#it’s not about whether we’re hanging out. it’s whether we have any alternative

[daisyachain]

i realize one way i can sort friends that I know is how I’d feel if they were to get a boyfriend.

[undertheopensky]

The Ocarina 2

Whumptober Day 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”

Characters: Same deal as last time, everyone’s there except Four but he’s somehow the main focus

Trigger warnings: Alternative Backstories, Unreliable Narrator, Past Child Death, Discussions of suicide

Read on Ao3!

Missed the first installment? Read here!

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Leaving Vio and the plaintive sound of his ocarina behind, the group heads off into the forest again.

In theory, they’re aiming for the northern side of the woods and the road that leads to Hyrule Town, but they already know they won’t make it.  This isn’t the Minish Woods, with the village and castle just over the next rise; it’s a representation of Four’s mind and his memories.  Just walking isn’t going to get them out.

But what will? Sky wonders.

The cottage comes back into view, all the more ominous now.  The bright sunlight contrasts with the heavy, creeping mist; with the too-dark forest full of screaming and fear.  Sky lets a hand trail close to the bark of a nearby pine; swears he can feel a chill rolling off it, hear the faint echo of a wail.

Everything just feels more intense, now that he knows the truth; now that he knows what Four’s been keeping locked up in his heart, locked away in the woods.

Why didn’t he trust us?

“I was thinking.”  Wind runs a hand along the smooth wood of the boundary fence.  “Vio, and Green, and the others - what if they’re not just memories?”

Sky looks back at him.  Wind’s acting too casual.  “Oh?  What else could they be?”

“Ghosts,” Wind says, then cringes as if expecting ridicule.

“I don’t think they’re poes, Wind.”

“Not that kind of ghost!”  Wind’s gone red, though Sky thinks it’s less embarrassment and more anger.  “The ghosts of people!  Of Four’s brothers!  What if they’re trapped here, stuck haunting Four’s mind, or wherever the fuck we are?”

Before anyone else can dispute this Legend is nodding thoughtfully.  “Actually, that’s a fair point.  I’ve not run into many ghosts, but the parallels are there.”

“Yeh’ve dealt with ghosts before?”  Twilight sounds startled.

“Of course he has, it’s Legend.”  The veteran, unsaid.  “Haven’t you dealt with ghosts though Twi?  You told a story about the queen of your Zora being a ghost.”

“Yeah, but that was jus’ the once.”  Twilight thinks for a moment.  “An’… she was pretty fixated on her son.  Only reason she was hangin’ round at all, ah figure.”

“Exactly!” Wind says.  “Ghosts often stick around when they have people they care about or things left undone.”

“But…” Hyrule looks troubled.  “What difference does it make?  Whether they’s ghosts, or memories?”

“Well… it’s pretty clear they’re trapped here.  Maybe we’re supposed to help them move on.”

Legend’s mouth tightens.  “They may not want to go.”

“Maybe not,” Wind says softly, “but we can at least try.”

It was as good an explanation as any.  As good a goal as any.  And didn’t force them to face the creeping worry that they’re not here for anyreason at all.  That they’re just here, and there’s nothing they can do.

(Can’t help Four.  Can’t help his brothers.  Can’t even help themselves.)

From here along the boundary line they can see the low fence of what’s supposed to be the vegetable field, if not the field itself - the mist still lays thick on the ground.  It’s somewhere to start.  Blue Four - shit, Four’s brother - had been pretty adamant about not moving from that spot.

He is, indeed, still there, mist swirling round his feet.  His sword hangs at his side like he’d gotten distracted partway through a drill.  Although - the way his head is ducked, like he can’t hold it all the way up, and his shoulders sag -

He looks so tired.

When they cross an invisible line his head still snaps up to glare at them.

Wind stops short.  Backs up half a step, and smiles.  “Hi!  You’re Blue, right?”

Blue, who had settled when he backed away, immediately gets his hackles back up.  “What’s it to you?!”

Wind shrugs with deliberate calm.  “Just making sure.  Vio told us your names, but I didn’t want to assume.”

“Damn nerd,” Blue mutters.  Despite his grumpy words, he calms further, enough to sheathe his sword across his back.  “So.  What are you bothering me for?  Vio’s the smart one.”

Wind hums.  “Just - trying to figure things out, I guess.  What was it like, when Four - Link - went on adventures?”

Blue scrunches his nose at him, confused by the question.  “What do you mean?  Like we didn’t all go?  He couldn’ta left us behind if he tried!  What, did he just never mention that he had his brothers along helping him the whole way?!  That bastard, taking all the credit.”

“He doesn’t like talking about them much,” Sky intercepts.  “So it was more of a group effort?”

“Of fucking course!  How else would an eight-year-old climb fucking Death Mountain all on their own?  Not that four eight-year-olds was much better,” he mutters.

Sky frowns.  Didn’t that -?

“It was a pain in the ass keeping all of them alive and focused,” Blue continues.  “Do we have enough food, do we have enough water, who’s tired, who’s hungry, has Red lost his weapon again?  Never mind trying to get everyone out of bed in the morning.  It’s a miracle we ever got anywhere.”  Blue scratches at his head, upsetting his hat.  He snatches it back into position angrily.  “Now that idiot doesn’t even have me keeping him on track, goddesses.”

“You must love him very much.”

Blue’s hackles go up yet again.  His shoulders fly up around ears that are quickly turning red, and his gaze jerks away from them so he doesn’t have to make eye contact.  “I - he - he’s -” he struggles with the words, folding his arms tight across his chest and hunching over a little.  Defensive.

It’s - hard to see him, Sky realises with a start.  He can see the mist through him, just a little, swirls of movement where there should be solid fabric.

Maybe they’re ghosts, Wind says in his memory, and he bites back a shudder.

“Of course I love him,” Blue says, in a tight, small voice.  “He’s my brother.  I love him so much, and -” he shivers, curls in on himself further, goes a little more see-through.  Sky considers waving at Wind to change the fucking subject already.

Blue’s already continuing, though, head ducked to stare at his hands.  “I’m glad one of us made it out.  I’m glad he lived.  And - I’m glad it wasn’t me.”

Sky’s eyebrows go up without conscious thought.  That’s - not something he’d expected.  Bitterness, grief, jealousy or envy - that’s more what he’d expect from the ghost of someone who’d been left behind.

Blue huffs, making a face like he wants to scowl at their expressions but is too damn tired.  “Think what you want.  But… when you’ve been surrounded by brothers your whole life… being alone really sucks.”

There’s a moment where his eyes go blank, and suddenly none of them are in a well-lit summer field; there’s only ice and darkness and tight spaces and knowing there’s something behind you –

Then Blue blinks and the moment shatters.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says.  “It happened, and we can’t change it now.  And - even if we could -”

He frowns.  It’s hard to tell where the mist ends and his small form starts.

“Even with everything… I know we made the right choice.  Because if it came down to it, I’d do everything over again, exactly the same.  I just wish… I just wish he didn’t have to be alone.”

Blue’s face crumples, and abruptly he turns away from them and strides off into the mist.

“Hey, wait!” Wind yelps.

Blue’s already gone.  His shadow had faded to nothing almost as soon as the fog swallowed him up.

“Well, now what,” says Legend.  Mist swirls uneasily around his boots.

“Maybe go back to the house?  We didn’t get much of a look at it before, we got distracted by… everything else going on.”

Sky glances back at the fence and has to suppress a shudder.

In a reverse of the last time they’d been in the vegetable patch, they head for the forge.  The door they’d originally exited through was back to being barred shut, though, with a few heavy scratches in the wood that hadn’t been there before, so they had to detour around to the front.  Maybe Red will be there, Sky thinks optimistically, or maybe they’ll really luck out and a portal will be waiting to take them somewhere else.

Instead, when Legend opens the front door, they find Green standing by one of the shop counters, studying a dagger with an idle sort of focus.

Since friendliness had worked okay before, Wind pastes a smile on his face.  “Hi Green!”

Green doesn’t respond.  His eyes are kind of distant, actually, like he’s not really there.  Like Four gets, sometimes, in the dark hours of the night, or when he’s got all his focus on the movement of a whetstone.

Then, before they can do more than exchange uneasy glances, he comes out of it with a blink and a tightening of fingers on the hilt.  He doesn’t seem to notice them, occupied with gently placing the dagger on a shelf.  The way he handles it - it’s more than a just a smith’s respect for a weapon.  Legend thinks it’s almost - fond.

Then he turns round and startles, and the thought is gone.

“Nice to see you again!  Are you Green?”

“You talked to Vio,” he says instead of answering.  “That’s… good.”

“We also talked to Blue!” says Wind cheerfully.

“That’s less good.”  There’s a smile sneaking onto his face, though, as he shakes off whatever daze he’d been in.

“Oh, so it’s not just us, he’s always cranky?”

“He’s been a cranky old man ever since we were kids.”  Green blinks, still a little hazy.  “Red says he’s just mad he’s not the oldest.”

“Ah, sibling rivalry,” says Twilight sagely.

“Who is the oldest?” asks Wild.

Green’s smile turns sardonic.  “Me.  Some big brother I turned out to be, though.”

Wind drifts a little closer.  “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Green retreats into himself a little.  “Look where we are now.  If I’d been a better leader - a better brother - then maybe - maybe they’d still -” he chokes, and shakes himself.  “I made so many mistakes - but - at least one of them lived,” he says, almost wistfully.

Wind cocks his head.  “You’re not jealous?”

“Jealous?”  Green looks startled.  “Goddesses, no!  If one of them lived then I didn’t - I didn’t completely fail.  If it was me - if I was the only one left - ”

It happens again - their sense of the world around them vanishes, replaced by darkened hallways, empty beds in empty rooms, names shouted but somehow the silence swallows them up -

“No,” says Green, shaking his head hard.  “No, no, no, it’s - it’s not real, that didn’t - that didn’t happen, it’s fine, it’s -”

He’s almost crying, breaths sobbing out of him as he hugs himself and shakes.  All around him the shop is smeary with colour as the world bleeds into itself, like tears staining a painting.

“That’s not how it happened - it’s not -”

He turns to run up the stairs - to check the rooms Legend knows will be empty - and is gone.

The room finishes swimming back into focus.  Legend finds himself pressing his hands against his eyes, like it will help.  It doesn’t.

Warriors clicks his tongue.  “That did not go well.”

“Yeah.”  Wind looks sad, but not surprised.

“Should we go after him?”

“No.  He’s gone, we won’t find him upstairs - and he probably won’t manifest again for a while.”  Wind grimaces.  “And if he’s so… fragile, it’ll make it hard to discuss things.”

That also explained why Wind hadn’t tried to go after Blue earlier.  Legend had wondered.  Adds weight to Wind’s ghost theory though.  A simple memory or echo wouldn’t react so strongly, surely.

…he thinks of Green’s soft smile, handling the dagger like he would a cherished memory.

Could a memory have its own memories?

“Forge’s empty,” says Twilight, from the stone doorway into the smithy proper.  “Red ain’t here, and the fire’s cold, so he’s prob’ly been gone a while.”

Warriors sighs.  “And if there’s really no point in checking upstairs…” Wind hesitates, but nods firmly when Warriors looks at him.  “…then we should probably head back outside.”

Legend’s not the only one to slump in defeat.

What were they missing? he thinks to himself, filing out the door after Time.  They’d been going round and round in circles and made no progress - it feels like a dungeon where he’s missing a key item.

Blue they’d found exactly where he was the first time.  Green had been in the shop, and the forge was empty - leaving them with no ideas on where to find Red.  Four’s home property wasn’t large, exactly, but there was enough space that it made finding one specific person difficult.

The fog wasn’t helping, of course.  Legend squints out across the fields and sees a whole lot of nothing; sunlight streaming through the fog turning it opaque and blinding, the fog itself, the menacing shadows of the forest beyond the fenceline.

The forest.  “If we found Green close to where we found Red - maybe Red’s in the forest, now?” he says aloud.

“It’s as good an idea as any,” says Time, and it seems no one else has any better ones because they don’t argue.

As they set off, Twilight asks, “Why ain’t we seen them close to each other?”

“Red wasn’t that far off from Blue the first time,” Legend reminds him.

“But not together,” Twilight stresses.  “We ain’t seem them interact with each other at all. If they’re ghosts of brothers, wouldn’t they wanna stick close?”

Wind shakes his head.  “Ghosts don’t really think like that.  All their attention is on the living.”

Legend agrees.  Though whether that attention is desperate protectiveness, or jealousy for what they could no longer have - well.  That depended on the ghost.  At least so far these spirits have been relatively non-violent.  Closer to memories, echoes of people going about their daily lives, than individuals with their own goals.

(Is Wind right?  Are these real ghosts, spirits of people trapped on a plane they no longer exist on?  Or are they just imprints of the people Four remembers, held desperately close?)

They hit the forest again and cluster together - no one’s willing to risk brushing against a trunk.  Legend doesn’t like tripping over people, though, and drops to the back while the others jostle for position.  He shakes his head at Wind and Wild getting into a slap fight over the right to walk in the exact centre of the dirt path.

It’s strange, though.  Under the low squabbling and Warriors subtly egging them on, Legend almost thinks he can hear music.

Not like the piping sound of Vio’s ocarina, clear and sweet.  This is duller, more organic.  He’s almost sure he’s imagining it.  Except for the heroes and the ghosts of the past, this place is unnaturally empty and quiet.

When you travel with eight noisy people, though, it’s easy enough not to notice.  Legend wonders if it’s his ears playing up.  It’s just a soft hum, after all.

The forest continues to loom and waft mist at them.  He’s reminded uncomfortably of the Lost Woods.  At least he’s pretty sure they’re notwandering in circles, the path’s too deliberate for that.  And the fog’s not that thick.  Unnerving, not all-encompassing.  This is fine.

Besides, Time’s not worried.  He’s always the first one to get a bit white around the eyes when the magic of the Lost Woods starts streaming up from the dirt.  Sometimes Legend wonders why, but the old man’s never brought it up, and hell.  There’s plenty of stuff Legend would just as rather never have to talk about.  He can let the old man hold his peace on this one.

He’s more likely to answer if Twilight cracks and asks first, anyway.

“Legend will you quit humming!”

“It’s not me,” Legend protests automatically, but his attention’s gone sharp and clear-edged.  It’s not just his ears.  Wars hears it too.  The low hum seems to be coming from the forest around him, maybe from the mist itself.  He’s the last one in line, he knows there’s no one there, but it’s instinct to glance back and check -

Red blinks back at him, smile a little too wide.

Legend is not the only one who screeches in surprise.

Red laughs at them as they all scrabble for a vantage point.  It’s a miracle no one pulls a weapon, even those near the lead who didn’t see the cause of the ruckus for several precious seconds - it would have been easy to assume they were finally being attacked.  But no, it’s just Red.  Fuck.

“Are you okay?” Hyrule asks.

“Just leave me here,” says Legend, where he’s sprawled on his back in the dirt.  “My heart can’t take this shit.”

Wild snorts.  “And you call Time an old man.” Legend raises one hand so Wild can see the very specific gesture he has in response to that accusation.

“Come on, vet, you’re alright,” says Wars, hauling him not unsympathetically to his feet.

There’s mischief in Red’s eyes.

Sky takes the lead on this one.  “Hullo there - how are you feeling?”

The mischief fades a little in favour of curiosity.  He tilts his head, inviting an answer.

“You got a bit of a fright earlier, I was hoping you’d be doing better now,” Sky continues.

Glancing around as if in confusion, Red just shrugs.  He looks okay to Legend, even if he’s gone back to not talking much.

“Well, that’s good.  I’m glad.  But, what are you doing in the woods?  You didn’t seem like you wanted to come out here earlier.”

Red purses his lips for a long moment, considering, then finally answers.  “They can be scary.  But there’s good things out here, too.”

“Yeah?  What kind of good things?”

Red grins again.  Bounces on his heels and - tips his body away, then back again, in a clear indication that he wants them to follow him, then sets off without pausing.

“Hey - hold on, okay, we’re coming!”

He’s at least not trying to lose them - just lead them somewhere, Sky thinks.  He moves through the forest with a confidence none of the heroes have, never worried about tripping on a fog-shrouded root or running into a tree cursed with terrible memory.  Occasionally he glances backward to make sure they’re still there, too.

Red looks eerily alike to his brothers, save the curls in his hair and the colour of his clothes.  Somehow, though, Sky can’t help seeing him as younger.  Maybe it’s the light in his eyes, even muted by the mist; maybe it’s the cheer in his face or the way he bounces as he moves.

“So Red, you’re the youngest, right?”

Red bursts into giggles.  “No way!” he says, spinning to face them.  “I’m second oldest, after Green!  What gave you that idea?”

Sky has no idea how to point out Red’s general air of childishness without being impolite, so he just shrugs awkwardly.  “Oh, no real reason, I guess.”

There’s a wicked flash in Red’s eyes that says he knows exactly what Sky thought.  “Now I can’t wait to see you find out who’s really youngest,” he giggles.

“It’s Blue, isn’t it,” says Legend.  “No wonder he’s so cranky.”

Red grins and doesn’t answer.  He speeds up.

“Whoa, Red!  Wait up!  Where are we going, anyway?”  Wind asks.

“Better keep u~up!”

Red’s cheerful singsong has no right to sound that menacing.

It turns out he’s leading them to a stream, shallow and noisy over rocks both large and small.  Red jumps into it with a whoop.  By the time he lands his feet are bare, leggings rolled up to the knee, and he splashes around happily in the shin-deep water.  Wind scrambles to get his own boots off and join him.  Sky wonders if he’s forgotten his original mission, or is just trying to connect with Red.

“Is this stream always here?” They sure hadn’t seen it the first time they came this way.

Red hums.  “Only when I want it to be.”  He pounces, scattering water everywhere and making Wind shriek, and comes up wet, pouting, and empty-handed.  “I missed the fish,” he whines.

That’s certainly interesting.  “Did you play here a lot when you were little?” Legend says.

“Yeah!  All the time!  It was the best in summer!” Kicking at the water, Red sends up a spray of sparkling droplets.  Wind yelps and ducks and splashes him back, and for a minute things seem like they’ll devolve into outright war.  Legend quietly backs out of reach.

It proves unnecessary.  Red flicks his hands a bit and loses interest, and Wind steers things back on track.

“So do does the stream just not run anymore?” he says casually, wading along just to make noise.  “I don’t remember seeing it when we visited last.”

Red hums.  “In really bad years it dries up, when Lake Hylia drops below its inlet level.  It’s… not good for the - for the forest.  I like it better when it’s running high.”  He finally clambers out of the water onto a sun-kissed rock near the bank, sprawling happily.  “When the rains come, though, it fills up again!”  Kicking his feet a bit, Red discovers he can just reach the water with his toes, and flicks some at Wind with a giggle.

Wild flicks some back.  “So the stream’s still there, but you don’t play in it anymore?”

Red slumps, ducking to hide his face.  “We just… didn’t have as much time, after we had to start being heroes.”

“Oh.”  Hesitating, Wind chooses his words carefully.  “How old were you when you had your first adventure?”

Red lights up at the question.  “Eight!”

Like Blue had said.  Not that he had a reason to lie, or at least not an obvious one.

“That sounds hard.”

“It was scary sometimes, but we had lotsa help.”  Giggling, Red reaches out with both hands to cup a massive daffodil.  Legend realises too late -

The world dissolves once more.

“Stop pushing me!”

“I tripped!”

“I’ll trip you if you step on my foot one more time -”

“Shush!” a small Green tries, tugging on his one captive hand and nearly bringing the whole chain to a tumbling stop.

“Gree-een!  Don’t pull me!”

“Sorry Red,” says Green, rubbing at the back of his head.

“This isn’t working,” complains Vio.  Baby fat and a pouty expression make him look all the younger.  His hair is getting in his face; he tugs irritably at the hand Red is holding, trying to sweep it away.

“Well the last time I let go of your hand you got distracted by a mushroom and nearly wandered off the path,” Red says.  “And then Blue yelled at me.”

“Why do I have to be at the back?” Blue joins the protest.

The sigh Green lets out shakes his tiny shoulders, makes the sword buckled across his chest wobble with the force.  “Because you actually keep Vio on track, but when you’re in Red’s spot, you’re always trying to step on my shoes, and if we put Vio behind me, it puts Red at the back, and then when he trips over we all fall down.  This works.”

Blue makes a high-pitched grumbling noise but otherwise settles down to sulk.

“M sorry,” says Red.  “I don’t mean to trip so much!”

“We know, Red.  It’s okay.  It just means you need two hands held.”

“This is still very im-practical,” says Vio.  “The knights said there were monsters on the road, and if we get attacked, we’re all stuck together.  I want my hands free!  And why do you get the sword?”

“You don’t even want the sword, Vivi, you hate swords.”

“It’s just for a little longer,” Green insists as he turns back around.  “C’mon, the forge isn’t much further.  Once we’ve all got weapons we can decide what to do next.”

Blue scoffs.  “‘Decide’, he says, like he hasn’t already decided what we’re doing.”  Then Vio trips him and they all go down in a heap.

“Grrrr!  That’s IT!”

Blue lunges.  Vio bares his teeth and drags him down to the grass, where they start scrambling to sit on each other and yank at handfuls of hair.

Lurching up on his knees, Red reaches out, much too far away to do anything.  “No, guys!  Guys, please stop fighting!”

Green sits up from where he’d been knocked to the ground, but doesn’t bother to stand.  “It’s okay, Red.  They’ll calm down eventually.”

Red sniffs.  “But I hate it when they fight…”

“I know.”  Green shuffles closer on his bottom until he’s pressed close to Red.  “C’mon.  We’ll… rest for a bit.  It’s not much further, an’ we haven’t seen any monsters yet.”

Reluctantly, Red sits down on his heels, then wiggles his legs out from under him so he can sit cross-legged.  “I wanna go home,” he says softly.

“It’s okay.  We’re nearly home, Red.”

“Didn’t mean that.”  Red curls up a little, watching his brothers roll around in the dirt with unseeing eyes.  “I wanna go home.  To before the stupid festival.  Before all the monsters an’ the scary people an’ Dottie -”

Green grabs him in an awkward hug as he bursts into tears.

“I wanna go home!”

“I wanna go home,” Red whispers, and it takes a moment for his eyes to stop swimming and actually focus on what’s in front of him - Red, still curled on his river rock, looking so much like that long-ago child that it hurts.  “I wanna go home, but it doesn’t exist anymore.  Not for me.”

Wind takes a moment to centre himself after the unsettling memory.  “If you can’t go home, then what will you do?”

Red rocks from side to side, biting his lip uncertainly.  “Stay here.  Can’t go home, but don’t wanna leave.”

Wind frowns.  “Is there some reason you have to leave?”

“I miss them,” he says like he hadn’t heard.  “I miss all of them.  I wanna go home.”

But unlike Blue, unlike Green, when his emotions ride high, Red doesn’t fade away.  Legend exchanges a glance with Sky - this might be their chance to get some real information.

Sky kneels down, on the bank level with Red’s rock.  Making himself small and unthreatening and calm.  “What happened?” he asks.

Red sniffles.  “It wasn’t fair.”

It never is, Legend thinks, aching.

“We weren’t expecting anything to go wrong.  It was over.  We’d already won.  There was nothing left to do except – except put up our weapons and go home, and –”

He swipes a hand over his nose.  “I wanna go home,” he whispers again.

Wind sloshes his way to the shallows, looking like he maybe regrets getting his breeches wet.  “It’s always hard, being away from home,” he says almost carelessly.  He sits down on the bank and starts trying to wring out his hems.  “Is that why this place looks so much like - the forge, and the fields and the forest?  Because you lived here?”

Red ducks his head.  “…maybe.  Doesn’t matter, though.”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”

“There’s no point.  At the end of the day, we’re still dead, and there’s nothing we can do to change that.”  He shakes himself; tries for a smile that quivers at the edges.  “You know, I’m glad it wasn’t me.”

Blue had said the same thing.  So had Green - or implied it, at least.

Red continues, “I love my brothers, you know.  And… going on without them…” he shivers.  “We never liked to be separated.”

Wind looks sad.  “You don’t wanna be alone, either.”

“Yeah, but also…” His smile is wry and self-depreciating.  “I’da given up by now, if it was me.”

Wind edges a little closer.  He’s near enough to hug Red, now, if he wanted.

“I love my brothers.  I look up to them, you know.  They’re so much stronger than I am.  And to keep trying, and trying, and failing – I couldn’t do it.  I know I couldn’t.”

Remembering what Blue had said, Sky says, “Would you have changed anything?  If you could do it over again?”

Very slowly, Red shakes his head.  “…no.  Someone needed to do it.  It had to be done.  I just wish we’d had more of a choice.”

Sky feels a frown flicker, smooths it away before Red can see.  “What do you mean?  Were you forced to -?”

Red shakes his head again.  His eyes have gone intensein a way that has nothing to do with their colour. “I wish we’d had a choice,” he repeats, and falls into the water.

It’s suddenly broad and deep and rushing, a river instead of a stream, and Sky cries out and reaches without thinking.  Time has to grab him to keep him from jumping in.

“He’s a memory, or a ghost,” he reminds him, “there’s nothing you can do.”

If Four’s mindscape would even let them.  The mist now reaches to towering heights, almost looming on the far side of the bank that’s suddenly so far away.  Threatening.

(Even now, Four protecting his brothers with everything he can bring to bear.)

The dirt under his boots crumbles a little.  Dampens from underneath.  “Uh, maybe we should move,” says Hyrule, looking alarmed.

Red is gone for now.  There’s nothing more to learn here.  Sky hates what he has learned, heartsore and sick to his stomach.

The water nips at their heels for a few worrying minutes before finally deciding it had expanded far enough and settling.  On the opposite bank of the new river-lake, only the very tips of the treetops are visible through the heavy mist. 

“Fuck,” Legend sighs, making Wild snort.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“They were so little,” Wind says mournfully, as they start off walking again.  Goddesses, more walking - Sky’s exhausted just thinking about it.

“When they died?” says Legend.  “Yeah.”

“Well, yeah, but I meant - what Red showed us.  They were so little, and they were on their own.  Why are so many heroes so young?”

It’s a rhetorical question.  Sky grimaces anyway.  He doesn’t like thinking about how young some of the others had started.  At least he’d been all but an adult - even if he hadn’t known what he was getting into.  None of them had, not really.

And Wind’s right.  Four and his brothers had been so little.

In that last memory - except that photograph on the mantle, it was the first time Sky had seen them all side by side.  Their first adventure.

“Where was Four?”  he asks aloud, stopping still.

“What?”

“Four.  In that last memory.  Remember, Red said - well he implied - that was their first adventure.  And Blue told us that all of them went on adventures together.  So where was Four, in that memory?”

Everyone looks at each other.

“Well… the memory musta been from his point of view, right?”  says Twilight.  “So we wouldn’ta seen him, if we were lookin’ through his eyes.”

“But we saw him in that picture with Dot,” Wind points out immediately.

“Maybe it was one of the others and he was just watching?” Hyrule tries.

Sky shakes his head.  “Even if he was - we never saw his hands, or his nose, or - none of the others so much as looked at him, or spoke to him, or even - none of them was holding his hand, and they made such a big deal out of everyone being in contact.”

“Maybe he was the one who was supposed to take care of monsters?”

“But Green had the sword,” Sky says.  “And it was their only sword.  That’s why they were going to the forge, to pick up more weapons for them.”

“My head hurts,” Wind complains.

“Okay, hold on.”

Warriors, ever practical, grabs a nearby stick, immediately drops it when the howling winds of high altitude and a bird’s screaming cry rush over them, and starts drawing in the dirt with his gloved hand instead.  “So.  We have our Four, who is Link.  He has four brothers, Green, Red, Blue, and Vio.  Green is the oldest, Red second.  All five of them -” he makes a weird face - “all of them went on the three adventures he’s mentioned to us, and… his brothers died sometime between then and when we met him.  Any questions so far?”

“Yeah, why are we calling him Four when there were five brothers to start with?” Wind jumps in.

“Because Four had four brothers?” Hyrule suggests.

“That’s morbid,” says Wild, sounding impressed.

“It was for the Four Sword, though, not his four brothers,” Legend points out.  “He even told us that directly.”

“The tunic’s definitely not.  Those aren’t even the colours of the elements, and most contemporary classification systems only use three elements anyway -”

“Four came from a different time, though,” Legend argues, “and purple was the colour of the earth element, before it got rolled up with fire.  Besides - the tunic could easily be for his brothers.  He was wearing it before we came along and started needing nicknames to figure out which Link was getting yelled at.”

“Okay that’s a good point,” Wind mutters.

“This still doesn’t answer where the hell Four was in that last memory,” Sky drags them back on track.

Warriors offers, “Maybe there’s a simple explanation - maybe he just stayed behind at the forge?”

