particularly averse to it. but..."

Charles suddenly grins as if he'd been waiting for Edwin to decide how he felt about it before expressing his own opinion. he moves his hand up and up and up until it cups Edwin's cheek, thumb hovering over his ear. "oi, give it to me straight, yeah?"

"it will take some getting used to." Edwin lets Charles' thumb settle, trace the earring, allowing himself to shiver under the gentle ministrations. "but I do not mind it."

"you sure? because I know I asked you to try it out but you don't have to say you li-"

"I'm certain, Charles."

and Charles lights up, and pulls Edwin into a kiss, short but nonetheless sweet. Edwin cannot help but smile into it.

"that's brills," Charles murmurs, an appreciative glint in his eye as he pulls back to look at it again, hand still cradling Edwin's cheek, thumb still gliding over Edwin's ear. "it looks proper mint on you."

he laughs because he cannot help it. "you can hardly see it, darling."

that earns Edwin a proper smile. "d'you want something different?"

Edwin mirrors Charles' hand, finding Charles' own ear, that earring expectedly there, stilling as he pinches it between his fingers before letting it go to catch Charles' gaze. "I shall figure it out. we do have forever."

Charles grins, impossibly wide, and kisses him in promise.

(several months later, Charles pulls out a matching pair. they don't wear it often, because Edwin learns he doesn't like having the piercing permanently, but sometimes he wants to have something reflected between them. the rings are a different story entirely.)

[padfootagain]

Silly Love

Hello!!! Here we go with a request from an anon for my Comeback Event!! Thank you so much for your request anon! It was such a delight to write!

Here is the request: “AAAAH i'm so excited for this event!!!! I wanted to request Ben Barnes with the Idiots In love trope!! like maybe they do interview together or we spot them publicly and they're so blushing and happy together that they forget to stay low in the public eye !! thank you so much Carole for giving us some fan content i love and appreciate your work so much ❤️”

This is so adorable, honestly…

****

Pairing: Ben Barnes x reader

Warnings: so much fluff your teeth will rot

Summary: you and Ben are giving a series of interviews for a project you’ve filmed together. But as the day goes by, it’s harder and harder for the two of you to remain serious and not act like the two fools in love that you are…

Word count: 3447

There was something in the way you spoke that always felt so reassuring to him.

Ben wasn’t certain of what it was exactly. The sound, the tone, the octave, the rhythm… He didn’t know what it was about your voice that simply… soothed him. He merely had to listen to you, close his eyes, and everything else would disappear.

He remembered the first time he heard it. It was through his TV screen. It didn’t feel the same then. It lacked the gentle imperfections your voice carried in real life. Still, he remembered watching the whole show you were playing in simply to listen to your voice.

One of these magic tricks of yours.

He should have been paying attention to what you were saying, to what the journalist was asking too. But as he stared at you, he simply forgot about anything else in the room but you. He stared at your eyelashes as they moved with each of your small blinking movements. He studied the curve of your nose, the line of your jaw, the colour of your lips. He knew how soft they felt against his. He fought against the sudden urge to simply cradle your neck, turn your head towards him, and kiss you until none of you could breathe…

You turned to him, and he fell into your eyes. Impossible to look away. Impossible to breathe at all. It felt like drowning, but in a wonderful way. Like falling forever and never wanting to hit the ground.

He didn’t even notice the way a dreamy smile formed on his lips. He was resting his chin in his palm, his elbow resting on the wooden armrest of his chair, set right next to yours.

He saw you tilting your head slightly, frowning a little…

He recognized those signs. It meant that you were waiting for an answer to something he had not been listening to…

“Ben? What do you think?” you repeated.

He shook himself, straightening up again, and blushing terribly.

“I… I am terribly sorry. I did not listen to the question,” he apologised, letting out an embarrassed laugh.

You soon joined him, chuckling while the interviewer repeated her question. You hid your embarrassment behind your hands…

You knew perfectly well why Ben had not been listening. He wasn’t paying attention.

You could hear his excuse, he gave it to you every time he wasn’t listening to you.

It’s not my fault if you’re too gorgeous to look at for me to focus on anything else.

And sometimes, you wondered if he truly meant that. Of course, you took it as a charming and flirty excuse. But there were moments when he would just stare at you the way he just did… maybe he was merely gawking at you, for real.

“Well, I was very happy to work with Y/N,” he answered, and you realized that, this time, you had been the one who wasn’t paying attention to the journalist sitting before you. “I had been admiring her work for a while so… huh… I was very curious to learn how she built her character’s presence, how she approached her roles. And it�� it turns out that she is also an amazing human being so… I am a very happy man, indeed.”

You struggled to refrain a smile at his words. You knew perfectly well that you made him a happy man because of your blossoming relationship, not because of your talents as an actor.

You noticed the smirk that appeared on his lips, and knew that you were not doing a great job at hiding your emotions. A mix of satisfaction and embarrassment and shyness…

He adored it. He was so proud of himself for making you look like this. You were so adorable then…

You had not made your relationship official. Ben and you were both adamant in keeping your private lives private. Besides, you had met while working on this movie, and you didn’t want your relationship in your real lives to become a tool to promote the film. So, you were both determined to keep your relationship secret, for now.

You had to admit though that sitting next to Ben all day long, in a rather dark room, made it very difficult for you to act like the two of you were mere friends.

“What did you take home with you from set at the end of filming?” the interviewer asked, apparently oblivious of your inner battles.

“I took home some… small things that were on set… I don’t think I should tell you in details,” Ben laughed. “But I have one of my suits. Let’s… let’s say that.”

“What about you, Y/N?”

You thought for a second, but couldn’t stop yourself from answering as honestly as you could.

“Wonderful people.”

Ben and you exchanged a tender smile.

You were both resting your arms on the armrests of your chairs, and Ben used your proximity to brush his pinky finger against yours, ever so slightly, so no one in the room would notice.

The gesture was there though, tender and intimate, and you grinned at each other. Ben was blushing fiercely again.

“How nice!” commented the journalist.

“See? Told you. She’s amazing,” Ben nodded, making you roll your eyes.

“You have such an amazing chemistry on screen. I think it’s one of the biggest charms about this film, to be honest. And it must be hard to navigate through a love story between two characters. How did you manage that? How did you establish this connection?”

Ben cleared his throat and you saw him looking up at the ceiling, looking for a lie.

After all, he couldn’t answer with the truth. He couldn’t answer with: well, we both genuinely fell in love with each other off-screen, so it wasn’t hard to pretend to be madly in love on-screen. No, that couldn’t work…

You wanted to help him, find your own answer, but you were quite taken aback by the question as well. You were thinking about all these long evenings spent together in his apartment, drinking tea, or sometimes whiskey, and talking for hours and hours; failing to notice that the night was flying by. All those mornings laughing with him in make-up. Listening to his sweet voice as he sang on his piano during the weekend. The long walks on Sunday afternoons. And this feeling that kept on growing and growing, but you couldn’t possibly imagine that he felt the same…

And then, the comments of your friends about the two of you. The fact that you had become so close so quickly, that you wanted to spend so much time with him, that you didn’t think about dating anymore. The realization that struck you like a punch in the stomach that you were not having a mere crush, but were falling desperately, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with your co-star. The doubts, the long days spent thinking that he could never feel the same.

Until that Sunday afternoon when he sang this bloody song he had written, and you sat next to him while he played on his piano and… you just couldn’t stop yourself.

Your first kiss. It tasted like sunlight, tea and soft music.

You were brought back to the real world when Ben finally spoke.

“We talked a lot about the most intimate scenes, and the most emotional scenes too. Huh… we… we really wanted to be on the same page, and to be sure that we were both comfortable and able to express in the best way what our characters were feeling. And I think that level of understanding was very important. And… you know just… trusting each other. Huh… and then we simply became very good friends so it made everything pretty easy.”

You couldn’t refrain your tender smile as you stared at him while he spoke. You drank every word. You studied his dark hair you loved messing up with your fingers so much, his short beard you adored against your skin, the angle of his jaw, the corner of these lips you wanted to kiss all the damn time…

You shook yourself, trying to pay attention to the interview again.

“Alright a few fun questions now,” the interviewer said, a smile on her lips. “I’ll ask you some questions and you have to answer with the first thing that comes to your minds, at the same time, on the count of three. Sounds good for you?”

“Sure, sounds fun,” you answered, smiling as well.

“Alright. Tea or coffee? One, two, three…”

“Tea.”

“Coffee.”

You rolled your eyes at Ben’s answer, and he did the same because of you.

“That bloody, tasteless hot water,” you complained.

“I love coffee too.”

“But you prefer tea.”

“I do prefer tea.”

“Very cliché for a Brit.”

“True… I’m not going to try to deny that.”

The two of you exchanged a teasing smile, before focusing on the journalist again, waiting for her next question.

“Your favourite thing about each other. One, two, three…”

“His kindness.”

“Her kindness.”

You both gasped at your matching answers.

“You are extremely kind, like… too kind, honestly. Very patient as well,” you nodded, and Ben was grinning at your words.

It was the kind of radiant smiles that were almost blinding.

“You are way too sweet. And just so… so genuinely nice. In the best way,” Ben added, his grin turning into something softer as he stared at you. “You’re always trying to make sure everyone around you is happy and well. You have a very generous soul. I love that about you.”

“Aww…” you couldn’t help it when you reached for his hand and gave it a tender squeeze.

“Now, what is the thing you dislike the most about each other?” the journalist asked once you were looking at her again. “One, two, three…”

“Nothing.”

“He’s so distracting.”

Ben looked at you in shock while you and the interviewer were laughing so much.

“Wow… I was not expecting that one,” Ben admitted. “I was being so nice to you, I said ‘nothing’! Did you hear that?” he added, turning to the interviewer. “I can’t believe it...”

“You really are so distracting though.”

“I’m very focused when I work,” he argued.

“You have the whole shouting-to-get-into-character thing,” you started, counting on your fingers.

“Oh… yeah… that’s right. I see how that can be quite distracting…” he admitted, and you saw him starting to blush again.

“You’re always in people’s face, or touching me, or hugging me…”

“That’s nice though!”

“It’s nice, but still distracting.”

You raised a third finger.

“And you’re very handsome. It doesn’t help.”

His smile turned tender again, the tips of his ears turning red.

“Thank you, that’s nice.”

“Do you want to change your answer?” the journalist asked Ben with humour.

“I think I’ll say that she’s too honest sometimes.”

You all laughed.

“You never think before speaking,” Ben went on, still laughing. “It’s hilarious.”

“I am hilarious.”

“You truly are. But it gets you into so much trouble sometimes. Do you remember when we were at this restaurant and you thought the couple at the table next to ours were father and daughter?”

You doubled with laughter, hiding your face in your hands.

“That was so embarrassing.”

“You’re so loud…”

“I was tipsy!”

“Drunk. You were full-on drunk.”

“No, I wasn’t! I was very tipsy but I was not drunk.”

“Anyway, you said this so loudly and the look they sent us!”

You were both laughing so much, both of you forgetting all about the interview.

“I just wanted to disappear.”

“You really get us into so much trouble sometimes…”

“But you like it. You would be bored otherwise.”

“Just like I bet you love it when I distract you.”

“That’s quite true.”

You and Ben intertwined your fingers together, holding hands, and Ben brushed tenderly the back of your hand with his thumb. You didn’t think about what the gesture could mean for the rest of the world. You were too busy getting lost in his dark eyes.

The journalist interrupted your thoughts though as she spoke again. You separated your two hands, movements made slow by reluctance.

“What’s the last emoji you sent to the other? One, two, three.”

“Laughing face.”

“Kiss emoji.”

You frowned hard at Ben.

“Your last emoji was a heart, not a laughing f…”

But you saw the look in his eyes and stopped talking.

He was lying on purpose… shoot…

“Yes, you’re right, it was a laughing face,” you lied, but you were pretty certain that you were not convincing.

Ben tried to keep a straight face, but it was difficult.

The interview was (thankfully) over though, so the journalist left, and you bid her a good day with a handshake and a warm smile.

Ben asked for a two-minutes break before welcoming the next interviewer, pretexting that he needed to go to the bathroom, and you followed his lead.

Actually, you found refuge in the deserted staircase of the building, and both exploded with laughter in the empty space, your laughs amplified by their echoes.

“We really need to be more careful, my love,” Ben argued, trying to be more serious again.

“You’re right,” you nodded, letting him wrap his arms around you to draw you closer to him. “I’m sorry.”

“I am not fully innocent either…”

“But that emoji… and I said I sent you a kissing face!”

You buried your face in your hands and rested your forehead against his shoulder. Ben merely laughed.

“I don’t think that was enough to start a rumour about us being together, though,” he reassured you. “But I was right. You really need to learn to think before speaking…”

You swatted him playfully on his upper arm, and he doubled with laughter.

“Now, we should go back. We still have many interviews to give. And no more hand-touching, mister!” you scolded him.

“I can’t help it,” he complained. “Besides, before we go back, I really need to do something first. Something I’ve been dying to do ever since we entered this room, because… you are so beautiful like this, love…”

You gave him a flirtatious smile, knowing perfectly where this conversation was heading.

“And what could that be, honey?”

“This.”

He leaned down to kiss you tenderly on the lips, a hand climbing up your body to rest gently against your cheek, cupping your jaw to guide your face towards his again when you tried to break the kiss. You lost your fingers in his hair, messing with the dark locks, but none of you cared.

Kissing him felt too amazing for you to care about anything but his lips.

“Honey? What are you doing? Hurry up, I want to watch the movie!”

You wore your most annoyed tone, but heard Ben chuckling from the corridor anyway. You couldn’t refrain a smile at the sound, even if you were trying to act like you were annoyed. It was too warm, too reassuring for you to feel anything but happy whenever you heard his laughter.

You rearranged the covers of Ben’s bed, waiting patiently for him to finally join you so you could start watching a cute romantic comedy you had found on Netflix. But he seemed to be taking forever…

He finally appeared, wearing nothing but a pair of dark boxers, and you couldn’t help it when you let your gaze roam the length of his body. His hair was dishevelled from the shower he had taken after dinner, and you loved it. He was staring at his phone as he walked in the room, but looked up to catch the sight of you lying there, cosy and warm in his bed.

Best sight on Earth, he reckoned…

He slipped in the bed with you, and you greeted him with a grin and a peck on the lips. But you frowned as he focused on his phone again.

“Is everything alright?” you asked, snuggling in his side as he raised his arm for you to settle in his embrace.

“Yeah, just… was checking on some comments on a couple of interviews we did together the other day, you remember?”

“When it was just the two of us?”

Ben nodded, eyes still fixed on his screen.

His hand was drawing mindless patterns across the small of your back. It was comforting, soothing… it reminded you that he truly was there, by your side.

It had been a few weeks now since you had recorded these interviews, but of course you remembered. It had been proper torture to seat next to Ben all day without being able to touch him, to speak your mind, to remind him that you loved him…

“Sure, what about them?” you asked dropping a kiss on his chest, and you smirked at the sight of the smile that formed on his lips under your touch.

“Well… a couple of friends have warned me that some comments are… quite… accurate…”

You frowned hard, leaning closer to look at his phone, and he turned the screen in your direction so you could read the comments too.

Your eyes grew round.

I bet Ben and Y/N are more than friends… have you seen that chemistry?

The way Ben just gawked at Y/N for two full minutes, not listening to anything she or the interviewer said, is a big mood. Also, they’re in love.

Lol, when they held hands at 6:30, I’m dead, thx!

Not the type to start rumours but… are these two together? Like… irl?! Because they seem like a real couple trying their absolute best to hide how infatuated they are with each other… and failing.

Ben and you exchanged a glance.

“Oh…” you breathed.

“I think we… have blown our cover, love,” Ben joked.

You were afraid he would be mad, but he seemed amused by the situation, more than anything else…

“You’re not panicking? Or annoyed? Or angry?” you carefully asked.

He noticed your wary tone, and looked down at you, before dropping a kiss in your hair.

“No, I don’t care, to be honest.”

“I thought we had decided to keep all this a secret.”

“Yes, well… I don’t mind. I love you, that’s all that matters.”

You tightened your hold on him, making him chuckle.

“I love you too,” you whispered against the skin of his neck, closing your eyes as you deeply breathed in the sugary scents of his soap and shampoo.

“Do you mind terribly that everyone is figuring things out about us?” he asked, and this time he was the one wearing a cautious tone.

“Not really, actually. I thought it would stress me out, but I don’t really care.”

You exchanged a loving smile, and he brushed his nose and his cheek against your forehead, making you heave a content sigh.

“By the way… I want to watch these two full minutes where you are… how did they say that? Oh, yes… gawking at me,” you teased him, a cheeky grin on your lips, while he exploded with laughter.

“I’ve watched it,” he confessed, his eyes tightly closed and his head thrown back in embarrassment, trying to hide from you, but you could still see that he was fiercely blushing. “I’ve watched it and I can’t believe I’ve stared at you like that in public…”

“Is it that bad?”

“Yes, it is.”

“You’re so sweet… so cheesy…”

“Oh, shut up!” he grumbled, making you laugh.

“I want to watch it, give me your phone.”

“Absolutely not!” he protested, extending his arm so the device would remain out of reach.

“Ben! Give it to me!”

“No!”

“I can also just use my own phone…”

“No… no…”

He grabbed you by the waist when you reached for your phone on your bedside table, pulling you towards him and making you both fall on the mattress.

You were both laughing so much by now.

“No! Don’t watch it!”

“If you start tickling me, I swear to God, you will soon be a dead man…”

“I’ll find another way to distract you, that’s alright…”

“Stop kissing me like that…”

“Really? You want me to stop?”

“No… not really…”

“Hmmm… thought so… Y/N!”

“I got the phone! When is it? WHEN IS IT?”

“NOOOO!”

Ben kept on attacking you with waves of kisses and tickles, but you held his phone in hostage, and he ended up losing the war, as you watched the full video together. He expected you to laugh at him, but you didn’t. You simply kissed him hard and tender on the lips, and snuggled into his arms.

It was a happy evening, in a life full of love…

[thebestofoneshots]

Mr. Blue Sky | marauders x reader

Pairing: J.P. x R.B. x R.L x Female Hufflepuff Reader Word Count: 3 k Warnings: None Prompt: You had your entire birthday planned, it would be the perfect picnic, but... a storm has ruined it entirely and now, you can't help but feel absolutely desolated. Of course, your boys would never allow you to be sad on your birthday.

Happy Birthday my beloved Lily flower! I truly hope you have the best of days today and even if you didn't have your garden picnic in the end, know that you can still have the most brilliant day ever, after all, there's always a rainbow after the rain.

Wirtten for @starchaser-lily

You had it all ready. You had ordered the dress that you would wear. You had asked the elves in the kitchen for a proper banquet, thankfully, since you often went there, and you had helped them cook some stuff before (cakes for your boys), they were more than happy to help you with your plan. In fact, Bub, a small elf that seemed to always be around, had gotten so excited about the idea of helping you with your plan that she had started jumping all over the kitchen and looking for all the things she would need to prepare it.

You had to remind her that the event wasn’t going to be until the next Tuesday like 3 times before she stopped jumping around; she already had eggs, flour, food coloring, and sugar in her arms, and a bunch of other ingredients floating behind her when she understood what you meant. You had told her that she could work on the cake if that’s what she wanted, and that the design would be all up to her. Which made her fallen face turn into a delighted one in a second, and she walked over to the side to start sketching some things in her notebook.

You had prepared and made the invitations; it was going to be a small gathering, but you still wanted it to be perfect. One of your friends from abroad had sent you an adorable tablecloth with cute yellow details that matched your house colors, and she’d sent a birthday card along with it. Although she warned you not to touch it, let alone open it until it was officially your birthday. The red envelope was deterrent enough, but you were too curious not to try and pry, so you opened it on the side just slightly and found yet another envelope inside.

"I knew you’d try to open it, babe. Now you must be warned, if you actually open the one you’re reading now, it will blow up. I’ve used all my knowledge and even asked that Remus boy of yours to help me. He’s absolutely brilliant in charms. Love you. Ps. For the love of Merlin, leave it closed."

