#not stopping to think 'could there be consequences for this?'

[currentfandomkick]

Danny gets a visit from Scarecrow. He’s reviewing his products and informing Scarecrow which set of fear receptors each sample targets. As far as Danny’s body is concerned? Adrenal gland- affective fear gas and toxins are carbon ghost weed. Some affect only the amygdala without triggering his adrenal glands were more like electrolyte drinks for Danny. Scarecrow is fascinated by Danny’s biology and Danny is given the man’s number so he can continue to be a willing test subject.

Tucker got bored while Scarecrow and Danny were doing drug experiments. Tucker just… decided to toy with the magic he has as Dulamann and noted raising dead animals is included. He now has a pet pigeon zombie named GiGi who is a demanding little thing expecting cuddles on his shoulder and coos. Tucker refuses to let Lancer return her to being dead, ans the class agrees.

Wes and Star ended up in a Riddler Scheme. Wes and Star get the riddles correct, sure, but Wes is bored so he treats it like an escape room. Star tells him he will not beat the Phantom Allegations if he keeps it up. Wes does keep it up and points out as they leave that Batman’s armor, build, and base structural features all could belong to Bruce Wayne and the Batman dating Bruce would be a clever cover, esp given the 6 lookalikes thing and Superman being a dead ringer for Bruce Wayne. Star reminds him that outting the living people’s secret IDs is poor taste. His response of ‘so you don’t want me to tell the rest of the A-listers which market Hood gets his snacks from and when then?” Star shuts up and demands his camera for the event as otherwise she will not hear the end of it from Dash.

Oddly enough, it was not Fenton who bit anyone. That was Sam in an attempted kidnapping of an heiress. She broke skin and the kidnappers are in the ER since the teens began their class trip. She is also arguing with Wes over photo composition and subject preferences and purposes. He thinks her aesthetic is boring and trite. She finds him to be a clout chasing idiot whose curse is the only thing stopping the Dannies from being outted as the Phantoms.

Everyone catcalled Selina with pspsps or whistles audible to dogs. Lancer tells them to “stop harassing the local rogues. They are not liminal, this is harassment” multiple times. Catwoman is bewildered and takes to dropping Robin (Damian) in front of them to see their reaction to him.

This began the vigilante response betting pool and subsequently sabotaging. How Paulina was not caught and made out like a bandit is everyone but Mikey’s to wonder. And he is spilling nothing.

Danny and Val were caught making snowmen as a date. His icecore kept him from any consequences (and gothamites were convinced he’a alien, meta or both at this point) while Val is seen in her Red Huntress suit teasing the crap out of him. Apparently this reminded the poor Mr. Freeze of his relationship with Nora and the man was very unwell. Batman reprimanded them… only for Danny to try and steal the man’s cape as “it rewrites physics and has a submix of cursed magic and black hole-centered magic. I need this to store the thermos not in my chest!” Batman is now Concerned for the meta boy. Val just rolls her eyes and tells him to see if Catwoman can get him a scrap to test and play with as a souvenir and possible commission for her at a later date. Batman is further alarmed, but is called away to help move victims with early stages of hypothermia.

Val and Danny are later seen in an argument with Red Robin and Spoilers on battle tactics in the middle of an escape(?) from Bane. Danny is insistent they ‘let him soup the man’ while Val is in favor of Danny hitting him with a wail and letting her contain him in her suit’s energy field. Spoiler is intent on getting the pair to leave her and Red Robin to moving the guy to a less populated area and wait for backup. Red is trying to trick the man into a corner and avoiding direct combat himself. Sam shows up and grows plants throguht his nerves to paralyze him for the time being, complains that they are inefficient and is seen chatting with Robin over various methods of ‘not liable to make a ghost but Worse’.

Batman issues a cease and desist communicating with Robin outside of rogue attacks

Tucker raises a crow from the dead for Robin. And runs into a determined zombie trying to kidnap him. Kwan throws the creepy owl mask through a wall while Tucker grumbles about not being into feathers, and the need to ask before assuming he’d be down for a fight.