That would almost make sense - but why?  They’d been at a festival.  Why would one of them have stayed behind?

And then, if he was never there at all - why did Four have that memory?

There’s too many pieces that don’t connect.  Sky hates to say it, hates to even think about it, but - “I think - I think we need to know how they died.”

Wind grimaces.  “There’s really no good way to ask a ghost that.  You didn’t think I was talking around the topic by accident, didya?  And - you’ve seen them.  When it came up anyway.  They’re not - remembering things that hurt them - it’s hard.”

“Is that information we really need to know?” Time speaks up.  “Our main goal is simply to get out of here.”

“And we still have no clue how to do that,” Warriors says.  “We don’t have any leads, except for the four of them.”

That’s not completely true, Sky thinks.  But trying to dig through Four’s memories when they don’t even know what they’re looking for - just the thought of it feels vile.

“Ledge,” says Warriors, “you said at the start you had a few ideas?  I know you said they were last resort,” he adds before he can protest, “but we’re starting to run low on options.  Just put it out there.”

Legend looks very much like he would rather not.  Hesitating, he runs a hand through his hair, and doesn’t seem to notice when it sets his hat askew.

“It is… a song of awakening,” he says at last, every word precise and deliberate.  “I don’t actually know if it will work here.  Are we asleep?  Is Four?  We don’t know exactly what’s happening or why, and - I don’t know.  I know I’m casual about a lot of my gear and items but throwing more magic into a situation that’s already so delicate seems -”

“Unwise,” Time finishes when he falters.  “I agree.  I wondered if one of my own songs might help, but -” he hesitates, and there’s a strange sort of grief on his face.  “But like Legend, I don’t know for certain what it will do.  And Four’s brothers - by all accounts, they don’t want to move on.  Which is the most likely effect of the Song of Healing.”

“I’m a little concerned as to how you know that,” Warriors mutters.

“So what do we do?” Hyrule says.

Warriors sighs, reluctant.  “I think it’s time to find Vio again.”

“He said last time he didn’t know how to get us out,” Wind protests.

“No, but that doesn’t mean he won’t have other information.  He’s been the most… put together, so far.  Maybe he knows something he doesn’t know is relevant yet.”

They’ve all seen that before, time and time again.  Seemingly useless information that only shines at the right time.

“Well, let’s hope he’s still at his rock,” says Sky.

“Let’s hope we can find the rock,” says Legend.

The forest continues to be loomingly inhospitable.  The banks of mist and fog are nearly knee-high here, and if Sky looks too closely, he keeps seeing things in them - hands and wings and mouths, and things that make his stomach turn.  The forest doesn’t like them.  It tolerates them, but - they’re not supposed to be here.

Go away, says Blue.  You’re not supposed to be here, says Green.  Red’s eyes, wide and frightened, before he bolts - before he vanishes - before he falls into rushing water and is swept away.

And Vio.  Cold, disinterested, flat and blank and not entirely present.  Holding his ocarina like Blue holds his sword - like Green had held that dagger - like Red had cupped the daffodil, careful and loving and confident all in one.

They’re in luck.  Vio has, in fact, not moved in the slightest.  He’s still perched on his rock, still playing his ocarina, though he cracks an eye as they approach.  Honestly, Sky doesn’t understand what he’s playing.  It makes no sense from a musical standpoint.  There’s no melody, no storyline, no repeating patterns - it feels like notes played out of order, or chosen at random.

Vio finishes playing, or reaches a stopping point, or just decides to stop making them wait, and lets his hands fall.  “Back again, heroes?”

“We haven’t found our way out yet,” says Warriors, with a half-charming, half-tired smile.

Vio doesn’t smile back.  “I can see that.”

Last time, he had started to open up when - “We saw your brothers again,” Sky says, trying not to seem like he’s interrupting.

Sure enough, Vio’s eyes snap to him and gain a tiny flicker of - not quite interest, but focus.  “And how did that work out for you?”

“Not as well as we’d hoped,” Sky admits.  “We’re still - something at a loss, on how we got here, or how to get out.”

“I’m worried,” Wind pipes up.  “What’s happening outside while we’re stuck in here?  Is Four okay?  Is he alone, or is time not even passing while we’re figuring this out?”

Warriors touches a hand to his shoulder.  “I’m sure he’s fine.”

Swallowing back his own anxiety, Sky continues, “We’ve been doing our best, but - so much of this place is made up of things he hasn’t chosen to share with us.”  Sky turns his eyes back to Vio; the biggest secret of all.  Why hadn’t Four told them?  Did it still hurt too much?  Did he believe they would think less of him?  Did he feel responsible for his siblings’ deaths?  There was just so much they didn’t know.

Had they ever really known Four at all?

He’s not dead, Sky reminds himself fiercely.  They’re going to get out of here, and Four will be waiting for them, and he will be fine.

Fine, except for a forest of dark memories, and the ghosts of his brothers that haunt it.

“We haven’t found any answers,” he finishes weakly.

“Perhaps you’re not asking the right questions,” Vio says.  His fingers move restlessly over the ocarina.

They all look at each other, hesitating.

“Something Blue said is bothering me,” Legend says slowly.  “He said that four eight-year-olds climbed Death Mountain.  That he, and all of his brothers, went on every adventure with Four.  But he said it like there were only four of you.  And when Red showed us - the beginning of one - there was only you four there.  Where does Linkfit into all this?  Where does Four fit?”

Vio looks blank for a moment - confused.  Then he sighs, and scratches one ear.  The movement - doesn’t suit him, too casual, too careless.  “I should have expected you to get caught up on that,” he mutters.  “No - I shouldn’t have expected you to understand it in the first place.”

“I’m sorry,” says Sky honestly.  “I want to understand, though - can you explain it to me?”

For the first time, Vio looks genuinely lost.  “I don’t - know where to start.  We don’t know where it started.  We never noticed, or - no.  It was more we didn’t care - didn’t want to care. What did it matter how it happened?  We were alive.  We lived, through three adventures and the worst Vaati and Ganon could throw at us.  We lived.

“Until we didn’t.”

It’s not entirely what he asked, but - Vio’s been the most composed of the four.  The most logical and self-aware.  If his death - their deaths - are where he thinks he should start, there’s a reason.

When he doesn’t continue, just stares off into space for a solid minute, Sky prompts him, gently.  “Red said something went wrong.”

Vio plays a few distracted notes.  “The plan was to seal the Four Sword back in the Sanctuary, and let their combined power purify Vaati over time.  We’d done it before.  Returning four blades to their original singular form wasn’t difficult; we’d done it before just to hide them more easily.  Except I guess… with one soul already in its grip… the sword got greedy.

“Four of us went in there.  But only one came back out.”

“Wait, wait, I’m confused.”  Wind waves his hands around.  “If there were four of you putting the sword back, and then one came out, then - why haven’t we ever met you?  How did that even work, if there were only four swords and five of you?”

“There were only four of us.  There’s only ever been four.”

“But - you, and Green, and Blue, and Red, and then - and then Four - are you saying Four is - is one of you?  But - who? And how?”

Vio draws in on himself.  His knuckles are white on his ocarina.  “I don’t… know.  We don’t know.  We’re not - we’re just memories, we’re not connected to him, so - we don’t know for sure.  He’s never said his name, never - given us anything concrete.  All we know is that he is very, very alone.”

“You really can’t tell?” Legend asks, surprised.  “But - I know you can’t ask him directly, but you shouldn’t need to.  Even though - you all looked similar, you all talk differently.  You move differently.   You have all sorts of small mannerisms that are your own, and I know you knew him well enough to see them on him.”

Vio shakes his head.  “We were always close.  The Four Sword made us closer.”

“What do you mean?” Sky presses.  Gentle, gentle.

Vio frowns, fiddles with his ocarina.  Not anxious - just thoughtful.  “You toss your brother the spare whetstone and a cleaning cloth before he’s even opened his mouth to ask.  You get handed a waterskin before you’ve even fully conceptualised that you’re thirsty.  You find yourself racing across a battlefield to block a blow, and you don’t know if you saw it from the corner of your eye, or you felt your brother overbalancing, but either way you’re right there to catch the sword that would have killed him as he fell, or to deflect the arrow he couldn’t have seen in time.  The Four Sword - isn’t a normal blade.  Its parts are always connected, and - as a result, so were we.  We became so close it was hard to tell where one of us ended and another began.”

“That sounds… uncomfortable,” Wild says delicately.

Vio snorts, the sound surprisingly human.  “Oh, we hated it at first.  Sharing a bedroom has nothing on sometimes sharing a head.  Spent a lot of time figuring out how to hold each other at arm’s length, establish boundaries that made us all happy.  In the meantime? So much screaming.”  He sounds almost fond.

Sky hates to ruin the moment, but - he has to be sure, has to make certain he understands.  “So… the survivor - the one we know as Four - is one of you.  But you don’t know which, because the Four Sword muddled you up.”

“It’s likely why we’re able to be here at all,” Vio admits, though it clearly pains him to do so: shoulders slumping, fingers going loose on ceramic.  “What remains of our memories clinging to the survivor.  It’s even possible he formed us himself, to keep from being so very, very alone.”

And despite being on the inside of it - maybe even because of it - Vio can’t even say for sure which of his brothers survived.

Sky has his suspicions.

“But in truth it doesn’t matter who it is.”  Vio leans forward, eyes gone bright and sharp.  “Do you care about my brother?”

There’s a collective outburst - eight people all shouting some variation of ‘yes!’ or ‘of course!’ and crowding shoulder to shoulder the way they’d been trying to avoid.  Vio doesn’t blink.

“Then you need to pay more attention.”

It’s an accusation.

Sky is breathless with offence.  How dare he - say that they’re ignoring Four - does he think they don’t care -

Legend gets his bearings first.  “Of course we’re paying attention!” he barks out, and looks like he’ll go on when Vio cuts in cold and sharp as a knife.

“Then why haven’t you noticed how much he’s struggling?”

What?

“What’re you talking about?” Despite his own offence Twilight’s trying to play peacekeeper.  “Four’s doin’ fine, unless somethin’s happenin’ outside -”

“No.  He isn’t coping.  Andhe hasn’t been for a long time.  He may look like he is to you, but he’s good at hiding things he doesn’t want noticed.”

It’s not that Sky doesn’t believe him, exactly.  But Four is - so steady.  He keeps up without complaint, smiles at Wind’s jokes and chats lightly around the campfire.  Sure, he’s a little reckless in battle sometimes, but compared to Wild he’s the pinnacle of restraint.  He even keeps up with the weapons maintenance a fighting group of their size needs.  How can he not be coping?

Warriors clearly agrees.  “It must be hard for you, seeing him out there alone.  Without you.  And I know it’s not the same, but he does have people watching his back.”

The displeased look Vio gives him isn’t quite a scowl.  “He may not be alone in that respect, but it doesn’t change the fact that he isn’t doing as well as you think.  If you knew him better, then perhaps -”

Around them the world starts to swim, the way it does when someone’s touched a memory and they’re about to get sucked in.  Sky wobbles; tries to brace himself without grabbing anything, when gravity feels like it’s gone sideways.

Vio stops midsentence to lift the ocarina to his lips.  He looks hyperreal sitting on his rock; though the world’s gone strangely blurry his outline is still clear and sharp, his colours unchanged by the muddying swirls.  Where Wind’s cursing sounds like it’s coming to him through water, the notes Vio plays are bright, almost too-loud, vibrating in the air until the world steadies, resolves into tree and grass and stone.

“You’re the one keeping us here!” Hyrule gasps, eyes wide and fixed on the ghost.

“Yes,” he says, unashamed.  “Doubtless my brother’s mind would have kicked you out by now otherwise.”

“But - why?” says Sky.

“Because no one is LISTENING!”

His voice is like a thundercrack, sudden and earsplitting.

“Because I don’t want this all to be for nothing!”  He leaps to his feet, pacing back and forth in front of his rock perch.  “I didn’t want to die, but Din take it, at least one of us lived.  That was enough, that made it worth it.  And now he’s decided it’s not good enough, he’s just going to throw it all away?”

“You’re mad at him,” Sky says quietly.

Vio snarls.  “Yes, I’m mad at him, because he’s making bad decisions and there’s nothing I can do to stop him!”

Bad decisions? Like wandering off with eight strangers through a portal of unknown origin?  Somehow he doesn’t think that’s it.

“Bad decisions?” Hyrule echoes Sky’s thoughts.  “Like what?”

“Stuff that’s gonna get him killed,”Vio snaps.  “I’m not letting another one of my brothers die!  Not if I can help it.”

Hyrule nods, still soothing.  “This has been going on a long time, huh?  Does anyone else know who can help?  His family, or -?”

Vio slumps back.  “No one ever listens.”

“Our father’s worse than useless,” says Blue, materialising out of nothing and scaring the daylights out of Wild, who’d been closest.  “If he’s not pretending everything is fine, he’s acting like everything is our fault.”

Red appears on the other side of Vio’s rock.  “I wanna say he means well.  But some of the things he’s said… I dunno anymore.  I don’t wanna be near him anymore.”

“He’s not helpful,” Vio summarises, as the other two fade away (and gods that’s creepy).  “Our grandfather, maybe, if he hadn’t died shortly before this portal nonsense began.  Losing that anchor - it made things all the harder for him.  And then just before it happened –”

For the first time, Vio hesitates.

“He dreamed,” Vio says slowly, “that the goddess spoke to him.  One last time, she said.  Only once more.  And the next morning, the portal showed up, and – well.  Now he’s determined that this will be his last adventure, one way or another.  After this, the goddess has promised he won’t be needed again.  If he doesn’t die along the way, then –” his voice fails.

“Then he’ll take matters into his own hands,” Legend finishes, making Vio flinch.

Sky feels like he’s falling.  Like someone punched him in the chest when he wasn’t looking and now he’s struggling not to drop something precious, something that will shatter irreparably if his grip slips but holding too tightly will crush it.

Being a hero isn’t easy.  He knows that firsthand.  In learning about the others, and the things they’ve been through, the things they had to do.  But to consider - to decide on suicide -

“Why didn’t he tell us?” asks Wars, sounding lost.

Vio turns flat eyes on him.  “Why would he?  If he told, you’d stop him.  That’s exactly what you’re going to do, now that you know.  Why would he throw roadblocks in the way of his own goal?”

Nausea rocks him.  To lose one of them - one of his brothers that way - Sky feels it down to his bones.  It’s wrong, it’s awful, it will wreck them all completely -

Behind his eyes pale skin and dark bruises and bright arterial blood flash there-and-gone in an instant; nightmares in potentia.  Possibilities.

And that - that’s unacceptable.

“We won’t let that happen.”  It’s Legend who says it - grim faced and determined.

Wind nods.  “Four’s our brother too, now.  We’re not gonna let him – hurt himself, or be alone anymore.  We’re gonna help.”

Like a sunrise, Vio smiles.

“Thank you,” he breathes, “thank you.”

There’s tears in his eyes, and as Sky watches they spill over, rolling down his face in wet streaks that he doesn’t bother to wipe away.

How scared had he been? Sky wonders, and for how long?  Knowing no one could hear him and no one was paying enough attention to know his brother needed help - how much had hope hurt, when he realised that maybe-maybe-maybe here were people who would care enough to try - would care enough to notice.

And then they hadn’t.

No wonder he’d hesitated.  Had he been watching how they interacted with Four’s internal space, with the memories left behind by his dead siblings, whether they were careful and respectful and trustworthy - whether they could be trusted with his surviving brother?

Warriors steps forward, as courteous as he’d be in a foreign court. “Can you help us get out?”

“I - yes.”  Vio wipes his eyes with the back of one hand and smiles at them again.  Sky’s heart skips a beat and sinks.

He looks so young.

Vio’s too-small hands lift his ocarina to his lips, one last time.

The song - and it is a song this time - is sweet and mournful, tugging at the heartstrings.  There’s also - more depth to it than Sky would have expected, from a small single-chambered ocarina.  A deep bass tone, and then a high fluttering soprano -

Sky glances back; there’s Green, sitting on a tree branch playing another golden ocarina.  Half-hidden behind the trunk, Red’s fingers flash over the holes of his own.  And if he peers sideways around Vio’s stone perch, Sky thinks he can see the edge of Blue, sitting with his back to them and all his focus on the instrument in his hands.

The forest melts away.  It’s quicker than before, but still messy, still ugly; colours smearing into each other until it’s all a green-grey blur.

The constant swirling makes him feel sick, so Sky focuses on the islands of stillness that are Vio and his brothers.

They’ve shifted, somehow, now standing clustered together.  It’s the only time Sky’s seen them like this, barring the pictograph Vio had shown them; four boys in four colours, near-identical looks of concentration on their faces as they play the lovely, haunting song.  They’re skilled.  Most Links are, he thinks with a pang.

Vio’s eyes are intent on him over the mouthpiece.  Don’t you dare let me down, they seem to say, though maybe Sky is projecting.

From behind him, he hears Wars muffle an exclamation.  Time shifts, readying himself to grab his blade, but Sky’s pretty sure he won’t need it.  It’s just light, spilling in from outside through what almost looks like a tear in the fabric of the world.  Bright.  Warm.  Everything the false light in Four’s mind couldn’t be.

“This is it,” Legend says lowly.  He takes a tentative step, then another, until even his shadow disappears into the portal of light.

Warriors follows on his heels, then Wind, with one last glance backward.  Wild, Twilight, Hyrule, Time; one by one, they all head on through, glad to be shot of the eerie reflection of Four’s home.  Maybe even glad to get away from the people they can’t help, who died too young and too far away for them to save.

Sky - can’t quite make himself turn away.

He hates leaving things unfinished.  Abandoning these four to the quiet and the emptiness sits wrong with him.  He just - doesn’t know how he can help, when they’re determined to watch over their brother and guard his memories - what’s left of themselves.

The light tickles at the back of his neck.  Beckoning.

“I’m sorry,” Sky says, and hates that it feels so inadequate.  I’m sorry we didn’t notice.  I’m sorry we took so long.  I’m sorry I can’t help you.

I’m sorry you died.

Vio pauses in his playing; the other three don’t so much as open their eyes.  He slowly lowers the ocarina, an unreadable expression on his face.  Then, one side of his mouth quirks up.  “If you save my brother, you can consider whatever debt you feel to me fulfilled.  Now.  This place isn’t for you.  Off you go.”

Sky’s heart hurts, but he knows Vio’s right.  He forces himself to turn his back on their plaintive chorus and steps forward, into the light.

There’s nothing he can do for them.  They’re dead, and nothing can change that.  His focus needs to be on Four, now - before they lose him too.

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 4

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia

Synopsis:  When falling in love is the easy part where does the difficulty lie? In a society where we’re defined by our job, it’s those little details as a relationship goes on that ends up setting a course for whether or not a couple can make it in the long run

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

As a cherry on top of an otherwise roller coaster meeting, Donatello hit you with a one-two punch before departing. The first being that he had a change in schedule that required his attendance that weekend. It meant he would not be able to continue his sandwich escapade until Monday. The second was that in accordance with this change he would lighten the restrictions on texting.

On one hand, it meant that your fourth meeting would again coincide with work; something that you were hoping to avoid. As you made your way back to your building, you were plotting any number of ways you could avoid your boss’s attention. Risking a tongue lashing was worth it for Donatello, but that didn’t mean you’d walk into the scenario willingly.

Alternatively, you now had free reign to bother the object of your affection as much as you wanted; within reason, at least. He’d been quick to add that he preferred substantial conversation be made in person and you got that sense that he was testing you again. The weekend now felt like a trial run on whether or not you could keep your new privileges and somehow, even though it felt acutely childish, it also struck you as a fun gambit. Hopping up the steps to your high-rise, you yanked on a door with twirling force.

-

 You: and they only told me to that I needed to pick-up the coffee when I was already standing in front of the building!

Donatello: A pathetic mismanagement of time and resources.

Kicking your legs hard enough to make your office chair rock back and forth, you put your phone back down on your desk. Against all odds, Donatello had been a relatively attentive texting partner though you had taken great care in crafting your messages. You’d given him a reprieve until Saturday and then opened mid morning with brunch conversation. He found the conventions of which overblown and you’d used that as a jumping off point. It was curious that his responses came at a surprising pace considering he had plans, but you weren’t about to point that out. He’d been pretty clear about what he’d divulge and even if you were curious, it was still early enough in whatever this was that it wasn’t about to be an issue.

You straightened.

Had he just called you a resource?

Bouncing on the idea, your chair squeaked as you went for your phone again. It was just begging to be addressed.

“So, that’s it…”

Stalling and instinctively shoving your phone under a folder, you darted up to see a co-worker hanging off the wall of your cubicle.

You gave the man a soured glance and pulled your phone back out. You weren’t on ‘go to lunch with’ sort of terms with this employee, but you’d built up an ‘office gossip’ sort of rapport. “Happy Monday to you too.”

“Who’s the beau?” He took a sip of his water bottle.

You sunk down until your chest was almost touching your desk. “That obvious?”

“Only if we add in those late lunches…?” He trailed off with a smarmy grin that said you had to respond even though he already knew the answer.

Finally collapsing down, you held your phone outstretched and activated it out of habit. “Fine, yes. I met someone on my lunch break.”

“Is he hot?” Your co-worker pulled his arm free from the metal frame to enter your space.

“Yes, but I don’t have any pictures yet.”

“Too bad.” The man nearly sang the phrase.

You hummed in agreement when his introductory phrase came to mind. “What did you mean earlier?”

“The boss wants to see you.”

You shot up so fast the papers on your desk flittered away from the movement.

Your co-worker smirked into another sip.

“You didn’t think to, I don’t know, open with that?!”

“I had to find out why. Thankfully it was written all over your face.”

You glowered at him as your quickly snatched up any necessary paperwork. “Big help.”

“Anytime.”

“So, that’s just it? He’s mad about the lunches?” Making sure to lock up your bag with the phone inside in case someone got any bright ideas, you rounded your desk to stare the man down.

“He didn’t seem mad actually.”

You squinted.

“Maybe a little mad.”

You folded your arms.

“Look.” The man finally relented by bringing his bottle up. “He just laid into me for filling up my water too often and then asked me to grab you next. It’s going to be one of those days. Everyone’s going to get their ass chewed out.”    

“Was that so hard?” You huffed, exiting your cubicle with him in tow.

“It was less fun!”

With a flick of your wrist you banished your co-worker as you took a sharp corner. Your boss had a windowed office down the hall and you headed towards it. The blinds inside were pulled shut which was never a good sign. He was the kind of man that liked to keep them open for peak vigilance. Already dreading the exchange, you marched up to the door and rapped your knuckles on the glass. From inside there was a muffled affirmation.

Opening the door revealed your boss at his desk with his elbows craned to the tabletop. From there his fingers were thread which obscured his mouth from view.

Either he watched one too many anime in his day or he really was just that cartoonishly evil.

“Y/N.”

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

It was playing out the lines of a surreal office drama.

“18, 27, 36.”

You stared at him blankly.

He stood, his thin gaze focused solely on your face.

“Some type of lotto numbers?” You knew that wasn’t the answer, but you needed something to break the silence.

“That’s over an hour of time.”

You gave a tight nod and tried to keep your mouth in a similarly taunt line.

Your boss sighed and one of his arms fell over. You watched as he groaned into standing until both palms were flat on his desk and he was hovering over it. “How long are you going to play dumb?”

Any answer would be used against you so you pleaded the fifth.

“The lunches!” Your boss roared and slammed one of his hands down for an echoing thud. “All last week you took longer and longer lunches.”

It was only Wednesday on, but interjecting that fact now wouldn’t help your case.

“Did you think no one would notice? Your co-workers certainly did! Imagine them coming to me when they can’t seem to find you?”

He was lying through his teeth. Barely a soul in this company bothered to communicate without an email’s read receipt.

“How am I supposed to get anything done like that? While you’re gallivanting off, who knows where, on company time!”

“I’m sorry, sir-”

“Sorry, huh?” He clipped your apology with a sneer. “Not sorry enough to inform anyone of your absence or offer to make up for the lost time!” He snapped upright in a rigid fashion, but then his spine seemed to loll as if it were made of jelly. “So, you admit that you thought you’d just get away with it? That you deserved special privileges that none of your fellow associates have? That I would surely be too busy to notice? That your time is worth far more than anyone else’s?”

A hundred defenses sat on your lips, but you crushed them by squeezing them together until it stung your jaw.

“At least you know enough when you keep quiet.”

You loathed this bastard.

“That means you’re not a lost cause.” His shoulders heaved forward as he rounded the desk. “You’ll make up the 81 minutes with your lunch break today.”

You had meant to stay neutral. Even the slightest move would act against you, but at the command your shoulders seized up in fear.

Donatello in his black coat flashed in your mind’s eye.

“Oh, sorry.” On that springy spine, your boss bounded forward to catch a bottom up look at your face. “Am I interrupting something or do you actually want to keep your job?”

One of your eye lids twitched and you hoped from his awkward angle that he hadn’t picked it up. The exaggerated candor of his voice grated on your ears in a way that made you sick to your stomach.

“You’ll take your lunch, of course. State laws and all, but you’ll have to move your plans. Oh, wait…”

Since his gaze was still trained on your face, you flexed your fingers before knuckling them white.

“No need to bother heading back to your desk! Did I mention it’s already prepared for you?” He rolled back, leaning a little too far. “That’s just how considerate I am! Even when an employee doesn’t return that same sort of thing!”

You watched him your jaw so tight it was near spasming. 

He walked the few feet over to the cord in the corner of his office and pulled swiftly. It opened up the blinds to a view of the office. Several employees nervously glanced at the move out of their periphery wanting to see who’s head was on the chopping block, but not wanting to bring attention to themselves to be next.

“See that copier.” He pointed and you moved your body stiffly. Said machine had a multiple daunting stacks of paper shoved onto the desk beside it along with multiple repurposed postal crates below.

“Yes.”

“You’ll need to scan all that and file it accordingly.”

They had a kid for this. A grunt hired on part-time for this kind of menial task.

“Oh, and do remember to remove and re-staple each document after scanning! Don’t want to jam the poor thing up!”

Hard copies weren’t even kept. Shredding was something else the part-timer did.

“When you’re done, you can take your lunch. I’ll even adjust it so you can still go home on time. Quite gracious of me, don’t you think?”

You’d quit right on the spot if you had anything else lined up.

Returning to food service never looked so good.

“What was that?” Your boss mimed putting a hand to his ear.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” You could only manage the barest of nods and he seemed to relish in your silent fury.

“Call Bernie over next on your way out.” There was the sharp noise of the blinds closing again and you turned for the door. You heard your boss retreat and assumed he was falling back into the asinine posing he’d concocted. Crossing the space to the copier, you caught the next victim’s eye and signaled to him that his time had come. The man scurried away and you seethed into the first page. Picking it up found dozen of documents in the first stack with only a couple of pages stapled together in each set. Anger depleted at the futility of it all. You couldn’t even sneak away to tell Donatello you’d be late.

You really hated your boss.

-

Belting down the sidewalk, you narrowly miss several pedestrians as you ran towards the sandwich shop. The scanning hadn’t taken as long as you thought, but you were still almost two hours late. Donatello hadn’t even sent you a questioning text.

Did he think you’d ditched him?

Had he simply left?

There was no way anyone sensible would still be waiting.

Still, you ran.

Closing in on the shop’s door at an alarming pace, you threw on the brakes in a manner that had your heels grinding against the concrete. Stopping shy of the door, you didn’t see his large figure inside, but this shop had some rustic décor that would have been easy to conceal him. In the barest form of your reflection, you attempted to smooth you the jog’s ruffling before grabbing the door handle. You gave a sharp tug that it protested before you realized it was a push door.

Choosing to believe you were burning from the exertion and not embarrassment, you shoved the large wooden thing. It heaved open and you took several hurried steps inside before it gave you enough vantage to view the space.

Your heart sank.

He wasn’t there.

Your shoulders gave out and your arms dangled pathetically. With weak limbs you procured your phone to find your messages in the same state as when you had run out of your building. Bitterly you guessed that your boss would at least be satisfied to find there was no chance you’d be late again. Sighing, you hovered a thumb over a text window to type a message. You got out exactly four letters when a sharp stream of cold air blew against your neck and down your collar.

You yelped at the sensation; goosebumps cropping up on your arm. Several patrons looked towards you and you slapped a hand to the back of your neck. Spinning around, you stared up, scandalized, as Donatello watched you with the corner of his mouth quirked.

Damn him and his love of scaring people.

“What are you still doing here?!” You hissed, still rubbing your neck.

He straightened up and gave the barest shrug. “Taking a late lunch.”

Your hand fell away as you stared at him. He evaluated you flatly in return.

He’d waited.

All that time.