You had laughed at her note and placed the threatening envelope on your night table. It made you smile whenever you read it, and you were pretty excited to see what would be inside of it. But if the bright red sign that said “DO NOT OPEN TILL BIRTHDAY” hadn’t been enough, the threat of an explosion had. Especially since you knew your friend’s exceptional ability in charms, and if she really had teamed up with Remus, then the most likely scenario was that it really, really would blow up if you didn’t do as told.

Either way, the tablecloth she’d gotten you was perfect; it was even charmed so the delicate drawings on it would move and swirl around, making the yellow and gold tones distractingly beautiful. And once Madam Pomfrey saw it, she was more than happy to lend you her picnic baskets.

You had, pretty much, prepared every single detail of your small party, gathering items and making sure the food would be ready, and you were impossibly excited for the 30th.

And then, the day came… You woke up to the sound of a soft splish-splash against the window. But you were still half-asleep to really notice what was going on. And then you heard it again, a soft ticking sound, like something soft, was tapping against it. You frowned and slowly opened your eyes. It was rather dark for it to be already 8 am. You focused on the sound, and when you realized where it came from, your gaze snapped towards the window.

“No, no, no…” you whispered as you saw the small droplets of rain fall one after the other, filling the window with their soft watery trails. The rain was soft, and as you looked out and saw the grey clouds, you could only hope it would go away soon enough.

You huffed and pulled the Daily Prophet from underneath your bed and revised the weather section over and over again. You had been marking the day with red all day of the week, and while it had said it would be cloudy, not a single one of the predictions mentioned anything even remotely close to a small shower.

“Everything all right, luv?” Your roommate asked. “Oh, and Happy Birthday!” she added with a smile.

“Thanks,” you mumbled in response. “It’s just– It’s raining.”

“Lovely day, innit?” Another one of your roommates said as she looked out of the window.

You loved rainy days; you truly did. There was something about staying inside and reading a good book while you watched the raindrops crash against the window that was so romantic; you couldn’t even get enough of it.

But today?

Today you hated rainy days!

You had been planning your picnic for months, getting the right food and the right clothes and managing to get all the boys at the same time at the same place, which was hard enough because everyone was either studying or doing one of their extracurriculars and yet… you had managed.

So much for a perfect picnic, you thought as you looked up at the sky yet again. With another sigh, you got up and put on your uniform, walking down the stairs to the common room in what you tried to make it look like not a mopey attitude. Especially with all your housemates pulling you in for hugs and wishing you a happy birthday.

Even Madam Pomfrey had stopped you on your way out to give you a short hug and tell you to have an incredibly good day. You had smiled and told her that it probably would, even if on the inside, you were absolutely certain everything had been absolutely ruined.

You went to the great hall, but just on the entrance, and when you spotted the boys looking rather eager, you decided you did not need any reminders of what an awful day it was and decided to skip breakfast altogether, opting instead to walk towards the library and look for a book. Perhaps reading as you watched the raindrops fall against the window, like you loved so much doing, would put you in a better mood.

You weren’t too hopeful for it, and frankly, you didn’t really want to do it either, so when you got to the library and found a book that seemed mildly entertaining, you took it in both of your hands and went straight into one of the most hidden reading nooks available. Few people knew of it, and you didn’t expect anyone to be looking for you there either. Not on a Tuesday, not on a class day, not with the NEWTS so close and certainly not with the fact that your year had Potions with Slughorn as the first class. So you hid in the reading nook as you read the book.

And you couldn’t have made a worse pick, not because the book was bad, in fact, you had read the first and second books of the collection, and you thought they were delightful. In fact, you loved Anne; you liked her positivity and you could easily see yourself as her, except that she was awfully positive and the mood you were in at the moment was far too dreadful to even consider her positivity a good trait. The more you read, the more annoying you found her because, how was it possible that she was so happy and you were so completely and utterly miserable?

You felt silly; you had magic and you had friends that loved you and a place in this bloody delightful school, and you were moping like a little kid over a rainy day. You really had to get yourself together or else–

“So this is where you’ve been hiding?” You heard him say with a short smile as he got in through the tapestry.

You closed your eyes and winced when you realized how stupid you’d been, hiding in the place he had shown you; of course, he’d find you. It looked as if you wanted to be found by one of them. Did you? Perhaps deep in your subconscious, you sought the kind of support only they could offer.

“Reggie,” you said softly and turned to him with a forced smile. “Lovely to–”

“Don’t even try,” he responded, cutting your bullshit in an instant. “Remus told me you didn’t go for breakfast or to class.”

“Well–”

“And Jamie has been going around pestering all your roommates; they were pretty upset, they had prepared something for you at breakfast.”

You gulped and pouted at how harsh Reggie was being. Not even a “happy birthday sweetheart.”

“So?”

“So?” you responded confused.

“Why are you here, hiding from the world on your most special day?”

“It’s raining,” you responded simply, looking out at the window again. You had held onto this naive hope that the rain would go away fast and that things would still be able to do your picnic, albeit slightly wet and murky; the possibility was still there. Except that said hope had been crushed when you heard a thunder ripple through the sky, making the entire window tremble with its might. It was no longer just rain; it was pretty much a storm.

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“My birthday is ruined.”

Reggie frowned and leaned in right next to you, peering down from where he was to look at you directly in the eyes, “Because of some silly rain?”

You huffed, “Because it was a picnic, Reggie!” you spat angrily and left the room out of there before he even had the chance to follow.

“Hey, wait!” he said as you left the place and sighed after not being able to find you at all. “I was gonna wish you a happy birthday,” he added in a sad tone as he pulled a small little envelope from his pocket. Forrest green paper and a silver bow, his birthday gift for you.

You had been running so fast with your disillusionment charm, looking back to make sure that Reggie wasn’t following that you didn’t notice the moment you crashed into someone, but he did, holding you by the shoulders as he stared at you. “Dove?” he asked as he tried to see through your charm.

You frowned and shut your eyes with a sigh. You might have been able to run from Reggie, but running away from Remus would be an impossible task. First of all, he was freakishly tall; second, he was literally a werewolf and fit as hell.

“Remus,” you said awkwardly, and he pulled you into a hug. “Happy Birthday,” he whispered into your ear, and you let out something between a sob and a laugh. Reggie caught up with the two of you a few seconds later and joined Remus’ hug.

“Happy birthday, you prat!” He said as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Can’t believe you’d let Remus hug you but run away from me, your favorite boyfriend.”

“You’re not her favorite,” you heard another voice say from the side; you hadn’t seen him at all but apparently, Jamie had also been around. “That’s obviously me.”

Remus just rolled his eyes at the petty little fight they were about to start. James loved getting on Reggie’s nerves. The tension they’d build up with that would always end up satisfactorily for the two of them.

“Did you finish that?” Reggie asked, and James grinned.

“Duh,” he responded as he placed a hand on Reggie’s shoulder to be able to see your face; as much as he adored his boyfriend’s long hair, it was still way too long at the moment. In fact, a few inches and he’d basically be Sirius (but actually fuckable).

“Come on,” Remus said as you pulled away from him, finally letting the disillusionment charm go.

“Boys, you are very sweet but, I’d rather be alone for a while. You know I had this whole thing planned and–”

“Shhhh,” James said as he placed his hand on your shoulder. “Just shut up and let us guide you.”

“But I really am not in the mood for anything right now.”

“Except for moping around in a reading nook,” Regulus said with a shrug; he was walking a few steps behind the two of you.

You turned to him with a reproachful stare, and Remus just pulled you closer to him, not quite letting go of you yet in case you would try to run off and hide somewhere. Of course, they had the map, but you had found ways to cheat your way out of it since you were helping them make it impossible. But while that meant the map would be incredible, it also meant that you were among the only people who knew how to sneak away from them.

Sirius thought it was hilarious, but your boyfriends thought it was immensely annoying. “Are we going to the Ravenclaw common room?” you asked with a frown.

“Just let us take you there,” James responded with a self-assured smile. You tried not to pay attention to how handsome he looked, although the walk along with them, even if you weren’t going to admit it, had already made you feel a lot better. Especially with Regulus and James’ constant teasing of the other. So much that Reggie almost pushed James off the stairs but managed to pull him back just in time, and James pulled him in for a kiss.

“Boys, behave,” Remus huffed slightly exasperated; though there was a sly smile playing on his face, especially after he saw a similar one on yours.

By the time you had gone the entire flight of stairs, you and Rem were actually laughing along Jamie for some silly joke, and Regulus was really trying to hold back his laughter and keep a stoic face as James kept looking at him with a know-it-all smile and raised eyebrows as if daring him not to laugh.

“Oh, almost there,” James said as he walked behind you and placed his hands over your eyes.

“James, we’re still on the stairs; I can’t see shit,” you complained.

“We’ll catch you if you fall,” Reggie said casually, and you fought the blush creeping up your cheeks really hard.

You still had Rem’s hands, holding you by the waist as James helped you up the stairs, whispering in your ear whenever there was a new step and when you had to take a couple of steps up. By the time you stopped, you knew exactly where they were taking you but decided not to tell them. You didn’t want to ruin their little surprise.

“Okay,” James whispered. “Open your eyes,” he added as he slowly removed his hands from your face.

You actually gasped when you realized what had happened. Right there, in the middle of the room was your picnic cloth, the baskets Pomfrey had borrowed, and a bottle of sparkling wine along with cups and plates and a huge cake.

There were floating balloons on the ceiling, and even if the rain was storming just outside, the boys had charmed the area so the rain wouldn’t wet anything.

“How– but…”

James smiled as he walked in front of you and bowed down in an extremely exaggerated fancy waiter gesture, “that was actually Reggie’s idea,” he said as he placed his hands on Regulus’ shoulder, who almost scoffed in return. “He said you’d be upset, and we decided to make your picnic party even if it wasn’t by the lake like you had planned.” Then James pulled you towards him and planted a kiss on your lips, letting himself get carried away when you gasped and allowed him to deepen the kiss. When he pulled back, you were breathing heavily, and he had a cocky smile on his face. “Happy birthday, my love,” he added.

You let out a diverted scoff, and the boys guided you towards the picnic. You were reclined against Reggie after you’d said sorry for running away from him, and he was rubbing his hands over your arm as James started serving some of the sparkling wine.

The letter from your friend had been somewhere inside the picnic basket, and Remus was the one who pulled it open. It exploded into a bunch of confetti and then turned into a howler of your friend singing “Happy Birthday” at the top of her lungs and with a rather off-pitch, but you were so happy you could only smile as you continued to listen. Regulus was looking at you in a judging manner.

“She’s a terrible singer,” he whispered in your ear.

“Shut up, she’s lovely!”

“And you’re deaf,” he added. “And I might be too now.”

“Shut up, Regulus!” the howler said as it stopped mid-song; he turned towards it genuinely petrified. Remus’ snigger was barely audible.

So she had asked for his help after all. “Still can’t believe you’re dating a Slytherin,” she added and then continued with her song. Once it was over, the howler moved a little closer to you. “Hope you’re having the best day ever, and that the boys treat you right. If not, I’ll make sure to call Sirius and make a plan with him to make all of their lives absolutely miserable,” there was a small pause, “Love you to the moon and back, my dear flower,” she added, and then the howler turned into more confetti and some gold glitter.

“Should I be jealous?” James teased.

“Of her? Probably,” you joked then leaned onto him again.

The rest of the night was spent smiling, joking, and enjoying the delicious food Bub had worked on all night. The boys had caught her in the halls looking for you, and she had happily given them the food along with a small present for you. Reggie had gotten you a necklace with a star, Remus a stunningly bound copy of your favorite book, and James had gotten you a ring with the sun on it.

And that’s how your birthday was spent, in between tears of laughter, delicious food, and surrounded by the sun, the moon, and the star.

Want to support me? Like and reblog this post. Comments are my life fuel, so send them out if you have any.

This one might get a part two, if you guys wanna see that <3

Raead more Marauders Fiction

[rapha-reads]

IWTV rewatch

(now that I've read the books and know the entire canon, let's see how it changes things or don't)

Season 1 episode 1 [In Throes of Increasing Wonder...] - part 1/2

- oh man, Daniel looks so old and tired and resigned at the very beginning. Comparing him with the Danny boy of season 2 who's so fired up and sassy... He's an adrenaline junkie.

- [Daniel] "I told my editor I was meeting with the most dangerous man in the world. Gave him two choices: Bezos. Putin." - moment of silence for 2022. It was shit but we didn't realise that it could get even worse.

- [Louis] "You've grown old, Daniel" - oi, manners, Louis! Where are your manners.

- [Louis] "I wasn't sure you'd remember me" - funny. Because none of you remembers shit actually. Memory as the core theme of the whole ride. Memory and subjective narrative. From the very first line.

- Oh maaaaaan, Armand lurking in the background from the very first scene. Armand babe, I've grown to be fond of your psychopathic tendencies, but this is seriously creepy, dude.

Also. Also. The way he's keeping such a tight leash on Louis. The surveillance. The eyes recording.

- [Daniel] "'That's the sun out there. Where's your coffin?' [Louis] 'You're standing in it'" - first of all, departure from canon lore, the sun doesn't make vampires slip into the death sleep automatically. They can resist it no matter their age. Secondly, morbid, Louis dear. Very morbid.

- Oooh, Armand letting the sun come in and staying sitting right next to the beam. Taking roleplay to the extreme. And Louis showing off his self-destructive tendencies. Amazing how we're having all the elements (most of the elements) already.

- [Louis] "Truth and reconciliation" - 123 dead, 84 injuries, a whole city levelled up. Nobody's ready. Let's get into it.

- Oooh, Armand coming into play. "No third party" - why, afraid you'll slip even easier? And then full on roleplay, Louis giving orders, and the blast of patronising aimed at "the boy". Brilliant writing. So very subtle when you don't know where to look, so in your face and crucial when you're in the know. Delightful.

- Interview date: June 14th 2022. Start of Louis' story: 1910, fall. Canon change. De Pointe du Lac's lineage: Creole. Canon change. Although I feel like the collapsing of timeline takes away some of the weight of the unholy family's life (not even 40 years versus 70 years in the books), I greatly like the change of personal history. So much richer.

- Can we take a moment to appreciate, nay, worship, Jacob Anderson's vocal skills? The change from his unaccented Dubai English to the Creole New Orleans English drawling... I am in absolute awe.

- [Louis] "Go on home, else I bleed you like a cochon, bruv"

Oh hello Lestat. Welcome to the narrative.

Paul needs to retreat to some monastery. 'Get thee to a nunnery'.

- [Priest] "I haven't seen you in confession in a while, Louis" and then that little scoff - oh, hello there, religious trauma. How much are you going to poison the narrative? Entirely? Well, carry on then.

- [Louis] "My business and my raised religion were at odds, and the, uh... ha, latencies within me, well, I beat those back with a lie I told myself about myself - that I was a red-blooded son of the South, seeking ass before absolution." - first of all, the fuck does that mean, Lou. Secondly, can someone get him to therapy.

- Delightful social commentary on segregated Southern states at the beginning of the 20th century, but I'm being told in my earpiece that a certain blond demigod (or monster, depending on the perspective) is about to make his entrance, so let's drop the sociology for now.

- [Lestat] "Seul l'impossible peut faire l'impossible" (only the impossible can do the impossible) - okay Lestat, ominous and nonsensical, lovin' it. A+ for the French accent, Sam, by the way.

- Never mind, Lestat's continuing the social commentary for me, thanks boo. "I mean that as a compliment, a man of your race to have privileges here". Ouch. Great first introduction there.

- [Lestat] "You're the man who made me buy a townhouse in the Quarter" - wooow there, wow! Slow your rolls, Ariel, you haven't even met the guy properly! Maybe take him on a date before making commitments like that?

- [Louis] "I know sometimes, men of my race, we all look alike to you people, but I ain't been selling you no townhouse" - *wheeze* yeah that's my boy.

- [Lestat] "I disembarked for the music, but then, there was the food" - yeah, I think they're called people?

- [Louis] "I wanted to take the end of my cane and slit his throat with it." - CAN I GET A WARNING before y'all gonna foreshadow like that?? Damn. Can't escape fate, or something like that, I guess.

- Hello and welcome to 'oh no I am more turned on than I have ever been in my whole life' : [Louis] "I couldn't move. My body was seized with weakness. His gaze tied a string around my lungs, and I found myself immobilized." Or maybe it's survival instinct telling homeboy "danger! Dangeeeeeer!".

- Lestat playing Mind games on Louis while he can still.

- Excuse me, the exchange between Lestat, Miss Lily and Louis is fucking hilarious, I'm wheezing: [Lestat] "Only it turns out the saint is not a city but a handsome man with a most agreeable disposition." - agreeable what, the only phrases y'all have been exchanging are a commentary on racism, and then you went on to start fucking with his mind. Lestat, stop being impulsive or draw 25. [Miss Lily] "You're his destiny, Louis." - you know, talk about destiny outloud too often, the universe hears and plays a trick.

- [Louis] "Emasculation and admiration in equal measure. I wanted to murder the man, and I wanted to be the man." - and you wanted the man. Don't forget the third part of the rhyme.

- Lestat already using the Fire Gift. Canon change. Well, in book canon he's still under 30 human age when he meets Louis and Fire Gift only develops later in vampiric age. But here he's already a bit more than a century old. Logical change.

- [Lestat] "We both wanted the last bouquet of lillies" - *wheeze* You fucker.

- That poker scene is another social commentary with thinly veiled - or like actually not even that veiled - racism. Oh, and Lestat's here to continue the criticism. And play mind games. Though, hey, freezing time. Another vampiric power that usually appears late. Absolutely adore that Louis just rolls with the fuckery and switches his cards. 'Dude's stopping time in front of me and talking in my head? Whatever, cards await nothing'. Love a guy who's decided that everything goes and he ain't gonna press too much for the answers. Now if only he'd press a little bit more, but hey, no story if he does.

- [Louis] "Let the tale seduce you. Just as I was seduced." - you know what, as someone who just read 12 or 13 books in the span of three weeks because they couldn't stop, I'm right here with Louis. Let yourself be hypnotised. You'll lose sleep and attention span and the ability to care about anything else but these whiny blood suckers, but hey, totally worth it. If you survive till the end.

- [Louis] "Money would arrive, wired from France" - another departure from book canon, where Lestat lives off of Louis. Then again, book!Lestat is barely 30, mustn't have had time to set his network of attorneys, while show!Lestat already has a century of existence. Which brings me to a point that I haven't raised before, but what was Lestat doing between leaving Paris at the time of the Révolution (if memory serves) and arriving in New Orleans in 1910? Having tea with Marius? Sleeping beneath the sand? That's a full ass century Rolin Jones and Cie have to explain, here.

- Louis' conversation with his sister. [Louis] "'He ain't white, he French' [Grace] 'Oh, that a different kind of white? French white?'" - listen sis, as a half white French half brown Moroccan, yeah, trust me, white French's pernicious. [Louis] "Paul crawled into my bed last night" - who wanna bet Paul's talking to our book canon friends the spirits? And these ain't good spirits either. Ah, but Louis loves his family. Ready for the grief? No? Me either.

- [Lestat] "My mother, she gave me every advantage in life" - Gabriiiiiiellllllle. Cannot wait to see her in s3.

- Someone needs to shut Paul up. "the birds asked me to ask you" - okay Paul. Sure.

Wait, "Monsieur Freniere", ain't that the other plantation guy Louis wants to protect and becomes obsessed with his sister, Babette? Or am I already mixing up my canon.

- Oh hello, Lestat's backstory in the monastery, plus Sam Reid showing off for the first time his acting. Or should I say, his possession. An award for Sam. All the awards for Sam.

- [Louis] "Don't everybody need to know what I do" - preach, bro.

- [Louis] "Nothing but broken souls around me, and the ones that ain't broken, greedy" - ah, then, which one are you, Louis chéri ? Broken ? Greedy? Both? Only one for the moment, both as the years go on? And Lestat? Greedy, yes? But isn't he also so deeply broken?

- [Lestat] "The Earth's a Savage Garden" - begging Rolin Jones to give us Lestat soliloquising about the Savage Garden please and thank you.

- [Lestat] "'Shall we have a nightcap?' [Louis] 'Probably had enough for the night.'" - and yet you're helplessly following him, drawn in like a magnet, like an impossible to resist planetary orbit. Also look at that little gay panic. Awards for Jacob please.