A few clucking chuckles petered out of you before you started laughing. One of his brows raised at the action and you had to put a hand to your stomach to keep from doubling over.

“A-Ah, sorry!” You waved at him, trying to reign yourself in.

He continued to watch.

“I just imagined you, waiting behind the door all that time!”

You could sense the way he soured though his face were clean of any unsavioriness.  

“Thank you.” You came out of your fit with your eyes shining and beamed him a smile.

He took it in and brushed past you.

Rapidly becoming accustomed to the song and dance, you chased after him without hesitation.

He got to the counter before you could properly catch his side so you waited as he placed the order. You watched his interaction and remembered how he’d mentioned this place’s archaic ordering system. From the look of the shop it seemed more probable that they forwent online ordering to preserve the ambiance. He paid again and you cursed yourself for getting caught up in errant thoughts.

“That puts me three behind.” You griped as he lead the charge to the table.

“A scoreboard that only you will be keeping track of.” He tucked himself into a chair and regarded you languidly.

“You have to care some. It’ll get annoying if only you pay!” Taking your own seat, you looked at him with set features.

His flat gaze said it wasn’t worth his time.

You sighed.

“I’m more interested in what kept you.”

Coming off the puff of air, you looked away. It might be another thing only you were keeping tally of, but your boss had already been giving way too much air time. From texts to capping off nearly every meeting, you hated the thought of giving that guy one more second.

“I had… work to catch up on.” It was the kind of sentence you only decided on about halfway through. It meant it would either sound unconvincing or exhausted. Checking back with your companion found him staring with what felt like a higher intensity.

Or it could have been the guilt talking.

“You know, from being late?” You offered, turning towards him in hopes the move would read more open.

For the first time his stoic gaze felt suffocating.

You drowned under the weight of it until he shifted his position.

“What about you?”

“You already thanked me.” He reached into his coat and you watched curiously.

“I mean… Yeah, I did, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still curious. You waited all that time and didn’t send a message? How long would you have waited if I hadn’t shown up when I did.”

He pulled out something you couldn’t quite see and removed his glasses. You stared, taking in his relatively unmarred face greedily as he seemingly adjusted them. You wondered if he ever went out without the bandana before he donned his frames again. Adjusting through the colored lenses, his attention drifted towards the kitchen.

“Donatello.” You gave a scolding note to your voice.

Had he done all that in an attempt to throw you off his scent?

It had almost worked, but that wasn’t the point.

His eyes returned to the table, but avoided yours in a way that brought your brows up. Whatever he wasn’t saying was something he really wanted to avoid. It made you all the more curious.

“I don’t…” He started and his lips curled slightly showing his distaste in the peek of a canine. “Like to speak in uncertainties.”

You straightened as the statement absorbed into your person.

He didn’t know.

Your stomach flipped.

He didn’t know how long he would have waited for you.

He had done many things at this point that did it for you, but something about this one in particular warmed your cheeks. You brought up a hand in an attempt to cool them when you caught a glimpse of a waitress walking over. She had thankfully come with your meals and you bobbed an embarrassed nod at her in appreciation. She took it with a knowing giggle and scurried away so as not to interrupt further.

“I like you.” The phrase jumped off your lips and you moved to close them off with a bite of your sandwich.

“You’ve made that abundantly clear.” There was an amused air to his voice.

“Seriously though…” The rhythm of chewing had an oddly soothing effect. “I’m gonna have to haul ass back to work after this. I can’t be late again.”

From where he was about to take his first bite, Donatello halted and looked straight at you.

It was only then that it dawned on you that you might have negated your earlier boss dodging comment.

“You got in trouble.”

His careful eye was a blessing and a curse.

“I… was hoping not to get into it.” You tucked your gaze into your bread.

“For my sake or yours?”

Within a blink, your eyes widened. “What?”

He gave his usual silence.

“No.” You finally looked at him. “I’m not expecting you to repeat yourself, I actually don’t know what you mean.”

He seemed to take in two things at once.

You realized you had yet to verbally confirm you’d deciphered that bit of his speaking mannerisms.

You’d been hoping to keep that one closer for a little longer, but it was bound to come out sooner or later.

“You’re one to speak your mind, but you also pay far too much attention to me.”

He’d seen right through you.

 “I could be trying harder to get another job…” The muscles in your shoulders bunched up.

His eyes shot downward and then right back to you.

You wilted under it, but he didn’t follow it up with anything else. Unsure yourself, you moved back to your sandwich. He didn’t resume eating and his intense gaze continued to bore into you.

“I’d love to, but unfortunately I can’t read your mind.” You finally forced out when you couldn’t take the atmosphere any longer. 

He continued the stifling leer for several more seconds before he broke it. He turned his head fully away and then spoke only out of the corner of his mouth. “If it’s upsetting you, then feel free to talk about it.”

Your features softened. “It won’t bother you?”

He huffed. “That is the exact sort of response I was hoping to avoid.”

Whatever gooeyness coating your features translated to your innards feeling similarly like mush.

He certainly didn’t want to answer your question because he would out how kind he was being.

Overwhelmed by the feeling, you gently kicked his leg from beneath the table.

While he didn’t exactly look offended, he seemed it. In retaliation and in spite of the table’s protest, he folded his legs away from you.

“Eat. You’re wasting time playing footsie.”

Giggling down at your meal, there was a sobering quality to your sandwich. There was something else to this meal you’d almost forgotten. As you picked it up, the heft of it being the last one weighed heavily in your hands. You took a small bite, but the time constraints meant you couldn’t make it last. “I had to do a bunch of busy work to make up for the cumulative hours I’ve missed.”

Across from you Donnie finally began to eat.

“It’s stupid because we literally have an employee for that. I’m sure it was some stupid pseudo-example of office power dynamic garbage.”

You scarfed down several bites in annoyance.

“There wasn’t even a threat of being late again! I just don’t want to give him any more fodder to complain!”

Your sandwich was slowly disappearing.

“Not… that it matters after this…”

The feeling you’d been trying to chase away with your latent angry reared its head.

You hadn’t made those additional plans.

“Does your company participate in those lax days?”

“Lax like casual Friday?”

He gave a nod.

“Not really, though everyone has a TGIF sense and less work definitely gets done at the end of the week.”

You took another bite and something about the conversation jogged your memory. When you brought your attention back to Donatello, he seemed to be waiting with a knowing look.

“If it’s on Friday when everyone else is loose with lunch hours than he can’t whine!”

“As long as that’s the case.”

“But… this is the last shop.”

“There are others.”

“No, you were very clear about there being four.”

He gave you his patented look.

You gave a coy one of your own and he deferred against it having not realized you were messing with him. You wanted to relish in his embarrassment, but there was simply no time. “Won’t that interrupt your sandwich study?”

“There was no exact time frame.”

You smiled.

“Finish.”

It was a reminder so you dove back into your sandwich. Polishing the last bite off, you looked up at him curiously and he nodded in a way that meant you’d cleared the ticking threshold. You noticed he hadn’t finished his meal and he simply wrapped it back up in response.

“Did this shop…?” You turned, ready to pounce on more staff.

“No, since I missed my usual consumption window, I’m not as hungry. Otherwise, they were a decent showing.”

“I wish my body worked like that.”

He gave a tepid shrug and you both packed up to leave.

“Ugh, I don’t want to go back yet! We’ve barely spoken!” You gave a dramatic flourish and jumped ahead a few steps. He watched on dully as you turned and held out a longing hand to him.

He allowed you to hold the pose for several beats before making a large sidestep to open the door. Your laughter chased after him.

“Dinner typically takes longer.”

You only heard the comment as you passed by him to head outside. You double took so quickly you almost reentered the restaurant.

“Are…” You held your breath. “You have to clarify if you’re asking me out.”

He stepped closer as he let the door close and you hadn’t quite moved away. Before you could give him his space, he crowded yours in a manner that brought his face right up to yours. “Thursday, go on a date with me. I’ll make a reservation.”

From where you were holding your breath, you were surely suffocating as your forgot how to take in anymore.

He was so close.

The way he’d said it.

You wanted to ascend.

“You have to confirm if you want it to happen.”

“Yes!” You watched, up close, as he winced when it came out a little too loudly. “Yes, yes, a million times yes!”

“I’m regretting my decision already.”

“I’ll see you Thursday… wait and then lunch on Friday?!”

He straightened up and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Remembering this probably fell into the repetition category, you adjusted yourself and gave him your best molten stare in gratitude. “I’ll be waiting for the details.”

He gave a nod that seemed tight for a different reason and departed.

You resisted the urge to click your heels as you headed the opposite way.

NEXT

[randyortonofficial]

title: market penetration (click here to be taken to the ao3 fic version) pairing: randy orton/cody rhodes word count: 2569 important tags: daddy kink, dirty talk, office sex description: Cody is incredibly bored during a virtual AEW meeting. Thankfully, Randy rudely interrupts (as is tradition) to save his husband and provide a much more fun alternative.

Cody has his forehead resting on his palm, fingers massaging through his hair, eyes closed, listening to various producers go over whether they think the show is getting too progressive. He wonders if they even understand how the world works outside of their little bubbles, and he’s been trying to end the meeting for like, 20 minutes at this point-

“WHAT’S UP, YOU SEXY BITCH? I MISSED YOU.”

Cody’s eyes immediately light up at the sound of his husband. Oh thank fuck.

He can’t even find it in himself to care that everyone on the call just heard Randy say what he did, his own face splitting into a grin at the silence after his words.

“Guys, we’re going to have to continue this conversation next week,” Cody tells them. “My uh, next appointment is here.”

He doesn’t even wait long enough for someone to reply before he’s hanging up. He gives Randy the widest smile he can.

“I haven’t been this happy to see you in awhile,” he says teasingly as his eyes roam over him, glad it’s a tight tee and loose sweats. “And I missed you too.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been keeping yourself from me just so you can talk to people about taxes and synergy or whatever,” Randy teases before locking the door behind him.

That wide smile Cody has shifts into a smirk.

So that’s what they’re doing.

“I forget you’re all corporate sometimes,” Randy says. “Down to the suit.” He squints his eyes at Cody as he tries his best to look him over. “You know, i can’t check out your ass when you’re sitting down.”

You know, even when Randy is being an idiot, or annoying, or rude, or fucking anything, Cody adores him. He’ll frown and make the appropriate expressions and reprimands someone can, but he’s always smiling on the inside.

With an eye roll, he slowly stands up and sighs. “Ya know, one of us has to do all the boring shit to keep this company going,” he laments as he makes a show of stretching his arms out above his head while moving around the desk. “I know you get to go and have fun at yours, but over here, I gotta be the big boss.”

He turns to face his desk, back to Randy, leaning over like he’s checking one of the papers on the desk, pert ass pushing out. They both know it’s an excuse to show off his ass, point made explicit when he looks over his shoulder to raise a brow.

“This better, babe?”

Randy gives a low chuckle and rubs his hands together as he stalks towards him. “Lot better, baby boy,” he drawls.

The name cuts through him like a hot knife in butter, whole goddamn brain melting down to nothing.

“Come on,” Randy says, “you’re not having fun over here?” His eyes stay on Cody’s ass as he puts a hand on his hip, other gently rubbing a circle into his lower back. “Don’t like telling people what to do?”

Cody is unconsciously pushing back against Randy, wanting their bodies closer, and has to bite his lip when he feels Randy’s natural bulge against his ass. He’s trying to maintain any sense of rational thought but he needs less layers between them since, like, yesterday.

“I um,” he swallows before saying, in a low and rough voice, “I think I like to leave all the bossing around to you.”

Already, Randy’s hands are slipping around and up Cody’s front to hold onto his pecs, body lain over his back, and begins to mouth a trail of kisses along his shoulder and to his neck. “Can’t boss people around in your company. I uh, think that’s why we agreed I shouldn’t be there, right?” He gently bites at Cody’s earlobe and licks the pain better. “You’d give up so fast, wouldn’t you?” he whispers. “Let me fuck you in every single room backstage, just like old times.”

They fucked the night before and Cody may or may not have fingered himself while he was in the shower this morning - reliving the night - so at least Randy won’t have to work hard to get inside him today. He doesn’t feel like something drawn out or romantic, not in his office. No, just wants it hard and brutal, right here.

He’s whimpering, fingers digging into his desk, trying hard to coax Randy closer still using nothing but the power of thought. “Fuck, I’d let you,” he admits, though they both already knew that. “I’d let you take me wherever you want, let you fuck me however you want, I fucking love being your whore.”

He hasn’t pulled out the big guns yet, saving it just a little longer.

“Whenever I want, huh?” Randy’s tongue swipes out along his lips, tongue catching Cody’s ear, and his hands move down over the belt of Cody’s hands to start undoing from behind.

Cody’s head is going light and a little dizzy, not unlike how he feels after his third glass of champagne. He feels warm and floaty, willing to submit, willing to allow Randy to do with him what he wants.

“That’s the thing about being my whore, you don’t get a say in when or where.” He unravels the belt and wrings it in his hands before standing up straight and smacking Cody’s ass with it.

Hard.

Then one more time, because he knows Cody can take it, and Cody lets out a broken moan at the hard smack of leather against his ass.

It stings even through the layer of fabric, and he loves it.

“You’ll do whatever I tell you,” he murmurs. “Do you need to be reminded what a whore is?”

Cody is already nodding, along with what Randy is saying, before quickly changing it to a headshake. “N-No, I know how to be a good whore for you,” he says quickly, pressing back against as he leans further down on the desk, begging for more, anything. “I’ll be a good whore for you, daddy.”

The belt is tossed carelessly to the side before Randy undoes Cody’s suit pants the rest of the way. Cody’s brain stutters as Randy pulls down his pants and briefs, spreading his legs on instinct as far as possible, although with his pants still around his ankles, they don’t go all that far.

Not that he’s complaining. It’ll just make him all the tighter for Randy, and make Randy feel all the bigger.

Randy’s grabbing hard at Cody’s suit vest to maneuver him around to the longer edge of the desk before spanking him once more. “Act like a whore then,” he tells him firmly as he pulls down his sweats and boxers.

Cody’s brain stops when Randy’s bare cock presses to his ass.

He absently wonders if Randy remembers he has lube in his desk before realizing it’s not all that necessary. Maybe he wants it to hurt, even.

Randy is slamming his hands down besides Cody’s head and hovers over his back to whisper harshly against his ear, “beg like a whore.” He slaps the side of his face just to hear Cody whimper so beautifully. “Now. Don’t make daddy wait anymore.”

“Please, daddy,” he gets out, voice thin, pathetic, and desperate. “I need you inside me, daddy, need it so bad, wh-when I woke up without you this morning, I had to fill my hole up myself, needed something inside me, but it wasn’t enough, daddy, needed your cock, your come-” He cuts himself off with another whimper. “Please fuck me, daddy. Please.”

Being the face of AEW and running so much of the behind the scenes for AEW is so much fucking work and responsibility, and it’s only made him more desperately in need for times like these, where he can completely let go and forget any accountability to anything other than being a good hole for Randy to use.

He loves to just let go and be himself; the part of himself nobody else gets to see.

Even when he was with other people, even when he’d be a good boy for them, a good whore, it’s never been as honest, as submissive, as real, as it is with Randy.

“Aww, filled your hole all by yourself?” His hands are rubbing the back of Cody’s shoulders, though it’s more of a condescending manner. “No wonder you’re so pathetic now. You’re nothing if daddy isn’t filling up your sweet little hole everyday, huh?” As he keeps his hand going, his other hand reaches around the side to rummage through the drawer for the bottle of lube he knows Cody keeps in his desk. “You’re in luck though, baby boy.” Randy strokes the lube onto his cock to fully slather it on, and with a lubed hand steadying his cock, his clean hand goes up to maneuver both of Cody’s wrists together so he can hold them in one hand to pin them on the desk. “Daddy hasn’t been quite himself when he doesn’t fill you up either.”

With a familiar ease that comes from doing this for a tiny bit over a decade at this point, he pushes all of himself into Cody.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans. ‘Take it, baby, be good for your daddy.”

Cody takes in a deep breath as Randy pushes in, eyes closing, jaw falling open with pleasure, and a low moan slipping from his lips. A shudder of pleasure races through him and leaves his skins raised with goosebumps, leaves his cock so hard it hurts a little.

“D-Daddy, fuck.” He shifts back, trying to take Randy even better. “So good, daddy, feel so good inside of me-”

“Yeah, just like being filled, huh? Doesn’t even matter if I fuck you,” Randy breathes out as he begins to move, not bothering with going slow because they both know that’s not what this is for. A sadistic grin is hanging off his lips now, nails curling hard into Cody’s wrists as he leans down to whisper into his ear, “I could just stay in you and not move an inch, and you’d still be so happy, wouldn’t you?”

Cody nods, but can’t resist the whine that sounds in his throat. “Feels so good being filled, daddy,” he get out, fingers hurting a little from how hard he’s gripping the desk. “Love having you inside me-” He cuts himself off with a soft moan. “Th-Think I could come just from this.”

“You’d come from anything I do to you.” He stands up straight again, nails letting off Cody’s wrists to grab onto his hips instead. “But I want you to come because I’m fucking the hell out of you.”

He’s fucking Cody the way Cody likes - fast, hard, making him feel every inch with every thrust. It’s Cody’s favorite thing and he feels so good like this, spread out as Randy takes everything his body has to offer.

Cody is only aware of the fact that he’s been making noises, words even, and he’s sure he’s been doing it for awhile.

“So good, daddy, feel so good in me - fuck - please, faster, daddy, need more, I need it, please.”

It’s not coherent, it never is when Randy’s fucking him. It’s always desperate, always so honest.

“Faster?” Randy huffs a chuckle and shakes his head. “Fucking greedy slut.” He moves a hand up and around to latch onto Cody’s throat and pull his head back, and Cody’s body bends to his will. “Don’t like the way daddy’s fucking you?” he growls. “Huh?” His fingers press into his throat. “This not enough?”

Cody manages a whine, long and low immediately. “I’m sorry, daddy,” his voice cracks and strains under the pressure of Randy’s strong fingers. “It is, I-I’m just so desperate, haven’t had you in me all day.” He’s whimpering and fucking himself back to meet Randy as best as he can. “Can’t help wanting it, it’s all I want, daddy, just want you to fuck me all the time.”

And there’s such a triumphant grin spread across Randy’s lips as he listens to Cody’s flurried apologies. He really is so precious.

Randy takes his hand off Cody’s throat to let his head drop back down. He runs his hand back through his hair in a pseudo soothing motion, though more to be condescending. His thrusts slow to a halt, and that has Cody gasping, has him wanting to beg again but he bites his lip to keep quiet. He knows he needs to listen, even if he’s struggling to concentrate.

“Baby boy, I had no idea,” he says so smoothly, before letting his voice lower to that threatening tone again. “Listen up, I call the shots. Not you. You don’t tell me what to do, alright? Now be good, don’t make daddy have to tell you again.”

He slams back into Cody, using all the strength he has to keep his thrusts brutal and unrelenting, and his hands are pressing down hard now at Cody’s shoulders to keep him grounded

“I’ll be good, I’ll be a good whore!” Cody cries. “I promise, daddy, I promise, I promise-”

His words fall from his mouth in the same flavor, thankful and hungry. All he can do is lie there and take it, let Randy use him like he always has and he’s never been happier.

Cody can be the most jacked guy in the world. He can be so successful, he can be at the absolute top of his career, but no matter what happens in his life and through all the changes, the core of him stays the same.

That’s the same boy, years ago, who had looked at Randy with stars in his eyes and longed to be fucked by him, forever and ever after.

Dreams really do come true.

Randy fills him with a long groan and it spurs Cody’s own orgasm, causing him to cry out again as he comes into his hand, other hand holding onto the edge of the desk for dear life. It’s only when Randy finally stills inside him that he can grant his poor hands, and his body too, for that matter, some much needed respite.

Cody is whimpering in the afterglow of it all. Randy’s sweaty torso presses down into his fine suit and his whimper grows at the uncomfortable knowledge his mind decides to present him.

“Randy,” Cody whines, “I just dry cleaned this suit.”

“I fucking - I gave you the best fucking sex of your life once again and this is how you repay me?”

Cody blinks a few times before sighing. “Thank you,” he mumbles. “It was super great or whatever.”

“And what am I?”

“My daddy?”

“Yeah, but what else?”

“I’m not stroking your ego, Randy.”

“You should after what we just did, that was hot shit.”

“You're so annoying,” Cody grunts and rolls his eyes. “You’re a sex god. Anything else?”

Randy grins and pulls himself up. “Nope.” He gives Cody’s ass a nice spank before quickly pulling out-

“Randy!!” Cody gasps as he instantly turns around to face Randy. He swats at his shoulder. “You can’t pull out like that, you know I-”

“Yeah, you hate it, but maybe if you didn’t complain about me wrecking your suit, I would’ve been more nice.” Randy clicks his tongue as he pulls his pants up. “Let me know when you’re done so we can head out of here.”

Cody huffs. “Fine.”

“I love you?”

“Uh huh. I love you too.”

Despite their bickering, Cody and Randy can’t help but to smile at each other before Randy leaves, because despite the bickering, Randy being a dick, and Cody being a bitch, they know there’s no one else in the world that would be more perfect for each other than them.

If Cody’s suit gets ruined by Randy once in awhile for some incredibly hot sex, that’s a relatively small price to pay.

[garudabluffs]

Awards are meaningless Feb 23, 2023

From the Oscars to best in business, why do we do awards for adults?

"It’s pay-to-play”

"You’ve probably heard about the whole participation trophy thing — the complaint that there’s something deeply wrong with America because a bunch of first-graders got a ribbon for drawing a picture that wasn’t even that good or something. The whole debate, which has persisted for decades at this point, tends to feel pretty ridiculous, largely because it is. Plenty of things are deeply wrong with America today; being nice to 6-year-olds isn’t super one of them. For one thing, if we’re going to be upset about awards, the ones we give to adults are a whole lot weirder when you think about it."

"Awards are less about who’s best at the game but instead who’s hacked the game best."

READ MORE https://www.vox.com/the-goods/2023/2/23/23610516/awards-oscars-grammys-best-business-media

= =>>https://www.vox.com/22946366/the-big-squeeze

2023 Grammy Awards: The Beyoncé paradox February 3, 2023

How the Grammys got themselves in a pickle (and how they might make it worse)

There are any number of storylines that could emerge from this year's Grammy Awards, which will be handed out on Sunday, February 5. But if we are narrowing things down to the night's most coveted prizes, the four awards in the general category — record of the year, album of the year, song of the year and best new artist — some narratives begin to take shape (mostly, if we are being honest, around whether or not the Academy will once again fail to award a top prize to Beyoncé).

To begin to wrap our minds around all the affirming and deflating possibilities, NPR Music gathered four critics to pick apart the nominees in those top four categories to try and figure out which surprises and/or inevitabilities await.

RECORD OF THE YEAR

Ann Powers: "We begin with a paradox, a Zen riddle: a widely anticipated win this year may also feel like the biggest surprise. Beyoncé, inexplicable bridesmaid in all but one of the major Grammy categories since Destiny's Child's "Say My Name" nom in 2001 (her one win was Song of the Year in 2010 for "Single Ladies") may grab the gramophone for Renaissance across categories this year, and a sweep for her would feel like justice while breaking a pattern of exclusion that has come to feel inevitable. Record of the Year is the spot where she's been most rejected — seven times — and might feel like a bigger triumph than even an Album of the Year win. "Break My Soul" announced Renaissance, a new concept and beginning for the woman who'd seemingly done everything. And the song has the grand scale and spirit of a Grammy shoo-in. I could see some fuddy-duddy Grammy voters still resisting Bey in the album category, even though Renaissance is definitely a unified listening experience. No dance music album by a Black artist has ever won in the album slot (John Travolta and some French robots have taken home the prize in past years), and, as an alternative, the gospel-ish uplift of "Break My Soul" might appeal to voter still stuck on rock and ballad-ish pop.

That said, another widely anticipated ROTY win wouldn't feel like a surprise at all. Harry Styles is an industry darling whose rabid fan base no longer only consists of teenage girls (never taken seriously by Grammy voters, at their peril). In the philosophical bon bon "As It Was," he had 2023's most popular smash by far. I could see him winning here and Bey shining elsewhere. Or maybe the pie will be cut three ways and Kendrick Lamar, also up for every top slot plus, will take this one for "The Heart Part 5" with Styles nabbing song and Bey getting her album trophy. Other Grammy faves are hanging out here, too: Don't underestimate the feel-good power of Lizzo or of Brandi Carlile, whose live performances with her spouse Katherine have turned "You and Me On the Rock" into the 21st century's most unexpected marriage-equality anthem. The rest of the nominees feel deeply unlikely to me."

S.P. "The prospect of another white artist shutting Beyoncé out completely seems unfathomable and, frankly, indefensible, but given the way voters have treated Beyoncé in recent years, it feels even less likely that she might somehow steamroll through the generals, despite her recent music's all-consuming inevitability."

ALBUM OF THE YEAR

S.T.: "Beyoncé's Renaissance is the album of the year by virtue of its wire-to-wire excellence and its cultural cachet."

"If you're looking for a prevailing storyline for the 2023 Grammy Awards, consider that Beyoncé — who has won 28 Grammys and counting, closing in on the record for the most by any artist in the awards' history — has never won album or record of the year. Her track record in the general categories has rightly infuriated fans:

BEST NEW ARTIST

S.Y. : "In a similar vein, the entire Americana industry has sensibly lined up behind Molly Tuttle, an impeccable bluegrass flatpicker and singer-songwriter whose clear prowess could appeal to the kinds of folk who like kinds of folk, and anything else you might inadvisably call "real music."

Ann Powers: "My Nashville hometown would be absolutely delighted if Molly walked away with this little record player – she's already a champion here, having won seven International Bluegrass Music Association Awards since she came on the scene in the mid-2010s. And her latest album Crooked Tree is a powerful mission statement: a challenge to bluegrass, a deeply conservative genre, to reinvigorate itself through open-hearted innovation. But her commercial reach remains more limited, for now, and as Nate points out, that seems to matter now in this category." '...Tuttle, who's now 30, and made her first album (with her dad) at 13.'

READ MORE https://www.npr.org/2023/02/03/1152837041/2023-grammy-awards-preview

But this particular year, Beyoncé not winning the Grammys’ most prestigious award did feel pretty close to discrediting the entire enterprise. Everyone knew it in advance, as spelled out in headlines such as “The Beyoncé Paradox,” “It’s Beyoncé’s Time to Shine at the Grammys … Right?,” and, most aggressively, in the Los Angeles Times, “Grammys, You Have One Job on Sunday: Give Beyoncé Album of the Year.”

"It’s because this is the third consecutive studio album for which Beyoncé Knowles has been nominated and then passed over for a white artist, despite all three records’ status as music-industry milestones. Last time this happened, in 2017, Adele’s acceptance speech was just an abject apology for 25’sbeating Lemonade, which didn’t much help. It’s because, although Beyoncé last night officially became the most awarded individual in the history of the Grammys, only 1 of those 32 prizes has come in the Recording Academy’s top, cross-genre categories—“Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It),” as song of the year in 2010. And it’s because Renaissance is not only, in my opinion, Beyoncé’s best album, it’s one presented precisely on terms that the Grammys ought to understand. It might not have her very best songs, but it is an album as analbum, an extended conceptual statement encompassing decades of music history in dialogue with the present."

READ MORE https://slate.com/culture/2023/02/grammys-2023-winners-beyonce-harry-styles.html

[bloodorangesoup]

Bucky and Boobs Headcanons | B.B.

Summary: I'm procrastinating on a fic I'm working on right now so here's some headcanons about Bucky and one of his favorite things in the world, your tits.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k (I lost control)

Warnings: NSFW 18+ | nip stuff, bucky loving boobs, fingering, its all titties for this one

My Masterlist

Notes: This is not spell or grammar checked cause I'm tired lol. This is the first smut I've ever written so let me know what you think. Happy reading!