- Ah, the gift. That's how Lestat will ensnare you. Gifts and gifts and precious things and then a child. Run, Louis, run.

- Oh, Nicki mention! [Lestat] "a boy of infinite beauty and sensitivity" - yeah he kinda was insane too, but that's your point of view I guess.

- [Lestat] "What kind of a man wastes this beautiful waist with words?" - first of all, damn, nice alliteration here. Secondly, a gay man, Les, you know that, we know that, Lily knows that.

- The erotic tension of this scene is off the charts, blimey. And Louis keeps repressing. He's about to blow off. In every meaning of the term. Yep, there it is. Excuse me while I go look. Respectfully. Also. Hands. They have something for each other's hands. And the first bite. And levitating. And that's just episode 1 and we're only halfway through episode 1. Nobody does it like this show, I swear.

part 2 | episode 2 | episode 3 | episode 4 | episode 5 | episode 6 | episode 7

Season 2 rewatch (coming soon)

[starogeorgina]

Violent delights

Warnings: Mentions of blood, swearing, smut (hand jobs)

Pairings: Jacaerys Velaryon x oc

1.07

Late in the night, your sons are fast asleep, tucked into the large bed at the top of the room, while your daughters both stare at your husband with curiosity in their eyes while the maester stitches his arm. While you were focused on Aegon hurting your younger brother, you were clueless to Aemond picking up a knife from the table, which Jace snatched from his hands, causing the deep cut in his arm.

The moment the maester leaves the room, you place soft kisses over Jacaerys face, ignoring the sting in your bottom lip as you do. “I am so sorry; if I had just ignored Aegon, none of this would have happened. I should have known better than to even entertain what he was asking.”

“But now our uncles have shown their true colors, and because of their actions, we can tell we made the right decision by keeping the greens at arm’s length.”

Noticing Rhaenys bottom lip quivering, you kneel down to offer her a hug, but she shakes her, backing away from you. Her lilac eyes moved between your lip and Jace’s arm; she seemed frightened by you both. Lucerys picks her up, and immediately she buries her face into her neck, mumbling something you couldn’t hear.

Jacaerys sees the hurt on your face and sighs. “Reni, what’s wrong?”

She murmurs something that only her uncle can hear. Luke strokes her hair gently, quietly saying, “She’s scared of the blood.”

The cut on your lip had already started to scab, and both Jace’s arms had blood on them. The angle that he punched Aegon in caused his knuckles to burst, and his other arm would most likely have a nasty scar left behind. The thing that hurt most was seeing your little girl so frightened, especially when all you wanted was to hold your children close. You get two damp cloths and give one to Jace, then use the other to clean your face.

Aemma leans her elbows onto the table before dropping her face into her hands. “Kepa?”

“What is it, my darling?”

“Who’s Aegon?”

You hear the hitch in Jace’s breath but cut in before he can respond. “Right, it’s time for bed; off you go.”

Aemma pouts as she drags her feet walking towards the bed, and she climbs in next to Aethan. Knowing it was going to be impossible for you and Jace to fit in beside four children and Luke in the bed, you grab two pillows, handing one to Jace and keeping the second for yourself to sleep on one of the chairs for a couple of hours until it was time to leave.

Daylight couldn’t come quick enough.

—

Groaning, you sit upright, cringing as your bones creak from sleeping in such an awkward position. The first thing you see is Jace sitting across from you, talking quietly to your newborn, holding him close to his bare chest. You note that Lucerys and your other four children are no longer in the room; since your husband was calm, you didn’t assume anything was wrong.

Noticing your awake Jace smiles, he kisses the baby's head, whispering, “Look who’s awake, Daemon, do you want to say good morning to Muña?”

You sit beside him and take Daemon into your arms. “My precious boy,” you say, kissing the tip of his nose and Jace on the cheek. “Where are the rest of the children?”

“Breaking fast in our mothers quarters You were sound asleep, so I thought it best to leave you be, but I did bring you back some almonds before they were demolished by Gaemon.”

He motions to the small bowl sitting on the table in the center of the room. You were never hungry in the mornings but always tried to eat a small amount so you’d have enough energy. “Thank you, husband, but I think I will get dressed first, so do not keep everyone waiting.”

Daemon’s eye closes over as you reach the cot at the foot of the bed. Gently, you place him down before stepping back to remove your nightgown. In hindsight, you should have woken up early to bathe before, but the antics of the night before and Daemon crying throughout the night had taken a toll on you. Three times you left the room during the night to feed your newborn to spare Lucerys from feeling embarrassed or uncomfortable if he woke up and saw you breastfeeding.

Feeling eyes on you, you look over your shoulder to see Jace staring at you, his brown eyes practically glued to your bare backside. Grinning, you turn around, giving him a full view of you. “It’s far too soon for that, dear husband.”

“I know,” he gulps down. His gaze lingers on you as you put your small cloth on, and when you wince in pain as the fabric of your lilac dress brushes against your sensitive chest, Jace clears his throat. “I asked Clara to bring ice water; I put a couple of napkins in it for you.”

You kiss him on the cheek as you walk by; the cold compress would do wonders for reducing the swelling in the breast. You place the wet clothes underneath the soft linen corset before pulling your dress the full way up. “Can you tie this at the back for me?”

Jacaerys fingers shake as he laces up the back of your dress, which was unusual. “Is something wrong?”

He lets out a sigh while tying a small bow with the loose strands of fabric. Jace steps back. “I need to say something.”

Immediately, you feel guilty, as if you’ve done something to cause the pain on your husband's face. “Jace, what is it?”

“I know I always said I’d never be the type of father or husband who tells his family what to do, but I should never have let you or our children come here.” He takes a deep breath as red blotches start to cover his neck and chest. “I put you in harm's way.”

“Stop; none of this is your fault. The only people to blame are Aegon and Aemond; if they weren’t brutes, then none of this would have happened.”

Tears build in his eyes. “How long do you think it will be until my legitimacy is brought into question? Because as soon as that happens, our children will be as well.”

“Oh Jacaerys,” you cup his face. “I wish I knew, but there’s no way to tell what the greens will do.”

“I don’t know how you survived living here alone.”

You kiss his cheek and say, “I believe the gods put me through it all so I can have the family that I do now.”

“I don’t know how to protect you from them; they are so malicious. What if now that Aegon and Alicent have seen Aemma, they want her back?”

“Then all hell will break loose,” you say, pressing your forehead against Jace’s. “Alicent isn’t a fool; she knows what would happen if they tried to take one of our children from us.”

“Does Aegon?”

You had no clear answer for your husband. “I hope so.”

—

Sitting on the soft gray rug covering the center of your son's nursery, you cradle Daemon closer to you, kissing his head while doing your best not to laugh as your children and brother continue to debate between two dragon names to pick from, which was highly amusing. When Daemon’s egg began to crack, you were stunned, given that your son was still a newborn. You sent for the children to be temporarily removed from their lessons so they could witness a dragon hatching since none of them had seen it before. When the egg cracked, a beautiful dragon with light blue scales crawled out. It was so tiny, you didn’t think you’d ever seen a dragon so small.

You had asked if any of them would like to help pick a name since Daemon couldn’t do it himself. The children had gone back and forth on Gaelithox, Aegarax, and Trixon. But you knew the Maester would become irritated if they didn’t return to their lessons soon. “Have you decided on a name?”

“Aegarax,” Gaemon says. “But only if you and Jace like it too.”

You hum in agreement, “It sounds like the perfect name.”

It seemed fitting that your brother chose a name that belonged to one of the gods of Old Valyria when both his mother and father's dragons were named after the gods as well. Aegarax was the God of all creatures that walk, run, swim, or fly. The creator of the first dragon

“When will you take us flying on Viserion again, muña?”

You smile at Avery, ruffling his silver hair. “Soon, my sweetling, I promise.”

One of your favorite things to do was take your children riding on dragons. It was a great bonding experience, and it also meant they would have experience for when they rode their own dragons some day.

You smile at Clara, who is patiently waiting on the other side of the room to escort the children. “Right, you lot, time to go back to your classes before they send out a search party.”

—

You frown, hearing Jace cursing in pain as the warm water spills from the tube as you enter your bed chamber. “Fuck!” He hisses, and as you walk further into the room, you see him attempting to clean around the stitches in his arm. “Gods! Fuc-”

“Jacaerys?” Your voice startles him, causing Jace to throw the cloth back into the water. You chuckle lightly, “Let me help my love.”

You crouch down beside him, picking up the cloth, and rinse it off before scrubbing his back. Jace’s body softened slightly at your touch, but his back and shoulders were still tense. You move to the side and begin gently cleaning his arm; even though Jace was perfectly capable of doing it himself, you enjoyed the intimacy of it.

You watch amused as his Adam’s apple bobs back and forth, his dark eyes blown wide with lust when water splashes onto your swollen chest. You kiss his bruised knuckle before moving. You gently start rubbing at his chest. Smirking, you kiss the back of his neck.

“Lyarra,” he says in a warning tone.

“Yes, my prince?” You lower your hand to the bottom of his stomach while continuing to pepper his neck with gentle kisses, an action that always turns him on. “My husband, my-”

He cuts you off by crashing his lips against your own. “I promise in five weeks time you won’t be leaving this room. I will take you in every position possible, and won’t stop until you are screaming in pleasure.”

“Hmm, I'll hold you to that,” you giggle. Jace was a man of honor and always followed through on his promises, so you knew when you were eventually able to lay with him again that you wouldn’t be leaving your chambers for days.

As you deepened the kiss, Jace untied the laces at the front of your dress, pulling the fabric down until your breasts spilled from it. He holds back on groping them, instead delicately running his fingers over them so as not to hurt you. Jace groans when you take his hard dick in your hand and begin to stroke him, quickly taking up your actions. He grips your hair with one hand, holding your face in place as he kisses you.

It doesn’t take Jace long to come undone, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he climaxes into your hand. After a few moments he kisses your cheek, “you look really beautiful; you always do.”

You blush at the compliment, “Thank you.”

“I mean it; you really are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Inside and out, I’m truly lucky to have you.”

“Avy jorrāelan.”

“Avy jorrāelan tolī.”

—

“Dracarys!”

Aethan squeals when Viserion burns the dead horse lying in front of him, burning its corpse before devouring it. Avery watched in awe. Out of all your children, he was the most fascinated by dragons. He loved nothing more than going with his grandsire Daemon to search for dragon eggs. Aemma and Rhaenys remained in their lessons, but since your sons finished sooner, you decided to take them dragon riding with you.

In the distance, you could see Jace and Lucerys training, but you could tell Luke was struggling to keep up with his older brother.

Hearing a loud roar, you look up to the clouded sky. You pull your sons closer to you while trying to locate the sound of flapping wings from above, and then finally, you see the red queen, Meleys, fly into view. You smile, happy that your grandmother was visiting Dragonstone.

Avy jorrāelan - I love you

Avy jorrāelan tolī - I love you too

Muña - mother

[lefaystrent]

Me, Myself, and These Guys Who Kinda Look Like Me Ch. 8

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: Thomas/The Sides

Summary: It starts with dreams. Then Thomas starts seeing the dream people in the waking world.

Thomas doesn't know how to bring it up to anybody or if he even should at this point.

AKA, Thomas has to acknowledge the six colorful characters in the room, much to their long-awaited delight.

Ao3 Link: click here

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

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Thomas erupts into the most chilling, ear-splitting screech of agony and crumples prone to the ground.

Janus instantly drops down to a kneeling position beside him, eyes darting this way and that, searching for where the harm comes from. He fears Thomas may be experiencing a seizure at first with how much his body writhes and convulses, but no, it is a reaction to intolerable amounts of pain wracking his form. He watches Thomas howl, and for the first time since Thomas woke up in his bed all those days ago and shattered their expectations by taking Virgil's hand, Janus feels utterly helpless.

To his right, Virgil slumps limply in Roman's arms. Roman shakes at his unconscious body to no avail. Unconscious? Virgil is unconscious. Eyes shut, completely unreactive like he's dead to the world. None of them have ever so much as fallen asleep. They never lose full awareness. They thought it impossible.

Likewise, to Janus's left, Remus holds Patton in his lap, rocking and speaking to him and growing louder when Patton doesn't respond. Patton's eyes are open, staring dully into space, tears leaking from the sides in unending currents. No sound passes his lips. The body is there, but no soul is home.

"Janus?" Roman asks, and God, he's never heard that tone from the confidant man. It is broken and asking for help that Janus cannot give. He's visibly torn, cradling Virgil to his chest.

Logan is gone and everything is falling apart around them.

Janus shuts it out, all of it. He has to. Thomas scratches at his chest in blind desperation, back arching off the ground, and his screams will alert the neighbors soon if they haven't already. Janus must take control.

Gripping Thomas's wrists, he slams them down into the grass. It hurts to see him fight against his hold. How he kicks and cries for a reprieve that isn't there. How he bares his teeth, neck strained, muscles taut under the skin.

"Thomas, listen to me, listen to my voice," he says directly into Thomas's ear. Beyond the pain, beyond the confusion, beyond the sickening dread, he will be heard. "Come back to us now. We need you. Concentrate! You are flailing, and I am sorry, but you must bring yourself back. I can't do it for you. I'm sorry, I wish I could, but I can't. So come back to us, love. Do not lose yourself while trying to find yourself. Come back and be safe. Come back."

Janus will always have Thomas's best interests in mind, first and foremost. Nothing else compares. Nothing. If pieces must be sacrificed, then so be it.

He just selfishly hopes it doesn't come to that.

"I would burn the world for you, you know," Janus says softly, privately, for Thomas alone. His voice wavers, "Maybe I still will, now that I can. You'd hate that, wouldn't you?"

If Thomas hated him, he could live with that, so long as he prospered. Better to have disdain than nothing at all. So many years they spent on the outskirts. So many times they yelled and floundered and ached to be seen. To hold a tiny piece of acknowledgement.

How cruel of God to allow them a sliver of happiness, just to take it away.

For a second, a third gloved hand emerges to cover Thomas's eyes.

Janus smiles bitterly and continues to hope out of spite.

An awful tearing sound rips through the air like the cracking of whips. Every hair on Janus's body stands on end and then Logan is tumbling out of nothing, deposited with a heavy thud in a graceless heap beside Thomas. Janus nearly laughs. He swallows down the heady relief as Thomas's screams abruptly cut off.

Logan looks like he's been through the ringer: glasses askew, hair tousled, and looking bleary eyed in all directions. He gasps greedily as if he's run a marathon and grasps at his chest much like Thomas had been.

"Wha– what?" he rasps, unable to focus.

"Logan!" Roman and Remus shout at the exact same time in the exact same tone. It's solace in surround sound. They could have lost Logan, but they didn't. It's knowledge echoing out. Fear of the unknown. Fear of the now-known. What more could they stand to lose?

With Virgil unconscious and Patton catatonic, what have they lost already?

Thomas weakly struggles against Janus's hold. Weak, but no less urgent. He squirms and he whimpers, and his feet dig into the ground to try to push himself back. Away from Janus. Away to be towards–

Slowly, Janus releases him to see purpose fulfilled. He hovers just in case, but there isn't a need anymore. Pushing past the exhaustion, the lingering pain, the weight of gravity, Thomas hauls himself over the scant couple of feet between to reach Logan. There, he collapses uncoordinated on top of him.

Logan let's out an, "oof," and falls onto his back. He grips at Thomas but doesn't push him off despite the added hindrance to his breathing problem. Instead, he hugs him and his eyes close as if he can finally rest.

Thomas doesn't move. He doesn't speak. And when Janus pats at him to check, he shows no sign of being awake. Logan's eyes flutter open briefly when Janus gives him the same treatment. Their gazes meet briefly, and the sheer amount of tiredness there unsettles Janus to his core. Logan closes his eyes once more. They lay there, still.

"Are they okay?" Roman asks fearfully.

"Of course they're not okay," Remus says, voice barely above a whisper but not lacking any power. There's a snarl, an animal backed into a corner. "Of course they're not fucking okay."

Four out of seven of them are out of commission. Two of the remaining three are compromised, unable to think past their own emotional upheaval.

That just leaves Janus.

"Roman, Remus," Janus barks at them. "Pick them up and carry them inside. Make sure they're comfortable. Then come back out and help me with these two. We need to move fast before anyone gets nosey about the noise. C'mon, on your feet."

And they listen to him. They always function better when they have something to focus on. Roman sweeps Virgil up bridal style and carries him inside. In any other context, Virgil would never allow such a thing. Janus would tease him for it. He'd never let him live it down.

Janus does not feel like teasing in the slightest. He watches Remus effortlessly hoist Patton up on his hip in an imitation of a parent with their overgrown toddler. He follows the others in wordlessly. Janus watches and he does not let his hands shake or allow his mask to chip. He keeps a hand on Thomas's back, another on Logan's forehead, and he sees the rest through.

***

Remus stares at Virgil's unconscious body lying on the couch.

He's been staring for a while. Normally by now, the emo would feel his gaze piercing into him like knives. He'd whip his head around and lock onto him and hiss at him to stop being annoying or creepy.

Virgil lays there, serene and unbothered.

It's worse than being ignored.

"Wake up, Emo," Remus demands. He slaps at Virgil's chest. He might as well be groping a dead body. "Tell me I'm stupid. Call me a freak. Say all the degrading shit that turns me on."

Virgil doesn't budge or flinch.

Remus goes back to staring. He pushes his fist against his mouth and gnaws on his knuckles.

A hint of feeling glides at his scalp. It's Janus brushing his hand through Remus's hair as he passes by. He's done that a few times in the middle of his pacing. It's not like how Thomathy feels, hot and thick and real against their skin, but it's nice and beats down the crazy impulses for a spell. Impulses like giggling or smashing the coffee table or performing CPR so hard that his hands plunge right through the chest cavity.

They haven't figured anything out yet. They're just waiting. Roman sits on the floor nearby, back against the couch, Patton bundled up in his arms. Patton hasn't said a word, all the life having wrenched out of him. He blinks sluggishly, and honestly Roman doesn't look much better. He sits unmoving, eyes staring ahead, and Remus can see the trauma unfolding before him in memories. He's a man who walked across the battlefield and survived while his fellow soldiers did not.

Then there's Thomas and Logan. It took all three of them to move those two inside because they refused to be parted. They tried at first, but Thomas roused only long enough to start crying and begging pitifully until they left him in Logan's arms. They confirmed Logan isn't fully unconscious himself, rather he's in a fragile state in between. He lays on the couch with Thomas, both of them on their sides to face each other, and he's got Thomas tucked against his chest with arms wrapped around him like he's meant to be there.

Remus would think Logan is very lucky if not for everything else going on. Even Remus has his limits for chaos. This just sucks ass.

Janus can't stop moving. He frets over them all at certain points, checking in with them. He slides his hands over Virgil's cheeks. He presses his forehead against Roman's. He handles Patton's face with care and turns his head to try to get his attention. He prods at Logan until his eyelids lift and fall again. And Thomas. Janus leans down to whisper something to him now and then. Remus can't hear. It's probably sweet nothings. Or vulgar filth. Or a shopping list.

"Virgin, wake up," Remus calls. He grips and jostles at the sleeved arm. It flops. "I'm gonna burn your jacket up. You'll be wearing a pile of ash."

Virgil would look good in ashes. It would match the eyeshadow bags under his eyes. It'd be like wearing his eyeshadow all over, just with the smell of smoke and burnt cloth plugging up his nose.

Remus wonders if he can touch fire now. Could it char his fingers? Does he have bones underneath? If he bleeds, can he die?

Can any of them die now?

"Should we call an ambulance?" Roman asks suddenly.

Janus stops pacing. He scoffs, "And what, have the 911 operator listen to silence? In case you've forgotten, no one can perceive us."

"They could trace where the call is coming from. Can't the police do that?"

"Even if they arrived, they wouldn't be able to pull Thomas away from Logan, and I don't know about you but a man trying to cuddle an invisible person seems fairly conspicuous to me."

Roman's hold on Patton tightens, looking downright overbearing. If Patton is being crushed, he doesn't complain a peep. He turns his face into Patton's hairline and his eyes flit over towards where Thomas and Logan lay. "But he's not waking up... He was screaming."