Bucky is definitely a boobs guy

The first time you guys got frisky while making out you grabbed his hands and put them on your tits and he swore he was about to pass out

His hand's just felt so full

Like it was a good feeling for both his metal and flesh hand to just be able to squeeze them

That, however, was interrupted by the food delivery person ringing your doorbell

The second time it happened you took off your shirt and he was sure you could hear how hard and fast his heart was pounding

He could slightly feel your hard nipples under your bra and it took everything in him not to let out a groan

You were straddling his lap while you guys kept making out and one thing led to another and his shirt and your bra were on the floor

If you asked Bucky Barnes what being let into the gates of heaven looked like he would tell you it looked like your chest when your bra slowly released from your back and rolled off your shoulders

He couldn't help but stare for a second

Once he snapped out of it he went fucking feral

He was grabbing and squeezing in every direction he could wrap his hands around them

At that point, your nipples had already softened again so he ran his thumbs over them a few times and just watched as they grew harder with every swipe of his fingers

For a few minutes, he kept experimenting with his fingers. He pinched your nipples and rolled them around between his pointer finger and thumb

All this while you rolled your clothed cunt rolled over his hard-on had him going insane

He looked almost as if he was in pain trying to hold himself back until you asked him to put his mouth on them through a moan

He almost came in his pants at how needy you sounded

He leaned his head down and licked your nipple, hearing the little gasp you let out from the new sensation

Then he started french kissing your nipples, alternating between both

He'd kiss them and then suck on them for a few seconds, pinching and rolling the neglected one at the same time

Meanwhile, you were going to town grinding on his dick

You could feel yourself getting so wet that your pussy was gliding easily over your underwear that was getting more coated with your slick with every grind

You both ended up coming in your pants that night, laughing at yourselves once your foggy brains cleared and you realized how out of hand that makeout session got

Bucky definitely used the memory of it to get him going whenever he jerked off, occasionally sucking on the tip of his fingers and imagining your hard nipples between his lips

Bucky didn't know if it was some primal instinct or something, but he really loved having your tits in his mouth

When you two were a more established couple and moved in together Bucky couldn't hold himself back

You both discovered how comforting the act was whether or not it resulted in any other sexual contact

You would be going to bed and be cuddled up against him and neither of you would be able to sleep

“Hey, doll, can I ask you something that might sound a little weird, I got an idea.”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Could I, maybe, suck on your nipples right now. I feel like it’ll help me fall asleep.”

You’d agree, never being one to pass up having Bucky’s mouth anywhere on you

You’d take off your cami top and lay back down on your side facing Bucky and he’d face you and move himself down until he was face to face with your boobs that were hanging in front of his face from the way you were laying

He’d give your breasts a few soft kisses before gently sucking in the boob that was on top

You’d both hum and you’d look down at his face, seeing how peaceful he looked with his eyes closed, suckling on you

You’d close your eyes and let out a sigh

“Goodnight, Bucky, love you.”

He hummed around your nipple in answer, not needing to break his actions to send a clear message

It wasn’t necessarily sexually charged but it was intimate in a way you and Bucky hadn’t explored much, it was comforting

As for the times it was sexually charged though

You two would be laying on the couch, you on your back with Bucky laying on top of you, wrapping his arms around your waist and laying his head on your chest

He'd be focusing on the show, listening to your heartbeat, and start to grow kind of restless

It'd start with him absentmindedly putting his hand on your boob and squeezing it softly

Then he'd put his chin in the valley of your breasts and look up at you

"What?"

"Can I please suck your tits, angel? Wanna feel them in my mouth right now."

You'd shiver at the thought that he likes sucking your tits just as much as you like him sucking your tits and give him a little nod

You'd turn back to the TV and try to watch the show but you couldn't help but feel hyper-focused on Bucky's every move

He’d lift his head to slowly slide your shirt up and move your sports bra over your boobs with it

Then he wouldn't even hesitate to softly bite one of your nipples and soothe it by sucking it into his mouth

He’d learn over time to swirl his tongue around your nipple while he sucks it and it’d drive you crazy

He’d just keep lazily sucking and licking and biting and groping your other breast while keeping his eyes on the TV, occasionally looking back down to switch boobs

Eventually, you’d start to let out soft whimpers

Which then began to turn into full-on moans while you gripped your fingers in the hair on the back of his head and tried to clench your thighs around whatever was between them, which just so happened to be Bucky

He’d catch on to your movements and look up at you with a smirk, loving the effect that his simple teasing was having on you

He’d release your nipple with a pop and with both his hands to keep them both stimulated while he talked to you

“That feel good, baby? You like it when I play with your tits?”

You could only hum in response

“Can I touch you, baby? I wanna make you feel good.”

“Please, Bucky.” You nodded feverishly

He’d stop playing with your boobs momentarily to reach up and take your shirt and bra off the rest of the way

Then he’d run his hands down your chest, going down to your waist and squeezing it before making his way back up and massaging your breasts before sucking on one again and rubbing his cool metal fingers over your nipple on the other

His other flesh would glide down your stomach and find its way under the waistband of your shorts

His fingers would drag over your underwear, feeling the wet patch over your cunt while his palm pressed over your clit

He’d keep doing this until you were begging him to touch you, then he’d move his hand back up only to go back under the band of your panties

You were so wet that your movements had caused your wetness to have spread everywhere including over your clit

The moment Bucky’s hand had touched it and felt how absolutely soaked you were he let out a loud moan

He’d move his fingers from your clit to your slit, gathering your wetness all over all his fingers and palm

Then he’d give your nipple a hard suck while plunging his fingers deep into your pussy, massaging your walls and curling in

After a few pumps, he’d take them out and pull his hand from your shorts resulting in an embarrassingly loud whine to push past your lips

He’d take his wet fingers and wipe your slick over your nipples, rubbing them smoothly over them, before sucking the rest off his fingers and then sucking it off your nipples, groaning at the taste of you, while returning his hand to your shorts

He’d rub his fingers over your clit for a while as you squirmed under him, not being able to contain your moans anymore

Then he'd shove his fingers back into you, moving fast and angling his hand so that he could hit just the right spot over and over and over again

You could feel your abdomen start to tighten and your legs begin to shake while your breath turn into quick huffs

The heel of his palm would start rubbing against your clit with every thrust, only adding to the tension through your body

He would be doing this while his mouth and other hand continued to work on your nipples, hitting all your sensitive pleasure points and making you cry out his name

The final straw for you would be looking down to see Bucky needily grinding his hips against the cushion of the couch, moaning around you

Your whole body would tense up, your eyes would screw shut and your toes would curl while your grip in his hair tightened, making him whine against you as you release

He'd keep fingering and sucking all the way through, making you writhe around and grind your hips up to his hand

Once you'd wind down he would slowly stop his movements and release your nipples

He'd look into your eyes and bring his hand to his mouth, licking and sucking all your come off

He'd use his clean metal hand to hold your neck and bring you in for a kiss and give you a taste of yourself making you both groan

When you finally part he'd rest his forehead against yours and give you a big smile, your smile greeting his quickly after

The only sound was the discarded TV show playing in the back and your heavy breathing

"We're doing that more often, doll."

"Yes, yeah, we are."

I NEED SOME FUCKING WATER AFTER THIS OMFG

Hope you guys liked this as much as I liked writing it ;)

[xxruinaxxmcu]

Jack Thompson x Reader

What Lies Before Us 

Masterlist (Book 1 and previous chapters) 

Chapter 10

“You don’t really think they want to pull a Lincoln on Truman?”, Jack asked, visibly irritated after hearing Y/N’s explanation about the meaning of the 5th of November.

“I have no idea what it means, if it’s literally or figuratively”, she shrugged, “But it means meddling with politics, that’s for sure. And if Peggy’s intel is right, they already killed a president once in 1901.”

“And you think they work with the mob for that?”, he questioned sceptically. Again, Y/N wasn’t sure about it – after all, all she had to go on was a piece of paper.

“I don’t know”, she replied, “but if you would want to kill someone, having the Mafia do it is arguably the best way to do it. The public can easily be fed an alternative explanation as to why they targeted the person in question, whether that is Truman himself or some other guy in a suit.”

Though they had very little to go on, Thompson decided to inform the Secret Service about it, in order for them to make sure that they did thorough background checks on their members, and to make sure no actual assassination plot would be successful. They needed more time to figure out what the actual plan was, and he really didn’t want it to end with the Commander and Chief being killed.

Y/N attempted to make contact with Lorenzo, but she had to make sure that it would not be seen as a meeting with federal agents, and she didn’t exactly have his phone number. She did remember a restaurant he often frequented when she initially met him, so she hoped his taste hadn’t changed. She pretended that she had found his wallet in the establishment, asking for an address or a number so that she could return it to him. She was lucky – they did have an address left behind, so she went to check it out, making sure she wasn’t being followed or observed by anyone, to verify that it was actually his address. Rather than waiting for him there, which she found too risky in case he came home with another mobster, she decided to disguise her note in a letter that looked like an electricity bill. Which was technically forgery, but who’d check that?

She left behind a post box address to which he could post a letter to, which, again, she found safer than meeting him in person. It would take considerably longer, but then again, it was for his own safety, too.

Jack was still figuring out how he was supposed to have a life next to his job – during the war, combat was all that really mattered. Sure, he had his friends to worry about, to have fun with when they weren’t in action, but essentially, there was no past, there was no future. Everyone knew that they could be dead the next day if they were in the field. But that also meant that whenever he took up his weapon, that was all that mattered – getting that next mile of territory, securing the next position. He thought a lot about home, never getting to see his family until the war ended. Or Y/N. In the first months at the SSR, actually, until he was shot, that’s how he continued. It was always about work, about closing the next case, and it felt like he couldn’t stop for one minute because the world hung in the balance.

Unfortunately, he realised, the world would almost always hang in the balance. If he waited for ‘things to pass’ to have a life, he’d be dead before he’d know it.

“Sousa, SSR.”

“Couldn’t make it any shorter, Danny-boy?”, Jack asked with a grin, placing his feet on his desk.

“Jack. Anything on the Arena Club? Peggy mentioned something about ‘5th of November’.”

“Yeah, apparently it’s some English poem about a guy who wanted to kill the king, but failed”, Jack explained, “it could be what they’ve got in mind. Just that we’re not a monarchy.”

“They’re after Truman?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out, genius.”

“Right”, Daniel exhaled audibly, “If we find anything on our end, I’ll let you know.”

“You nervous?”

“What?”, Daniel asked, obviously confused, “Why should I be? It’s politicians and mobsters, Jack, by now, that’s our most common gig.”

“I didn’t mean the case”, Jack specified, “I mean your future.”

“The wedding?”, Sousa asked to confirm, “Uhm, no, I mean, it’s just a change of formalities, essentially. Why’d you ask? Terrified of asking yourself?”

Jack grit his teeth. It wasn’t that he was afraid Y/N wouldn’t say yes, he was just… unsure about the circumstances. “Don’t you wish for your life to be, ya know, less dangerous before tying the knot?”

“Then I should’ve set out to marry someone very different to Peggy, Jack”, Daniel stated amusedly, “a boring life and her don’t really go together.”

Rubbing his chin, Jack nodded, remembering after a second that Sousa had no way to tell that he was, so he added: “Yeah.”

“Look, we might never get a month off, but you’ll be able to find one day to get married. It doesn’t take much. If you’re lucky, your girl won’t drag you half-way across the world to do it, too.”

“Ha, I bet you’re ecstatic to meet Family Carter”, Jack grinned.

“You kidding?”, Sousa shot back, “I couldn’t imagine something more terrifying than that!”

“You’ve probably never been disliked by anyone in your entire life, Danny-boy, so I don’t think you’ve got reason to worry.”

“There was a time I was pretty sure you hated me.”

“Yes, Sousa, I think there was a time where apparently everyone thought I hated them”, Jack retorted, both sarcastic, as well as intently self-aware.

Sousa seemed to think for a second what to say, and eventually he replied: “I’m sure Y/N never hated you.”

Jack scoffed: “You’d be surprised. I’m quite sure the one time I almost knocked a guy’s tooth out because he’d groped her back in high school, she did kinda hate me.”

“You’ve always had a charming temperament, then”, Sousa said and Jack could picture his grin by the sound of his voice.

“My most winning attribute, I’m sure. Had to practice throwing a punch somewhere, I guess.”

“Thompson, you better get your act together after basically arranging my ceremony”, Sousa urged, “And don’t you say ‘when it’s quiet’, because that’ll never happen, clear?”

“Cristal.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“Eventually, sure”, Jack evaded, now very eager to end the call. “Well, Danny-boy, I’ve got to come up with a speech for your day. And call me if you find anything on our case.”

“I’ll beat your ass with my crutch if you don’t get your act together by my first wedding anniversary, I swear to God, Thompson!”

Jack grinned before ending the call. That gave him at least more than a year to play with. Though he doubted that his nerves would dramatically improve over time.

…….

With their plane currently somewhere over the Atlantic, Y/N eyed the water intently. It felt strange heading back to Europe after a few months away, it felt like returning to something one wanted to leave behind for good, but which was a different place already since her last stay.

“You’re fidgeting.”

She looked at Jack, who apparently had woken up to provide her with an analysis of her gestures.

“Didn’t think I’d be back so soon, if I’m being honest”, she remarked, though she was grateful that they’d be headed to London, rather than Paris or Berlin.

Jack tilted his head back, closing his eyes. “Tell me about it.”

“About what?”

“About London. What did you do there? I’ve been there once, for virtually a day, to get Peggy’s – or not Peggy’s – file. What’s it like?”

Y/N didn’t really know how to answer that, it was hard to describe a city.

“It’s… old. I mean, for us, from America, it’s just an old city. They’ve got castles from the Middle Ages everywhere”, she began, and trying to recount the city made her feel less on edge, “they’ve got these very typical townhouses, most, I think, from the Victorian period. They’re drafty as hell, though.” She laughed at the memory of the tiny corridors of the houses, where, for some reason, it always felt like an air current was present. “The river Thames is pretty muddy, I have to say. But they have beautiful bridges everywhere, London Bridge most famously. It has a lot of parks, but be careful. The squirrels inside are so used to humans, they practically want to sit on your shoulder. Otherwise… a lot of the city has to be rebuilt. The Blitz definitely scarred it.”

“How long were you there?”, he inquired, noticing how talking about it took her stress away.

“Several months, for training purposes. It was rather odd, though, considering we were training for something without having expertise to go on. There were no veterans for us to ask about technique”, she shrugged, “We had to make it up on the fly.” She paused: “And then, at the end of the war before being discharged. Was strange to go back there, seems like so much had changed in relatively short time.”

Opening his eyes to take a look at her, Jack continued his questionnaire: “What’s your favourite spot in the city?”

“Not really original, but Hyde Park. I loved spending time at the pond that they built there”, she said with a smile, “It reminded me of Central Park.”

“I bet you sat there reading”, he guessed – and her laugh told him that he had guessed correctly.

“In all fairness, I had to become perfectly fluent in a language. I had to read Goethe somewhere. Da steh’ ich nun, ich armer Tor und bin so klug als wie zuvor, and all that.”

He huffed amusedly. He half-remembered that line coming from one professor way back when, and he was fairly certain that it was in Faust. A book he never bothered to read, even with an English translation available.

“Right, your turn”, she said, “Tell me about your time outside of combat.”

He pulled a face: “A lot less scenic, I’m afraid. In early 1944, we were brought to Camp Pendleton. It was hot and humid, like California is. Were damn glad when we could leave that place, or at least I was. But I guess it helped me in the long run, the weather in the pacific was also hot and humid.”

“Just what you love”, Y/N commented with a grin.

“Yes, so next time Sousa and Carter ask us to fly to L.A., we meet them halfway in – whatever – Kansas.”

“Nothing’s in Kansas.”

“I’m sure we’d find some case there”, he remarked with a shrug.

“You think the Mafia has a new offshore company in Wichita?”, she asked amusedly.

Again, Jack only shrugged: “Maybe they’re interested in planes, too.”

After all the talk of humid and hot weather, London posed the exact opposite. It was mid-November (and yes, the 5th of November came and went without an assassination, confirming Y/N’s suspicion that the riddle was more a hint than a plan), and the weather in England’s capital was windy and chilly – so not that different from New York, to be fair.

And, of course, for good measure, it was raining.

“Merry old England”, Y/N announced when stepping off the plane and pointing to Jack’s hat, “Hope that sits tight, ‘cause otherwise it’ll end up in the Thames, for sure.”

The actual ceremony would be near Green Park, at St. James Church, which was a small, but picturesque church in the city centre. They had flown in with only a night to spare, the next day, they would have to be ready – well, especially Jack had to be ready with his silly (or so he thought) speech that Sousa had asked him to deliver. Why, he still wasn’t quite sure. There had to be a thousand more qualified men in Sousa’s life for such a role, whether from his time at school, or even from his time in the army. Did he really think his best choice was him? Jack Thompson, who called him ‘our biggest yo-yo’ after Krzeminski’s death?

If so, Thompson felt a bit sorry for the guy. But, he was a responsible man, nonetheless, so naturally, he tried to muster up a speech that would at least be considered okay-ish.

“Can I see it?”, Y/N asked once they were in the hotel room as she watched him go over his lines again.

“No”, he replied with a small smile, “I think these types of things are supposed to be surprises to everyone, no?”

“To the groom and the bride, maybe, but not to me!”, Y/N protested, but for once, she was unsuccessful at getting him to falter. Instead, she faltered to his invitation for a kiss.

“Why me?”

“Why he asked you to give that speech?”, Y/N asked back, guessing what he meant, “I suppose you’ve worked together on saving the world, that’s something.”

“No, I meant you”, he sat down on the bed behind him, his gaze interrogating her, “why’d you stick with me?”

“What?” Y/N wasn’t sure if she heard correctly – sure, Jack Thompson was often harsh, and pushed people away, and rude, and conceded, but he was also – well, he was Jack. Why wouldn’t she have stuck with him, when she knew what he could be? “Why are you asking me this?”

He shrugged, as if the question wasn’t weird at all: “Just tryin’ to understand your rationale.”

“I don’t really think about it”, she confessed with a scoff, “I mean, when you do something particularly reckless, like getting shot, then I might think to myself – why did I fall in love with a madman? But on normal days?” She shrugged: “I guess I don’t. I didn’t have a particularly cordial relationship to my parents since adolescence, and being a spy makes any real relationships impossible. I guess you’ve been the closest to a constant I’ve had, and yeah, we argue, but we both love to argue.”

She expected a sarcastic remark back, but was greeted with nothing but a nod. A bit irritated, she sat down next to him and took his hand with a dry smile: “And if it means anything, as much as I stuck with you, you stuck with me for some reason, too. I try not to think about your reasoning, either, otherwise, I’d just terrify myself.”

Now, that was something Jack could really not understand. Because Y/N was Y/N – not only was she quite possibly the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, though his metrics might have been off, given that ever since high school, he had believed no woman could compare with that. But it wasn’t just her beauty, she was brilliant, which was both impressive and frightening, brave, which was definitely terrifying, strong, arguably even more stubborn than he was, and despite everything she’d seen, been through and even done, she was still kind.

And there he was, the bogus Navy Cross winner with the nightmares he couldn’t shake, with the inability to let people close, the medallist who was rewarded for his cowardice, and the idiot who repetitively trusted the wrong men, getting Dooley killed, getting Krzeminski killed, and nearly causing the Second Coming by siding with Vernon. This really was no competition, and he had no idea why he was still in the game.

……

The two of them left Piccadilly Circus station, and unfortunately, Jack was not yet used to the traffic being on the wrong side of the road, so when checking for traffic, he looked in the wrong direction and was greeted by a very annoyed Brit honking at him and Y/N.

“Why the hell did they think it was smart to drive on that side of the road?”, he complained annoyed.

“First of all – I think they were first, and I doubt your rant will make them switch”, she replied with a grin, “so you might be better off just looking in both directions next time. But don’t worry. Happened to Churchill too, when he visited America.”

The church was already decently filled, most people, neither Jack nor Y/N knew – Angie aside, together with the Howling Commandos, who Jack vividly remembered. Some others, given their accent, Y/N guessed were friends of Sousa’s, possibly from his time in the army. And somewhere in the mix were the parents of the soon-to-be-weds, too.

The two of them were ushered into the front part, as Jack would have to make his way on stage for his speech at some point.

The proceedings began with the onset of music, which muted the talking of all the attendees. Jack, to be completely honest, paid very little attention to the pastor leading the service – in hindsight, he realised that his mother would have been appalled. But he was too busy staring at his notes, eventually earning an elbow to the side by Y/N.

“You’ve done it for Stark with like five minutes’ notice, you’ll be perfect”, she whispered barely audibly.

He only clenched his jaw – these two things could hardly compare. Besides, the speech he had given for stark might just have been the Oxford Dictionary definition for awkward.

What brought him back to reality was seeing Sousa standing in front, obviously nervous, too. So, to be a good friend, Jack tried his best to appear calm.

Peggy looked beautiful. Her dress’ skirt was loose, the top had a beautifully embroidered neckline and bust, and the sleeves were cut just below the elbow. She looked fantastic. Jack knew when the vows were exchanged, though he paid so much attention. And for a moment, it wasn’t that he was thinking about his stupid speech, no, he was thinking about Y/N. Would she be willing to do the same? Did she want it?

He glanced to the side, meeting her eyes and she gave him a bright smile. Did that mean yes? Did she read his thoughts yet again? Or was she just happy for Sousa and Carter?

Then, he had to go. Luckily for him, it was a bit like turning a switch. He might be nervous before, but once he knew he had to run, he’d run. No point in being nervous anymore.

Standing in front of the gathered, in front of the newly-weds, and in front of Y/N, he cleared his throat.

“When I was asked to deliver this speech by Daniel, I have to say, I pitied the guy”, he began with a sarcastic remark, which Y/N could only scoff at, “As our work together doesn’t really leave much time for cordial exchange. But possibly, it’s exactly these moments that test a person’s true character. Repetitively, Daniel has proven to be the man you want on your team when catastrophe strikes, and the man who’s willing to do whatever it takes to keep everyone else safe.” He paused for a moment, looking at Carter: “It’s – unfortunately – a quality Margaret shares, which ends more often than not in a competition of sacrifice. Both of them have saved countless of lives, mine included. There’s very little about either of you that’s conventional, and I’m sure, that’ll be the tale of your marriage, too. Margaret, Peggy, I doubt you’ll ever be what your grandmother might have envisioned her granddaughter to be. It won’t be easy for some to accept that. But one thing, I can say, both as your former boss, as well as – if I may say so – your friend. The US, and the world, can only be grateful for your unorthodoxy.” He gave her a lopsided smile, as she pulled a sarcastically surprised face when he called himself her friend. “Sousa”, he then continued, “we’ve had our share of disagreements in how to run operations, but I’ve never doubted that you’d one day be a great husband. I’m not sure if you’ve gotten lucky, or if I should warn you, probably both, but you know Peggy better than I do – if you expect her to agree with you on everything now, just because she wears a ring, you’re sorely mistaken. In any case, it has been my upmost pleasure to work with the two of you, and despite the name-change, I hope, for the sake of country and president, that we will continue our cooperation into the future. Thank you, and, Peggy, Daniel, good luck, and congratulations.”

He had forced himself to not lose sight of the two, because he suspected that if he had looked at Y/N during his speech, he would have forgotten his lines. Returning to his seat, Y/N gave him a reassuring smile: “See? You did great.”

He returned her smile, though he was curious to know if she had figured out his reason for being nervous. He hadn’t been afraid to screw up his lines and mess up Sousa’s and Carter’s big day, though, if he could avoid that, that’s obviously preferred. No, he was afraid because he knew what he had to do next, and it had nothing to do with his friends’ wedding. Did she suspect anything? She’s a spy, theoretically she could’ve gone through his things without him noticing. But she wouldn’t do that, right? He noticed he was fidgeting with his hands – she had even told him that she knew that he did that every time he was uncomfortable. So he forced himself to stop, spending the remainder of the ceremony being incredibly self-aware of every fibre in his being.

…….

Y/N was a bit confused that Thompson had scheduled their return flight for about 48h after the ceremony concluded, which left one day with hardly anything to do – it wasn’t like they could hunt down leads on the New York Families in London, albeit the crime levels were high in this city, too.

“And you’re sure you don’t want me to call the airline to check if they have an earlier flight?”, she asked the next morning whilst brushing out her hair, “I’m sure Stark could get us on a different one.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure I don’t want Stark’s help”, he scoffed, “he’s the last person I want to be indebted to, and I’m sure McKinley and the rest can handle another 12 hours without my in-person supervision. They know how to reach me, I left them the hotel’s address.”

Y/N shrugged, accepting his decision.

She liked London, despite it feeling incredibly self-indulgent to her spending time here, knowing that they had an open, incredibly important case on their desks back in New York. But she also didn’t want to fight with Thompson over workload, considering he hardly had a life outside of work. His overtime alone would probably be sufficient for a month of holiday, so she kept her mouth shut.

“Thinking about Mr. Hayes and the rest of the goons in suits?”, Y/N guessed during breakfast, noticing Jack’s tense stare into his coffee cup.

He blinked, as if he had barely heard her, but then replied: “Yeah.”

“We’ll figure it out”, she said positively, “I’m sure of that. I’m less sure of how that will affect our company’s reputation, though, considering some of them are basically our employers.”

Thankful that she had went with his half-hearted response, Jack had now paid attention to her and decided to go with it. “That’s true, but I doubt they’d have the leverage to get to us. Unlike other agencies, we actually found our moles. And we brought down Underwood, that should count for something.”

“I hope you’re right”, she agreed with a small smile.

Jack grabbed for his coat and hat, having made peace with his life in that moment. He’d just have to get it over with, because he was in no shape to continue this mental game with himself for longer. And the big downside of dating a spy, so he realised, is that it was incredibly difficult to keep secrets – well – secret. “C’mon”, he said with a grin, “You’ve got to show me the city. All I know so far is a church and a pub.”

“Then you’ve got the top experiences down already”, Y/N replied sarcastically, getting her own coat and hat before leaving the establishment. They were lucky – today, it wasn’t raining, and for it being mid-November, it wasn’t even that cold. They spent the morning around Covent Garden and Strand, before, after lunch, they were approaching Marble Arch.

“That over there, that’s Hyde Park”, Y/N said, pointing at the large park behind the monument.

“The Park you went to?”, he asked, though, in all fairness, he had memorised the name. after all, it wasn’t a long one, and he was cultured enough to know Jekyll and Hyde, so he could easily remember the name.

“Exactly. Practically learnt German under these trees.”

For a while, they walked quietly through the park, headed towards the pond that was built within the park.

“Can’t say life has exactly gone as I would’ve imagined it in High School”, Jack eventually scoffed, “Neither being shipped off to war and fighting an unknown dark matter, nor having to travel to a different continent for a wedding, nor having to hunt down some shady mafia connection of some American millionaires.”

“That last part is arguably the least surprising”, Y/N replied with a grin. “And yeah, neither did I. But here we are”, she sighed slowly, “and with all the drawbacks and the dangers, and all the nightmares… I don’t think I’d change a thing if I could. I don’t want anyone else to do it in my stead, and to be honest, I don’t think I could do anything better than I can do this. Whatever that says about me.”

“Probably that, by all your talk about me being reckless, you’re probably not the most risk-averse person, either.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow: “But at least I try everything I can to minimise it. You, on the other hand, have a tendency to barge into a room of people with the intention of killing you without a bulletproof vest.”

“Now you’re grossly overstating it”, he smirked.

“Nah, I find it a pretty accurate representation.”

She heard him huff in response. “You wouldn’t change a thing?”

She thought about the question for a while, watching the pond in front of them. Sure, there were many things that she messed up on the way, that would have been nice if they didn’t happen. That would have saved her from pain, or that would have saved someone’s life. But she was too realistic to know that even if she hadn’t made a single of the mistake that she did, other mistakes would have happened, and some people still would have been hurt. Possibly, the outcome would have been even worse.

She shook her head: “…No, actually. I think I have made peace with most of my mistakes. And every decision, good or bad, every time I managed to save a life, every time I failed to do it, every time I took a life, it all led me to this place. And I’m content with that.” If she hadn’t made these choices, if she hadn’t entered the SSR – if she hadn’t gone to L.A., then he would be dead. So even if it was irrational, but every mistake was worth it if it got her here. They had given her the chance to save him.

Lost in her thoughts, in memories both painful and joyful, she had completely ignored Jack next to her. Granted, she had seen him move from her peripheral vision, the pattern closely mirrored someone bending down to tie one’s shoelaces, so it didn’t get her to turn her head.

“Well, I would change something.”

“Huh?”, Y/N was brought back to reality, turning her head around – and freezing mid-way. All she could see was Jack on one knee in front of her, grabbing a box from the inside pocket of his coat whilst clearing his throat. She could see his hands shake – funny, why she noticed these miniscule details, even though she herself was in complete shock, she couldn’t say. Perhaps it was that it had become second nature to her by this point.

“I thought of what to tell you, and nothing came to mind. You’ve been with me every step of the way, even on the beaches of Iwo Jima. You know me better than anyone, and to be completely honest, that is actually terrifying”, he cracked a nervous grin, “(Your Full Name), will you marry me?”

Pedestrians had stopped in their tracks to watch the scene. Yes, that was the downside of a proposal in public, but good for them – no one knew them, so at least they’d never run into these people again.

Y/N worked quickly to overcome the initial shock, knowing that she had to say something. She felt a burning sensation in her throat, but she didn’t feel the need to cry.

“Yes”, she croaked – at least, she thought she did, though it wasn’t as bad as she had imagined it – whilst feeling an urge to laugh, “Yes, of course!”

The little gathering of pedestrians that had waited for her response started clapping, which both Jack and Y/N found quite embarrassing, but also somewhat charming as Jack forced his hand to remain still to put his mother’s engagement ring on Y/N’s finger.

Standing up, he kissed her, albeit fleetingly, as he really didn’t want to give the British public a first-row seat into their intimate relationship, but despite the circumstances, he felt like the weight of the world had just fallen off his shoulders.

Y/N had reached for his hand, sliding up to his wrists, and laughed before she whispered: “Why were you that nervous? Did you think I’d throw the ring into the pond?”

“Trust me, I’ve been through every possible reaction in my head at least ten times, and that would not have made the top ten of the worst outcomes”, he replied with a grin.

The crowd started to disperse, until only one elderly man remained behind who walked up to them, sternly looking at Jack before saying: “Good sir, you do understand this was a decision for a lifetime?”

“Yes, sir. I do intend to make it last just as long, too.”

The old man started to smile, before tipping his hat and walking away.

Jack turned around, looking in awe at Y/N – in awe for many reasons. He didn’t quite understand how he got so lucky in life. Sure, he did a job that should count for something, tried to fight the good fight, but he was far from perfect. In some sense, he was above and below average at the same time – his brilliant moments were far above what normal soldiers or agents usually did, but his worst moments were far worse than just little hiccups. They got people killed, or even worse, he killed people that didn’t deserve it. He was moody, and had a short temper, was quick to judge, and stubborn beyond belief. He was quite certain that Y/N could have easily gotten a better deal in marriage, not just in terms of personality, but also in terms of prestige and stability. He hardly exuded luxury.

Nonetheless, he was also just in awe from her reaction.

“I think that is the first and only time I will ever witness you at a loss of words”, he remarked with a grin before leaning in to kiss her again – now, without an audience, it could be just a bit more than a fleeting kiss. But, regrettably, they were still in public and open display of affection was, in Britain as in the US, scorned upon.

“I expected a lot, Mr. Thompson, but I must admit, to my shame as a spy, I didn’t expect this!”

“I have to say, it was also something in between having it planned for a while and a split-second decision to actually do it, because if I had planned it more in depth, I was fairly certain you’d figure it out”, he replied sheepishly, causing her to laugh.

“When did you even find the time to buy the ring?”, she inquired whilst looking at it.

“Didn’t have to, pop gave me the one ma once wore.”

Y/N stared at him wide-eyed – first, she was touched by the sentimental value of the ring, but she also wanted to know when that happened: “What?? But… when? You only saw him that once during dinner!”

“Yeah, and apparently ma should have been a spy, too”, he shrugged, “Cause she wasn’t at all convinced by that co-worker story. So she gave him this to give to me when you two left the room.”

“I can’t believe it”, Y/N laughed, “she didn’t even truly know we were more than friends!”

“She’ll probably be over the moon”, Jack guessed, knowing how often his mother had historically asked him about girlfriends and family plans.

“And they’ll never know that you ended up proposing to the one ‘fishing a bullet out of your sternum’, which is truly unfortunate”, she lamented jokingly.

“Maybe if you’d held on to the bullet, we could’ve made our wedding rings out of it.”

“Thompson!!”, Y/N elbowed him, not mentioning that she, in fact, did hold on to it, “That would have been macabre and probably bad luck! I don’t want a thousand diamonds, but I don’t want to have a constant reminder of death around my finger, either.”

He chuckled, finding her outburst rather amusing. “I’m sure we’ll find something less traumatic.”

……..

The two of them walked into Peggy and Daniel in the hotel lobby, who were just as confused as Y/N had initially been that they were still here, rather than having left right after the wedding.

“L/N, Thompson, what are you still doing here?”, Sousa asked, brows raised, “I would’ve bet you left England as soon as possible.”

“Why, do we seem so partial on New York?”, Y/N asked back, “Of course, no city can truly compete, but still.”

“Oh my God.”

Y/N had been too focused on Sousa to notice Peggy investigating her from head to toe – though her investigation abruptly halted when she had reached Y/N’s hands.

Sousa followed his wife’s stare, only for Thompson to take Y/N’s hand to practically hold it up to their eyeline.

“There you go, Danny-boy.”

“You two”, Y/N said with a laugh, “Are absolute idiots.”

“Agreed”, Peggy chimed in, and all four of them laughed, knowing that both of them weren’t too serious.

“But hey, at least you’ll get to visit the wonderful city of New York at some point in the future”, Jack remarked, picking up on Y/N’s earlier comment.

“Oh, yes, I already started to miss the unparalleled friendliness of New York”, Sousa retorted.

“That’s why we work there and it’s Jack’s office”, Y/N said with a dry grin, “that’s exactly our kind of crowd.”

A/N: First of all, I hope you enjoyed this rather different type of chapter!! Also, yes, all the details about the location in London is the product of first hand experience, as I walk past this church every single day! We’ve reached about the half-way point of book two, I think! So still approx. 10 more chapters to look forward to. I’m so excited for you to read the next - let’s just put it that way. England’s not the only foreign location this story will take Y/N and Jack! As always, every comment, heart and reblog is extremely appreciated!

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a christmas treat

george weasley x fem!reader

words: 5,243

a/n: a very seasonal one for you,, hope you enjoy !! :)

warnings: swearing , smut , 18+ 

It had been a drunken mistake. A situation she should never have been in at all. But one final party before the summer break had caused that fateful moment she wished had never occurred. Y/n had been in the library all evening, in a lazy attempt to avoid the Gryffindor party altogether, but decided she would need to return to her dorm at some point.

She’d hoped that maybe they would have calmed a bit now that it was later in the night, but to her dismay the excited shouts sounded the second she reached the common room’s door. With one breath she slipped inside, wanting to pass by the group huddled by the fire unnoticed.

“Hey y/n?” A voice called out.. Her friend Angelina leant over the back of the sofa with a beer in hand and a smile on her face. “You joining us this time?”

“I’m pretty tired, but thanks.”

“Oh come on, you said that last time. It’s the end of term, just have one drink with us?” She pouted, but the girl held her ground and shook her head.

“I have to be up early tomorrow.”

“So do the rest of us!” Lee groaned, “Just stay for an hour then you can escape us again.” He joked. She took the bait, leaving her books on the table and slipping next to Angelina.

She noticed the twins, unfazed by their presence at any sort of party. But she’d never really paid much attention to them, at most times she could barely tell them apart. But with a few drinks in her system, and the need to sleep fading with each one, she noticed one of them in particular. George.

She studied his face subtly as it glowed beside the fire’s light. His was skinnier than Fred’s, with a slightly different jaw shape. His voice was deeper than his brother’s, and she noticed it more as he laughed with disregard for how loud it was and was always the one to start a joke. Then the mole, on the right side of his neck. That was the last thing she noticed before he caught her staring.

But he just did what he always would when someone looked too long, and winked carelessly. Then it was an internal battle not to blush like a child as she quickly looked anywhere but him.

He’d introduced himself not much later while she was pouring herself one last drink before heading up to bed. She’d almost choked at the sound of his voice, surprised that he was taking time to speak to her when he had a whole room of people at his command.

She was drunk, so was he. And she liked the way he smirked and leant down to her from his towering stance. Y/n let him take her ‘somewhere more private’ and fuck her.

That was it. But she reminded herself that he was drunk, so was she.

Nothing more.

So the next day she woke up earlier than the other’s and made her way down to the train alone, in case everyone knew what she’d let that tall redhead do to her the night before. But when they eventually joined her in the carriage, the only questions were about her rushing off so early.

Maybe he was embarrassed, she wondered as the castle went out of view and the lake came in. All that ran through her mind was him, everything she had done was fresh in her memories. So much so that she could barely remember herself being there, if it wasn’t for the hidden bruise he’d left on her shoulder she may have believed it was a dream.

He had felt like a dream.

But he was just drunk, maybe so much so that he had forgotten it all.

It seemed so when they returned after the summer, and he acted as though he’d never even met her that night. So her and the twins remained strangers.

At least until the Christmas break came around.

-

“I can’t believe they’re making you stay here,” Angelina huffed, often being the first to critique y/n’s muggle parents and their choices.

“It’s just a precaution, I’m fine with them. But when the rest of the family come round, all I want to do is hex them to oblivion.” She laughed.

“It’s wrong though, they’re scared of a witch who isn’t even permitted to do magic outside of the school!”

“It’s only a few weeks, plus I can start studying.”

“Oh good, get all the studying out of the way so we can actually have fun when I get back.” She grinned, snapping her case closed and looking round the room.

“Go, or you’ll miss the carriages.” The girl laughed and pushed her out the door.

“Please don’t spend the whole break alone? And write to me!” She called before rushing out of the common room.

Later that evening she finally did what Angelina had asked of her, both requests. But not quite by choice. She was sitting in the great hall having dinner, the handful of students that remained making it a very peaceful meal. Her hand alternated between eating, flicking the page of her book and writing to Angelina to tell her how boring it was going to be.

She wouldn’t have noticed the two boys in front of her if one of them hadn’t coughed to get her attention. Her eyes looked up, wide and caught off guard as they smiled back with the same face.

“Hello y/n” They said in unison, making it harder yet again to tell them apart.

“You've been left here too?” One of them spoke.

“I don’t mind it,” she said quietly, turning her head back to the book.

Her heart was racing, of course George would tell his brother about the party, she was dumb to think otherwise. But neither of them were letting on about it. Still, they knew her name. He must remember.

“I’m Fred,”

“And I’m George, the better looking one.” He winked, and she froze.

“You okay?” Fred asked, frowning at how she had stopped at the sight of George.

The girl just nodded, resuming her letter to Angelina.

Now it was confusing, she couldn’t tell whether they were pretending to be strangers. Or they actually believed they were. The twins stayed in front of y/n as she carried on her multiple tasks, they didn’t dare interrupt her until she finished her letter and sealed it in the envelope.

“You know we’re the only ones from our year staying here?” Fred told her.

“Oh right, how come you two are here?” She asked them.

“We were hungry,” George said, waving his fork in front of her.

“She means hogwarts you dimwit!” Fred slapped his brother on the head, making y/n giggle sweetly. She had always thought they were annoying, with their pranks and lack of care for anything. But seeing them tease one another, she realised they were in fact quite funny to be around.

“Mother said she’d had enough of cooking for us all, so we’re stuck here this christmas.” Fred explained, not seeming too bothered by his family’s neglect.

“Ron’s here too, and Ginny but I haven’t actually seen her yet.” George frowned, looking round to see if he could spot his little sister.

“Maybe she’s been eaten by that troll hagrid’s hiding in the woods,” Fred said calmly.

“That would be our luck, all mum told us to do was look after Ginny this year.” George groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Back up, a troll?” The girl asked, but both twins just nodded, as if this was known information. “Never mind.”

-

From then on they sat with her at every meal, always telling her about tricks they would play on the few remaining teachers at the castle. It was four days into the holidays when Fred and George asked her to hang out, a difference to the studying she’d been doing previously.

“We’re heading down to Hogsmeade later, you wanna come with us?”

“You know, seeing as there isn’t really anyone else for you to spend time with,” George had added. The girl still hadn’t figured out whether he remembered the summer party seeing as the only time she saw them was when they were together, but regardless she decided to take Angelina's advice and make some friends.

“Yeah sure,” She closed her book and finished her toast before standing up, “I’ll meet you guys in the common room then?”

-

It was snowing heavily and y/n was glad she’d put on an extra layer to walk to Hogsmeade, especially when the twins forced her to defend herself from an impromptu snowball fight. Even when she’d hit them both in the face they didn’t give up.

Being away from the castle felt much more fun, even more so with Fred and George taking turns to tease her. Which, surprisingly, she didn’t mind too much. It was never malicious with them, and if they gave it out it was only the rules that they took it too.

They spent the whole afternoon scouring the shops and drinking butterbeer until y/n’s legs felt like jelly and Fred had to give her a piggyback ride up the hill again. Not that he was very trustworthy after him and George raced to see who could drink a pint quicker, five rounds of it.

“Don’t fall asleep y/n,” George had warned as the girl’s head bounced lightly against his brother’s back. “Or Fred will dump you in the shrieking shack!” The girl pretended to be scared, but tried to reach out to push the boy away. Instead she fell off the side of her ride and brought him down with her.

All three of them burst into fits of laughter and spent the next 40 minutes drunkenly trying to complete the 15 minute walk back up to hogwarts. When they finally made it back to the common room, after dodging teachers in the hallway, they fell onto the sofa in front of the fire.

“Fuck, marry, kill…” George started, making y/n and Fred groan in fear of his next few words. “Snape, Lupin, Dumbledore.”

“I think this one might be for you y/n,” Fred laughed.

“Okay,” The girl thought for a second, “right, I would fuck Snape, Marry Lupin… I can’t kill dumbledore though. I’d be evil!”

“You’d FUCK SNAPE?” They cried out in unison, disgusted by her final decision.

“Yeah, I think he’d be a good fuck.” They nearly screamed at what she said. “What…” she laughed, “all that rage has to go somewhere,”

“Stop stop!” George begged, unable to listen any longer. But the girl liked how it bothered him.

“Anyway, I like a deep voice.” She, not really, joked.

Fred started up the hysterics, suddenly unable to stop picturing how Snape would look naked. Something he was not proud of.

“Oh don’t I know it,” George had said.

She hadn’t registered what he’d said, too busy laughing with them both still tipsy from their day in the village. But later on when she sobered up, y/n thought whether George was trying to hint that he did in fact remember everything.

Ron and Harry came down from their dorm room while the older three were still in fits.

“God what happened to you lot,” The twins’ younger brother had called out over the noise, “We can hear you from upstairs.”

“You’ll never guess what y/n said about Snape!” Fred had wheezed out, but was quickly muffled by the other two who decided that both Harry and Ron were too young to know about their game.

“What? I wanna know,” Ron had whined.

“Don’t be so nosy Ron.” George had teased.

“Fred was gonna tell me.” He pointed out, but George kept a tight cover on his twin’s mouth.

“He most definitely will not.”

The two of them left with slumped heads, admitting defeat, and Fred was freed from his temporary prison. He slapped both of his friend’s heads.

“What was that for?” y/n complained.

“I couldn’t breath you idiots.”

They couldn’t help but start laughing again, something which would recur throughout the day until they eventually sobered up before dinner.

-

Y/n came to terms with the twins and their drinking habits, as it was really the only thing to do to pass the time with so little people around. But when Fred and George were around they always had fun.

The girl watched them whizz about the empty quidditch pitch on their brooms, tossing a ball between themselves. She slipped the flask from her coat and took a sly sip of firewhiskey to keep herself warm. Normally she wouldn’t drink at all, not having done so since the dreaded party where she and George had- you know. But she decided she wanted to do whatever she felt like, it was a rarity.

George flew over, hovering in front of her as she hid the whiskey back in pocket.

“Sure you don’t want a ride?” He raised his eyebrows, he’d been trying to convince her to get on since she’d taken a seat on the stands.

“Not a chance, Weasley, neither you nor Fred are sober enough. I’m precious cargo.” She smiled. The boy’s hair was blown away from his face, held back by the amount of times he’d run his hand through it. She watched his brown eyes sparkle in the winter sun, and was reminded of why he had ever caught her attention in the first place.

“You wanna talk about sobriety eh? Empty your pockets then y/n.” Her stomach filled with butterflies at the sound of his voice speaking her name, but she did as he asked.

“I’ll let you have some if you stop trying to get me on that deathtrap.” The girl sighed and he nodded, taking the flask when she offered it out.

“Nice doing business with you,” He winked and flew off.

-

The next week went by quickly, and y/n had pretty much forgotten about her worries with George. And now, sooner than any of them had realised, it was Christmas eve. Both twins had burst into the girl’s dorm to drag her out of bed, throwing her around the room until she threatened to vomit on both of them.

“Hurry and get dressed or we’ll miss breakfast.” They called, leaving her dizzy in the middle of the room.

Fred discussed their plans for the day while y/n drank endless cups of coffee, not having the stomach for any food. Not to mention, George had been staring at her for the past 10 minutes, making her too nervous to move much. She much preferred it when she had something stronger to drink.

“I heard from Harry that Ron fancies Hermione,” Fred spoke up, no longer interested in our day's activities. That was very him, he would make a decision then immediately change his mind.

“Well that’s obvious,” George scoffed, having yet another bowl of cereal. She wondered how he could burn off all that he ate. “He’s looks at her with stupid puppy eyes,”

“You have stupid puppy eyes,” The girl joked, earning a look from the twin.

“Oh really?” He laughed. “You practically pout whenever you want something from us?”

“At least it works for me,” I winked, making George choke a bit.

Fred laughed, rarely seeing his brother flustered. They’d discussed crushes before in the past, but y/n had never come up before. He watched the two of them tease one another over the table and thought that they suited each other in reality. Plus, he had never seen George pay as much attention to a girl as he had y/n, even ones that he’d admitted to liking.

-

That evening had proved Fred’s theory right as they once again sat in front of the fire, the three of them sharing a bottle of y/n’s muggle alcohol. It burnt like hell and tasted like shit, but they had never gotten drunk quicker so decided it was the logical choice.

George had made sure that y/n was warm enough, without expressing too much concern for her that she would notice. Fred had to hide his smug smile as he watched his brother start to flirt shamelessly with their newest friend.

“What do you mean Hogwarts is scary,” He had laughed, “We’re the only things to be feared.” Fred had added.

“And now you’re one of us!”

“As much as that is a very sweet sentiment,” The girl stroked their heads jokingly, like dogs. “But it’s when it’s quiet, like now. My dorm’s just me, and I had the silence. It feels like someone’s always watching.”

“Aww little y/n’s scared.” George had teased, reaching down to tickle the smaller girl. She kicked and wriggled but he was bigger and stronger and could hold her down.

Those hands, holding her arms in place. It almost threw her straight back into the memory of them in secret passageway, him gripping her as he kissed her neck. If it hadn’t been for the tickling, the boys probably would have noticed her shiver at the reminder. But it was lost in their laughter.

It wasn’t long before Fred decided he would give his, slightly older, brother a chance to talk to y/n alone. So he overemphasised his drunken state and wobbled up to bed, leaving the pair by the fire.

-

They sat in silence for a while, George letting the girl curl into his side as they passed the bottle between them. She watched his hands play with the sofa’s arm nervously and giggled slightly.

“What?” He asked, feeling the need to whisper amongst the silence.

“Nothing,” She dismissed.

“I’ve had fun this holiday,” y/n admitted.

“We have too,” George told her, smiling down sweetly. His top lip curled up ever so slightly, making her blush again like she had done the first time he’d noticed her. “It’s been better than being at home really.” He laughed.

“My family are pretty boring,”

“Oh I can tell,” y/n glared up at him. “I’m kidding darling don’t worry.” Her stomach did multiple flips, not only at the nickname, but at the way he took the arm that was around her shoulder and stroked her cheek. In fact, he didn’t stop. It just became normal after a few seconds, as if he’d always shown her this kind of affection.

“Why didn’t you go home this year?” He asked y/n.

“My parents are muggles, as you know,” she raised the bottle with a gentle laugh “they don’t quite get magic.”

“Oh right,” he was truly invested in her as she spoke, taking in every word with genuine interest.

“They were worried I would let slip to the rest of the family when they came to stay, and well, they haven’t really told anyone else about me.” y/n felt ashamed to be telling George about her family in such a negative way.

“That’s a shame,”

“I don’t mind, they’re just careful people.”

“Still, they should be proud. Not everyone can be a witch,” He laughed.

“I’ve had more fun here anyways, so I won’t complain.” She leant her head on him for a few minutes, watching the flame from the fire disappear over time.

“Can I ask you something?” George suddenly said, making her stiffen up. She just nodded.

“Do you remember, before the summer break, there was a party here?” It was the moment she had been dreading ever since the night itself.

“Uh, yes I do actually.” she gave in, seeing no point in lying to him.

“And you can remember us going off to-”

“Yes George,” she cut him off, embarrassed that she had never mentioned it to him.

“I never told anyone about it,” He told her, making the girl relax ever so slightly. “I didn’t want to just in case you were embarrassed.”

“Thanks, I wasn’t embarrassed as such. Just more scared, that you’d think it was a mistake.” Admittedly she had felt the same, but only because she presumed he would’ve never gone for her had he been sober.

“Why would you think that?” He asked.

“Come on George, we’re different.” The boy had always appreciated how she said his name, and even now it made him giddy with happiness. “You’re friends with every Gryffindor, and they all adore you. I would much rather have my head in a book all day every day.”

“Unless me and Fred are involved.” He wasn’t wrong.

“Yeah well that’s different,”

“Different how?”

“You two are fun,” she admitted.

“And everyone else isn’t?” He smirked.

“You know what I mean, it’s just different.”

“Because of me and Fred? Or… just me?”

She watched his face as he studied hers, taking a deep breath as she rolled her eyes.

“You’re only saying all this because you’re drunk,” y/n scoffed, getting up to leave but he took her hand and kept her sat down.

“Maybe, but that doesn't mean I haven’t been thinking about it.”

His eyes were deep and made the girl’s heart tense as he spoke genuinely. “I thought you hated me after that party, so I just never bothered you. Until Fred decided to befriend you, and then I got to know you and realised why I introduced myself that night.”

“Because you wanted to fuck me?” She watched his face get closer but remained unfazed, refusing to move away from him.

“Of course, but also because you’re beautiful and quiet. Not to mention I’d had a thing for you ever since first year, but you were always in the library and I never got that chance to know you well enough.” He explained softly, their faces now dangerously close.

George glanced down at her lips and y/n couldn’t help but blush.

“I should go to bed,” She whispered, not moving closer or further away.

“Yes you should.” He pulled back with a smirk, seeing her finally let out a much needed breath of air. “Don’t get too creeped out tonight,” He teased as she stood up and walked round the back of the sofa leaning down to kiss the top of his head.

“Come keep me company then you fool,”

With that y/n left, her footsteps going up to her dorm and into the room. George waited exactly a minute after the door shut, counting the seconds one by one. It felt like a lifetime until he reached 60, but then he stood up and smiled to himself. He made his way up the tower, one step at a time to try and make her wait a tiny bit longer. Ignoring the fact that he had been wanting to have his way with y/n ever since that night all those months ago. Having her around had been a joy, but it made his desire grow every time she smiled at him with those lips he couldn’t forget the feeling of.

The lips he noticed first when he opened up the door, not bothering to knock. She was sitting on her bed, just a nightdress on, waiting for him.

“God you’re gorgeous.” He had groaned, promptly closing the door behind him and taking off his shirt.

Y/n struggled not to drag him down as he stood over her body, his abs completely mesmerising her. She knew quidditch was good for something.

“You gonna stand there all night?” She teased.

“No, I’m gonna fuck you like I’ve been wanting to all month.” This time she couldn’t help but gasp at how his words made her feel, her thighs clenching together as a reflex.

George pushed them apart as he climbed on top of her, pressing a leg between her own two. Making the girl moan out at his mercy.

“You’re desperate aren’t you?” She nodded, giving him those perfect eyes he’d been teasing her about only that morning. He dragged his fingers over her face, lifting her chin up so he could run them down her neck. This simple action antagonised the girl, who struggled not to beg for him with each finger slowly gripping her tighter.

Soon he was squeezing, making her moan out effortlessly.

“Hmmm, I love those noises baby.” She could barely hold herself back from pushing herself against his thigh, that remained propped between her legs. It felt like heaven to be touched by him again, and she kept her head held back in ecstasy.

“Please George,” she whispered to him, although there was no real need for them to stay quiet. He slowly moved his mouth to her ear, kissing below it and making her jolt with pleasure.

“What is it darling?”

“Please touch me,”

He took the hand from her neck and pushed her down flat onto the mattress.

“Strip” he demanded, watching her closely discard her nightdress and throw it to the ground. George let her eye him up as he took off his trousers, finally revealing the extent of his bulge as it pressed tight against his boxers.

Y/n could feel it against her pussy as he moved back on top of her, her neck being sucked hard by the boy. He loved the way she reacted to every touch, every finger that ghosted her body, and every kiss placed upon her. It all garnered a gentle moan. George wanted to hear it more and more, he felt entranced by her noises and internally begged for it to never stop.

He pushed himself against her pussy, rubbing slowly with no rhythm to catch her off guard, which god it did. Y/n was all his in that moment, letting herself be whatever George needed as he teased her to the edge. Her breath held as the boy took two fingers and ran them from her neck, freeing her from that euphoric feeling just to replace it with yet another as he slipped them between her folds. Y/n threw her head back, unable to control herself as he played around with her, slipping one finger in and out.

His other hand propped his body up, his biceps big and tensed near her head. She reached up and gripped his arm, moaning out as he pushed in yet another finger inside her, knuckle deep.

“You’re perfect darling,” He told her, “I would have given anything to hear these noises weeks ago.” His voice was deeper than usual, almost a growl as he removed himself from her completely. She whined slightly, making him smirk with how powerless she was.

George reached down to pull out his cock, causing the girl to yet again almost choke. She was amazed at how thick it was. She could feel it perfectly in her memory, but it had been a while and she’d never really gotten a chance to see it in all its glory.

But now there it was, thick and big and waiting to be thrusted inside her. She locked eyes with the boy towering over her body as he teased her with his tip.

“Please George,” She begged, “Please.” Her grip was back on his arm, tightening as he pushed inside. He was drunk on power as she begged for him, begged for him to fuck her even better than he had done months ago.

“Relax baby,” He whispered, pushing it all the way in. The sound that y/n made was nothing short of a scream, finally feeling him all the way in. Her pussy was dripping wet, and gripping onto George’s cock like it was going to be taken away.

The boy pounded into her like he’d been wanting to, ruthlessly and all the while he kept a hand tight around her neck. He thought about how good she made him feel, how small she was compared to him. He loved being able to throw her around and use her as he pleased. But most of all, he loved that she enjoyed it too.

“G-george, George I’m gonna-” Her pussy tightened, making George falter slightly but he didn’t dare stop when she was this tight. Instead he thrusted faster, an animalistic pace, making her scream so much louder than he’d ever heard. Then he felt himself get closer, just from the way her body reacted and he chased that high within her.

“Cum inside me, please.” She begged breathlessly, struggling to keep her eyes open. But when George finally let loose in her pussy, she couldn’t help but widen her eyes in the pleasure of it.

The boy fell to her side, his head resting on the pillow beside her as he caught his breath back slowly. She watched him brush his hair from his face and sigh happily.

“What are you looking at?” George asked, wrapping an arm around her naked body and rubbing his hand against her side.

“I just think you look very cute,” She giggled, high from the feeling of him.

“I fucked you like that, and you call me cute?” He huffed, half joking.

“I can do what I like now, you like me.” She teased him.

“Come on, I’m gonna get enough teasing from Fred when we tell him. I don’t need it from you too.” He groaned.

-

The next morning, Christmas day, the pair were rudely awoken from their pleasant sleep by Fred bursting into the room.

“I knew it! I could’ve bet good money on you two!” He shouted, shaking his brother as if he hadn’t already heard him come in.

Y/n groaned and rolled under the covers.

“Come on lazy get up,” Fred pulled George out of bed and onto the floor, groaning at his naked brother.

“Good thing you got George before me,” Y/n called out from beneath the covers.

“Get dressed you idiots, there’s presents downstairs let's go!” Fred ran off again, leaving his brother to pull on some clothes. He leant down to pull the covers from y/n’s face.

She felt him place a kiss on her cheek and she giggled at the cold air.

“You getting up?” He asked, passing her a jumper to pull on. She nodded silently, rubbing her head. “Hungover?”

“A little,” She blushed at his messy hair.

“I’ll carry you then,”

The girl put on some pajama shorts and held her arms out for George to lift her off the ground. He groaned happily and took her down to the common room to find Harry and Ron already opening gifts sent from Mrs Weasley. Ginny came racing down not long after, begging Fred to give over her presents.

“These ones are for you y/n,” Harry said when she was plonked on the sofa, warmed by the fire’s heat.

“Thanks Harry,” She looked down at the tag on the packages.

Hope you’ve had a good holiday darling, see you in the summer!

Y/n had spent the best holiday anyone could ask for with her two best friends, and couldn’t imagine having to leave them when the summer came around. She frowned, but the boy with his arm still on her waist saw the note before she could unwrap anything.

“You’ll have to come home with us next summer, not a chance am I letting your parents steal you away.” He joked, but his offer was sincere. She never had to worry about George hiding her away like her parents had done.

[archies-litterbox]

Home

Summary: Some times when Douxie called the castle his home, and one time Merlin realized his son saw the castle as his home whether he was ready to process that or not (and he wasn’t).