"Yes, I know, I have eyes and ears."

"Do you...always have to be such an ass?"

Janus stops short. It's not the insult or realization of shameful behavior that gets to him. It's the weariness in Roman's voice. He has no fight left in him.

With a flurry of his cape, Janus sits on the floor with them. He leverages his forearms on his knees and threads his fingers together. "Suffice it to say, there is no good course of action we have at our disposal. None of us are doctors, and besides that, this is an unprecedented medical or supernatural phenomenon. There's no specialist for it. We stand to risk outing ourselves and upending Thomas's life."

"You think they'll make him into a science experiment?" Remus asks around his fist.

Janus tuts and reaches over to pull his arm down. "No, worse. They'll write him off as crazy and send him to the looney bin."

"He might have had a heart attack," Roman presses. "Can we risk it?"

"He'd probably be dead by now," Remus points out. "Not that I would know. I don't have a medical degree. I just know he was screaming really loud. And not a single neighbor has made a noise complaint or come to check out the ruckus.... Hm, ruckus is a funny word. Ruckus. Ruuuckus. Fuckus. Fuuuckus."

Janus sighs. Whether it's at the situation as a whole or the display of typical Remus distraction, who can tell. "Classic bystander effect. They probably heard; they just figured it was someone else's problem."

"Can I steal from those people at least?"

"Do whatever moves you."

Remus is not moved. He sits there very not moved. He starts gnawing on his fingers again when Janus isn't looking. He needs to get his biting worth out of it while he can. With any luck, he'll chomp right through his digits and have himself a nice finger snack.

"Are we going to talk about what happened?" Roman asks, changing the subject.

Janus looks bored but Remus knows better. "What's there to talk about? We were all there."

"That's never happened before."

"A lot of this has never happened before."

"Logan got too far. That's the only thing it could be. He got too far, and everyone..."

"Yes, I suppose you're right."

"Why not us then?" And here Roman is plagued with guilt. It's painted all over his face and the tender way he hugs Patton. He glances at Virgil's still form and his lip wobbles a bit. "We didn't get hurt. Or– or whatever this is. We didn't get knocked out or feel anything amiss. Virgil and Patton, they were... They were trying to warn us."

"..."

"...Janus, you were right."

Janus goes perfectly immobile save for his facial features. His eyebrows shoot up, making his eyelids stretch open. It gives Remus a nice view of the slitted cornea. He wants to poke it to see how juicy it is.

"Come again?" Janus asks, and he's so caught off guard that there's none of his back-handed, complimentary evasiveness. It's a man who's tried for years to drive home a point and is at long last receiving a concession for his efforts.

Roman shrugs awkwardly around Patton. "You were right, before when you disparaged us for experimenting. We never should have bothered. Fools that we are, we didn't listen. You must be so happy."

The eyebrows come back down. Icarus flew too close to the sun and got nothing but burnt wings.

Janus isn't angry. He's hurt. Remus sees it, the flash of betrayal for one honest second before it's covered up by a cynical laugh.

"Oh, I'm overjoyed. You know me so well."

The words are biting and meant to sting. Roman flinches as Janus rises and stalks off to the kitchen. Remus hears no banging of pots and pans. He doesn't hear the fridge door slam open or plates being smashed. He feels it though, inside. Turmoil lashes out and seeks purchase.

"I would punch you if you weren't holding Patton," Remus says, almost casually.

Roman nods, and he's got that self-flagellating look on his face that makes Remus want to shatter glass. "I'd deserve it."

"Too bad. Wallow in your misery like the rest of us."

"I'm sorry."

Remus growls so viciously he scarcely sounds human. He spins around and shoves into Virgil's chest while screaming, "Wake up or I'll rip off your scalp and wear it like a fucking hat!"

Virgil sucks in a sharp breath and jerks up. His eyes are tiny black blots of ink in orbs of white. The eyeshadow under his eyes smears down his face to his chin. It's much more pronounced than they've ever seen it. It's weird, like the fact that they've never had access to makeup in the first place, but Virgil came with custom eyeshadow anyway ever since they accomplished existing. But that's a footnote in everyone's mind right then.

Virgil sits up and, at the sudden movement, he cringes and clutches at the sides of his head. "What– the fuck?"

Remus worms his way onto the couch at an impressive speed. He sits between Virgil's splayed legs and paws roughly at his hands to drag them away.

"Let me see, Emo. Let me see!"

"Stormcloud?"

"I've got him, fuck off."

"Virgil?" Janus says, racing over.

There's no stopping Janus from barreling in. Between him and Remus, they get Virgil to sit up straight and pry his arms back. Virgil protests and huffs that he's fine, his head just hurts.

Then what he says catches up to him. Mystified, Virgil touches at his forehead. "My head...hurts."

It hurts.

Virgil is hurting.

They can feel pain. Virgil is in pain, and he feels it.

Remus looks to Janus to fix it.

The scales on Janus's face stand out in a sickly green against his pallor. His jaw clenches, mouth set in a severe line.

Why isn't he doing anything? Why won't he be snarky and cool and fix this?

"What happened?" Virgil asks, coming back to himself with purposeful deep breaths. He goes to turn his head to the side where–

Remus doesn't pause to think; he rarely does anyway. He grabs at Virgil's head to keep him in place. If Janus isn't going to do his thing and pretend like everything is okay, then Remus would have to be the (ugh) responsible one.

"Don't panic," Remus tells him in his most convincing tone. Which isn't very convincing at all, coming from him.

Predictably, Virgil panics. He pushes at Remus's hands but doesn't get anywhere. "Why, what's going on? Where's everyone?!"

"We're here, Virge," Roman calls to him. It's the least he can do, even if Remus did tell him to fuck off just a minute ago. "We're all here."

"Then what's going on? Why can't I remember?! We were outside–"

"You had a bit of a...spell."

Remus shoots Roman a nonplussed look. "What he means is, is that you conked out for an itty-bitty baby bit."

"How is that any better?"

"Fine. Fainted, passed out, took a dirt nap."

"Dirt nap means dead; he's not dead!"

"You're lying," Virgil breathes out a denial. He squirms and Remus battens down the hatches to keep him looking ahead.

"Nope, you're definitely not dead," Remus confirms.

"No, I can't have- we don't just pass out!"

"Tell that to the you of an hour ago."

"Let me go. Remus, let me go!"

"Promise you won't piss your pants. Or go into a vegetative state like you've had a lobotomy."

"What's that supposed to mean?! Why won't you let me look?!"

"Remus, just let him see!"

"Enough."

And with that one word, the three of them cease their squabbling. Yellow, gloved fingers move in to overtake Remus's in a gentler hold. Remus relinquishes his charge to let Janus do his thing.

A thumb caresses against black stained cheeks. Virgil grips onto Janus's wrists, gaze beckoning for answers.

"How bad is the pain?" Janus asks calmly. Too calmly. Fake like margarine but still sweet.

Virgil swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing with the movement visibly with the way his head is tilted up. Remus waits for him to start clawing. To throw himself back. When he doesn't, it only confirms how scared he is. "It's manageable. I just...haven't felt like this before."

"Is it just your head?"

"Yeah, I think so. The lights just kind of hurt, like it's– like it's throbbing behind my eyes."

"Remus."

Remus rolls to his feet and switches off the lights. The afternoon light spills in mutely from behind the blinds.

"Better?" Janus asks Virgil. He massages at his temples in soothing circles.

Virgil leans into the touch. "Yeah..."

"Good. That's good."

"...why won't you let me look around?"

"We're getting there. We're just taking care of you first. Everyone is here in the living room. We've just been resting after Logan's experiment. Do you remember that part?"

"Yeah." Virgil's eyes squint, and he frowns, but he's not looking so much like a shivering chihuahua. "I started having a panic attack."

"That you did."

"I thought Logan was gonna die."

"He did not. He's fine. He's just resting with Thomas."

"Why are they resting?"

And Janus explains to him as mercifully gentle as possible. He recounts the events as they perceived from their end of things, paying special attention to paint a picture much less distressing.

"I want to see them," Virgil demands. The edge in his voice has returned. There's a resigned stubbornness there, the same that Remus adores because when push comes to shove, their emo shoves back.

Janus holds him a moment more, searching his resolve, then releases him.

Virgil twists around. At first, his eyes don't know where to look. Shame he doesn't have more eyes so he can look in several places at once. It'd be more efficient. Spiders have the right idea.

Remus shakes his head and blinks his eyes out of synch. There are important things going on.

Virgil slides down off the couch to kneel on his knees beside Roman and Patton. He glances at Roman, and Roman gives him an understanding smile.

"Maybe if you try, he'll respond," Roman suggests. There's not much inspiration there though.

"Pat? Popstar?" Virgil tries, voice low and unused to that kind of sweetness. It sounds wrong in Remus's ears, but the intention is there. He's giving his best shot.

Patton says nothing. He moves not an inch.

Logan on the other hand makes an abrupt statement. "Spiders are the largest order of arachnids and rank seventh in total species diversity among all orders of organisms."

It's dead silent for five whole bewildered seconds.

"Uh...?" Roman begins, staring at the rest of them but they're all just as confounded.

Logan carries on, still laying there, back to the rest of the room. He sounds like he's reading from something, projecting his voice out, "A dozen is a quantity that consists of twelve things. Human teeth are the only part of the body that cannot heal themselves. The Mariana's Trench is 36,201 feet deep. Bananas glow blue under black lights. Rent is due the 25th of every month."

For something so mundane and random as Logan spouting off facts, it's actually really intimidating. Mostly because none of them know what the hell is going on. Remus tiptoes over to Logan to check that he doesn't have a cheat sheet squirreled away between him and Thomas, but no. The nerd lays there, eyes twitching behind his closed eyelids. Maybe there are tiny textbooks printed behind his eyelids?

"Talking's a good sign, right?" Remus asks the others, just to be clear.

The others do not share in his positivity.

Okay, so maybe it's an ominous sign then. Maybe Logan has been possessed by a demonic entity and is going to start spouting Biblical prophecies of the end of days. He could speak it in Latin to make it sound more official.

"Classical Latin is considered a dead language as it is no longer used to produce major texts, while Vulgar Latin evolved into the Romance Languages."

Remus veers back so fast he bumps into the lamp by the tv. It sways and ultimately loses the fight with gravity. It crashes to the floor, breaking and startling Remus more. The sound is the farthest thing from satisfying. It stabs into his eardrums and wiggles into his brain. There's a goddamn mariachi band blaring in his skull, blasting his senses to shreds.

"Mariachi Vargas de Tecalitlán is recognized as the oldest mariachi ensemble, founded by Gaspar Vargas in the late 1890s."

His skull crunches open. Brain matter scooping out. Blood used as finger paint to write on the walls. The writing is on the walls, can't you read it?

"Make him stop," Remus pleads. His fingers twitch at his sides uselessly.

The walls, Remus. The walls are closing in. Don't just look. You have to see.

There's only enough air for one person here.

"Remus?" someone says, but the who is lost. Logan spouts off another fact, about brains and blood, and Remus scratches at his head, unable to look away.

Don't look away, Remus. Blink and you'll miss it.

"Shut up!" Remus cries out shrilly. "Stop fucking with me!"

You poor thing. The walls will close in one way or another, and underneath the writing, there are mirrors. It's always been mirrors.

The line between insanity and clarity is thinner than you'd think.

Isn't it terrifying?

Isn't it fun?

Rather suddenly, Remus disappears. An empty place remains where he once stood.

How disappointing.

***

Roman and everyone else who are conscious enough to do so watch Remus descend into near-hysterics. He knocks over the lamp and nearly the tv in his attempt to back away into the corner. It's sudden and vicious, the way he snaps, and Roman feels his heart stutter in fear that this is another episode of whatever happened to the others earlier. It's catching up, and they're next.

But then Roman blinks, and Remus is gone, and Logan trails off into a sleepy murmur.

Virgil rises to his feet unsteadily. He looks between Logan and where Remus once stood, face aghast.

"Did he just sink out?"

"I... I didn't see it," Roman says, off-kilter. He swallows and searches for something he can do in this situation. Anything to help.

Patton, Logan, Thomas, they're all out of it. Remus has left them. Remus was shouting. At Logan? No, there's something else amiss. Something staring them in the face and they're too blind to see.

Roman refuses to feel like they're being toyed with. There must be an avenue he can take here. A swift solution to their problems.

But when there's no villain that the eye can see, what is there that he can fight?

"What the hell is going on?" Virgil whispers. Then, louder, "I mean, what the hell is going on?! Are we stuck in a horror movie? Did Remus just die? Oh my God, did he just die? Is something fucking with us?"

Janus stays suspiciously silent. He glares over towards the entertainment center, and there's a million thoughts racing behind his mismatched eyes. His hands fist into his shirt. He's the image of a man who planned a bank heist but the bombs went off in the wrong branch.

"Janus," Roman calls over, getting his attention thankfully. "Can you check Remus's room?"

They may have hurt each other with their words, but these are slights to be put aside. Priorities, priorities, priorities.

Janus gives a nod and terse reply, "I'll only be gone a moment."

He sinks out.

It has to be him. Only he can slither through their different spaces. Roman accepted this as fact long ago.

That doesn't mean he never questioned it. Now more than ever, he wonders what it means.

"We shouldn't split up!" Virgil calls out too late. He whirls on Roman, tone harsh but eyes begging. "That's rule number one of horror movies; you don't split the party!"

"And if Logan could muster the energy, I'm sure he'd say something wonderful about how this is reality and something about process of elimination, but we don't have that luxury, My Chemical Imbalance. We have to do what is in our power to recover, and I hate to say it, but the snake's the only one who can go after Remus if he's in his room. Whatever spooked Dukey, he'll need help. Would you rather us not go after him?"

"Of course not!" Virgil argued back, angry to agree and more frustrated that he can't think of a better solution. "But what if they can't come back?"

"You think they'll get stuck?" It's not an outcome Roman considered. It's not one he can bear to consider.

Virgil slings his arm out wide. Exhibit A: the bodies on the couch. "Weirder shit has been happening today. I don't want to take any chances."

A small, weak voice responds, "Sometimes you gotta risk it for the biscuit."

They both pretty much do a double take at Patton, because it is indeed Patton who spoke.

"Do you think Thomas would let us make biscuits?" Patton asks, and the tired smile that can't quite form has Roman in an emotional uproar.

"Are you with us now?" Roman asks because he can't believe it yet. They can't lose one to gain another, equivalent exchange be damned. He's greedy, he'll admit it. He wants them all safe and sound.

"If I'm not with you guys, I don't know who I'm with," Patton jokes.

Virgil sinks to his knees beside them. He unceremoniously crawls into Patton's lap as much as the space allows. Patton who is very much still on Roman's lap. It's about as awkward as you might think, but the way Virgil stubbornly burrows into Patton's embrace says monuments to his emotional state.

"Aww, kiddo," Patton says, and it sounds almost normal were it not for the tears in his eyes. He pets at Virgil's hair soothingly. "It's okay. I'm a little fuzzy on the details, but I think we're gonna be okay now."

"How can you say that," Virgil demands into Patton's polo shirt. His voice is wrecked and comes out in breathy sobs.

"With my mouth, silly," Patton teases. His hand trembles, slowly rubbing and patting, taking too much effort.

"Don't you dare do that again," Virgil sniffles.

"I love you too, sweetheart."

Roman caves and grabs hold of that trembling hand. He has a second to see the shift of surprise in Patton's face as Roman pulls them both in as close as he is physically capable of doing so. Virgil gives a hiccupy-grunt, but lets it happen.

"Virgil's right," Roman says into Patton's hair where he presses his face. "Please don't scare us like that again. We can't live without you, nor do we want to. We love you too much."

Perhaps they don't say it enough. How bland their limited existence would be to not have the joy that he brings.

Not anymore.

"I'll tell you as many times as it takes," Roman promises. "I'll sing you a thousand songs. A million. Just don't go."

You are bargaining for things beyond your control, a voice whispers in the back of his mind. Willfully, childishly, he ignores it and holds on all the tighter.

Patton shudders.

"Oh you guys..."

He covers his face and cries into his hands in earnest.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Playing Soldier: Chapter 13 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 12 here. Part 14 here.

Summary: Oh, insupportable delight! Oh, superhumane rapture! What pain could stand before a pleasure so transporting?

Words: 5700

Warnings: tiniest amount of bloodplay

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: Co-written with @bastillia.

So, uh, it only took us 13 chapters and 80k words later, but we hope you enjoyed!

Not something at all we anticipated we'd end up waiting for when we first started writing this story, but we have had such a great time writing and our first-ever 'slow-burn'ish type fic has been really fun to explore. We are so grateful for y'all for coming along with us as well - much more to come.

Love you so much! <3

You bolted for the window.

The latch slid through your fingers. Your shaking hands slipped twice on the wood. Grunting, you flung it open, only for it to slam shut from the top. In the glass, you met Tavington’s eyes.

He was impassive. “I wouldn’t.”

Desperation rattled your breath. If you could get out of this room—run somewhere—perhaps Goddard or Cornwallis or even the horrible Ferguson would believe your story first.

You spun for the door, feinted left, then dipped right. Anticipating you, Tavington seized your arm, yanked you toward him, then spun you to slam your back to the wall.

The room whirled around you. Your chest heaved, your eyes darted to every corner of the room, seeking salvation, finding none. You were left to only focus on the man in front of you, the man whose hands had pinned your arms still, the man whose face seemed wrought between frenzy and victory.

“I believe,” he murmured, “I asked you a question.”

You swallowed. “Why are you following me, you brute?”

He hummed. “Fascinating response from a woman caught meddling in the documents of a royal officer.”

“I wasn’t—that’s not—”

“I’m quite sure of what I just witnessed.”

Grimacing, you flailed, trying to wrest yourself free. He stepped closer, flattening your body with his own, his leg slotting between yours to rob you of leverage. You grunted, ignoring the reluctant warmth glowing around his thigh.

“Get off of me!”

“I don’t think I will.” His breath skimmed your ear. “You knew about the ship, didn’t you?” he asked. “You knew it would give you opportunity.”

“What?” You shook your head. “N-no, I—the ship—”

Another breath stabbed through you. You could still see the desk. Paper smothered it, the reports you’d already examined tossed away and covering the surface, the floor, the chair like leaves from an autumn tree. In the firelight, trapped to the wall, none of the words were discernible. Not that it mattered, now. He’d caught you.

Your chin trembled. You couldn’t have appeared more guilty if he’d walked in on you with a knife plunged into another man’s chest. There was no explaining this. He’d see you hanged, see your sister slain and the farm burned. And if your father wasn’t already dead, he’d see to it that it soon followed.

Heat bit the backs of your eyes, threatened tears. You would not, could not cry in front of William Tavington, but God, if only you could let them fall, dissolve into them as they slipped through the floorboards. You were awful at this, he’d been right, you’d been sloppy and obvious and altogether incapable of subterfuge. And because of it, you’d damned yourself and your entire family to die, all while having never asked for any of this in the first place.

“Why do you try to delude me?” he asked. “Why do you lie as if I won’t know?”

“Go on, then,” you said, choking back your anguish. “Think whatever you want.”

Tavington’s head cocked. He studied your face. “Do you deny you are a spy?”

“Does it matter?” You stared into him. “Am I to believe that a denial would stay the hand of the judge, jury, or executioner who all bear the name Colonel Tavington?”

His lip furled. “You infuriating, impossible creature,” he growled, pressing into you. Another rapid breath in your chest—this one woven with excitement. “For every death sentence you are spared, you can’t help but seek another in its stead.”

“Spared?” you scoffed.

“Had I known this to be your plan, I might have allowed your own temerity to doom you tonight and had done with it.” Firelight danced across the thin blue rings of his irises. “Cornwallis would have seen your illusion dispelled in an instant.”

“That wasn’t—ugh!” You tried to yank your arms from his grasp, but his fingers only tightened. “I wasn’t going to say anything!”

“Another lie,” he murmured. “Or do you truly believe I don’t know that look in your eyes?”

Your insides flipped. You stilled, suddenly too conscious of your chest brushing his as it rose and fell. Of his thumbs resting against the pulse in your wrists.

“You know nothing about me.”