Words: 2000

A/N: I got this done! I actually challenged myself by making sure each little segment of the fic was EXACTLY 500 words, and I had a lot of fun! hope you like it <3

[CW: Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Nightmares (there’s way more softness in this than the CW makes it look I swear-)]

--

The typical chatter of the marketplace was overshadowed by Hisirdoux’s skipping steps, and those were overshadowed by the moppet humming a little tune to himself that Merlin couldn’t make sense of. It was one of many things about the little apprentice that didn’t exactly make sense, but when Merlin brought the boy along to finish an errand, what he truly dreaded was that the boy would be insufferable and get distracted at every turn. So, really, endearing -

- “Endearing to who?” Merlin asked in response to his own internal monologue, because the humming from the boy, a sure sign that his apprentice was content at the very least, was most certainly not endearing to him -

- So, really, definitely-not-endearing humming of silly, nonsensical tunes was a more-than-adequate alternative to that insufferability and distraction, Merlin was sure.

“Getting that potion ingredient was easier than I thought!” Hisirdoux said happily, the spring in his step ever-present, “The merchant wasn’t even cross with me, like usual - like when I come here by myself.”

“Have you considered,” Merlin started, “That she’d been cross because of your notorious slight-of-hand? And your pickpocketing and street tricks has rendered her wary of your possible antics?”

Hisirdoux shrugged, rubbed the back of his head in obvious sheepishness, and turned his gaze elsewhere, “Mayyyybe-”

His face lit up in excitement, his eyes widening as his mouth formed an “O” shape when he saw something off to the street’s side.

“Ooooh! Look!” He turned a little to the side, bringing his hands up as he started to wander to a stand selling some sweet treats, “They’re selling-”

Merlin put a hand on his shoulder to still the boy, who was already a handful without the added hyperactivity of sugar.

“Nothing of importance, Hisirdoux.”

He turned the boy forward again, put his hand on top of Hisirdoux’s head, and turned it forward again as well.

“Awwwh.” Hisirdoux whined.

“We have what we came down here for, and Wizards are many things, but they are not frivolous.” he said as he kept walking, a slightly-pouting moppet walking alongside him, “We’re heading straight back to the castle. There are better pastry bakers there, anyway.”

Hisirdoux’s disappointed pout left his face.

“Right, right.” he said, as if he were reminded of how happy he was just to be out here, on what he probably thought of as a beautiful day, although Merlin was rather impartial to the sunny weather.

 “Let’s go home, Master!”

...Home?

Did he mean the castle?

Though he kept moving physically, putting one armor-plated foot in front of the other, Merlin’s mind froze as he looked down at the joyful, beaming moppet. To hear Hisirdoux refer to the castle as his home… 

Well, Merlin knew he should have expected it at this point, considering the boy’s utter lack of a permanent roof over his head before, but he still didn’t know what to make of it, if there was anything to make of it.

So, he sighed.

“The castle isn’t that far away.”

--

The dark circles under the boy’s eyes looked darker in hue than usual today, but of course, that was only due to the contrast against the unusual paleness of his face. Said eyes looked up at Merlin with a rather lacking amount of cognizance as the Master Wizard stood over the moppet. Stripped of his bulky leather hooded vest in favor of keeping on only his trousers and tunic, so he didn’t overheat, Hisirdoux’s deep breaths through his mouth were only interrupted by a brief, pitiful sniffle of his nose.

“Mathter, ‘th thith… plague?” He was hoarse from coughing and nasally from his awful congestion. To this, Merlin only huffed - of course, leave it to his ever-dramatic apprentice to leap to the most dire conclusion possible, even though he couldn’t even rightly walk down to the throne room in this state.

“Not unless a rather nasty cold has become the new plague of Camelot.” he answered, “you should have come back sooner from your last errand, Hisirdoux, before it started to pour.”

Hisirdoux groaned, either out of his achy, miserable condition, or frustration with hearing the old man lecture him, or both.

“I know, I know-”

A wet cough cut him off, making him curl up before he flopped back down on the bed.

“Ugh, ithn’t there thome…” he swallowed, as if to clear his throat of sickly gunk as best he could without another hacking, “I dunno, “thickness begone-iuth” thpell, or thomething?”

“I won’t use magic to alleviate your sickness, if that’s what you’re implying.” Merlin denied, “Although unpleasant, your condition is far from serious, and your symptoms should alleviate in a few days, at the most. If I use magic on something so mere, your natural immune system will weaken, and a dependence on magic to maintain your health is dangerous, so-”

“But Mathter-”

“Don’t “But Mathter” me.”

Hisirdoux sighed, a shaky, ugly-sounding thing, too exhausted to even spare a laugh at how Merlin imitated him.

“Magic ithn’t a permithible shortcut…” he started, but he trailed off and punctuated the statement with another little sniffle.

It seemed, remarkably, Hisirdoux remembered a few of Merlin’s teachings, despite his low-grade fever.

Which reminded him…

The Master Wizard sighed and conjured a cold, damp rag, enchanted to not dry out or get tepid. Making sure it was properly folded, he laid it right onto Hisirdoux’s forehead.

“Oh, ‘th nithe…” he mumbled, “thank you…”

“Your plans for today are postponed, of course.” Merlin declared, “You’re to stay here and rest.”

“But-” Hisirdoux’s eyebrows furrowed, “I wath thupposed to go out and do that… that thing… and get the thing… from the plathe…”

Of course, it must have been harder for the boy to think sensibly and make sense than usual.

“And that will wait until your condition improves.” Merlin finalized, “Am I clear?”

Hisirdoux, resigned, nodded.

“Yeth, Mathter… thtaying home it ith, then.”

Before Merlin had anywhere near enough time to be surprised at that word, “home”, Hisirdoux fell right to sleep.

--

Merlin couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt like this before; when he couldn’t tell if he was more terrified or furious.

But he couldn’t be bothered to try to figure that out - not when, after hours of Hisirdoux being late coming back to the castle, a shoddily-written ransom note made its way to the desk of the Master Wizard’s study.

Thankfully, Hisirdoux’s familiar could trace it by it’s unpleasant scent. Merlin followed Archibald as the cat-dragon followed the scent trail to some disgusting hovel in a forest clearing, with some deplorable men hanging around it’s outside.

When Merlin laid eyes on them... he leveled them with any spells he could remember through his rage at them all; at their audacity.

Of course, it had been some incompetent group of bandits, but only a fool equated incompetency with harmlessness; just because these idiots didn’t know what they were doing didn’t mean that Hisirdoux was safe.

So, he shifted his focus on finding his apprentice, even if he had to reduce every board of this blasted cabin to splinters.

But it didn’t come to that; the second Merlin stepped in, he saw him.

Hisirdoux was curled up in a corner, sitting on his heels with his hands bound behind him, his arms bound steadfast to his torso, and a piece of cloth tied between his teeth. He was unharmed, but terrified.

Hisirdoux’s muffled cry that came out when he saw Merlin shattered the old man’s heart.

He never ran faster in his life.

A small, very precise blast from Archie made the bonds around Hisirdoux’s wrists and torso come loose, and when Merlin got to him, he pulled the cloth gag out as fast as he could without hurting him, letting it lay around his neck.

The instant his arms were fully free and Merlin was close enough, Hisirdoux hugged him, clinging to the Wizard for dear life and crying his heart out against his armored shoulder.

“Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you?”

Merlin felt Hisirdoux shake his head. He could tell he was swallowing to try to get some moisture back in his mouth. It had probably been dried out by that blasted gag, and who knew if they’d given him any water?

“No, just-” he gasped, “Scared.”

Those bandits would soon forget the very meaning of mercy.

For now, Merlin focused on rubbing soothing circles against the boy’s back, seeing that his ankles were bound. Merlin didn’t even notice before, and Hisirdoux was so hasty - so desperate for comfort that he didn’t even wait. He didn’t even seem to care.

Archie started cutting them loose.

“I-” Hisirdoux hiccuped, “I wanna go home.”

The shattered remnants of Merlin’s heart melted.

Home.

His son wanted to go home.

He sighed, moving one of his hands to cradle the back of the poor boy’s head, passing his fingers through his un-bunned hair.

“Please,” he whined, “take me home.”

Merlin nodded, the side of his head rubbing Hisirdoux’s.

“Right… right.”

--

It was long past nightfall, and the castle was quiet, so Merlin tried to tread the corridors lightly so his armored feet wouldn’t clank against the floor and wake anyone; the last thing he wanted was for any particular moppetish apprentices to stir.

That boy… he had already gone through so much he hadn’t deserved, and for what? To what end? Merlin presumed that before he’d found him in that alley, he’d been treated poorly for being not only a street rat, but a magical one at that. And now, even though he was the Wizard’s apprentice, that treatment hadn’t truly gone away; no, it only shifted onto new grounds: the grounds that... he was the Wizard’s apprentice. Now, much of the animosity sent his way was truly meant for Merlin; directing it at Hisirdoux merely amplified it. Strengthened the blow.

And that blow was strengthened today.

Merlin remembered the note’s creases under his fingertips as it trembled in his shaking hand; the door creaking open with a shriek in its hinges and showing Merlin his apprentice, bound and gagged and terrified in the corner of that hovel; Hisirdoux wailing against his shoulder; the trembling of his son in his arms. He remembered it all.

“Hisirdoux…”

He passed the sleeping boy’s door… and sensed magic from behind it. Unusual magic for this hour. In the little gap between the door and the floor, he could see the blue glow of his magic, too. Unmistakeable.

“...Hisirdoux?”’

He stopped at the door and pushed it open, only to be met with a fretful sight before him (not nearly as bad as the last time he’d pushed a door open to find Hisirdoux today, but it was rather close.)

The boy was thrashing in his sleep - tossing and turning in his blankets to the point where they’d started to tangle around him, which only made his obviously-nightmare-induced thrashing worse. Magic thrummed from his hands as he fought back against… something, and even Archibald, who had curled up on his abdomen to soothe him to sleep earlier tonight, couldn’t quell his night terror.

Merlin knelt down at the boy’s bedside and put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly, “Hisirdoux!”

“N-no! Stop!” he pleaded, thrashing harder to get the hand off him, “Get away! Leave me ALONE! Let me GO!”

Merlin shook him harder.

“HISIRDOUX!” he shouted.

Finally, the boy’s eyes snapped open, and he gasped.

For a moment, he just breathed as lucidity seeped back into him. After realizing he was in the realm of the conscious, he put his hands to the sides of his head.

“Master…” he squeaked, “Where-”

“It’s alright, Hisirdoux. You’re safe.” he assured, “You’re home.”

Honestly, the words just slipped out, for Merlin, shocked by himself, doubted that he would have ever said them otherwise.

And with now-even-wider eyes, Hisirdoux looked just as shocked.

… Well, no good rescinding it now. How could he, really?

“You’re home.”

Hisirdoux nodded, a shaky smile on his face.

“...Home.”

[tricktster]

the twilight series suddenly makes 100% more sense if you read them under a specific premise that, i contend, is heavily supported by the text:

Much like Amy’s diary in Gone Girl, the books in the Twilight Saga are verbatim reproductions of in-universe diary entries carefully and deliberately created and curated by badass unreliable narrator Bella Swan as a means to achieve immortality.

Prerequisite assumptions:

1) Bella actively and persistently wants to become a vampire, both diagetically and (I contend) non-diagetically. The average vampire novel format often fails to capture realistic human behavior in one highly specific area: the protagonists are frequently mortals who grapple with the choice of whether to become a vampire. This is stupid, because being a vampire would obviously be dope as hell; particularly in the Twilight Universe, where vampires are not required to take a human life to survive, and indeed, have the capacity to live full and rewarding lives while integrated* into the human community.

(*integrated-ish; see Assumption 6)

2. There are too many coincidences for Bella to have encountered the Cullens by sheer chance, only to be the ONE person that Edward can’t live without (due largely to the novelty factor of not being able to read her ding-dang thoughts.)

3. Diagetically, the Volturi don’t even know Bella’s psyonic gifts until New Moon, but we also know that the Volturi scour the globe for recruits to enlist into the protection of their governing body.

4. Nobody wants to be a voiceless cog in a bureaucracy.

5. Nobody, and especially nobody in high school, wants to be a high school student forever.

6. Vampires in twilight are, as a group, cartoonishly terrible at disguising their true nature.

7. Forks is a backwater town approximately 3.5 hours away from the biotech hub of Seattle.

7. George W. Bush and Dick Cheney can eat my farts and they deserve to be preserved in this snapshot of an innocent author’s mind slowly unraveling.

Proposed timeline:

In 1993, there is a key system meltdown at a improvised biohacking startup in Seattle, rendering all innovative genetic modification experiments into a puddle of brown sludge that nobody can figure out how to dispose of per Federal regs, since they don’t even know what it is.

The broke founder of the startup, who for the purposes of this timeline I will call Jeff Bezos because that’s who it was, eventually grows tired of all the discussion about what to do, and just pops it in a barrel, drives a few hours out of town, and dumps it in a pond.

Bella Swan, a small child, is hanging out at a park with her family friend Jacob Black (and a ton of his friends) when they all decide to wade in a slightly murky pond. Thereafter, they are transformed.

Bella grows up as a normal, highly powerful mutant with a +20 to deception checks and wisdom saves. She lives in Arizona, but up until 2002, summers in Forks. While in Forks, she picks up on the local lore about a family of vampires who don’t eat people.

Because Forks (population: 17 + Charlie’s mustache) is boring, Bella bones up on the only interesting thing about it, i.e. Vampire Hometown baybeeeee.

In 2000, George W. Bush gets elected president, and his evangelical politics and general bumbling ineptitude informs Bella’s opinions on authoritative governmental entities.

In 2001, the Cullens make their intention to move back to Forks known, but they take a while because they need to pack all their stupid graduation hats and volvos, etc.

Later in 2001, a psychic Volturi scout rolls through Forks to ensure that nobody within living memory recalls the Cullens, and notices an anomaly in the psychic field.

The scout goes to confront Bella about joining the Volturi, and Bella immediately clocks him as a vampire, because vampires in the Twilight Universe fucking suck at looking/acting human. This leaves the scout in a bind: she’s too valuable to kill, but she’s a pre-teen, and therefore too young to be transformed per Volturi authority.

The scout warns her he’ll have to kill her if she discusses the existence of vampires with any human. He then tells her he’ll be back in five years, and begins to sweet talk her on how good life will be when she’s a vampire, beautiful, immortal, powerful, etc. Bella asks if she has to kill, and dude says “nah, actually there’s a bunch of vegetarian vampires who are moving back here soon. Fucking nerds, but otherwise they’re doing well.” Bella is all about becoming a vampire, because Bella is a rational actor.

Bella moves to Arizona, and as the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq are unjustifiedly initiated, she recognizes that while she DOES want to be a vampire, she does NOT want to be a foot soldier in any war that she can’t support. She needs a plan.

In 2004, Bella is watching her step-dad’s minor league baseball game when it occurs to her. On her own, she’s a target for the Volturi, but if she had some people to watch her back, she might be okay. Of course, nobody fucks with the Volturi on behalf of some rando human. She’ll need to con her way into a coven who’ll have her back and also give her that +10 to constitution via vampiric transformation, which she desperately wants because she’s a rational actor. And where are the non-volturi vampires that might have her back? Fucking Forks.

Bella moves to Forks in 2004, and upon seeing the Cullens, she immediately clocks them as vampires even though they left their “we’re all vampires” booty shorts at home, because, as previously discussed, vampires in the Twilight Universe fucking suck at looking/acting human.

Bella notes that all the vampires but one are paired off in heterosexual bliss, and takes note of the straggler as a potential vehicle to vampyrdom.

Bella figures out that Eddie can read everyone’s mind but hers, because Edward Cullen fucking sucks at looking/acting like a human who can’t read minds. Bella further observes that Eddie has a huge undead boner for her.

She’s found her mark. Now she just needs to convince him that she’s better off as part of the coven than on her own. Problem: Eddie’s a self-pitying insufferably guilt-striken perpetual adolescent who keeps himself busy by feeling sorry for himself because he’s a vampire, angst angst angst etc etc. Also, I think he’s Catholic, so add some more guilt in. She’ll have to win him over by convincing him that they’re destined to be soulmates.

What does a vampire used to having complete insight into everyone’s mind but his crush’s want? A method to know what she really thinks of him. Bella begins writing a “diary” knowing that there’s no way in hell Eddie won’t sneak in and read it. So she Gone Girls it, and begins to lay a trap to lure him in. That first diary? Twilight.

This was just in the movie but a stoner chases her around with a worm on a stick. Nothing to do with this theory, I just like that part of the movie. Where’s my spinoff about that guy?

Eddie won’t give Bella what she wants (eternal life) by the end of book 1, even though she asks him to EXTREMELY POLITELY. Time to hit the diary with some more promises of undying love.

Bella reconnects with her old friend Jacob and the rest of the Mutated By Jeff Bezos Boys. Alas, they cannot turn her into a physically powerful sexy immortal with a bite, so she’s still stuck with plan A) win over a whole family of vampires with big Mormon energy. It’s the long con.

Edward’s angst abruptly takes a swing towards terminal. He’s absolutely your classic sadboy, perhaps because Bella now has one (1) friend that he knows about.

When Eddie begins to drift away on account of Angst, Bella conjurs up a secondary love interest who, coincidentally, is ALSO a sexy supernatural entity, and is much less coincidentally just Jacob.

We should establish here that Edward is like a 107 year old white dude and so even though Diary!Bella pretends not to see it, Metatextual Frame Story!Bella knows that dude is super racist.

Jacob Black is three things: 1. Like Bella, a mutant (although one with shapeshifting abilities), 2.one of Bella’s oldest and most trusted confidants, and 3. down to clown on an elderly teenage vampire who keeps stereotyping him. Sure, says Jacob, I’ll take the form of a werewolf. He seriously thinks we’re all just beastmen, huh? Hey look at me now, I’m Regis Philbin because this is 2005 and Who Wants to be a Millionaire is still sort of relevant. Sick.

Edward does not like that Bella has one (1) other friend. Bella and Jacob plot to use this to their advantage and lure Edward back on the wings of jealousy.

Eddie gets himself into trouble on account of Angst and poor communication, so Bella has to go rescue him from himself/the Volturi.

Aro finally meets her and gets to test her powers, which impress him. Now she’s back on the fucking radar.

I forget everything that happens in Eclipse, so i have chosen to omit that part.

Eventually she extracts a quid pro quo from Eddie; i’ll marry you if you turn me into a dracula.

We don’t really call ourselves that, Wet Blanket Cullen replies, entirely earnestly.

Bella gets married at 18 in 2006, and Eddie starts to backtrack his promise about changing her. This won’t stand.

Well, look, he’s an elderly guilty catholic/mormon teen who probably still uses super racist terms, but she’s stuck on honeymoon island, he has certain angles that work for him, and seriously what are they gonna do but fuck? Bella’s alternative is listening to her “husband” drone on about his interests, which are almost certainly Car, How Do I Post a Minion Picture on Facebook, and Licorice Used To Be a Lot Cheaper in the Good Old Days.

Whoops a fetus.

Bella recognizes that she’s GOT to have this baby: time’s running out, and Bella knows that at least two of the Vamps in her coven will cut ties if she terminates or otherwise fails to carry this baby to term because of the conservative religious subtext. She’s going to have to stick it out for 9 months, even though it’s a risky call.

Bella gets what she wants after giving birth. “My time as a human is over, but I've never felt more alive. I was born to be a vampire.” That’s a direct quote. Except now she’s got a (pretty cute and easy) baby that she desperately wants to protect from Turning Into A Vaguely Religious Cullen Dressed Head To Toe In Cream Colored Wool.

Bella decides to fake her own death and escape with the kid and Jake so they can form i guess a detective agency. Bella will get “killed” by the Volturi, move to Sydney, and open up shop, and Jake will take the kid after her a few months later.

They’re gonna need a reason why Jake gets the kid though, and there’s only one reason to do anything amongst the Cullens: a heterosexual love interest with a super problematic age gap.

Jesus, Jake sighs, is Eddie really going to believe I’m in romantic love with your actual infant? Does he really think that little of me?

Yup.

Bella tries to draw the Volturi’s attention.

Works too well.

The Cullens call up all their vague acquaintances, who are at least kind of fun. Particularly that one dude who keeps getting angry about British conduct during the American Revolution.

Well, fuck, now the Volturi are bringing an army to fight their ragtag army of Vampires Who Are Cool And Interesting Enough That We Can Safely Presume They Are All Definitely Gay. Bella can’t let those guys die, they’re the first actually compelling vampires she’s ever talked to.

Bella saves the day because she’s OP.

All the Cool Vamps start packing up to leave and Bellz almost goes with them, but the Cullens would just keep sending missionaries after her if they knew.

Bella finishes her fourth journal with the vague warning that the Volturi are still out there somewhere and they miiiight just try and get her.

Two days later, she stages a scuffle and gets the fork out of Fucks. Her journals are the only clue.

Sirius Black and baby nessie follow once edward has stopped sobbing into his cream colored sweater and moved on to Extended Power Pouting.

Bella recruits her own army of fledglings.

Bella stages a coup against the Volturi and succeeds.

Bella sits on the iron throne with a hot lady vampire on each knee and they all kiss and stuff.

Nessie I guess forms a post punk band?

Edward dies from aspiration of a brussel sprout that he ate because he just wanted to feel something.

Charlie and Billy get married.

Charlie’s mustache develops a cult instagram following, providing them with a modest retirement income.

Jacob shapeshifts into Bill Murray and is always crashing weddings.

Bella’s stepdad is off in the B plot this whole time winning the world series with the help of a kooky angel.

There. Fixed. My soul is at rest.

[ohmygoodnessgraciouss]

could I request a story where Loki and the reader are both magic time variants captured by the TVA, and they become closer and plot to escape together, but even though the reader wants to help him they're afraid of getting too close or opening up about their past because in the past they had been really hurt by the alternate Loki in their timeline? I'm sorry that's very long, you don't have to write it if you don't want to I just love your work so much and Reality Check is so perfect :')

I'm sorry this took forever! Honestly, I should've just made this a whole miniseries to really flesh it out, but with MOM I wasn't sure if I wanted to dedicate all my time for that. Hope this is alright! <3

You watched the man before you smirk once he recognized who you were. "Y/N L/N, I never expected you to wind up here," He commented, scanning you. You scoffed, turning your head away to look at Mobius.

"You expect me to work with him?" You asked, pointing lazily. Mobius nodded.

"You two are the best of the best. He never seems to die and you have the ability to control him. Not many can say they can do that," He responded.

"I don't want to work with him," You replied, sharply.

"And why is that? I want a better explanation than he hurt your feelings a while ago," Mobius said. You rolled your eyes, knowing Loki must have grinned at his statement.

"No hard feelings, promise! I'm not the same Loki you knew after all," Loki said.

"No, but the sacred timeline forces it to be exactly the same. I know you haven't done it yet, but you will. Eventually. If you ever decide to stop being a little shit and go back to your timeline." You walked closer to Loki, trying to seem intimidating.

"Ouch," Loki winced, stepping forward, "I see Midgard taught you some vulgar language."

"Seemed only appropriate for a man who killed 80 people in a matter of two days," You suddenly realized how close you were to him, eyes widening as you backed off. Loki rose an eyebrow at this.

Mobius chuckled. "This is going to be interesting."

~

"I need you two to go to a small town in Oklahoma from a few hundred years ago to inspect something," Mobius said, pulling up a file on the desk in front of you. You sat next to Loki (Though it was not willingly) and waited impatiently to hear more about the mission.

"Oklahoma?" Loki questioned.

"It's on Midgard. It's a lot of farmland. Prone to tornadoes." You briefly stated.

"Seems like you know the place quite well."

"I lived there for a while. Until the TVA decided that I messed up something in their precious timeline. I mean, really. Do you guys think another war would happen when most people don't even know this place exists?!"

Mobius chuckled. "See, that's why I like you. You're realistic. But, unfortunately, rules are rules, and the timekeepers aren't ones for breaking tradition."

You shook your head in response, leaning back in the chair. Loki leaned forward towards the desk to get a better look at the file. It had several reports scattered across it, all describing the deaths of several minutemen from the T.V.A. "What happened?" He asked.

"Someone supposedly time traveled to the 1800s and broke the timeline. When our minutemen arrived at the scene, they set fire to the surrounding grasses and burned them all to crisps. We suspect the variant is another timeline's you, Loki." Mobius explained, showing several photos of the scene.

Your eyes widened. "Another timeline of him is running rampant and you imbeciles can't catch them?" You asked.

Mobius shook his head. "Loki is hard to catch. This one," He pointed to the man before him, "Not so much. The other one? Different story."

"And you expect us to just find Loki and bring them back?" You asked, leaning your head against your hand.

"It's either that or being reset by the woman who wants your heads on a silver platter."

Both you and Loki looked at each other for a brief moment, nodding slightly. Looking back at Mobius, you spoke at the same time.

"We'll do it."

~

You arrived in Oklahoma with Loki, taking a look at the burned farmland around you. Several bodies laid around the area, their weapons scattered. "God, these men didn't stand a chance," You said, crouching down to take a closer look.

"And neither do we if we can't find a trace of myself," Loki replied. He used his magic to trace where the fire started. "Over there," He pointed.

You looked over, seeing nothing special. "Looks just like everywhere else," You said.

"No, it's an illusion. I must have cast an illusion to make sure only those with magic would be able to find it. Or, well, another me did it. Why would he have done that though?" Loki asked, contemplating it for a moment. You walked up to him, showing him the collar and remote you had stolen from the agency only moments before arriving in Oklahoma.

"If anything goes wrong when we see them, I've got backup."

Loki grinned. "You're always so dependable. That's why I love you." You knew it was a weak attempt to make you soft. You shook your head, walking away from him.

"Not the same Y/N you know."

"The Sacred Timeline makes you the same."

"The same to an extent, but for me you're in the past. A lot changes in the upcoming years." You mentioned.

"Oh come now, old feelings can't die that easily, can they?"

"No, but you sure can."

~

You made your way to the Loki pointed to. The spot seemed to be as burnt up as the rest until Loki unveiled the illusion. It didn't take much of his magic to lift it, probably because the universe recognized it as the same signature. When it was revealed, the area hadn't been burned by the fire at all. The grasses were tall, reaching up to your shoulders at times. One spot was completely flattened though, with a singular note on the ground.

You picked it up, unfolding the paper carefully. Loki stood directly behind you, looking over your shoulder. "What does it say?" He asked.

"Meet me where we once called home," You read it out loud. The note crumpled as you tightened your hold on it.

"What does that mean? Once called home?"

"It means this Loki is in fact my Loki."

"Please tell me I don't have any hard feelings that you clearly harbor for me."

"That depends on whether or not you forgive me for the incident."

Loki quirked an eyebrow at this. You shook your head. "Not here. Let's find a place to stay. I know where home is. We're not far from it."

"Then shouldn't we go there first?" He asked, placing a hand on your shoulder to ensure you didn't walk away. You shook your head.

"No, I can't go there yet. There's a lot to explain before you see Loki."

~

You found an inn close by and decided to rest there. Because it was the 1800s you had to be careful about what you did. In a different century they wouldn't have minded you being in a TVA shirt and jeans. Now, they would.

Luckily for you, Loki was able to cast an illusion so that only you two knew what you were wearing. He even had to cast an illusion on himself to blend in more. He used fake currency to buy the room, which was about as small and cramped as you expected.

With only candles to light the room, it would've been considered quaint and cozy by most. A single bed with comforters, a drawer and chest, and a small desk. It was all you needed for your journey after all.

You sat down at the desk as Loki sat on the bed, feeling the comforter. "Softer than I expected," He commented.

"You lived through the 19th century, you should know it wasn't as bad as history books make it out to be."

He nodded in response, relaxing slightly. "Well? You said you would explain it to me. I should know what's going on before we go face off against myself."

You sighed, fiddling with a pen you had found in your shirt pocket. "Time travel isn't as uncommon as people may think. You and I both know that."

"Of course. You've time traveled a few times yourself."

"Exactly. Well, in my timeline, after the events in New York in 2012, you went to prison in Asgard and were eventually freed during the Dark Elves attack."

"I know what happens there," He said, sharply. You knew he must've known what happened to his mother.

You looked down at your hand, placing the pen down on the desk. "Well, you know what happens in the Sacred Timeline. Remember, you're a variant in this timeline too. In this timeline, you ended up going back to the 1800s, to this time."

"Why would I do that?" He tilted his head.

"To see me."

"What were you doing in this time?"

"I was running. I got into some nasty trouble with not only the Avengers but the federal government as well. It was just easier to go back to a time where I wouldn't have to worry about it. Plus, I didn't know what I was doing, so I wanted to hang out in a place where I knew I would never run into myself. I didn't account for you finding out." You sighed, fiddling with your fingers.

"And what happens after that? We were just fine before I... Well," He hesitated, "Tried to take over Asgard and then Midgard," He said, sheepishly.

A soft smile graced your lips as you thought about what had happened next. "We shared a life together. We were married, secretly of course, but we were happy. We moved into an old farmhouse around here and decided we would start a family here. It was in the middle of nowhere. No one was going to find us after all. We could be happy here."

"What changed?" He asked, leaning in. He couldn't understand where it would've gone wrong.

"The T.V.A," A scowl corrupted your smile as you looked up at him for the first time in minutes. "We were variants. What happened between us should never have happened."

Loki shook his head. "I can't believe that's what divided us. What did they do?"

"You gave me a chance to escape. You kept them off me and I ran off. See, I ran off and you went into the T.V.A to be charged for your crimes. They were going to prune you. Unless you told them where I was," You scoffed.

"Did I?"

"You did. Because no matter what you would always do everything in your power to save your own skin. Even if it meant ratting me out when I was protecting the child we had just taken in." Your tone quickly turned to ice at the thought.

Loki stayed quiet at the revelation. He didn't know what to say. "What happened next?" He asked quietly.

You shrugged. "I went in, you got out. You were reset. I don't know how you became a variant again. I guess they couldn't wipe your memory if you were able to remember our home."

"I don't understand. I don't understand how I could do that," He said as he stood up from the bed, pacing the room.

"The version of you in this timeline is different. He changed after escaping. I just hadn't realized it until it was too late."

Loki stopped in his tracks suddenly, staring you dead in the eyes. "Is that why you're with the T.V.A? To get revenge?"

You nodded. "The T.V.A, while I despise them, are my one way of getting to him. I want to make sure the agency brings him in once and for all. I'll prune him myself if I have to. And then I'm out of there. I have a plan to escape."

"And what will you do after that?"

You looked out at the window, "Find my little girl, I suppose. Make sure she's okay."

"Then perhaps you would like a partner to join you," He grinned.

"No."

~

Making your way to the farmhouse, Loki decided to stay back a little. The plan was for you to make sure Loki was in a vulnerable state, giving you just enough time to alert the T.V.A. Then, your partner Loki could capture the criminal Loki using the collar and remote you brought. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was enough for you to feel comfortable facing off against him.

Loki stayed outside, watching from a patch of wildflowers that sat outside the house. They were your favorites.

The house was cold and creaking from weight and pressure it hadn't felt in years. It looked abandoned. No one must have moved in after you did. The sight sent shivers down your spine. All seemed quiet except for a single door opening across from you. There stood the man that ruined your life - Your version of him.

"Hello, darling," He greeted you, a small sheepish smile plastered on his face.

"Loki."

"I know these are probably not the circumstances you would've wanted for this-"

"Not the circumstances?" You interrupted harshly. "I never wanted this situation to ever happen. You're lucky I haven't tried to shoot you in the face with a magnum."

Loki raised his hands up in mock surrender. "What I had done was uncalled for."

"Uncalled for?! You exposed me which put our family in harm's way! I have no idea where Rose is! None!"

His expression softened at the mention of Rose. You knew it struck a chord in his heart. It had to. Rose was adopted just like he was. All he wanted was to be a better father to her than his own was. If he were a better person you may have cared about hitting a sensitive spot like this.

"That's unfair. I had no idea she would possibly be reset by them," He said.

"Oh come on! What else did you think would have happened?! They were after us and so they were after her too." You moved your finger slightly to the communicator in your jacket pocket, signaling for the T.V.A to arrive and for Loki to step in.

"I never meant for her to get hurt," He said, his voice shaking slightly.

"No, but you meant for me to get hurt."

"I never wanted either of you to get hurt. It's just that-"

"Just what?" You grit your teeth.

"I was scared. You know how I am. I'm a coward!"

"That's no excuse for what you've done," You glanced up, seeing your partner sneak up behind the man. He wrapped the collar around him and quickly backed away, holding the remote up.

"What are you doing?!" Variant Loki exclaimed.

"Getting justice. Revenge. Everything I've wanted for years from you," You glared at him. The other Loki smirked, proud of you for what you had done.

The minutemen from the T.V.A quickly stepped in, arresting Variant Loki as soon as possible. Mobius followed them, looking the man up and down. "So you're the one who's caused all this trouble. And all because of a girl you crumbled. Gotta admit, it's not a good look for you," He said. You nearly laughed. "Take him away."

The minutemen began to drag Variant Loki through the portals, though he didn't go through without one last word to you, "Y/N! I will get out of this!"

You scoffed. "Sure you will."

~

Mobius decided to allow you and Loki to stay behind, giving you a moment to examine the home around you. He trusted you two enough to have a few minutes of peace alone. "So what's the plan, love?" Loki asked.

"Mobius has given us this much. If we gain his trust for a little while longer then we'll be able to have far more time and perhaps even a way to travel through the multiverse on our own. I hate to say it, but I'll stick with the T.V.A a little while longer. The endgame is long-term here."

Loki nodded thoughtfully. "It's smart. But I'm smarter," He held his hand up, revealing one of the portal remotes in his hand. Your eyes widened.

"How did you get that?!"

"I stole it from one of the men as they went through. I'm sure they won't miss this, but if they find out we have this when we go back it won't be pretty," He said, walking up to you, grinning.

You stifled a laugh as you looked down at the remote in his hands. You shook your head looking back up at him. "You're insane."

"Perhaps I am," His grin widened, "But I know you want this as much as I do. So, what do you say?"

He held his empty hand out to you, waiting for your response. Instead of giving it a moment's hesitation, you held out your own, taking his.

And with that, you never looked back.

[sophiamcdougall]

So, there’s something I think is missing from the Booker Discourse and the focus on anger vs forgiveness, and whether Booker’s “punishment” is too harsh and who’s responsible if so, and its absence is beginning to slightly disturb me and it’s this: They don’t punish Booker. At all. 

No, really.

It’s one of the things I really like about the film -- how compassionately it treats Booker, both on a narrative and on an inter-character level. In most genre films wrongs against the good guys are usually settled with riproaring vengeance, even if in some the hero conveniently gets not to be the one to enact it directly.  But in the moment Booker’s betrayal becomes clear, character beats we have taken for mere melancholy click into place as heartwrenching grief and suicidal depression. We’re encouraged to grieve for him. We see Andy and Nile’s empathy for him. We see Nicky urging Joe to stop shouting at him even before they yet have any hope of escape. We don’t see a  moment of explicit compassion/restraint from Joe, but he does instantly put aside his anger to accept Andy’s decision that Booker’s coming with them, and does nothing to sabotage that choice. (In fact, it’s unthinkable that he would, but in plenty of action films it wouldn’t be.) And I agree with some of the arguments I’ve recently seen – the intensity of Joe’s fury isn’t necessarily a measure of how long it would last.

And then, as I say, they don’t punish him.

They don’t beat him up. They don’t work off steam killing and re-killing him. They don’t leave him for Kosak, or for the police. Of course they’d never do a full Quynh on him but putting him a box for ... a year? Six months? A week? It would be an option. They don’t do that, either.   

They simply stop hanging out with him. And they have the extraordinary grace to promise this won’t be permanent. And Andy, whom he shot in the back, sees him off with a goodbye hug.

I’m seeing a lot of debate about whether Joe (hotheaded, passionate) vs Nicky (still waters run deep) is The Angry One and which one of them might, by contrast, have been totally fine letting Booker back into the group immediately. I think you can plausibly headcanon the first part of that various ways. Personally I think Nicky would take a more severe line than Joe, although, as I’m about to argue, I don’t think that necessarily has to mean he’s “angrier”.)

What I don’t think you can plausibly headcanon is that either would actually be “fine” taking Booker back immediately, or any time soon.

Now I want to preface this with pointing out that anger is a completely natural and appropriate response to being hurt and whoever is The Angry One out of Nicky and Joe, has every right to that feeling. And to be fair I don’t think that’s really being disputed. But there does seem to be the idea that The Situation  – Anger = Everything’s Fine Now! And I do think it’s slightly ... victim-blamey, like the barrier to HEA isn’t what Booker did, it’s how long the people he hurt retain one specific emotion about it.  Whoever’s angriest is being staggeringly generous to Booker, and the result is 100% compatible with their not being “angry” at all. It’s compatible with “forgiveness” having already taken place. Just for a minute imagine writing to ... Captain Awkward, or Dear Prudence or Reddit Relationships. And explaining that your friend placed you in the power of people who wanted to hurt you, deliberately exposed you to very serious danger and your worst personal fear, and caused you to watch your partner trapped and in pain for somewhere in the ballpark of 48 hours ...  BUT, he is going through some very bad shit, guys, and you really do feel for him. Imagine what the response would be.  (”My friend wanted to commit suicide-by-cop, so he planted weed/guns in the car with me and my husband in it and called the police, although he knows we both have a particular phobia of cops after what happened to another friend who was arrested a while back. Oh and he attacked our other friend, because he wanted to be totally sure the cops would come for him, but he only meant to knock her out not to nearly kill her and he’s depressed and very sorry. I still want to put our friendship on a break. AITA?”)  They would yell at you to oh my god get away from him WTF how is this even a question please get some therapy learn to love yourself. 

And if you repeated that he’s really sad! And it went down worse than he thought it would! And you don’t want to hurt him! they would yell that it’s not about hurting him it’s about protecting you.   Just ... think about it. Imagine you’re either Joe or Nicky. Assume your anger has already completely evaporated, whether you think that’s in-character or not, and imagine you feel truly sorry for Booker. Take the most generous stance on what he did that you can. Fine. But every time you turn your back on him, or see him go off on a mission alone with one of the others ... how do you feel? Even if you don’t think he’d actually do this again, do you feel safe? 

 And imagine trying to recover from the trauma of what just happened to you. Imagine how much it would help to take refuge in all the soft, “family” touches which were also such a refreshing distinguishing feature of this film. Gift exchanges and bets and TV and hugs. Imagine trying to do that with the person who put you through it right. there.

 Nicky and/or Joe could honestly wish Booker no suffering at all, nothing but recovery and healing and peace, and Booker would still be a walking PTSD trigger and working/socialising with him would be downright self-destructive. 

Now, of course this is unpleasant for Booker because he’s already lonely and self-hating and it’s difficult -- though not necessarily impossible! -- for any of them to form a support system outside the group. But that really isn’t the team’s responsibility and, what is really the alternative? 

Maybe it’s being framed so much as “punishment” because Andy says “there has to be a price.” And there does; the consequences of Booker’s choice will unfold in some way whatever they do. The team do not have the option of simply resetting to normal, even if they wanted to. The only question is only who carries the weight of those consequences and how. Should Nicky and Joe have to pretend to feel comfortable around Booker, should they force themselves to go through the motions of friendship – hug him, smile at him, pass him a coffee – while their shoulders go up around their ears whenever he’s in the room, regardless of what that means for their own healing?

The injustice of that should be obvious but even if they did it, even if they made that colossal sacrifice for the person who just hurt them, would it really help Booker? Imagine being him and settling down to watch the football beside Joe and knowing what he likely remembers whenever he looks at you. Honestly, I don’t see that being a healthy path to recovery for him either.

Or OK. Maybe they don’t put on an act. They  keep spending time with him, but they don’t try to hide the nightmares and the flashbacks or the way their smiles drop whenever he comes into the room. Maybe they flinch whenever he gets too close and sometimes they yell at him but they all have to put that on hold every time there’s a mission and somehow they also they try to be his therapists?

I don’t know, it sounds a lot kinder to everyone to just get some fucking space.

Not hanging out with someone who gravely hurt you isn’t punishment, it’s basic boundaries and self-care for you and I’m beginning to worry about what it means that many of you don’t seem to know that.

[paddymoonstruck]

𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬┃𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫

chapter one

warnings: cursing, mentions of death, season 4/manga spoilers ??? (that’s about it, think!)

word count: 2,705

notes: this is the first installment of wistful irises !!! i guess it would be a slow-burn fic that would contain 5 or more chapters. i wrote this to cope with the tragedy of AOT manga chapter 138 — that’s just fucked up tbh.  please give this one a like/reblog/feedback so i know whether or not you liked it !!

NEXT CHAPTER: H E R E

𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

It was quiet — so eerily quiet, a hand came up to soothe her ears bitten by the cold wind. Devon’s palm felt at the rough rubbles on the surface of which she was sat on. Everything she laid eyes on tugged at her heart, scanning at her surroundings as if she looked one more time, her vision would change. 

Alas, she gazed upon the damaged cities from her place atop Wall Rose, with no success. Devon threw her head back, opting to find comfort at the stars that laid peacefully on the sky. 

“They’re dead.” She asserted, nearly winced at the wave of overwhelming devastation rushing at her heart. 

However, she was unsure who or what she was alluding to. Was it the people of Paradis? Those she lost? Or even — the stars?

Nothing was clear, at the moment. Only hurt and confusion clouded her devices. She found her palms closing in on the small rubbles she had caught, clutching them tightly in her fist.

It had been four years since everything went into a complete spiral. Perhaps it was for her alone, considering a massive part of her died along with the hundreds of comrades who sacrificed themselves for the sake of the truth. 

She remembered the day they found out about the life that existed beyond these walls. The walls she had known all her life, was quite literally, made to imprison its people. It was unclear whether she was angry or sad that there was a whole world out there that hated their existence so much that they’d created monsters to attack them. 

“It’s late, Devon.” 

She recognized that sweet-tuned voice instantly but didn’t turn to look his way as she spoke. “It’s awfully cold, too.” Her voice came in a whisper.

Her new companions footsteps grew closer, making her glance to her right. “Are you here to wallow in despair with me, Armin?” 

The blonde simply sat down beside his friend, looking ahead the dark path. “No,” He answered. “I was just looking for you.”

The silence returned after that. Chilly air wafting at the night, Devon laid her hands on her lap, inspecting how they’ve gotten small cuts from the sharp stone she had held. Her ears felt blocked as her hands began to tremble. She clenched her teeth in the hopes to ebb away her impending emotions. She exhaled a shattered breath, pressing her hands against the skin of her face. 

Armin’s hand that intended to ease Devon’s cries, seem to have worsen them the moment it touched her. However, he continued on, rubbing small circles at the column of her back. 

“I — “ Devon started, her voice failing her as another ripple of pain pounded at her chest. 

An encouraging hand reached up against her own, gently coaxing her into a state of solace, just enough for her to be able to convey her emotions.

With a breath, Devon began once more. “I thought we’ll be close to peace, once we discovered what was in that goddamn basement,” She laughed, lacking humor. The back of her palm wiping at the tears that had fallen on her cheeks. “But — it was just another door to one more disaster.” 

“That’s true,” Armin agreed, but still mulled over her words. “It is a big step from freedom, though.”

She gritted her teeth, baring the headache that came with it. There was a part of her that knew it was the exact idea Armin had in mind. Regardless of her understanding, she couldn’t help but feel a whistle of displeasure crawling against her lips.

With a swing of her head, she finally flashed her attention to Armin. Devon gave him a once-over, noticing how his once shoulder-length hair, had been cut shorter, lips curled into a frown, dragging down a creases on his forehead. The main thing that always saddened Devon was the look in his eyes.

Armin was the last person Devon thought she’d see with those haunting wisp. He was the last shred of hope she had in this world, even before everything came tumbling down, Devon saw Armin as a beacon, that she could run to whenever it all became horrifyingly dark— staring at him now, Devon felt extremely helpless, loneliness grasping at her throat, catching herself reaching for Armin’s hand that was placed on her back, snatching it on her own.

“We’ve lost so much,” She mumbled, compressing her grip on his hand. “I can’t afford to lose anything anymore— Armin—”

“You won’t—”

“— If we go tomorrow, I will—”

“Devon—”

“No— we’re going into a lion’s den! Every single person in that goddamn land wants us dead!” She stressed, leaning in closer to Arnim as if it’s bound to improve his comprehension.

Armin halted, observing the panic flood in Devon’s sunken eyes. The usual brilliance of its green hue had faded over time. In it’s place were tired, dull irises staring back at him.

He swallowed the lump building up his throat, nodding in understanding. “I know— but we have to bring him home, Devon.”

With a quick dark chuckle, Devon faced the sky, leaning her head back. “I don’t even know if I want to see him,”

Huffing out a breath Armin was holding, he abruptly got on his feet, pulling his hands from Devon’s freezing ones.

The latter flashed him a confused glance, awaiting his next move. She watched as Armin shook off his Survey Corps jacket, soon hanging it on her shoulders.

Maybe it was the topic of discussion that made them neglect the air that had been a lot chillier than before. Devon felt warmth seeping back into her skin as she hugged the material tighter against her body.

“You don’t seem to have a choice for the matter,” Armin muttered, gazing down at her. “Whether or not you’re in good terms with him, Eren still belong with us.”

Devon grimaced, as if Armin had said something completely ridiculous— in her eyes, it was.

She recalled that painful night, about three months ago. The night Eren decided to sneak out and leave Paradis. He had been babbling about it for weeks prior to his escape. Devon made the mistake of thinking it was all that— mindless babbling.

She was wrong, of course. Eren had actually planned everything. He was going to see through his stupid plan.

“Are being fucking serious right now?” Devon hissed, distressed eyes were scanning Eren’s face, hoping this was some sick prank he’d gotten everyone in.

Eren cringed at the volume of her voice, hands putting up immediately to cup her mouth. “Devon— Please— Listen, yeah?”

His pleas were met by deaf ears, as Devon slapped his plams away from his mouth, glaring at him with the outmost disbelief.

“You’re being stupid,” She scoffed. “This is stupid— Eren— You want to go there?” Her furrowed eyebrows deepened the more she thought about it.

Eren bit his lip, nodding slowly, standing rigid in front of her, frozen at the fire in her eyes. He examined her, sitting on her bed, contemplating the information he threw at her face.

The light of the single candle in the room, illuminated the left side of her face as she turned to him again. “What ever you think is going to fix this, it’ll only call for another war—”

“That’s nothing new.”

“You selfish—” She had lunged at him, limbs acting before her brain. “—little brat—!” An echo deafening resounded in the small enclosed space, rearing on the silence it followed. Devon’s palm stung, eyes raging and barely seeing anything beyond her seething anger.

Before she had the mind to process anything, her head banged against a solid surface, a groan leaving her lips from the impact.

Everything was fuzzy, scarcely making out anything at sight. Only cloudy images filled her vision, almost not feeling the bruising grip pressing her down by the wrists.

The searing breath near her ear, felt uncomfortably cold, a pair of lips grazing at the tip, making her shudder.

“For your own protection— all of you— remember that . . .”

The words echoed, but she could barely hear the last ones, as her breath turned calmer, the last thing she saw were those turquoise orbs, looking back at her with an emotion she couldn’t quite read.

Devon shook herself out of the memory. There was more to it, she knew that — but she couldn’t seem to remember. When she tries, a huge headache always came crashing down on her. A sick wave slapped her as she thought about the dreadful possibility of Eren, messing with her memories. 

She hated the big gapping wall in her mind. It was always incomplete, left her nothing but empty guesses about what else he could have said to her that night before he left her hanging with a missing piece in her heart. 

He left them — and just like that, he gets to come home in the most unnecessarily brutal way possible. Eren was asking for a bloodbath, and unfortunately, that was what most likely going to happen tomorrow.

“He’s going to get us killed.” She muttered, voice thinning at the thought of her fallen comrades — endless blood — fire — explosions — “We’ll be lucky if we all make it out in one piece.” 

This time, Armin didn’t contract her declaration, having her look down. He was frighteningly aware of the fact that any of them could die at any given moment. It brought him peril at how Devon had smacked him in the face with the reality he was trying to avoid. A part of him wanted to believe it was all going to go smoothly, but the logical part of him had mulled over the dreadful alternative for a long time now.

He sympathized with the hostile feelings Devon had grown for Eren. Perhaps it was due to the puzzling relationship they possessed. If he was to base it on his observations alone, it was painfully obvious that they cared deeply for one another but never had the time or courage to say it. 

No one has ever pried about their relationship, since they both dismissed it as nonsense. It was perplexing yet as clear as day what they had for each other. 

They would always be found bicker when they were younger, Devon calling Eren an ugly airhead then Eren shooting back that they were the same. Back then, it was true. They were kids who thought they could do everything themselves. Armin could say, Devon grew out of that attitude as time passed by when he got to know Devon a little better. 

After the battle with Zeke, Reiner and Bertholdt, the amount of trauma everyone endured was terrible. The bloody aftermath of Paradis was engraved into their minds, never fading until their last breath. 

The guilt ate at Armin when he found out how he came to be alive. He often wondered why it was him. Why did Captain Levi give him the chance to live over Commander Erwin. 

On the other hand, remorse gripped at Devon’s throat at the unintentional betrayal that crossed her mind that day. She found herself opening her mouth before she could hide it away. 

“I was so desperate for peace . . .” She whispered, yanking down Armin by his hands, his behind slamming against the hard concrete as he was forced to sit down in front of her. “That I . . . For a long time — I believed that only Erwin could lead us there —”

“It’s alright — “

“It isn’t — it was meant to make me happy, for goodness sake — you came back from the dead after I stood there and watch you get burned alive . . .” She failed to realize she was crying until she felt droplets of her tears falling on her hands, intertwined with Armin’s.

Looking away, she continued, Armin watching her carefully. “Mikasa and Eren were desperately convincing Captain Levi to resurrect you — while I stared at both yours and Commander Erwin’s body , absolutely loathing the choice that had to be made.” 

Devon could no longer hold in her heavy sobs, as it broke through her completely. “I get why you thought that, and you weren’t selfish for doing it, were you?” She listened to Armin’s reassuring voice. “You thought Erwin should’ve had it because you believed people would follow him and would avoid getting hurt — “

“ — you’d be able to do that too, though . . .” Devon countered, sniffling as she glanced back at Armin’s oceanic orbs. “I was just blinded by fear to think straight back then.”

Armin smiled at Devon in a silent gratitude. “I thought about everything you did, too, and maybe you’re right, maybe I’m too blinded by my own fears to face another life that was given to me — but I promised Captain Levi and Commander Hanji I’ll do everything it takes to bring us the peace we’ve been seeking out for years.”

Devon winced at the sudden touch on her head, chestnut locks swishing from one side after the other as Armin ruffled her hair. 

“Regretting could only get you so far,” Armin stated, a small smile gracing his face. “What’s important is what you decide to do about it.”

Warmth flooded at Devon’s core, nearly bursting into tears at Armin’s comforting words. Her mind went back to Eren, his circumstances and living conditions on that island were mostly unknown. But seeing as he had the facilities to send a letter, hints that it must be at the least safe.

She started to fly over the scattered thoughts inside her head, mulling over how mentally drained she has been, yet the noise and dull of her heart seem to only worsen. The countless times she had to convince herself of the good things left in the world to bask the gift of life, but lately, she found herself sitting by the windowsill of her room. Eyes always glancing up the sky whether or not they were painted with shining stars. 

Devon often clutched her chest when the uncontrollable pangs in her heart refuses to remain still. Some days, the rejection of waking up rattles her tremendously, and the refusal to face the day ahead was stronger than anything. 

She wanted nothing more than to take a few steps back and reverse time to relish the tranquility of it all. It sounded ridiculously selfish, but she’d trade anything if it means she would awake to Eren and Jean’s loud voices arguing or to see Sasha pocket goods she had stolen from the kitchen while being chased down by Armin. And oh — what she wouldn’t give to replay the day they’ve all bonded together after Keith Shadis made Sasha run until she was in the brink of insanity. 

It’s those little things that made her nostalgic, bringing a sad smile on her lips that she wasn’t sure if she wanted those thoughts randomly popping up her mind. Sometimes, disbelief hits her harder than anything whenever she’d allow herself to scan the faces of what’s left of her teammates. 

When Erwin had told them, he knows “they’d one day go far and achieve great things”, if he was still here, Devon would surely make him look at what had become of them. 

Everyone was preparing for the expedition in Marley tomorrow. Devon had exited the room when she had heard the severity of the situation. Eren was going to wreck havoc in that foreign island and he gave them no other choice than to lend him aid. 

It was rather conflicting, Devon was worried for him but nonetheless, despised his living-breathing self. She often wondered about his whole motive, considering his adamant proclamation that it wasn’t for his own self-indulgence. 

It felt like it was, as she began to feel the shuddering screams of the impending battle that was set to take place. 

If another life of her loved one’s taken from her tomorrow, she fears that it might throw her in an unstable state and she had every right to blame it all on Eren.

[lesvegas]

The Rat Pack Lexicon, or Frankenspeak

In the 1960's the Rat Pack created their own language. It was a mixture of slang and cool terms that helped make them undisputably the ‘kings of cool’ in their heyday in Las Vegas.

Decided to paste the whole glossary from here just so we can have it on tumblr. Under a readmore because it’s long as hell. Original post (some definitions were cut off).

18 Karat All the way, full-out: "An 18 karat idiot."

Baby Used as an exclamation as well as a term of endearment.

Bag A person's particular interest; as in "singing's my bag"  

Barn Burner A very stylish, classy woman  

Beard A male friend who acts as a "cover"; usually for extramarital affairs  

Beetle A girl who dresses in flashy clothes  

Big-Leaguer A resourceful man who can handle any situation

  Big Casino Death  

Bird The male or female genitalia; standard greeting: "How's your bird"?

  Bombsville Any kind of failure in life; see ville

Broad Affectionate term for a girl or woman with sex appeal

Bum A person who is despised, most frequently linked to people in the media

Bunter A man who fails in almost everything he does; the opposite of gasser

Cash Out Leave, as in "Cash me out of this party" = "I'm leaving."

Charley What the rat-packers called one another  

Charlies Admiring word for a woman's breasts

Chick A young and invariably pretty girl

Clam-Bake A party or get-together.

Clyde A word used to cover a multitude of personal observations; e.g., "I don't like her clyde" means "I don't like her voice", etc.  

Coo-Coo! See crazy  

Cool A term of admiration for a person or place. An alternative word meaning the same thing is crazy.

Crazy A term of admiration for a personal, place, or thing; similar to cool.

Creep A man who is disliked for any reason

Croaker A derogatory term for a doctor.

Crumb A person it is impossible to respect

Dame A generally derogatory term for a probably unattractive woman

Dig A term of appreciation; e.g., "I dig that broad."

Dimmer Eyes (as in "I gotta see the croaker about my bad dimmers.")

"Drop it, charley" Change the conversation; see "good night, all”

Duke Tip  

  Dying An exaggerated term to mean slightly upset; e.g. "I'm dying"

End A word to signify that someone or something is the very best; "the living end"

Endsville Total failure; similar to bombsville; see ville

Fink A person who cannot be relied upon or trusted, especially someone in the media; a crumb  

First Base The start of something, usually applied in terms of failure when someone has failed to reach it.

Fracture To make laugh; as in "that fractures me"

Gas A great situation; as in "that set was a gas"

Gasoline Alcohol

Gasser A highly admired person; the end!

Gofer Someone who performs menial jobs and tasks; "go for drinks"

Good Night All A term of invective used to change the subject of conversation

Groove A term of admiration or approval; as in "in the groove"

Harvey A person who acts in a stupid or naive fashion; sometimes shortened to "Harv"

Hacked Angry; as in "he's hacked off"

Hello! A cry of surprise to no one in particular when a beautiful woman is seen

Hey-Hey Indulging in anything of a sexual nature with a woman.

Hunker A jack-of-all-trades; see gopher

Jokes An actor's lines in a screenplay

Let's Lose Charley A term used among intimates who want to get rid of a bore in their company  

Little Hey-Hey Romance; a little action with a broad

Locked-up As in "all locked-up," a term for a forthcoming date or engagement, private or public  

Loser Anyone who has made a mess of their life, drinks too much, makes the wrong enemies, etc.

Mish-Mash Similar to loser, but refers specifically to a woman who is messed up

Mothery Terrific; wild and wicked

Mouse Usually a small, very feminine girl who invites being cuddled

Nowhere A term of failure as in "he's nowhere."

  Odds Used in connection with important decisions, as in "the odds aren't right," meaning it's a no go

Original Loser A person without talent; sometimes more fully expressed as "He is the original Major Bowes Amateur Hour loser  

Pallie Dean's nickname for everyone, whether a lifelong friend or a bellhop  

Platinum Having a big heart, generous. "You're platinum, pussycat!"

Player A man who is a gambler by nature, makes friends easily, and never gives up trying

Punks Any undesirables, in particular criminals, gangsters, or mobsters

Quin Derisive term for a woman who is an easy pick-up

  Rain As in "I think it's going to rain" indicating that it is time to leave a dull gathering or party  

Ring-a-Ding A term of approval, as in "What a ring-a-ding broad!"