“Don’t I?” he breathed, gaze trailing from your eyes, your lips, your neck, your breasts before rising back up. “I know your rage. How easily your tongue is seduced to violence. I know that you think yourself a player in the game of war, but you’ve no regard or care for its stakes. And…” He leaned closer, triumph glinting in his eyes. “I know precisely why that is.”

You stuck out your chin, holding his stare, inviting—or perhaps daring—him to continue.

“You want to lose.”

Fury lit up your spine, and you thrashed against him. He crushed you against the wall, a flicker of delight surfacing in the black wells of his pupils.

“Then let me lose,” you said. “Why impede the temerity of which you accuse me? Why not let me doom myself? If you despise me so deeply, if you consider me to be a spy, a traitor—”

“I consider you,” he said through his teeth, “to be the most vexing, capricious woman I have ever encountered.” His tongue rolled in his mouth, eyes locked onto yours. “I know you to be misguided. A vicious animal—”

“For you to tame?” You wrenched uselessly against him. “Is that what this is about?”

A dark grin flashed across his face. “Is it not obvious?”

“Play your damnable games elsewhere,” you said. “I’m finished. I’m not your creature to domesticate.”

“And yet...” He tutted, maddeningly calm. “Imagine where you’d be tonight without my intervention.”

Vitriol crawled like slime from your stomach, still fat, still wriggling from when he’d forced you to bury it alive in front of Cornwallis. It burned, clawed its way to your throat, catching there and swelling in your humiliation.

How did this despicable excuse for a human, this monster, even divine its existence? In fact, how dare he—how dare he know this part of you, incise through you and unmask it in all of its shameful sticky fury.

Every muscle shook underneath him. The vile taste of rage coated your palate, beseeching an exorcism.

“Admit it,” he said. “I’m right.”

You screamed. “Fine! You’re right. I never cared about winning,” you spat. “Or losing!” The inanity forced a breath from your chest. “I never cared about any of it! Not your games, not even who wins this damned bloody war!” A laugh escaped, like venom on your tongue. “I have only ever cared about protecting my family—and if I die doing so, then may God let the end of my rope reunite me with them.” You leaned close to him. “And even if I never see heaven,” you whispered, “I’ll rest peacefully knowing you shall never darken its gates to torment them again.” A thin smile creased your lips. “And that no one has or will ever love you enough to care if you live or die.”

The fire crackled. Wisps of troubled voices echoed from the gardens. Shuddering air escaped you as you held Tavington’s gaze. Within it, you could see something churning, like the cogs of a clock reversing rotation until their teeth clicked into place.

His jaw shifted. He glanced over his shoulder, studying the heap of disheveled reports, their information wasted, ungathered, unimportant. A soft exhale left his nose, and he focused on the wall, his brow tensing before he turned back to look at you.

Tavington’s grip eased. He stepped back.

A flutter in your vision. You sucked in air, fresh from the space he’d given you, your eyes flicking between him, the desk; him, the desk; him—

Turning, he left you against the wall to move toward the desk. He frowned, turned over a few piles before finding what he wanted: a neatly pressed stack of parchment at least several pages thick. As if to verify, he flipped through them before crossing back to you, extending it in his hand.

“You were looking for this,” he said.

Something stuck in your throat. You looked between him and the report, feeling like a dog offered food by a stranger. Holding your breath, you snatched it away and your eyes consumed it as if you were that very dog.

The documentation was thorough, his penmanship fine—these were details you didn’t want to notice, but did anyway—and as you skimmed it, checking page by page, you didn’t once consider gleaning any other information that could’ve been of use. Your heartbeat resonated in your temples, your fingertips. With each beat, the papers shook in your grip.

You turned a page and the list leapt out to you. You scanned it, scrutinizing every line you found, looking for Michael, and Captain, and the first few letters of your last name. But nothing.

You found nothing.

Papa was alive.

Relief hit you like lightning. You exhaled, the report dropping to the floor, your face dropping to your hands. A swell of air rolled through you, and you relaxed, slumping against the wall.

It hadn’t been for nothing. You hadn’t ruined everything. Papa was, at the very least, still alive.

Thank God.

You cleared your throat and steadied yourself, your eyes lifting to Tavington, gazing at him as if he’d just raised Jesus himself from the grave. You expected him to gloat—to mock you—but found him watching you, staring into you, his own face clear of everything but curiosity.

The world shrunk, its boundaries reduced to the perimeter of the office, its context of war and strife and danger lost. Opposite you was no one but a man self-stripped of his obligations, a man who had alleviated your fears, a man who had met you, human, and wished now to know you.

You felt small, insignificant as the recipient of his mercy. It was as if you’d ripped your chest open and allowed him to cradle your heart in his hands, like you’d seen a ribbon of affection in his gaze as he hovered his teeth over its bloody rhythm.

He looked at the report now discarded at your feet, then advanced toward you, his voice like a distant peal of thunder.

“Why,” he asked, taking another step, “have you been avoiding me?”

Again, your mouth parted. Again, you were unable to speak.

“I know that you think of that night as often as I do.” When you didn’t reply, he stepped forward again. “Do you deny it?”

Fire roared, rippling from the hearth to your blood. You didn’t want to deny him. And even if you’d wanted to, gazing at him now—the flames spinning threads of flax through his hair, his eyes paler than morning sky, his lips so supple that you could only yearn at their memory—you couldn’t.

Shaking your head, you replied, “I… I do not deny it.”

He cocked his head, waiting. You hadn’t answered his previous question.

“But…” You glanced at his mouth. Swallowed. “What you want and what I want—they’re at odds,” you said. “I want my father alive. I want my family safe.” You gestured toward him as if it was self-evident. “You… do not.”

Tavington drew closer, looming over you now, and rested one palm next to your head. “Our desires are not…” His stare swept over your body. “... fully at odds.”

Your mind pleaded with you to grab his jacket, to tear the buttons from its seams and expose his chest to your hungry hands; your cunt throbbed, alive and aching for his attention.

“I don’t…” Whatever words you were trying to form kept falling apart in your mouth. “Know what you… mean.”

He smirked, his free hand stroking up your arm, finger tracing over your lace-covered clavicle. “I know you, little soldier, remember?” he whispered. “I know what this trembling means.” His thumb ghosted your pulse, stroking the rapid thrum under your skin. “I know what your racing heart looks like in your throat.” He cupped your cheek, tilting your face toward his own. “I know what hunger lies behind your eyes.”

“I…” With the noblest of intentions, you laid a hand on his chest, prepared to push him away. “But we can’t—there’s no reconciling these—”

Tavington leaned forward and captured your lips with his. You whimpered, softening in his hold, as if it was your purpose to yield to his touch. He held you still, cradling your head, and your hand slid down his chest, catching on each button of his waistcoat as it traveled to his hip. With a breath, he pulled away, his gaze trained on yours.

“Tell me,” he said, “truthfully, that you don’t want this.”

A beat resonated from your core to your fingertips, a cry to sate whatever beast within you he’d created and enslaved. The truth, you knew, was obvious to you both: You wanted it so badly you suffocated beneath it.

The only thing left was to succumb.

You hooked his hips, tugged him against your body, and sealed your lips to his.

Tavington growled, gripping the back of your head, fingers curling in your hair, his body flattening you to the wall. His mouth sought yours like a blaze sought tinder, his tongue pushing past your teeth and teasing over your own. Shivering, you tightened your hold on his hips, hoping to ground yourself as air fled the room. He groaned, adjusting his angle, deepening the kiss, and you met him in kind, breathing him in, reveling in the heady scent of apple and wood and smoke-steeped leather.

His hands moved to grab your wrists, tacking them to the wall as he broke from your mouth to nestle his face into the crook of your neck. Grunting, his hips bucked into you, searching for friction beyond the layers of gown and finding relief against your thigh. A gasp escaped you, and he ground against you again, again, panting into your throat, his teeth scraping the delicate flesh.

You felt him, even through your petticoats, growing hard, growing needy, a promise to satisfy a longing you could not even define. Drawing a breath, you exhaled exhilaration, nuzzled your head against his—and his nails and teeth sunk into you simultaneously.

“Ah!” You squirmed, but his grip intensified, and a thrill shot up your spine. “You animal.”

He huffed, dragging his tongue over the tender spot. “‘You are like what is said that the frying-pan said to the kettle’.”

You stifled a laugh, rolled your eyes. “Is now the time to quote Don Quixote?”

Tavington glimpsed you, a smirk playing on his lips. “Never a better time than in present company.”

Desire surged through you, and you fought against his hold, wanting to meet his mouth with your own. His eyes glittered, and he bit your throat again. You cried out, breathless at how pleasure and pain inextricably knotted in your flesh. Writhing against him, you delighted in how this only urged him to bruise your wrists, to drag his teeth down to the clothed parts of your chest.

When this prevented him from advancing, he released you, moving to instead undo the buttons on the front of your gown. Your stomach petrified. Even though Tavington had already seen your body, now he craved it, like a hunter relishing the meat of his first kill. And you—despite the terror his blade inspired, wanted to be tasted.

His nimble fingers fully revealed your stays, and you braced yourself with a breath. This was just a man’s body, touching your body. You were not a coward.

You shrugged off your bodice, exposing your shoulders, arms, and collarbones fully to his eyes. He leaned back to absorb it, then twisted to search for something on the desk. Before you could discern what it was, he found and grabbed it, his arm barring your chest and pinning you along the wall. You squealed as he brought the letter opener to the bottom of your stays’ laces and sliced through them like flower stems.

You gasped. “Bastard! This is my only pair of stays!”

A single brow rose. “And the only silk ribbon in the Carolinas, as well,” he said, and shucked it to the floor.

“Well—” He tugged down your shift, exposing your breasts. “Oh—”

Tavington snorted. “Oh.” Then he jammed his thigh between your legs, his mouth latching to your throat, his hands groping at your chest.

“Oh, God—”

The moment your center connected with the hard muscle of his leg, you moaned, the sensation of pressure so staggering that you were afraid you would be unable to stop. Tavington exhaled with satisfaction, shocks of bliss peaking over you as he kneaded your breasts in his hands, his thumbs circling your nipples.

Your cunt felt swollen, hot, and you rocked on his thigh, frantic to oblige its budding need. A sound rumbled in his throat, and his teeth attacked your shoulder in a sharp stripe of pain. You yelped, and he did it again, his breath picking up, his mouth raising wet, furious marks on your flesh.

“Yes,” you said, because it was the only word that you could think to say. “I—ah!”

He gave you no room to speak, gripping your breasts so firmly that you twitched, grinding his erection against you. You wanted, needed more of him—your hands found his jacket, slipped under the lapels, scratched at his arms in a wordless request. Relinquishing you, he allowed the coat to slide from his shoulders, and you made quick work of his waistcoat, unbuttoning it as deftly as he’d done to you.

“I see what you want,” he murmured into your skin.

The waistcoat joined his jacket on the floor—but you had no time to admire him before he was back on you, squeezing your breasts, kissing his way to one before taking your nipple into his mouth. You threw your head back, overwhelmed with desire, with the insistent throb that now pounded between your legs.

There was a part of him you were both desperate and anxious to know: the part of him that might slake the lust that your fingers had been so unable to satisfy. It was just a man’s body, you told yourself, a man’s body you had longed for since the moment you’d seen him.

As he swirled his tongue around your hardened bud, you clung to him, breath hiccuped with whimpers of bliss, and reached below his waist, gliding your fingers over the bulge in his trousers.

Tavington convulsed, slamming you to the wall, teeth tearing at your breast, a rabid noise strangled in his chest. “Enough of this, then, hm?”

He grabbed you by the shoulders, his jaw tight as he pushed you toward the desk and smashed you chest-first against its surface, sending papers flying. You groaned, making to move before he gathered your wrists and bound them behind your back. Air kissed your legs as he hiked your skirts up, baring your stockinged calves, your thighs, your ass to the room. Panic rang bells in your brain.

“There we are.” Fingers brushed the backs of your thighs, coasting toward your center. You wondered what it looked like through his eyes. The mere thought made you clench. “You’re dripping.”

Heat burst in your belly. You could only manage to nod. He skated his fingers over the fat, puffy lips of your cunt, and you writhed, flinching at every sensation on that tender flesh which had never known a touch that wasn’t yours.

Tavington hummed appreciatively. “It’s about time I made use of that.”

Behind you, you heard rustling of clothes, something dropping, and you clenched again, knowing he was releasing his cock, furious you couldn’t see it for yourself. You tried to stabilize your breathing, thoughts spiraling in a storm of emotion. He was going to fuck you. William Tavington was going to fuck you. You were about to lose your virginity.

A hand curled around your thigh. Something hot, thick prodded your folds, slicked itself on your wetness.

He was about to take your virginity.

“Wait,” you said, “I—”

Tavington shushed you. “Hush, now,” he mumbled. “I’m introducing your cunt to its new master.”

You whinged. A flash of memory—the first time you tried to tell him.

His cock found your entrance. Pressed against it.

Swallowing, you closed your eyes.

“William.”

He stopped. You felt the head of his cock pulse, felt his grip dig deep. A slow, long breath left him.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I…” You laid your forehead against the desk. “I’ve never… I’ve never done this before.”

More silence. Every inch of your skin burned.

“You what?”

You tried to turn to face him, meeting his eyes from the periphery of your vision. “I’m a virgin.”

Tavington seized your hips, flipped you onto your back. Breathless, you devoured the sight of him; his skin bronzed in firelight, the patch of his chest heaving in need, his eyes like those of a starved wolf. His cock was free, proud and hard—longer and thicker than you had imagined. Your mouth watered, your thighs squeezed together.

He was going to put that inside of you.

Your heart skipped. You met his gaze. He was inspecting you for hints of deception, and as you stared into him, his throat bobbed.

“I believe this is the first time I've seen true fear in your eyes.” He smirked, so irritatingly assured. “You are a virgin.”

Blood warmed your face, and you looked away. “Well,” you muttered, “I hope that's all right with you, Colonel.”

He growled, spread your legs and settled between them. “William,” he corrected. “And you should hope instead that your tolerance for suffering is as impressive as you seem to believe.” Busy hands tossed your skirts up again. “Because I'm going to make this hurt.”

Your breath hitched. Like a cat watching a dangling string, you couldn’t resist.

“You can try.”

Tavington offered a pitiless grin and hoisted your backside onto the desk, scattering papers over the floor. Trembling at the fact you’d provoked him, you could only watch as he grabbed your calves and propped them onto his shoulders, his hands cupping your ass and giving a longing squeeze. You groaned, and he swallowed again, positioning his cock at your entrance.

Gazing at you, he said, “Plead with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You may effectively play at some things,” he replied, “but not war, and certainly not stupidity.” His voice lowered. “Plead with me to take you.”

Your cunt clenched around emptiness. His cock was warm and slick and hard. Hard for you, throbbing for you. God, you wanted it—and he knew it.

You grumbled. “You are, without a doubt, the worst man I've ever had the misfortune of meeting.”

“And what of the best one?” he asked, tilting his head to indicate your ankles at his ears.

“Shut up.” You exhaled. “Please,” you said quietly, “take me.”

“To whom is this request addressed?”

You rolled your eyes. “Please, William.” You met his gaze, the truth easily slipping free. “Please, I want you to take me.”

Tavington’s jaw set. “You’re almost pleasant when you're obedient.”

The next thing you felt was pressure. Crushing, terrible pressure, widening into pain, like a fire iron was expanding inside of you, searing your insides, tearing deep into your stomach. You grimaced, gripped the table, fighting to find breath as tremors wracked your limbs. Above you, Tavington’s mouth was parted, his gaze fixated on his invasion of your cunt, the evidence of his pleasure escaping in soft, choked noises of disbelief as he drove deeper, and deeper, until his hips hit yours.

Fully buried inside of you, he exhaled, staring between your legs. Your mind was a whirlwind of sensation. You knew virgins to bleed. Had it deterred him?

He glanced at you. In his eyes, you could see nothing but utter rapture—the blue of heaven after apocalypse. You shivered, tightened painfully around him. No, it hadn’t deterred him.

William Tavington had only ever been delighted to see blood.

He exhaled. “Does it hurt?”

Your teeth clacked together, your body shook, drowning in its own feeling. Words wouldn’t come to you. But even if they would, you would refuse to give him—

Snarling, he slid out and slammed back inside. Agony ripped through you, forced a scream from your chest, and you spasmed, grappling for something more solid than the earth to steady you.

“Does it hurt?” he growled.

“Yes!” you sobbed. “Yes, yes—”

A quiet laugh rumbled in his throat. “Good.”

Tavington withdrew from you, grappling your hips, jaw slackening as he stared between your legs. He thrust in, you winced, and a deep, incredulous groan escaped him, as if he’d just released a millstone from his neck. Breath stuttered in his chest, his eyelids drooped, and he thrust again, again, his voice wracked with bliss.

Every stroke pushed pain inside of you, filled your belly with it. Your mouth lolled open, the only sounds leaving you strained through what little grip on reality you had left; the sensation sawed to your bones, engulfed you like gunfire. Seeking stability, you found his wrists, squeezed them to anchor yourself, shutting your eyes to endure the savaging of his cock.

“No,” he said. “Look at me.”

You whinged, forced your eyes to open. His gaze transfixed you.

“Very good. Meet my eyes,” he said, rocking into you, relishing each stab of discomfort flitting across your face. “Watch me defile your virgin cunt.”

Gooseflesh swarmed you, and you nodded, your attention flicking between his face and the sight of him disappearing inside of you. The truth of it electrified you—you were no longer a virgin—and as you surrendered to that truth, each new plunge of his cock felt less, less painful, as pain unraveled into pleasure. Tight squeals in your throat rumbled lower, reaching your chest, until you were moaning, panting as he fucked you.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” Tavington looked drunk with lust. “Have I found myself a glutton?”

“I…” You didn’t know how to respond to that. Maybe you were. “D-don’t congratulate yourself… just yet.”

He smirked, rammed into you so hard that you wailed. “You’re an even worse liar when I’m inside of you, girl.”

“Do all men talk this much?” you replied, digging your nails into his wrists. “Or only you?”

Tavington’s lip furled. He flung your grip from his arms and leaned closer, folding you in half. The angle drove his cock even deeper than you’d thought possible; it speared through your belly, split you open to your ribcage. One hand fisted your hair, the other clamped around your throat, and he huffed in satisfaction, cock pumping into you.

“Come again?” he mumbled into your ear. “Didn’t… quite hear you.”

His hips punched forward, impaling you deep. You quailed, but the sound perished somewhere under the pressure of his grip. A strange hum infused your senses—buzzing in your lips, grazing along your scalp, trailing bliss in its wake. It inebriated you, like his touch was made of Madeira.

And you needed more.

Blindly, you felt your way up your body, found the rise of his fingers where they pinned your throat, clutched at them. Tavington uttered a disgruntled huff into your ear, his pace faltering. His grip slackened fractionally.

“No,” you whispered, trapping his fingers and crushing them harder into your flesh. “More.”

He leaned away from you, just enough to take you in. His eyes, wild and black with desire, searched yours. You nodded, brows pinching together.

“William,” you croaked, “please.”

The wildness in his eyes morphed into something utterly possessed. He unlaced his hand from your hair, bracing it on the desk beside your head. His hold on your throat twitched, tightened. He leaned closer.

“Isn’t that better?” he asked. “Isn’t it a relief to lose?”

His fingers cinched around your neck. Tighter, tighter, until that hum resumed, then rose to a knell.

Tavington renewed the onslaught of his hips. Your own heartbeat pounded through your skull. Around you, the edges of the room softened, crumbled into grey mist. Your eyes rolled back. Existence narrowed. Left at its beating center, raw and alive, was you. And within you—heat, pain, ecstasy, and him.

Just when everything dwindled to a tiny, bright speck, just when it seemed the mist would engulf you whole, the pressure vanished. Air struck your lungs, consciousness and pleasure surging outward in a riptide.

You cried out with it, keening as his cock stroked a spot inside you that blazed alive with sensation. It was too much. Not enough. You couldn’t tell. Logical thought seemed a distant memory in this state of indecipherable need. Each sensation was new, each unearthing an excruciating, exquisite frontier within.

Tavington straightened, rhythm unrelenting. Gulping air and blinking the remnants of mist from your sight, you beheld him, a towering devil framed in firelight. You watched him take your hand, entranced as he guided it between your legs to where your body split around his.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded, voice ragged as he positioned your fingers at your clit. His face twisted in a smirk. “Like you do when you think of me.”

An indignant flame, half-buried in delirium, leapt to your tongue.

“I don—”

He snapped his hips, cutting you off in a gasp.

“Now, now,” he huffed. “I believe I requested your honesty.”

A languid thrust pushed a moan from your lips, and you nodded, eyelids fluttering. Tavington grunted his contentment, coaxing your fingers in slow circles over your clit. Surrendering, you took over the motion, touching yourself as instructed, as you had done so many nights before.

For the first time, a familiar pleasure crested, meeting the unfamiliar intrusion of his cock with a spark that made fireworks burst behind your eyes. Your fingertips brushed him where he entered you, dipped curiously down to feel the soft, wet wound of your flesh yield to the wrought steel of his.

“Tell me,” he purred, bracing over you again like a smug, hunched beast. “Is it everything you’ve imagined?”

He fucked you in long strokes, matching the tempo of your fingers on that sensitive nub to cataclysmic effect. Your only answer came out in a choked, desperate sob.

“Is this how you’ve longed to be ruined?” His hand slid to reunite with your neck, fingers cradling your nape while his thumb dragged up the bruised column of your throat.

“William,” you whimpered, trembling with the sweet ache that burgeoned inside you, deeper than you’d ever felt it, swelling toward a precipice. “I think I… I’m going to…”

“Yes.” His grip locked into place around your neck. “You are.”

His hand throttled any further noise. All you could do was writhe and swirl tighter, faster circles on your clit, drawn nearer and nearer to some indefinable edge as you shook with the force of his thrusts. Closer, closer it came, and your eyes squeezed shut, your limbs went rigid, your sanity suspended on threads, fibers fraying—

“That’s it,” came his voice, growling into your ear. “Break for me. I want to feel you break around my cock.”

Like a saber, his words severed you from rationality. You didn’t break. You shattered.

Euphoria ruptured your blood, a deluge through every vessel, the stretch of his cock stuffing you fuller, saturating you with it, until it reached the brim of your skin and poured over, washing you with bliss. You wheezed against his hand, quaking as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“Yes,” he hissed, “yes—”

Tavington released you. Coughing down a breath, you peeled your eyes open, watching as he wrenched out of your cunt and into his fist, panting, stroking himself. Sweat gleamed off his chest and forehead. Your jaw dropped. You could look nowhere else but at him, and his eyes fixed on you.

His hips pitched, and he released a guttural, primal moan, hand stilling and mouth parting. Jets of warm, white seed pulsed from his cock, splashed over your thighs and belly. It slipped down your skin, mingling with the sweat smeared underneath you. As the tail-end of his climax receded, Tavington exhaled, finally spent, and leaned on the desk to catch his breath. Craning forward, you took him in.

Sweat soaked you both, and between your legs, blood stained your thighs, your shift, the wood. It had even seeped into the hem of his blouse. He glanced down at it, sighing with an arrogant satisfaction. He swiped across your inner thigh, collecting your blood, his seed on his thumb. Staring at you, he wrapped his lips around it and sucked it clean. You shivered. Swallowed.

Tavington was exhausted, yes, but it was the exhaustion of a duel winner: relaxed, at peace, and fully secure in his conquest.

Your head dropped back onto the desk, and you stared into the ceiling. Aftershocks of your peak continued to distract you from toddling your way back to whatever normalcy was. What did the world look like for you, now that your virginity had been slaughtered by an uncompromising hound? The cavern between your legs felt sore, empty. Sticky.

Sighing, you rolled your head along a stack of papers, looking toward Tavington. “What are we to do about the desk?”

He cleared his throat, finally managing to straighten and meet your stare. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”

“Don’t be difficult,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “Someone has to clean it up.”

“Do they, now?”

“I’m not convinced of the wisdom in worsening His Lordship’s evening further.”

He snorted. “Am I to believe you’ve come to care about his opinions?”

“No,” you replied, frowning, “but they seem to be of great importance to you.”

Tavington gazed at you, a smirk crossing his lips. Keeping your focus, he reached toward an ink well, reeled back his forefingers, and knocked it over. Ink spilled like water across red-ribboned parchment.

“‘Alack, the day,’” he said apathetically, “‘what blood is this, which stains?’”

Oh, yes, this is just like Romeo and Juliet, you thought, as the ink bled into paper, dripped onto the floor.

Your hand plastered over your face. You couldn’t help yourself. You laughed.

[ideas-4-stories]

Heyyy I'm the non-sexual omegaverse anon, back in your inbox bc YES I LOVE DUMPING IDEAS ABOUT RELATIVELY SFW OMEGAVERSE-!!!!

And yeah boo, me too on the period front. I'm AFAB and SUFFERING. Essentially I consider Heats to be similar to periods - the same basic principles, cramps, cravings, odd other symptoms nobody talks about ((back pain and migraines hello???)), but Ruts are basically the same but opposite. It's a hormone rush. Both are controlled by the endocrine system, both are hormones and chemicals. Both can and do increase libido, but it isn't some absolutely feral Need To Breed type of situation.

Buggy in particular has the omegaverse equivalent of polycystic ovarian syndrome or endometriosis. Wild, heavy, wacked out Heats which knock him flat on his ass.

His main, original crew all knew of his designation bc while Buggy has megaflaws, sexism and misogyny is NOT AMONG THEM. the Buggy Pirates are actually one of the most diverse crews known. They value what you bring, not what you are.

Buggy also has a very strong scent. It's almost impossible to completely hide it, so he and his crew kind of opt to Hide In Plain Sight.

Beyond Karai Bari, the only ones who know Buggy's secondary are the infirmary workers in Impel Down, Shanks, Rayleigh, Crocus and Luffy, but the latter doesn't realize he knows nor that it's a secret. Lu was the first and only person outside of the Roger's who put together "the cute Omega bestie I had when I was tyke" and "buggy the gods damned clown" are one in the same.

After the reveal, Croc and Hawk both go through a bit of a learning curve bc suddenly "do we... treat you differently now? Like, open doors and stuff? We thought the other's did that bc they're simps but maybe we should-"

Buggy is having none of that. He is still the same Jester they had beaten the snot out if three weeks ago. His internal krgans and scent glands don't need to change anything. ((Though he is enjoying the whole not getting beat up thing, maybe keep that up please-???))

All three are kind of dumb and suck at communicating so it ends up being a bit of a hot mess. The main point if contention is Buggy thinking they're warming up to him because he's an Omega.

It's not that. Not really.

They just found Buggy going apeshit on that one Alpha bastard to be absolutely bewitching and have since realized he has been holding back on some level. Buggy in that fight was ruthless, efficient, and while it was fueled by hormones and a base instinct to protect and nurture, it was executed with skill, control and power. There is potential in that, in him. His fighting style would never be an all out brawl. But Buggy is sharp, witty, creative and could do some serious damage if he had the confidence and will to back it up. They don't care WHAT is happening in his abdomen. They're attracted to power, charisma, and apparently red nosed blue haired clowns who will not hesitate to beat a man with another man's severed arm. They were surprised too.

Shanks is both delighted that Buggy has suitors and is livid that Buggy has suitors. It's not even apossessove thing (maybe a little), it's that THAT IS HIS PACKMATE and they were RAISED TOGETHER and that's HIS BUGGY and NOBODY IS GOOD ENOUGH except maybe Mihawk BUT HE DOESN'T KNOW CROCODILE WELL ENOUGH TO MAKE AN OPINION SO THAT'S ILLEGAL.

He then cries when Buggy, upon being told this, deadpans, "Shanks, I'm a pirate. Breaking laws is kinda in the job description."

He is Suffering.

Buggy is actually doing pretty swell, being courted by two surprisingly good Alphas.

Ray and Crocus meanwhile both perk up on opposit sides of Paradise like I feel the sudden need to check on the blue one...

Anyway yeah that just seems funny and silly and am half asleep so I'll stop now but ily byeee~ ����🍬

Hello No-Sexual Omegaverse Anon!

Heats like periods, that would makes sense to have it like that (I hate the back pain, why is it there!?) Ooooo I really like your idea of the Omegaverse, I wish to see it more in stories and Buggy on having polycystic ovarian syndrome or endometriosis. Got to look that stuff up and indeed YIKES! Really poor Buggy, getting the short end of the stick there. At least he has great friends that he has surrounded himself with.

We stand for Buggy’s megaflaws (we ain’t here to fix him, we are here to watch him be the silly guy that he is) and of course, Buggy does NOT stand for sexism and misogyny because why does it matter if you are male, female, or inbetween. I love the idea that Buggy Pirates are one of the most diverse crews on the high seas because HELL FUCKING YEAH!!! Damn right on valuing what you bring, and not what you are. That makes sense in any workforce. If can get the job done, why does it matter about your gender/sex/sexualitly? Actaully my plan for some Buggy Pirates OCs have a diverse cast of race/gender/sexuality/etc… because A). diversy is the bomb and makes the most realstilc sense and B).Everyone being the same is. Fucking. BORING!

I love the fact that Buggy and his crew Hides in Plain Sight, this rings true in canon too… I beileve, because Buggy was always there in East Blue for anyone could put two-and-two together that Buggy was apart of Roger Pirates if anyone actaully looked. But barely anyone did because of how open Buggy is being the Flashy Fool, I mean how Buggy brags about his achivements, people would think that Buggy would brag that he was apart of the Roger Pirates. But he never did, so that’s a baseless rumor (that turned out to be true)

Ooooooo, having Impel Down infirmary workers knowing that he is a Omega might have a problem in the future… or not. It depends on who the infirmary workers are as people. Love how Luffy doesn’t care that Buggy is a Omega, just some moron clown that he kicked in the crotch in Orange town, and now onto “The cute Omega bestie I had when I was tyke” Does that mean Luffy and Buggy met before Orange Town? Albeit prending to be someone else, so when they met at Orange Town it took Luffy sometime to put two-n-two together?

Heehee, not Crocodile and Mihawk thinking that they have to act like everyone else. I mean, they should way nicer to him (indeed Buggy would really like not getting his ass beaten up), but like if they do that, it would shock the fuck out of too many people. News Coo getting this and making some drama brew. Everyone sees this, the strawhats, the red-hair pirates, and just the world in general. Chaos insues

Ahhh, don’t we all love some old men being stupid and unable to communicate with a least a speck of commone sense. It boils into a hot mess, with people crying… cough Buggy cough Poor Buggy thinking they are only warming up to him because he probably thinks they feel bad for beating the shit out of a omega when in fact it’s because he decided to beat the shit out of a disgusting alpha who was being creepy and yucky. As well as knowing that the clown has been holding back his strength and power for some reason.

I love the headcanon that Buggy can fight ruthless and efficient. Buggy ain't one for a full on brawl because he uses things in his surroundings to his advantage. Bro will use whatever, a chair leg, a metal pipe, the heel of a shoe, etc… because people fighting him are probably not fighting fair and square. Love him using his mind and creativity to win a fight. He was trained by the Roger Pirates, Buggy definitely has potential, all he needs is some more confidence and weapons to back him up.

Damn right it's nothing about what's in his abdomen. It's all about seeing the clown beating a man with another man's arm! (Love that for Buggy)

Brooo, Shanks being delighted and livid that Buggy has suitors trying to court him is so fucking funny. Because what you say is just want, I think Shanks would think, your Shanks is spot on to me. I love how Shanks is a crybaby much like Buggy, it’s just different reasons for why they cry. Love that Shanks is suffering, when Buggy just deadpans and states the obvious.

Heehee not Rayleigh and Crocus feeling like they need to check on Buggy, their parental sense is finally kicking in after years they should of have their parental sense running wild. Not the reason is because of Buggy is getting courted, like 😂🤣😂

[callmearcturus]

Mission Impossible: a Crazed Ramble by tentacledwizard

Re my mission impossible ask: gonna share my thoughts bc I just finished watching the series (sans 2 and 3) and boy do I have Thoughts. I think I’ll cover the ones I’m most interested in (Ghost Protocol, Rogue Nation, and Fallout) though I might ramble at u about 1 and 7 later lmao. So okay here we go

Ghost Protocol. I REALLY liked this one. This is 2nd on my ranking of MI movies.

This movie has the best team vibes. Might be my favorite iteration of The Team, even if Luther isn’t really there. I just got really emotionally attached to these guys and their interactions lmao..

I liked Brandt. Jeremy Renner didn’t have to do some heavy-duty acting for this role, and he didn’t. His role was to be small and cute and tormented, and it worked. So well that I mumbled “where is my wife” when I watched Fallout, and my brother looked at me strangely. 

Jane Carter holy moly. Dude you were NOT kidding about Jane Carter. I love her so much. I love how she’s not even slightly the love interest, how her and Ethan’s interactions have this respect and camaraderie, and even when they kiss it’s not romantic. It’s great. Loved how she got the dudely “gotta avenge my dead wife” backstory with her boyfriend getting killed, and how that propels her most ruthless actions. I guess I’m pretty much agreeing with everything you’ve said about Jane lmao. SHE’S GREAT. Also loved it when she fought Léa Seydoux, it was pretty cathartic. Let female characters be driven and reckless and (eyes Rose Lalonde pfp) yeah

Benji Dunn the man that you are. Okay I’d say that Benji is at his best in the next movie, but this is a damn good introduction. He’s newly promoted, a little bit out of his depth, and I’m a sucker for funny nerdy sidekicks okay. Gonna talk about him some more when I get to Rogue Nation probably.

Ethan Hunt has the best haircut in this film. Idk man that’s my Ethan Hunt commentary. Oh wait it was also funny when he wore the mustache

I GOT ALL FLUSTERED WHEN LÉA SEYDOUX WAS ON SCREEN. I DON'T KNOW WHY THIS IS. HOW PECULIAR

Didn’t watch 2 and 3, so the brief glimpse of Julia was very intriguing and bittersweet. Then of course in Fallout she Julias all over the place!

OKAY NOW I CAN TALK ABOUT THE BURJ KHALIFA

I’ve actually seen the Burj Khalifa irl and it is SO TALL (I know, very surprising) so I cannot wrap my head around the fact that this scene was shot on location (??) I need to look into that more.

I am a dork and I do not know much about how stunts and action scenes are calibrated, hence the sheer delight I derived from the way the camera moves in the Burj Khalifa scenes. Also my hands got really sweaty during the first half. (The “blue is glue, red is dead” part reminded me of “hasta lasagna don’t get any on ya” IDK MAN)

I spent the wall-climbing section gazing at the TV rapturously and occasionally mumbling “uh oh,” “Ethan Hunt: Human Gecko” or “the climberrrr” alternately. I literally was not hearing myself because I was watching so intently. My breath was BATED lmao.

And like I’d seen the gif sets, I knew he was gonna jump but I didn’t know when. So when Ethan does jump, it’s so sudden that you can’t help but go :O !! And it works. Anddd that’s my favorite stunt in the film (i am an easily impressed nerd with no technical knowledge but i AM dying on this hill. The Burj jump would impress ANYONE and for good reason)

I am replaying this scene in my head over and over. It’s just. It’s so good. My reaction to it reminded me of when I watched [S] Descend and it just Worked and I was amazed. To say nothing of Cascade lmao. Actually yeah this kind of is Cascade in a sense

I'm sure none of this commentary  is really original, but I really love it when Tom Cruise does a big jump heh. I am a simple man

So yeah this film is easily my 2nd favorite. It’s character-driven, there’s comedy elements, the way the team interacts and collides and argues with each other is wonderful. And I believe in Jane Carter supremacy.  

Oh yeah, Bogdan was funny too. So many good + funny moments here :D

Wait how could I forget the best character (the Russian man who has an enemies-to-friends arc with Ethan)? Love that guy.

OKAY this is too long so Im gonna separate this into 2 parts.

they sent three asks and then I responded, we're gonna use a cut here, LONG POST!!!!!

@tentacledwizard PART 2.

Rogue Nation. This one’s my favorite! I like how it begins not with Ethan but with the Team, because their interactions are good. And of course Ethan’s trying to jump on a plane. Just another Saturday.

I am not very good at talking about plot so let’s talk about Benji Dunn

ok wait first I gotta say that I like how they played with the usual IMF message. The “we ARE the syndicate” got me. Really good moment, and I bet if I rewatched it I’d catch all the little details that made me suspicious of whoever was talking. 

Anyway Benji Dunn.. the man that you are…

Like I said, Benji is at his best in this movie. There’s so many little moments that cement his greatness. He’s gaming on company time! He lies about not being Ethan’s friend on a daily basis :( also the sincere dorky smile he does on his way to the opera is so wonderful. 

I really like how sincere Benji is. He’s genuinely looking forward to the opera, and he’s eager to wear a mask someday, and he cares about Ethan so much. Yeah he’s a funny little British man but he’s also v sweet and you can see why Ethan goes crazy and kidnaps the prime minister to get him back. 

speaking of, I really think that Benji and Ethan’s relationship is… if not the core of the movie, it’s definitely a major part of that core. Does that make sense? Like, I tried to take a picture of the screen every time Ethan and Benji glanced at each other knowingly, and I ended up with a lot of pictures. Even with the 6-month separation (Ethan with a beard is something I never thought I’d see), they know each other. Ethan knows Benji wants to see the opera, and Benji will yell at Ethan when Ethan needs to be yelled at. Ethan compliments Benji’s tuxedo (as he should).

Also ffffuck whenever these guys worry about each other… like when Benji tells Ethan he’s probably going to take it too far one of these days.. Man. The scene where Ethan washes out of the giant torus with Ilsa and Benji goes to talk to him is so good.

oh and yeah Ethan did kidnap the prime minister. For benji. HE DID THAT!!!

Also the scene where Benji is forced to speak for Solomon was honestly incredible, it was like Ethan and Benji were having their own separate conversation with eye contact. When Ethan briefly put his hand on Benji’s shoulder, maybe to reassure him without having to talk, and Benji glances up at him… that’s good stuff right there. When Benji was finally able to talk it was cathartic. God I love these two

Plus the opera fight scene is so fun oh my god.

ok let’s talk about my queen Ilsa Faust

Ilsa Faust is great, and I really like how this series does female characters. Because she has her own shit going on, there’s a bit of romance between her and Ethan but they’re both agents with missions, and she’s never sexualized. I love that. Her signature move is filmed the way a male character would be filmed if he were fighting. That’s awesome.

I really loved Rebecca Ferguson’s performance here, the conflict between saving others and saving herself was neat. It’s also interesting how she has way less reservations about killing people, which plays off Ethan’s… everything. And she never makes it easy for Ethan, which I’d honestly do too if I was involved in the shit she has to deal with. 

But of course there are moments that show she does care about him (asking him to run away, the scene where she saves him in the underwater whirly spinner). The hug was pretty sweet.

Also, Ilsa is when I started really paying attention to the outfits in MI, because all of her looks were great. The yellow dress is iconic, and I REALLY liked the pleated coat she wears when talking to Solomon Lane. Plus the suit she wears in Fallout is Good.

Solomon Lane is a good villain. Jim is the MI villain I think of when I think of MI villains, but Solomon is very distinctive. I mean that voice, man. The VOICE. Lmao. He kind of reminded me of a parasitic worm made human, which is a 100% good thing.

So who has the more distinctive and weird voice? Solomon or Claire? That is the question. (I think it’s Claire tbh. Four am, four in the morning, four o clock)

So this is my favorite MI film. It’s fun, it has a good villain. We see Ethan’s personality start to shine through, too- he’s emotionally driven, as evidenced by when he fucking DOES ALL THAT TO SAVE BENJI GOD I LOVE THESE TWO. So yeah, this is the Ethan and Benji movie to me. It’s also a stellar debut for Ilsa Faust… wait what do you mean she gets fridged in the 7th movie. What do you mean

OH Jeremy Renner is still here! And more Luther! Hell yeah.

really want to rewatch this one so I can take more notes on the stunts and stuff, too

Ok time to make a part 3 because this is ridiculously long

PART 3

Fallout. Oh man. This one messed me up. 

So from the start, Fallout is a darker, queasier watch than the previous two. The more I watched, the more I realized that this movie Is Ethan Hunt’s Nightmare.