Sam Used in the same way as Charley for a person whose name has been forgotten, most often applied to females

Scam To cheat at gambling, as in "Hey, what's the scam?"

Scramsville To run off

Sharp A person who dresses well and with style

Smashed A word used to describe someone who is drunk. On occasions it has been replaced with "pissed."

Solid Definite, reliable. (Note: this was also used by Linc in "The Mod Squad.")

Square A person of limited character, not unlike a harvey.

Swing v. To hang out and drink, smoke, sing, generally get real loose.

Ta-Ta Goodbye

Tomato As in "a ripe tomato" a woman ready for seduction or even marriage.

Twirl A girl who loves dancing

Ville A suffix used to indicate changes in any given situation; see endsville, splitsville, etc

Witchdoctor Member of the clergy.

Wow-ee Wow Wow Figured importantly in the Rat Pack lexicon for a while in the late 50s and early 60s. It was an expression of glee, joyful anticipation and a euphemism for lubricious fun.

The following examples are a fictitious sample of Frank in conversation using his infamous lexicon:

The English version

The bartender gives me another drink. The gathering is dull, with a surfeit of ugly women and men unworthy of respect and an insufficient number of attractive ladies and easy-going fellows. I spot an untrustworthy-looking man over by the jukebox making overtures to a woman. He fancies himself an impressive fellow, flirting with this woman who is more than just another sweet thing to cuddle with. In fact, she is extraordinary. I am awestruck by her beauty.

Now the would-be Romeo is leaning closer, pressing his romantic attack. So I cast my gaze in her direction. She gazes back: A confident connection is made. She crosses the room, stands beside me, orders a drink, tells a joke that I find quite amusing, then says she found her previous companion uninteresting. I like her and believe the reverse is also true. I sense the party is on its last legs and say so. We leave.

The Frank version

The barkeep fills me up with gas. The joint ain't hopping; it's no clambake, brother - too many dames and crumbs, not enough broads and players. I spot a fink over by the jukebox making the moves. He thinks he's a big-leaguer, scamming on a chick who - hello! - is more than a mouse. An 18-karat barn-burner, boy- the end. Ring a ding!

Now the big-leaguer's leaning closer, feeding her a line, but she's not biting. It's bombsville. He's nowhere; he knows it, and so do I. So I shoot the broad a come-hither look, and she shoots back: Solid. She crosses the room, sidles up next to me, gasses up, tells a joke that fractures me and says the big-leaguer was a Harve. I dig her, and she digs me. "I think it's going to rain," I say. And just like that, we're scramsville.

[bleachbleachbleach]

Your blog is awesome and so wacky I love it! What inspired both of you to create the blog, and are there any people/blogs that inspire your posts or fics?

Aw, thank you!! We’re glad you enjoy it. <333 We initially made the blog as a receptacle for all our Bleach thoughts for posterity, because Apple Messages can’t be searched worth a good goddamn. Then being on Tumblr really opened the door in terms of the amount of Bleach content—really excellent Bleach content—that was out and about in the world! And I think my primary inspirations for B3 now are still having a place to put random Bleach things we make, and wanting to make Bleach friends. I’m variably good at both of these things, though. My goal is to post to this blog reflexively and without filter because the alternative is just me being deeply anxious about being perceived, ON TUMBLR, ON A BLOG ABOUT AN OLD ANIME, and I know logically that’s very silly. I also get anxious about overstepping Tumblr’s Pact of Parasociality, but trust that if you are interested in being friends I am too; I’m just scared of being a Kool-Aid Man. XD (And chronically absent from this platform, but one of my 2022 goals is to not be.)

The first three Tumblrs I remember looking at before we made this blog were @littleeyesofpallas’s Bleach name posts, @recurring-polynya’s meta (specifically the Renji fashion posts, because I am obsessed with Renji’s koi hoodie and overall think he’s the best dressed in the series; and also the post about Bleach and The Abhorsen Trilogy, a series that is my entire childhood and also the origin of my usual online name, outside of Tumblr), and @kaicko’s tiny Hyourinmaru art.

As far as what inspires posts or fics, I guess like everyone else here… THEM. The cast of Bleach! My desire to spend time with them! <33333 I like hanging out with them, and having places to hang out with them that exist in different registers, whether it’s omake memes or taking them very seriously in fanfic.

Bleachbleachbleach is such a silly name--it was supposed to be a placeholder. (Fascinating, right? Because I know what you’re thinking—in no way does this subtle and eminently clever name sound like a placeholder!)--and I just copied the name of the screensharing room we’d been using to watch… Bleach… But it’s our brand now and also frankly what I envision my ideal life to be. BLEACHBLEACHBLEACH!

—

I had actually completely forgotten that BLEACHBLEACHBLEACH was supposed to be a placeholder name, but I went back into the pit of Apple Messages and searched out the exact moment of blog creation for everyone's enjoyment (including my own)

May 3, 2021 ~9:45a PST

(under the cut because this post is starting to get very long)

The message exchange has been slightly edited for clarity and to remove some somewhat embarrassing messages in which we talk about posts/blogs we like, which are literally the ones whipplefilter mentioned above.

I find it hilarious that basically everything about the blog was supposed to be temporary. The name, the banner, layout, userpic... everything was supposed to be changed from the temporary images once we had a better grasp of the blog and more time. The pfp and banner are placeholders and something we have discussed updating/making better for... basically the entire 10mo that this blog has been around. And yet we still haven't done it, and now it's probably become somewhat of our brand. I do think the blog navigation is incredibly ugly/difficult to use, so maybe I will get around to changing it...

I'd like to point out that LOL, I mention wanting to have useful tags, and that is definitely not something we have here. If anything, they are probably the opposite of useful. XDDD

In all seriousness though, I do think we've met some wonderful people in the Bleach tumblr community, and maybe have made some new friends along the way? Which is ironic, considering we thought we only needed the imaginary Bleach friends. But it's nice to have friends that you can interact with! So please, feel free to message us!!

[inevitably-johnlocked]

STEPH I ACCIDENTLY REWATCHED TSOT AND NOW I'M FUCKING SOBBING. I JUST HAVEN'T WATCHED THE ACTUAL SHOW IN FOREVER AND FORGOT HOW SAD SHERLOCK LOOKS IN THIS EPISODE. GOD. so yeah i just wanted some fics where john & sherlock dance together, whether it be at a/their wedding, "for a case", some kind of ball, or my favorite- sherlock teaching john to dance. it's maybe one of my favorite situations/tropes in media. (also welcome back!! and i love you <3)

Hi Lovely!!!

AHHHH I’ve been putting a “dancing” list together before I even had a system in place to do my lists, so I’m going to use your ask as an excuse to finally post it because I can’t find the original ask, LOL LOL!!!

And to pad out the list, I’m adding any that I’ve tagged from my MFL List, so I hope you enjoy that, LOL.

As usual, add your own, friends!! Hope you enjoy!!!

DANCING

You Lead, I Lead, You Follow, I Follow by BrighteyedJill (M, 862 w., 1 Ch. || Fever, H/C, John Whump) – John wakes up after a chase gone wrong to find Sherlock watching over him, but he’s a little hazy on the details.

Velvet by headlessjess (G, 1,155 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Angst, Jealous Sherlock, Loneliness, Sad Fic) – It's the day, the wedding day - John and Mary, getting married. And then there's Sherlock, in pain and in love, without knowing how to deal with it.

Your love it feels so good by Hotaru_Tomoe (E, 2,843 w., 1 Ch. || Gay Club / Gay Bar, Lingerie, Stripping, Anal) – Sherlock is last at a quiz night and is forced by Anderson to perform in a gay stripclub. John must be with him, because he will have to record the performance. Sherlock takes the task very seriously. Part 20 of The English job

Behind Closed Curtains by twisting_vine_x (G, 2,939 w., 1 Ch. || Dancing, Angst, Pre-Slash) – Set loosely during season two, when Sherlock and John are still, ahem, dancing around each other. Sherlock teaches John how to dance.

Unimpressed by 221b_hound (M, 3,106 w., 1 Ch. || New Year’s Eve, Dancing, Jealousy) – Sherlock has no intention of attending the Met's New Year's Eve party. The start of a new year is all but meaningless to him. But he ends up there anyway, having odd conversations, and John does not find Sherlock's jealousy the slightest bit cute. And then there is dancing. Part 10 of Unkissed

Every Step of the Way by Shi_Toyu (G, 3,795 w., 1 Ch. || Car Accident, John Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Caretaking, Pre-Slash) – When John is injured on a case, Sherlock can't forgive himself. Everyone expects him to give up on his flatmate and get bored, but he'll prove them all wrong by sticking with him...every step of the way.

No Good Without You by textsandscones (T, 4,021 w., 1 Ch. || Case Fic, Sherlock’s Violin, Dancing, Soppy Fluff) – A diverting new case surrounding musicians and stolen instruments captures Sherlock's attention, the consequences of which lead both detective and doctor to see one another in a different light. Part 1 of Prompt Fills

Living Musical by VeeTheRee (G, 4,149 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hobbies, Summer, Song Fic, POV Sherlock, Painting, Play Fighting, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Love Declarations, Hair Petting, Promise of Forever) – A one-shot of John and Sherlock being domestic during summer. There is paint, fluff, and music from Imagine Dragons, namely from the album 'Speak To Me', specific song in this one-shot is 'Living Musical'. Part 1 of the Happy Fluffy Johnlock Time series

But Tonight You Belong to Me by esplanade (T, 4,296 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff & Angst, Pining, Stag Night, Sad Ending) – “You. It's always you. John Watson, you keep me right.”

The Dance Lesson by bittergreens (G, 4,596 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Missing Scene, Dancing, Pining Sherlock, URT/UST, Romance, Angst, POV John) – Sherlock teaches John to dip. Part 1 of Goodnight, Vienna

Sway by CrackedMetal (K+, 4,602 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Drama, Dancing, Mary is Nice, Canon Divergence, Song Fic) – Sherlock doesn't leave the reception and Mary wants the best friends to have a moment to talk… So she suggests a dance. Johnlock with a side of John/Mary.

Sherlock and John Go Clubbing by wendymarlowe (E, 4,716 w., 3 Ch. || Clubbing, Dirty Talk, Dancing, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Bi John, For a Case, Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Sherlock is Lost for Words, Sexy John, Mutual Pining, Possessive John, Floor Sex) – John pinched the bridge of his nose - even for Sherlock, this was a new level of no bloody boundaries. “You want me to go with you to a gay club, wait around twiddling my thumbs while I let you get pawed by a criminal, then out-flirt him and talk you into coming home with me instead?” Part 32 of John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times

a very soft epilogue (my love) by darcylindbergh (E, 5,395 w., 3 Ch. || Retirement, Domestic Fluff, Dancing, Dogs, Grumpy Old Men) – Across the pillows, Sherlock shifts and hums, the creases of his face deepening and then smoothing before settling. John watches him wake up, his chest swelling with affection and fondness, and thinks he’ll never get tired of Sherlock in the mornings, sleepy and soft. It’s been some forty-odd years, and John hasn’t gotten tired of it yet. Part 5 of things fairy tales are made of

Second Waltz by Atiki (T, 6,685 w., 1 Ch. || MCD, Angst, Fluff, Cancer) – "The night I died, you wished I could wait for you."

What I Hide By My Language, My Body Utters by PixChuu22 (M, 9,047 w., 1 Ch. || Fake Relationship, For a Case, Friends to Lovers) - Based on a prompt from Tumblr user thetwogaydetectives - “fake relationship that ends up being so real, they finally realize they are in love.”

Down with this Ship by FrostedFlame (PinkOrchid) (M, 10,862 w., 10 Ch. || For a Case, Gay Bar, Pining Sherlock, Coming Out, Slow Burn) – Sherlock drags John undercover to a gay bar - for a case, of course - looking forward to seeing John flustered by their surroundings (since you know, he's NOT GAY). John decides that he has hidden both his orientation and his feelings for his daft flatmate for far too long. He is done hiding, time to be honest with his bloody best friend in the world. He just hopes it won't change anything between them. And then it does.

the first day of forever by darcylindbergh (E, 11,850 w., 8 Ch. || Est. Relationship, Domestics, Light Angst, Insecurity, Emotional H/C) – “I’m going to marry you,” John murmurs with against Sherlock’s smile, and they both giggle in the joy of it. “We’re getting married.” “Yes,” Sherlock says, just to hear himself say it out loud. “We are.” A June wedding. Part 4 of things fairy tales are made of

All the Girls Love a Soldier by Book7BrokeMyBrain (E, 12,951 w., 1 Ch. || Military Kink, Frottage, Domesticity, Post S3, Pining Sherlock, Kilt John, Wedding, Dancing) – John is invited to a stag party and a wedding. The related accoutrement suit Sherlock to a T.

Twelfth Night by yourdykeinshiningarmor (E, 15,139 w., 5 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Christmas, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Angst & Fluff, BJ’s, Anal) – John is invited to his aunt's Twelfth Night ball. Sherlock offers to attend with him as a friendly face among strangers, but John's family force him to address his true feelings for Sherlock.

I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

Sonatina in G Minor by SilentAuror (E, 22,574 w., 1 Ch. || Case Fic, POV Sherlock, Angst, UST, Sherlock’s Violin, Post-S3, Romance) – John has come back to Baker Street, but Sherlock doesn't understand the strange tension between them, even after he begins teaching John to play the violin at John's request.

a good old-fashioned happy ending by darcylindbergh (E, 32,731 w., 26 Ch. || Christmas, Frottage, Comfort, Est. Rel., Fluff, Insecure Sherlock, Frottage, Nightmares, Sleepy Sherlock, Marriage Proposal, Humour, Fluff, Dancing, Cooking, Happy Ending) – For Christmas this year, Sherlock wants to get John something special: something every fairytale deserves. Part 2 of things fairy tales are made of

we have never seen a greater day than this by Lediona (T, 36,420 w., 7 Ch. || A Royal Night Out AU || WWII / VE Day, Prince Sherlock, Soldier John, Alternating POV, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Dancing) – Peace. At long last. It’s VE Day and Prince William desires to join the celebrations. It is a night of excitement, danger and the first flutters of romance.

Guilty Secrets by Ellipsical (E, 55,086 w., 16 Ch. || Drumsticks, First Kiss/Time, Love Confession, Self-Sexual-Discovery, Anal, Rimming, Orgasim Denial, Butt Plugs, Cooking, Furniture Sex, Bath Sex, Rimming, Double Penetration, Anal Beads, Dancing, Romance, Tantric Edging) – John has a prostate exam and discovers something surprising about himself. Experimentation follows. Sherlock wants to help. They're in love. You know the drill.

The Bells of King's College by SilentAuror (E, 64,019 w., 5 Ch. || Post-S4, Missed Opportunities, Angst with Happy Ending, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, John POV, Jealous John, John in Denial, Travelling / Holidays, Virgin Sherlock, Wedding Proposals) – It's only been two weeks since Eurus Holmes disrupted their lives when Mycroft sends John and Sherlock to Cambridge to pose as an engaged couple at a wedding show in the hopes of solving six unsolved deaths...

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU ||  Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w., 43 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock POV, Eventual Happy Ending) – "For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face." Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

Shatter the Darkness (Let the Light In) by MojoFlower (E, 109,683 w., 23 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Genie/Djinn AU || Magical Realism, Kidnapping, Genie Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Case Fic, H/C, Angst, Clubs, John Whump, Mild DubCon, Hand / Blow Jobs, Torture) – Fairy tales are for those who remember how to dream; not John Watson, broken and hiding from his bleak future in a beige bedsit. But then he discovers a lamp and finds himself in the dangerous riptide of an enigmatic man whose very existence is unbelievable, murder charges against his sister, and the growing pains of feeling alive once more.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

MARKED FOR LATER

He really can’t breathe. by Luna_sharp618 (NR, 696 w., 1 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Dancing, Sherlock Teaching John to Dance, TSo3 Fic) – In which Sherlock teaches John how to dip his dance partner for the wedding and has some pining thoughts.

The Gay Bar Scene that never was by MadSophHatter (T, 1,372 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3, Gay Bar Scene, Confused Sherlock, Jealous John, Humour) – The gay bar scene from The Sign of Three as I envisioned it. Featuring a confused Sherlock, halfnaked men, sexy dancing and John who is absolutely not jealous.

Tango by standbygo (M, 1,424 w., 1 Ch. || Different First Meeting, Dancing) – “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” “Shut up and dance – a man’s alibi depends on it.”

Operation Synchronous by Daziechane (NR, 1,691 w., 1 Ch. || Dancer Sherlock, Lip Synch Battle, Abuse Of Umbrellas, Bets) – Sherlock never welches on a bet. That doesn't mean he'll give in easily, however.

on his mouth like liquor by chrysanthemumsies (T, 1,780 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3, Stag Night, Gay Bar, Romance, Dancing, First Kiss, Fluff) – The gay bar scene from Stag night that the creators didn't want to show! Pure crack with a bit of angst and a whole lotta fluff (if you squint). Sherlock and John on the dance floor - what's not to love?

Take me to Baker Street by MorganeUK (G, 2,087 w., 1 Ch. || Adult Ballet AU || Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Doctor John, Song Fic, Pre-Slash) – I always loved Sergei Polunin interpretation of Take me to the church so I decided to write a version where Sherlock is a ballet dancer in serious need of a doctor…

May I Have This Dance? by ScaryFairy13 (G, 2,297 w., 1 Ch. || Slow Dancing, Fluff, First Kiss, Wedding) – John drags Sherlock to Greg's and Molly's wedding. Dancing ensues as well as the discovery of certain sentimental feelings.

Under the Lights by CarmillaCarmine (E, 2,872 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Fix It, Stag Night, Gay Club, First Time, Dancing) – Following Sherlock’s map marked with all the streets where they had found a corpse, John and Sherlock stumbled into a gay club. Part 1 of TSoT Fix-It

Dirty by standbygo (E, 5,093 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, PWP, Dirty Dancing, Romance, Smut and Fluff) – “Yeah, I actually learned how to dance like that, like in the film. I was quite the hit at parties while the craze lasted. Some of Harry’s friends called me Johnny Castle, after the character. Or Swayze.” “Swayze? What kind of word is that?” John did not reply, but gazed at Sherlock, his lips pressed together but still smiling. After a moment, he stood and held out his hand to Sherlock. “Dance with me,” John said.

The Posh Purple Pirate (Enter My Life and Make Me Drown) by  Loveismyrevolution (E, 7,408 w., 1 Ch. || Exotic Dancer AU || Alternate First Meeting, Strangers to Lovers, For a Case, Lap Dancing, Hand Job, First Kiss, Pirate Sherlock, Drama Queen Sherlock, Dancer Sherlock) – When Mike Stamford invited him to a fun night out, John Watson never expected it would become such a wild ride - captivated by an enigmatic pirate his life suddenly gains speed in an unexpected direction. Part 1 of PirateDragQueenVerse

Life's Uneven Kilter by theslovenlyfool (T, 14,877 w., 4 Ch. || Canon Divergence S3, BAMF John, Secretly Married, Camp Gay Sherlock, Dancing, John is a Good Actor, Fake Relationship, Mycroft Plays a Role) – "According to Sherlock, the game began on September 21, 2005 at precisely 10:37:04 am. John complained that, with that logic, the game had actually begun on January 7, 2000, at around 1:30 am. But for Sherlock, games are only fun when others are willing to play. What is a game without an adversary, after all? And what is a proper dash across London without a partner? Now, Sherlock thought as he assessed the doctor with the unforgivable cane, the game is on."

Thirteen Dances (Or, The Doctor Dances) by Knackorcraft (E, 17,544 w., 13 Ch. || Dirty Dancing, Tango, Ballet, Frottage) – John is a great dancer: we're talking all types. Not only is he able to pop and lock it, he's got some great ballet technique. He was best at lifting / holding girls.

The One Where Sherlock Doesn’t Ruin John’s Holiday by nutmeag83 (T, 18,898 w., 11 Ch. || Pre-TRF / S2 Timeline, Friends to Lovers, Cruise Ships, Vacation / Holidays, Fake Relationship, For Science, Bed Sharing, Cuddling/Snuggling, Mutual Pining, John POV, Minor Case Fic, Cooking, Dancing, Drunk Shenanigans) – John wins a cruise vacation for two and brings Sherlock along. But when it turns out to be a couples cruise, they have to pretend to be a couple themselves (for science). How many pretend kisses will it take before they can’t deny their feelings any longer?

Lockdown by johnwatso and Salambo06 (E, 23,376 w., 20 Ch. || Quarantine, COVID-19, Lockdown, Fluff, Parentlock, Reunion, Dancing, Soft Idiots, Sex Toys) – The world is in lockdown due to Covid-19. This is how Sherlock and John spend their time.

Dance With Me by Silvergirl (E, 24,813 w., 12 Ch. || Post TEH, Dancing, Met Charity Gala, Sally/Sherlock Friendship, No Mary, Fluff) – Sherlock rescues Sally Donovan, and in turn she tries to help him get John to stop faffing about and get on with Johnlock.

Mountebank by Odamaki (M, 26,514 w., 2 Ch. || Fake Relationship/Dating/Marriage, For A Case, Jealous John, Suits, House Party, Crack, Trapped, UST, Dancing, Idiots in Love, Confessions, Friends to Lovers) – “I am calm,” John snaps, leaning on the door to glare out at the dark streets around them. Sherlock’s not said where they’re going; all he knows is they came off the ring road to the west of London and have vanished somewhere into the depths of Berkshire. All he knows is that he’s been trussed up in a suit that wasn’t hired from anywhere and if brought new would edge up into the triple figure margins. “Be calmer,” Sherlock advises, with a trace of irony. “We’re going to a party.” Part 29 of the The Sherlexicon

Time Of My Life by fiveainley_ohmy (E, 29,719 w., 8 Ch. || Dirty Dancing Fusion || Bisexual John, Dancing, Gay/Demi Sherlock) – John Watson takes his alcoholic sister to a summer camp in attempt to rehabilitate her. He didn't expect to fall in love with the dance instructor.

Brooklyn Heat, Summer Jazz by Zigster (E, 41,820 w., 10 Ch. || New York Ballet AU || Jazz Pianist John, Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Modern Setting, Brooding Sherlock , Confused John, Non-Linear Storytelling, Sexual Tension, Angst, Alcohol / Pot / Club Drug Use, First Time, Not-Good Mycroft, Happy Ending) – "There was, however, one thing that made it easier to stay on his piano bench every day. One thing that kept John Watson showing up to class on time, every morning at ten with a large thermos of honeyed tea and a conviction to see a job well done. His name was Sherlock Holmes and he was the most confounding and extraordinary thing John had ever come across - the most exotic of birds and the most unattainable of men."

Blond Barista Seeks Dashing Ballet Dancer: Inquire Within by prettysailorsoldier (E, 43,847 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock Coffee Shop AU || Rugby/Barista John, Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Fluff) – Between classes, his job at a local cafe, and being captain of the rugby team, John Watson's life is plenty stressful enough without the addition of a mysterious ballet dancer he can see through the windows of the dance studio across the street, but, somehow, he can't bring himself to mind.

My Pictures of You by 72reasons (E, 50,527 w., 19 Ch. || Fashion AU || Model Sherlock / Photographer John, Bisexual John, Gay Sherlock, Past Viclock, Past Warstan, Cocaine / Drug Use, Mary is Not Nice, Angst, Pining, Case Fic, Kidnapping, Human Trafficking, Past Jolto, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Frottage, Oral / Anal, Fingering, Dancing, Non-Con Drug Use, Rimming) – John Watson, a photographer, gets an assignment to shoot gorgeous, young fashion model, Sherlock Holmes. He feels an instant connection, but Sherlock uses drugs and has an old friend who's just landed himself in a lot of trouble. When Sherlock comes to John for help, he reluctantly agrees. Angst, past loves, and insecurities threaten to end their budding romance, but ultimately love and trust wins out.

Focal Point by PuffleLock (E, 60,913 w., 13 Ch. || Post-TRF Divergence / Different Reunion, POV John, Slow Burn, For a Case, Friends to Lovers, Suicidal Thoughts, Sad Wank, Sherlock in Makeup, Dancing, Mentions of Torture / Depression / PTSD, Love Confessions, Idiots in Love, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Scars, Rimming, Anal, Toplock, First Kiss / Time, Gay Sherlock / Bi John) – John comes home early from a medical conference to find that every once in awhile, Sherlock can surprise the hell out of him. Can John surprise him back?

A Moment's Surrender by anchors (M, 64,272 w., 10 Ch. || Dancer AU || Ballet Sherlock, Swing Dancer John, Angsty Fluff, Romance, Swing Dancing) – Sherlock tours worldwide with the English National Ballet. John dances the Lindy Hop competitively all across the globe. That they would meet, then, by the slimmest of chances in one lonely city, is pure coincidence. The whole 'dancing together' bit is a little more planned.

This Is Your Song by agirlsname (E, 79,990 w., 19 Ch. || Moulin Rouge Fusion || Prostitute Sherlock, Poet John, Acting, Singing, Dancing, Writing, Poetry, Musical, Song Fic, Heavy Angst, Unreliable Narrator, Sherlock is French, Love at First Sight, UST, First Kiss/Time, Frottage, Coming in Pants, Anal Sex, Switchlock, Clothed Sex, Crossdressing, Secret Relationship, Forbidden Love, Jealousy, Terminal Illnesses, Grief/Mourning, Breakup/Makeup Sex, Past Drug Use, Attempted Rape, Canon-Typical Violence)– When John Watson is invalided home from the army in 1895, he moves to Paris to rediscover his writing and find a new meaning in life. His old friend Stamford invites him into a group of artist friends, and suddenly John finds himself auditioning to write a show for the famous brothel across the street. There, he meets the most beautiful man he’s ever seen - Sherlock, the star of the Moulin Rouge. But Sherlock is already promised to the investor of the show, the rich Duke Moriarty.

A Case of Identity – The Musical by shamelessmash (E, 83,147 w., 15 Ch. || 1950′s Hollywood AU || Musical, Case Fic, Undercover as an Actor, Dancing, Happy Ending, Kidnapping, Drugs, Fluff and Angst, Humour, Writer/Director John, Slow Burn / Romance) – A mysterious death on set causes chaos in Stamford productions latest movie. With the premiere date left unchanged, they must find a new lead actor and reshoot an entire movie in two months. Sherlock Holmes goes undercover as a lead actor in a Musical: a juggling act to solve a murder while singing, dancing and charming his way through 1950s Hollywood. The last thing he expected was to fall in love with the screenwriter along the way. Or as I like to call it: the case where Sherlock finally gets to dance. Based off this prompt.

Rewind by All_I_need (E, 87,593 w. || Fake/Pretend Relationship, Pining, Angst, Sharing a Bed, Dancing Lessons, Oblivious John) – About a month before John's wedding, he and Sherlock embark on one last case together: a murder at a remote hotel in the middle of nowhere. A lot can happen in a week. And a lot doesn't. But what if ...?

Rosethorne by suitesamba (M, 98,888 w., 28 Ch. || Secret Garden AU || Injured Sherlock / John, Recovery, First Times, Minor Character Death, Disability, Past Domestic Abuse [Mary/OMC]) – John Watson, WWII army doctor, is injured in the line of duty and can no longer wield a scalpel. Sherlock Holmes, Britain’s best code-breaker, is side-lined by his own devastating injury. In a work inspired by Frances Hodgson Burnett’s “The Secret Garden,” the two men must find meaning and purpose in a world which seems to have taken away all they hold most dear. But of course, it really hasn’t.

October to Hogmanay by snorklepie (E, 127,318 w., 25 Ch. || Post HLV Fix-It, Awkward First Times, Hurt/Comfort, Sherlock is a Mess, Shameless Smut, Sherlock’s Past, Scotland, Poison, Holmes Family, Kilts, Dancing, Angst) – John stared at Sherlock’s profile against the cab window and exhaled slowly. After a long moment, he reached out and touched Sherlock’s long fingers where they were fiddling with the button on his coat. The tall man didn’t look around again, but his fingers slowly unfurled before curling deliberately around John’s hand. Part 2 of Scotland

Shatter Me by Loveismyrevolution (E, 162,856+ w., 20/24 Ch. || WiP || Sherlock Dances, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Angst with Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Introspection, Mutual Pining, UST, Idiots in Love, Big Brother Mycroft, Implied Drug Use, Suicidal Thoughts, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions) – This is a story about two men trying to find their way back into the comfort of their companionship. No easy task in the aftermath of the events of Reichenbach, a wedding and a shot through the heart. They are facing a very rocky road ahead with a lot of introspection, misunderstandings, angst and pining. They each try to cope in their own particular way. Eventually, they'll find a way to communicate and learn about the true nature of their feelings.