Like there’s the straightforward nightmare at the beginning, and then the film just Doesn’t Stop. It keeps messing with our minds again and again. 

This is the Ethan Hunt movie. This is our deep dive into Ethan Hunt’s mind, and at some points it kind of feels like a test of how well we know him- because he wouldn’t kill all those people, so this must be another nightmare, right? 

I am used to vivid nightmares, and this film perfectly captures the sheer horror of having one. And I was constantly doubting my own perception, bouncing between bad dream and reality along with Ethan. Man.

Like Mission Impossible has always kind of had that element, what with the masks and everything, but this film dials it up to eleven. I recognized the horror of Ethan’s situation here, and it was a feeling that stayed with me the entire time.

I mean at some points, it gets surreal. The line about Ethan literally being his own worst enemy (it’s true!), his wife showing up in little glimpses until she finally appears, Lane pinpointing Ethan’s fears, etc. When Ethan looks around at the church and says he’s terribly sorry, it’s such a small moment but it’s still kind of a gut punch. Ethan Hunt is trapped in his brain and so are we.

Even the title sequence shows everything burning around Ethan. The full theme song sounds like it’s going to end, but then it keeps going. This movie feels way more apocalyptic than any of the others.

Even Max is dead. I mean come on.

And we see how this screws up Ethan’s judgment, how his priorities are a little fucked in the grand scheme of things. He puts a few people over millions, for better or for worse.

Ethan Hunt running is an iconic part of the franchise, but what happens when all the messed-up stuff he went through catches up with him? What about the fallout?

So when the ending rolls around, it feels like Ethan is waking up, and that lends it a certain catharsis. But the uneasiness of most of the movie still stuck with me for a long time afterward.

Okay let’s talk about the new characters.

Alanna was neat, and I liked her outfits too. Though every time she flirted with Ethan, I had this vivid mental image of Ethan driving up and yelling “I fucked your mom, shit lips!” Probably something he’d say to Zola instead though.

Walker was such an asshole and that was kind of great actually. Not a single redeeming quality to be found. Have fun falling off that cliff, johnny boy.

Oh yeah and he got to say the only “fuck” in the entire series I believe. (It should have been Ethan. Well I can always hope.)

That conversation Ethan and Benji have about how Ethan won’t let anything happen to him, but then later Ethan does something that seems to put Benji in danger (making him be Solomon Lane)? Chef’s kiss. Also Benji FINALLY got to wear the mask, and he’s damn good at it.

More of Ilsa and Ethan’s relationship and man is it complicated haha. I like the scene where they’re walking through a symmetrical landscape, just paralleling each other, until finally they’re face to face. That’s good stuff right there. Also the scene where he’s in the hospital bed was sweet.

My wife [Brandt] is not here but luckily we get a lot of Luther. Luther is the constant in this series- he’s stuck with Ethan from the beginning, for better or for worse. (Better, because he’s a good character). So Luther really cares about Ethan, evidenced by his conversation with Ilsa. He probably knows Ethan better than anyone, except maybe Julia but then again she and Ethan have been apart for a while. 

Julia was great. The scenes with her and Ethan were v bittersweet. They still care about each other (just look at Ethan’s constant guilt over not protecting her), but she’s living her own life now. The conversation they had near the end was the culmination of all this, the moment we were waiting for. Plus I enjoyed her friendship with Luther, like I enjoyed Ilsa and Benji’s friendship. The scene where they’re cutting the wires/talking about Ethan was cute.

as for the stunts, hmm… I didn't really get the level of physicality I got from, say, MI1 or Ghost Protocol. Idk man maybe I’m just biased against helicopters?

ALSO I really like Face/Off and Hit Man so the John Lark thing was p cool to me. Ofc John was the asshole CIA agent though.

Anyway good movie, might take some time before I can rewatch it but it’s a masterful delve into Ethan Hunt’s mind. Not my favorite but also really really good and I wrote the most about it.

Conclusion. Wow that’s a lot of thoughts. Probably too many to put in one ask. Uh I kind of also want to talk about MI1 and Dead Reckoning as an echo of MI1 but this was a lot so idk if you’d want me to do that lmao. Anyway I have to thank you for convincing me to watch Mission Impossible all those months ago, because it is one of my obsessions now. (If you read all this I am sorry lmao, hope it wasn’t boring tho) 

And now I can finally read your Benthan fic! 8D hell yeah.

okay now it is my turn to reply

I frankly adore Brandt. I've joked to Brandt that I don't really ship Benthan, I just use it as a vehicle to write William Brandt and have him tell jokes. I adore his angry little bureaucratic ass. I am actually a fan of Renner when the material gives him actual shit he can do. Like, he was fucking WASTED in the MCU and the "Hawkeye" miniseries proves he could have been having fun this entire fucking time but they never GAVE him anything. And even if his role in MI is simple, McQuarrie is so damn good at writing characters that Brandt feels vibrant. In GP he goes from sad sweater boy to lowkey the weakest link of the team but everyone is there to help him. And in RN there's a THOUSAND lil moments I love with him. I always point to Benji's interrogation scene, there's a VERY VERY PRECISE bit of editing where Benji is going off on a tirade about how the CIA sucks, and the camera lingers on Brandt LITERALLY JUST LONG ENOUGH for Renner's mouth to make this tiny microexpression, like TWO FRAMES of Brandt indulging in admiring Benji's lie-craft.

Also the argument in the bigass car with Luther was Renner improvising according to McQ. Love it. Brandt's my angry little pencil-pushing angel. Any time he shows up in the PT AU, I'm 😍😍😍

GP lives and dies on the team dynamic tbh, which I find hilarious bc imo MI3 was pronounced dead on arrival bc the team dynamic is non-existent and like, why am I even here???? the chemistry is truly batshit.

IF YOU WOULD LIKE ALL THE TRULY MIND-BOGGLING FACTS BEHIND THE BURJ CLIMB AND HOW TERRIFYINGLY PRACTICAL IT WAS check out this post

Also Ethan's gorgeous LEAP at the end of the sequence is my second-fave Physicality Moment in that movie. The first is of course Ethan's silent vault over the railing after he leaves his prison cell. I'm a slut.

and I bet if I rewatched it I’d catch all the little details that made me suspicious of whoever was talking.

oh you want a fun one? in the record shop, there are two listening booths. ethan goes into the one on the left.

Solomon Lane is sitting in the one on the right.

re: Benji in Rogue Nation, I mean McQuarrie himself has said Simon Pegg as Benji Dunn is the beating heart and soul of the Mission franchise. so don't worry, we ALL stan.

ILSA FUCKING FAUST. /fans face. Yeah, the way MI handles women is like… I don't know how to go back to, like, James Bond films. I keep remembering Skyfall (which I remember as a good movie) and how one of the ~bond girls~ is casually executed and the whole point is how unfazed everyone is, how DISPOSABLE she is, how James Bond as a franchise wants backpats for pointing out "man it sure sucks how disposable women are in these spy flicks huh"

smash cut to Ghost Protocol, Rogue Nation, Fallout, and ESPECIALLY Dead Reckoning.

I keep saying this but MI manages to pull off the Metal Gear thing in that the Male Gaze of the camera is thoroughly bisexual. Long before we see Ilsa's amazing leg shot at the opera, we get a long lingering shot of Ethan's tiddies, and the way he's held captive is very female-coded, the position, the way he tries to wile his way out of it, the barefoot thing, all of it. There's such intense intentionality with how MI frames bodies.

Hell, I've been flicking between MI and the X-Men AU movies and comparing Ilsa to Mystique is super interesting because both of them fight with their legs-first. But the choreography of Mystique always has this "heh heh heh naked legg" feeling, while with Ilsa, her fighting style is so consistent, it feels like a natural result of her build and how she utilizes momentum. I remember there's a fast moment in Fallout where she very casually assists Ethan by taking out a guard as he extracts Alanna, and she does her leg flip thing. It feels Correct for her, rather than the MCU "make sure you fight pretty" bullshit.

Anyway I love Ilsa but Benji is actually the Love Interest in RN and we all know it.

"wait what do you mean she gets fridged in the 7th movie" SHE DOES NOT GET FRIDGED i am gonna die on this fucking hill, that Ilsa's death was good and actually meant something

Anyway I cosign all your thoughts on Fallout. I think it's the best movie and frankly I think it's a cinematic masterpiece. The claustrophobia of it, the nightmare of being Ethan Hunt, the repeated use of dreamlike imagery to convey that we're falling further into that nightmare with him, AND THE ENDING. I find the ending so bittersweet because yes, Ethan and the team pull it off, they push at the edges of possibility and reason until the universe yields and gives them the win

but then Julia says "I know you'll always be there" and its like watching a door slam in Ethan's face. He's always going to be in this dream/nightmare, a world that exists one layer removed from reality, and he can't get out. It's amazing. I want to kiss McQ on the mouth.

That Ilsa-Ethan scene was not in the original script and TC suggested it day-of and they just did it and its one of the most beautiful shots of the movie, with the green trees melding with the slight green tones of Ilsa's outfit and with Ethan's eyes. The fact they have an entire conversation between Ethan and Ilsa's eyebrows. I love them.

[autumn-leaves]

it's fanfic writer appreciation week and i wanted to take a minute to appreciate you!! i recently read your vld fic on AO3 and loved it so much. you're a very talented writer with creative ideas and great dialogue. you're also a delightful person to interact with in any capacity!! i think you have a lot to be proud of :)

I am. So genuinely touched by this, thank you 😭 I have been a very big fan of your writing for years now, and knowing you have read my writing is insane, and I'm especially grateful because I know you cut ties with that fandom a while ago.

Thank you so much for this kind message, I read it and blacked out and wrote a camp camp fic for you 😭😭 hope you enjoy, and thank you for being you!!! <3

(written all in one go and barely checked for errors, so my apologies for any mistakes)

When Gwen woke up that morning, she knew it was going to be a terrible day. She didn’t know the how or the why yet, but deep down something was telling her to roll over, close her eyes, and block out the world until the sun rose again tomorrow. 

Unfortunately for Gwen, that wasn’t how being responsible for a group of kids worked, no matter whether the kids in question were absolute shits or not. So, instead, she took a deep breath, forced her eyes back open and sat up looking over to David’s side of the shared councillors cabin. Normally Gwen would wake to the sight of David preparing supplies for the day’s craft activities, or planning the hiking route, or even doing some kind of strengthening yoga routine, which took entirely too much energy and willpower for five thirty in the morning, in Gwen’s opinion. 

Instead, what greeted her today was a vaguely David-shaped lump under the covers. Gwen blinked once, then twice, but the view didn’t change. In all the time Gwen has worked alongside David, she cannot recall a single instance in which she has woken up before him, and it does nothing to calm her nerves. 

Shrugging it off, she hauls herself out of bed and into the shower, and by the time she emerges David is up and ready to go, smiling and chattering away as usual, and part of her relaxes. Maybe today won't be so bad.

Typically, the day gets worse. 

That, in and of itself, isn’t strictly unusual for Camp Campbell, but it’s a different brand of WrongTM today, one that Gwen does not care for. That morning in the mess hall, a food fight had broken out, getting so bloodthirsty that multiple windows ended up smashed, shattering completely. Honestly? Gwen couldn’t care less; that was a problem for the Quartermaster. Their first activity of the day had been archery, which had ended in a flaming arrow planting itself firmly into their trash bin and starting a foul-smelling, impossible-to-put-out, literal dumpster fire. That’s whatever, if Gwen is honest. Lunch had passed in a blur, in which David and Gwen had had to ban knives, leaving the kids to poke aimlessly at their food with plastic sporks, but she thought maybe the little shits deserved it. 

Collapsing back onto her spot on the councillors table with David, she watched them wolf down their ice cream, clearly none of them willing to risk the rare treat by acting out, then looked sideways at David, pleasantly surprised to see him looking almost as exhausted as she felt. Don’t get her wrong; it’s not that she wanted her friend to be miserable, it’s just that he had this incredibly frustrating ability to remain the happiest, most chipper person on the planet in the face of the most infuriating circumstances. Sometimes it made Gwen feel insane, like she was the only one aware of what was going on in the camp.

Some of that relief faded, however, when David rested his forehead in his hands and mumbled, “How is it only lunchtime?”, with a weariness she’d never heard from him in her life. 

Frowning, she tilted her head down, trying to catch his attention. “What’s up with you?” She asks, and she doesn’t think it sounds angry until David is whipping his head up, plastering a - somewhat unnerving - smile across his face.

“Sorry, Gwen! Nothing’s wrong, today just seems to be a bit of a slower day today, is all. At least that means more time for fun activities, though!”.

She realises it’s meant to be reassuring, but honestly it’s downright freaky watching David put a personality on like a coat. 

“Are you okay, David?” She presses, voice slightly softer than before. 

“Of course I am, Gwen! Why wouldn’t I be? The sun is out, the birds are singing and I’m here at Camp-”

“Don’t bullshit me, David.” She says, her gut feeling from the morning coming back full force. “What is it? Was it Campbell? Are we getting more budget cuts? Or was there a complaint? Are we getting a surprise inspection, or - oh god, is our pay going down?” She asks, thoughts going a mile a minute about what could possibly have made David look so defeated a few moments ago.

“What? Gwen - no, it’s nothing like that.” David replies, a little startled. He sighs, and then he looks tired again. He’s still smiling, but it's smaller and a little awkward, and it’s so not David but somehow more David than Gwen thinks she’s ever seen him. “I’m just a little under the weather, that’s all.” He finishes, quietly, like he’s scared the campers might hear. Which - fair, Gwen can only imagine what those little assholes would do if they sensed weakness.

“Under the weather how?” She asks, sceptical.

He frowns, but seems to weigh his options and decide being honest is a better choice than keeping quiet, because he answers all the same. “A headache. And maybe a minor fever, some dizziness. I’m mostly just tired, so it’s nothing a little rest won’t fix. I’ll be right as rain tomorrow, don’t worry.”

Looking at him now, like, really looking, Gwen realises he’s pale and a little shaky; there’s bags under his eyes and a slight flush on the heights of his cheeks like he’s been rushing around, which he has, but she suspects it has more to do with fever than it does managing the kids. Part of her wants to reach out and press her hand to her forehead, but she gets the feeling David wouldn’t appreciate that, especially not in front of all of the children because god forbid he shows them that sometimes he isn’t having the time of his life, enjoying camp every step of the way. God forbid they see him as human, and not a punching bag only there for entertainment. 

“You know, I can handle the kids for an hour or two if you want a power nap? I’ll get the coloured paper and markers out and make up some bullshit about writing a letter to their future selves or something.” She offers, and the fact that David actually considers it for a second proves to her that he’s feeling worse than he lets on. Ultimately, though, he shakes his head. 

“No, it wouldn’t be fair to leave you to run camp by yourself. Besides, we’re supposed to be doing plant identification today, and I can’t deprive the kids of a valuable skill like that just because I’m a little poorly. I’ll be fine.” He says, decisively, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as Gwen.

Before she can argue the point further, the sound of the kids talking escalates to a volume that’s too much to tolerate as they get restless, dessert finished and their boredom rising. Standing, she shouts over the racket, “Everyone look at me! Shut up for a minute, would you?”. It takes a moment, but they do quieten and look in her direction, so she takes the win. “In a moment we’re going to head outside for our afternoon activity, okay, so everyone go and put your plates on the hatch for Quartermaster and then line up at the door.”

Predictably, there is no neat, single-file line like Gwen had asked, and instead a crowd of pushing and shoving by the mess hall doors. Shaking her head, Gwen lets them out, allowing David to start explaining what they’d be doing. In all honesty, Gwen tunes this part out, knowing vaguely that each group would have a plant identification book and a list of plants to find. Instead, she uses this time to study David, who’s energy seems to be waning quicker now that he’s on his feet. Max is giving David some kind of shit, and his plastered-on smile is faltering ever so slightly, the longer Max refuses to stop. 

Sighing, she shoots Max a look and he backs off, for now, but he doesn’t seem very deterred. David finishes up his explanation and sends the kids off in groups of four, instructing them not to go out of his and Gwen’s sight. A few moments pass in silence as they observe the kids, enjoying the peace for the first time that day. Around them, the kids seem to be genuinely enjoying themselves - the task gives them just enough freedom that they’re satisfied, goofing off as they look at plants half-heartedly and enjoy the sun, with the added bonus of letting Gwen and David take a backseat for a little while. 

The kids have quite a long time to find all of the plants on the list; they know their campers well enough to know that the work-to-messing-around ratio will not be equal, so Gwen takes a seat on one of the nearby picnic benches. She expects David to follow her lead and sit down too, and she hopes he does because he wasn’t looking too hot during his instructions earlier, but he remains standing. The feeling in her gut grows stronger, but she forces it down. She’s getting worked up over nothing, David said it himself, he’s just a little under the weather. David is a grown man; if he feels like he needs to sit down, he’ll sit down. 

Another fifteen minutes pass and the feeling only grows. She glances at her co-councillor again, but she can’t see his face from the angle of the bench. Before she can think better of it she’s standing and walking over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder with the intention of turning him towards her. However, the moment her hand touches his shoulder, her stomach drops. He’s so warm she can feel it through his shirt and, although they are standing in the warmth of the sun, that’s all they’re doing, there’s no reason he should be that warm. It’s a suffocating, dry kind of warmth too, one that makes her throat tighten and she steps round him, blocking the camper’s view if they were to look over. 

His eyes are cloudy and slightly unfocused, and he’s paler than he has been all day, swaying just slightly where he stands. His breathing is slightly wonky, like he can’t quite figure out a comfortable pattern and it takes him a while to track his gaze over to meet hers, and he shakes his head minutely, almost imperceptibly. Abruptly, she makes a decision. 

Whirling around to face the section of clearing that the campers are exploring, she raises her voice loud enough for all of them to hear. “Okay, David and I need to head inside to take care of some paperwork, so Quartermaster is going to take over for a little while. Do not give him any shit or I swear to god there will be hell to pay, understood?” She asks, waiting for nods before she’s satisfied. She turns back to face David, unsure if moving is a good idea right now given how pale he is. “Can you make it to our cabin?” She asks, quietly.

Something in David seems to click, and he tries to gather himself, swallowing hard. “Sorry, Gwen, I’m fine. There’s no need to worry, or- or bother the Quartermaster, I’m-”

“David I swear do not even try it. You look like you’re about the pass out.” She hisses, reaching her limit. “Now can you make it to our cabin or not?”

Chastised, David looks down, but nods anyway. “Yeah, I can.”

“Okay,” Gwen takes a deep breath, nodding as well. “I need you to stay here with the kids while I go and grab Quartermaster, can you do that?”

David nods again, but doesn’t protest when she leads him to the bench and sits him down. “Do not move.” She says sternly, then turns on her heel and rushes back to the mess hall, grabbing Quartermaster and dragging him out to the clearing, explaining on the way. He agrees in the weird, creepy way of his, and she has no doubt the campers will end up part of some crazy wilderness ritual, but she trusts him with the campers safety and that's enough for now. 

As they arrive at the activity spot, it’s just in time to see Max sauntering over to David, a glint in his eye that she doesn’t like. “Max!” She calls, intercepting him only a few feet away from the bench. “What do you need?”

Max regards her curiously, and she feels vaguely like prey. “What I need is to talk to David.” He says, and Gwen knows deep down that he has realised what’s going on.

She has two options now: lie and bullshit her way out of this, or tell the truth and hope Max doesn’t abuse the knowledge. 

Placing her hands on both of Max’s shoulders, she drops down to one knee, putting her at his level. “Look, Max, you and I both know why you can’t do that.” Max’s face lights up at the confirmation, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Gwen continues on, barrelling over him. “Max, listen to me, I need to get David inside, okay, I think this could be serious. I need to get him inside, and check his fever and maybe even take him to a hospital,” She says, looking into his eyes to try and drive her point home. She really isn’t sure if it will warrant a hospital trip, or even come close, but she thinks maybe that’s what Max needs to hear to back off a bit. “If I check him over, and he’s okay, I promise you that tomorrow you can have your fun with him, but you have to let me make sure he’s good first, okay?”

Max is silent for a second, eyes darting from Gwen to where David is slumped over, face in his hands now that Quartermaster is here and someone is keeping an eye on the campers. There is a solid ten seconds where Gwen thinks she’s made the wrong choice, that Max is going to grin and jump on the opportunity to trash the camp and make today even worse for David, but then he deflates and nods. “Fine. I’ll keep these assholes in check. But as soon as he’s feeling better there will be no mercy. So watch out.” He says, but Gwen has known Max long enough to know he’s concerned. Another beat of silence passes and then Max follows up quietly, “Do you…need help getting him inside?”.

A spark of surprise hits Gwen’s chest, alongside a feeling she thinks might be pride. She ruffles Max’s hair and he scowls, swatting at her hands before shoving his own hands back into his sweater pockets. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got him handled. You focus on finding those plants, okay?” She smiles at him, and Max pulls a face in return. 

“Ew, gross. I wasn’t worried.” He insists, and Gwen doesn’t argue it, just lets him walk back to his group.

Gwen forces herself to take some more deep breaths before she turns around, trying not to let her heart beat too fast when she finds David, arms braced on his knees and his head in his hands, eyes closed and breathing shakily. 

“David?” She asks softly, touching his shoulder. 

He lifts his head, blinking blearily at her, squinting in the sunlight. He doesn’t say anything.

“You ready to get inside?”

He nods shakily, standing up and immediately stumbling, but Gwen catches him quickly enough. Luckily, Quartermaster seems to have distracted the kids with some kind of dramatic retelling of a battle he had with some squirrels, and Gwen can’t quite tell if it’s made up or not, but it doesn’t matter because it means they don’t have an audience right now. (Except Max, and Gwen can feel his worried eyes tracking them, but she’ll have to deal with that later, because right now David needs to be inside and lying down, out of the heat of the sun and away from the stress of the children.)

She loops his arm around her shoulders, hooking her own around his waist and they begin to slowly walk - or stumble, in David’s case - back to the councillor’s cabin. What should have been a two minute journey becomes a five minute one, and the whole way Gwen can only think about how it got so bad so quickly. David is silent for the entirety of it, eyes closed and trusting Gwen to keep them on track. They’re barely ten feet from the door to the cabin when David finally speaks.

“Gwen, I think I’m going to pass out.” He chokes out, and she turns to find his face so pale he’s practically grey. 

“Shit!” She hisses, and she effectively drags him the rest of the way shoving the doors open, desperate to get him to his bed but he’s dropping like a stone the moment they’re inside, and it’s all she can do to stop his head from slamming down. His knees connect roughly with the wooden floors and she winces, knowing it’ll probably bruise, but there’s bigger things to worry about at that moment. 

Carefully, she lowers him to the ground and props his feet up on a nearby trunk, racking her brain desperately trying to recall her first aid training. She settles on checking his airways and, once satisfied, moves to the bathroom to grab their thermometer. It’s clear enough that he has a fever, but she needs to know what she’s dealing with and now is as good a time as any to check. 

The thermometer is an old thing, scuffed and peeling but it works and so she gently pushes it into his ear, waiting for it to beep. 103.1ºF. She sucks in a breath through her teeth. Not good.

Wasting no time, she gathers a washcloth and wets it with cold water, filling a glass at the same time. There’s a standing fan in the corner of their cabin which she manoeuvres to point at David and turns onto the lowest setting, trying not to shock his body too much, then places the washcloth on his forehead. 

Slowly, David stirs, eyes blinking open, cloudy and confused but he’s awake and a huge weight lifts off of her shoulders.

“David?”

“...Gwen? What- why am I on the floor?”

A flash of irritation hits her. “Because you’re an asshole who can’t wait two seconds to lay down in his bed and insists instead on passing out on the floor next to it.” She scowls, but the irritation is ebbing just quickly as it peaked, being replaced by concern.

“I passed out?” He asked, voice still slightly muddy from sleep.

“Yeah,” She sighs. “You did. And your fever is really high, as well. You scared me.” She admits, quietly.

David’s face crumples with guilt, and he tries to sit up but Gwen firmly pushes him back down. “Gwen, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“I know you didn’t David,” Gwen placates. “It’s not your fault, it's just a sucky situation. You should have said something sooner, though, David. You could have taken a break, or even taken the rest of the day off and we could’ve avoided all of this. I’d rather have to handle those kids by myself any day of the week than for you to get hurt.”

David nods, wincing. “I know. You’re right, I should have said something I just - I just have some things to work on.” He replies, quiet and raw. “But that shouldn’t affect you, I’m sorry.”

They look at each other for a moment longer before Gwen smiles, softly. “Hey, what are CBFLs for?” She asks, nudging his shoulder, and David smiles back, touched. “And besides,” she continues. “You deal with enough of my shit, only fair I deal with some of yours. Now, think you can handle getting up and into bed? You need proper rest and I’m not letting you do it on the floor.”

“Yeah, I’m actually feeling a bit better now.” David says.

Gwen snorts, holding out a hand to help him up. “Tell me that again when you’re upright.”

As expected, David immediately pales again the moment he’s stood, but he smiles shakily and manages to get to his bed fine, so Gwen doesn’t worry too much. Once he’s sitting with his back against his pillows, she hands him the glass of water and grabs some pills from her own bedside table. Dutifully, he downs them, and then lays down, damp cloth back on his forehead. It’s mid-afternoon and still light out, but Gwen just draws the curtains and turns off the light, leaving the bathroom light on with the door cracked to allow her to see without aggravating David’s head too much. 

Gwen pulls her armchair over to be near David’s bed, turning on Bob Ross with the volume almost muted, just loud enough for the man’s soothing voice to reach them. Beside her, David’s eyes are closed and his eyebrows pinched, but there’s a small smile on his face and he looks comfortable enough. For the first time all day, the feeling in her gut subsides, appeased, and she lets herself relax as well.

Two hours later, Gwen jolts awake, eyes flying around the room before settling on David, still fast asleep where she’d left him. Bob Ross is still playing idly, and she grabs the remote to turn it off. As quietly as she can, Gwen finds the thermometer and takes David’s temperature again, breathing out slowly when it reads 100.5ºF. Still a fever, but lower. Despite herself, she runs her hand through David’s bedhead of red hair, shaking her head and then sitting back down.

She has just settled back in her chair when there’s a quiet knock at the door. Opening it reveals Max, shuffling awkwardly. “He’s okay.” Gwen smiles softly, deciding to cut the kid some slack, knowing Max isn’t going to outright ask about David.

“Pshh, I don’t care. I just came to tell you Quartermaster is doing a shit job. He taught us how to fight a deer and now he’s making us wash the outside of our cabins.” He complains, but Gwen can see a bit of relief on his face. 

“Hm, not a bad idea. Maybe I need to get him to plan a couple of our activities next week. The cabin thing, not the deer thing.” She clarifies, seeing Max’s face. “Maybe tomorrow you can complain to David yourself.”

Max nods, satisfied with the knowledge that David isn’t too ill, and Gwen knew that was what he’d been waiting to hear. “Yeah, I will. Uh, but I should get back before Quartermaster realises I’m gone. He’s way less of a pushover than you and David.” 

Gwen rolls her eyes, but waves him off. “See you tomorrow, Max.”

“Night, Gwen.” 

She closes the door, still smiling softly. 

Sometimes, the kids were okay.

[naiatabris]

Day 1: "First Time"

Fellow BG3 addicts! Have you seen the BG3 February Writing/Creativity Challenge? 29 days of prompts for creativity of all kinds!

This is a little drabble that I couldn't quite mold into a full fic (it was actually a discarded part of "be selfish for me"). It technically responds to the NSFW day 1 prompt, "First Time," but it's a SFW look at how I think the leadup to the first time would have gone for Gale and my sorcerer Alys. I hope you enjoy!

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"I can't do this, Gale." Alys shifted away from him as she fought the urge to cry. Tears sprung to her eyes; through the moisture, Gale’s brilliant sky looked even more lovely, and seemed even more devastating. "If you're planning to kill yourself, don't ask me to help you accept it.”

"Alys. I—you know what we face." Gale's expression was sorrowful. "Gods know I have no wish to do this. But Mystra's orders…"

"I don’t give a damn what Mystra ordered," Alys snapped.

She hated how her voice sounded in that moment—childish, petulant, jealous. Once she would have thought that jealousy was beneath her. But she'd spent weeks—months, really—longing for Gale, drawn to his kindness and his brilliance, wishing he would look at her and see more than a magical colleague.

It felt hopeless, though. Alys didn't lack for self-confidence, but even she doubted her ability to compete with a goddess for Gale's heart. She didn't think he was blind to her charms; he'd given her compliments here and there, told her she was radiant after battle. But none of it had led to anything more than words, and blaming Mystra was the easiest and most satisfying way to deal with her disappointment.

Then again, Mystra damn well deserved some blame.

"I don't know what she's playing at, casting you off without a word and then popping back up to tell you to end your own life, but I am not going to help her talk you into it," she continued heatedly.

Gale’s expression pleaded for understanding; his eyes were wide and open, his expression pained. "Alys, I…"

"Stop," she ordered, fighting tears as a torrent of emotion rushed through her.

"If you would just listen…"

 "I'm in love with you, Gale Dekarios," she blurted, the words pouring from her like water from an upended jug, fast and messy and impossible to stop. "And you don't feel the same way and that's fine, but don't you dare ask me to—to sit here under a sky you made to help yourself make peace with dying."

"I made the sky for you!"

Alys had been planning to spring to her feet and storm off. But that changed things. She felt her mouth gape open in the most ridiculous way. "For… me?"

"Yes, for you," Gale said, exasperated. "Because I'm trying to tell you that I'm in love with you. Only now you've said it first and I'm going to have to discard the entire speech I had planned." He shook his head, a little smile playing on his lips despite his irritated tone. "You have the most infuriating yet delightful way of putting me off balance."

He reached for her hand, taking it in his, and Alys twined her fingers against his, scarcely daring to breathe. Gale’s eyes met hers, and she saw an apology in them.

“You really didn’t know?” he asked softly.

Alys shook her head. “I—I thought you could, maybe, if things were different. But it seemed that you had so much else on your mind. I couldn’t imagine there might be room for me.”

“Oh, Alys.” He swallowed, closing his eyes briefly. “I wish—gods, how I wish I had the time to do this properly. To say it all better, to court you the way you deserve. But time is…”

Alys didn’t want him to finish that sentence. She didn’t want to hear him say that his time was short, that his sacrifice was the only way. So she leaned forward and stopped the words with a kiss, gentle and eager, filled with all her affection and warmth and longing. 

And Gale kissed her back, and for that moment as their lips touched, it felt as if they had all the time in the world.

[ithaquass]

hii < 3 you know how much i enjoy your writings !! so i was wondering if i could request some general dating headcanons for orpheus? only if you're comfortable with that. have a nice day sweetie ♡

AHH TSYM ANONN !!💗💗 i tried my best with this work since i’ve been waiting to get a rq to finally write about him HJSJDDJ. Have a great day as well !💕

୨୧ Orpheus (novelist)

ㅤ→ dating headcanons !

cw none, slight nsfw ?)

gender neutral s/o

♡ Orpheus is not exactly the most approachable person. Therefore, it may be a bit hard to get along with him at first, much more becoming close to him…

It is not impossible, though. Once he had taken a liking to you, he himself will eventually come crawling to you..~

♡ He’s always so full of himself, but when it comes to you, somehow you always get to break down his arrogant demeanor. Orpheus is actually a very affectionate lover with you!

♡ I believe he’d always have you in high esteem. You are an inspiration to him, his one and only muse.

♡ He probably holds back a lot with you when it comes to pda. But once you two are finally alone, the only thing he wants is to hold you for the rest of the night and whisper sweet nothings to your ear until you completely melt in his arms~

♡ Orpheus will write the sweetest poems to you! he even might also give you letters. a lot of them.

Like i said before, you are like an inspiration to him, so of course he’d be more than delighted to write for you!

♡ This is a bit nsfw but i am pretty sure he’d get turned on by hearing you calling him “sir” or anything of the sort. He enjoys that feeling of authority over you ?) it truly drives him somewhere else.

♡ Most likely the one who (almost) always initiates the conversations between you two. He loves asking you questions about trivial matters, debates with you about different subjects… he just kind of enjoy it, and he values your opinion a lot too.

♡ The idea of loving someone probably didn’t really cross his mind before. He thought he didn’t need it, but as soon as you walked into his life, he caught feelings. Of course, he was in denial for.. an extended period of time. But remember that if you hide it doesn’t go away..~

[thepaperpanda]

The Christmas market || Ivar the Boneless x fem!reader

Masterlist ❄

Summary: As a result of many pleas from you, Ivar agrees to go to a Christmas market with you in order to find the perfect gifts for his family.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1609

Authors: Rouge & Cass

A/N: today’s prompt: a visit to a Christmas market

Despite Ivar's whining and nagging, you dragged him through the crowd. 

Although he disliked crowds, especially at the christmas market, you both made it a goal to find something pretty for the party since his mother invited you over for dinner. "Y/N! We have been here for an hour already. We visited every stall, but nothing seemed good enough for you. Can we go home now?" Ivar grunted impatiently.

"Of course we can't yet," you said, squeezing his palm in your hand. "I told you I wouldn't go to your parents' house without a few gifts for them, didn't I? Is it so difficult for you to be as happy and excited about it as I am?"

He rolled his eyes, commenting, "Why waste money on gifts that will sit around, collecting dust? Why don't you bake cookies, pack them nicely, and give those as gifts to them?"

"Don't worry, I'll do that as well, my grandmother gave me an amazing old recipe for gingerbreads, I'll decorate them with two types of frosting," you said to Ivar after stopping at another stall. You discovered a lovely wooden box with floral ornaments there. "Hey, check it out. What do you think, love? Could it be a nice jewelry box for your mother?"

"I bet she didn't fill the one father gave her years ago," Ivar shrugged, looking at other stuff in the stall.

As you adjusted your woolen hat on your head, a deep sigh escaped your lips. "Helpful as always, aren't you, babe?" You chose a lovely wooden lighter for Ivar's father because you knew Ragnar was a smoker.

"It's really overpriced. Do you really expect me to be happy when we throw away money?" Ivar sighed, shaking his head.

"Ivar," you said, "it doesn't matter how much those things cost. What truly matters is the need in my heart to gift people the Christmas spirit and happiness, even if it's with small things."

"I don't think your wallet feels the Christmas spirit," Ivar commented. "Christmas is about family, not gifts, isn't it?"

Ivar was getting on your nerves again that day, so you only grunted. First, he objected to leaving your shared flat because it was snowing and he had a FIFA session to finish with his mates. Later, after he agreed to accompany you on your shopping trip, he mentioned being bored and hungry.

It wasn't that Ivar hated Christmas; instead, he didn't understand the point of spending all that money on trinkets that would only be used once.

"What do you suggest then?" You asked, resting your hands on your hips.

"I think a gift made by hand means more," Ivar told you. "But if you really need something for my mom, get her jewelry."

You were playing with the wooden box you held in your hands while thinking about Ivar's words. You returned the box to the seller with a nod, saying that all you wanted was the hand-carved lighter. "In this case, we'll need to go to another store, babe."

Ivar nodded his head after letting out a deep sigh. "If you promise me a hot chocolate, I am willing to go."

"We need to stop by Starbucks then," you tapped his nose, a sly grin spreading across your lips as you did.

"Okay, cool, but lead the way before I change my mind and head home," Ivar joked.

You reached for his palm and intertwined your fingers with his, delighted to discover that even though he was wearing his favorite black gloves, his hands were so warm.

A gentle kiss was placed on your fingers as he lifted your hand and brought it to his lips. "Your hand is so cold that my tongue would get stuck if I licked it," Ivar stated out of the blue.

You blinked as you listened to his words and grimaced to show him how embarrassed you were by his statement. "You're impossible, Ivar."

"C'mon, I know you love it when I tease you like this," Ivar teased, kissing your cheek.

You went straight to Starbucks, as you promised, and ordered hot chocolate for Ivar and a spicy pumpkin latte for yourself.

As long as Ivar had his favorite drink in hand, he was more likely to follow you without whining.

You asked him to accompany you to a jewelry store, where you chose a pair of silver earrings with a reindeer theme.

In this case, Ivar was much more eager to assist you in picking up a gift for Aslaug. It was picking gifts for his brothers that worried him most; according to him, none of them deserved anything.

"So, do you have any ideas for gifts for your brothers?" You inquired as the two of you strolled down the Strøget.

"Hard to say. None of them deserve gifts," Ivar muttered while looking around. “How about socks?”

"Socks? Are you serious, sweetheart? This is the most ridiculous gift idea," you lightly tapped his shoulder.

"Oh don't be silly, love. It's a perfect gift for those assholes," Ivar said, rolling his eyes. "Let me see! Hvitserk can get weed or brownies... Or both, actually. He has a sweet tooth, as we all know. Ubbe can get a pen. Sigurd might benefit from a lame book about music history. Bjørn? We can get him a year's supply of condoms."

Before you could stop yourself, you let out a laugh and stopped walking, considering everything he said. "Ivar! You're so cruel! It's a good idea to get Ubbe a nice pen. A book about music for Sigurd is not a bad idea either. I'm only concerned about condoms for Bjørn and weed for Hvitserk. Oh, and I still need to find the perfect gift for my baby boy," you enhanced his hat to cover his ears.

Ivar smiled and moved closer before whispering into your ear, "You will shed those clothes, wrap yourself in a nice lacy set, and it will be the best gift I have ever received."

You closed your eyes and smirked, feeling your cheeks flushed. "Ivar, babe, if you behave like a good boy you are deep inside," you poked the left side of his chest, "I'll think about that," you kissed his lips briefly after climbing on your tiptoes.

"I deserve such a gift," Ivar chuckled, booping your nose. "I've been a good boy this year." A slight frown appeared on his face before he improved your thick scarf. "We should get this done as soon as possible. You are cold and I don't want you to get sick again."

"Come on, I'm not the one to get a cold after a cold like you," you pretended to be offended by his words.

"Keep thinking like that, little one, live your sweet, little dream," he patted your head. "Now. Let's go home, I'll take care of those gifts. Bjørn is still getting condoms though."

You helplessly rolled your eyes and shook your head after hearing his comment. "Ivar?" You looked up at him and intertwined your fingers with his.

Squeezing your hand while hiding it in his pocket, he only hummed, looking down at you.

"Can you visit one more place with me? I promise it'll be the last one."

He nodded but tapped his cheek, giving you a look.

After a brief eyeroll you climbed on your tiptoes again and kissed his cheek, inhaling the cologne he used which you gifted him with on his birthday.

A giggle escaped his lips and he nodded. "Let's go now. Lead the way."

You led Ivar to one more stall while holding his hand.

After following you, Ivar inspected the stall. "What is the purpose of our visit here?"

"You like wolves, right?"

"Yeah, I do," he replied simply.

"I saw them last week, when I came here to check out the Christmas market for the first time," you told him, taking a wooden bracelet in your hand. It had a charm shaped in a wolf howling to the moon, and the moon was cut in a half. "I thought we could get ourselves matching bracelets..."

A quick kiss was exchanged between Ivar and you as he grabbed your chin. "I think I have a really clever and cute girlfriend. I really like this idea."

He kissed you quickly, but it was sweet enough to melt your heart. You discovered the tiny metal clasp and opened it, asking Ivar to extend his hand to you. You put the bracelet on his wrist and locked the clasp as soon as he did. "There. Oh, it's perfect for you!"

He placed another bracelet around your wrist before moving your hand to his lips to kiss its top. "Let's do it this way: I can pay for yours and you can pay for mine, so we have perfect gifts for each other."

You nodded eagerly enough for your hat to fall off your head. "Oh, hell, silly me," you laughed.

A soft chuckle escaped Ivar's lips as he improved your hat and kissed your nose. "You may think you're too silly, but I love that about you."

You paid for his bracelet, and as he did the same, you snatched him under your arm and rolled down the Christmas market with him, inhaling the scent of gingerbreads spreading all over the place, hot tea with honey and ginger, and spicy coffee in various types. You glanced at Ivar's face briefly as the two of you walked together, trying not to draw his attention to this fact. Your heart overflowed with affection for this young man, who was perfect on the inside and out. You'd never been happier in your life.