Ashley shared a look with Britney before the pair agreed the Penguin looked severely underfed. They bring this up to the rest of the girls. Sam and Paulie share a look before every girl on the trip has gotten fresh fish and begin throwing it at the poor human-shaped Penguin shifter. Guy was so malnourished he forgot how to fully shift one way or the other :((((

Hannah managed to save a kid from a very unmatched ghost fight. Little girl names Jenny Falcone. Her uncle Carmine was real grateful and invited her and her class to dinner with them! The shoot out with the Maronis was not her fault! How was anyone supposed to know they were Mafia Mr. Lancer? Is it because they’re italian? That’s so racist Mr. Lancer. (Class incites a minor riot against Mr. Lancer until he reminds them that Falcone and Maroni are names on the ‘do not interact with’ list. Not far from the Wayne Clan and their itinerary.)

The class spread stories of ghost fights to their new friends. Danny had taken a shine to Scarecrow (to Lancer’s misery) and Grundy (to everyone else’s misery). Dash is the biggest Phantom Hypeman beside Paulina. Fenton being summoned mid-conversation with Grundy resulting in a city-wide rampage instituted another rule.

Dash started the sewer fishing against Danny as a joke. Pulling out a disgruntled Killer Croc and reuniting Jazz and Danny with their missing-for-twenty-years uncle waylon was on no one’s bingo card. Waylon insisting the lair stay with him and the Fentons approving annoyed the rest of the class. Why do they get to have unstructured time and we don’t was met with a mile long stare from Lancer.

Jazz was banned from Arkham Asylum with Sam. Jazz for appearing outside of visiting hours to ask Harley about a portion of her research into reformation facilitation with those believing themselves irredeemable. Sam for attempting to help Ivy escape with Harley.

Mia, Nathan and Rebecca did almost kill two-face and his goons during an ATM run. Their combined battlelust was cut short by Lancer using a Fenton-Grade Water Gun reeking of old cologne. The lecture on not adding to the ghost population, even in self defense while being a Guest in Thammy’s city did not stick to anyone besides Danny. His address of ‘okay, but do you want me to make them an Amity Problem?’ Got the message across.

Tiffany took Danny’s triple dog dare, to challenge the next rogue holding them all hostage in a punoff for longer than it takes the rest of them to escape was accepted. james and Dash made sure it wasn’t catwoman though—she wasn’t good at innuendo. She is good at wordplay and had the clown on the ropes until Tommy faceplanted whike getting up and Tracey tripped over him. The lancer lecture was not worth the lost bet. Fenton made out like a bandit with her owing him a rocket model of his choosing.

Kyle stealing Lancer’s emergency nausea crackers meant everyone heard it. Wes apologized for his brother’s munchies. Given Fenton’s behavior with Scarecrow, no one paid it any mind.

Tucker reviving a reanimated corpse who imprinted in Lancer and called him “Mr. lancer dad sir” aloud was embarrassing for their teacher and hilarious to everyone in the class. Spike called dibs in being the guy’s cousin and redesigning the bad owl mask. Lancer was a parent now by Gotham’s undead legal system. He did have a minor heartattack and had to stay in the hospital.

DPXDC prompt. Field trip.

Some people would call gothamites petty, but given that most of the USA population treated them as scum, they believed that their behavior was justified.

They didn't like tourists, to put it mildly. Therefore, after learning that in their city were people on a field trip from Amity Park who could not leave Gotham for several days due to weekly escape from Arkham, the news channel immediately decided that a short interview from the guests would definitely amuse the locals. The reaction of outsiders never ceases to be ridiculous.

Reporter: ~Good afternoon~ Gotham News! May I ask you to share what you liked most about our wonderful city?

Mr. Lancer*still in a cold sweat and looks at every passerby as a potential villain*: Uh, no, me..It's so unexpected. Well, first of all, people here are very…

Danny *is high after the tasting samples Dr. Crane gave him for free and is extremely eager to share his happiness with others*,* picks a microphone*.

Danny: Gotham is the best city in the world! Like seriously, damn, I'd like to die here. Although there are constant shootings somewhere, half the time people don't even shoot at me! I haven't been this relaxed since middle school! And in the evenings, there is often such a pleasant scent of fear and despair on the streets. This fear toxin of yours is a real miracle! It's sooo good!

Sam *decides to take the initiative in her own hands before Fenton says too much*: Personally, I am very pleased with the number of green spaces you have in your city. It's nice to see that here eco-activists are really being listened to. Also, the fact that most restaurants have a thoughtful menu for vegetarians left a very pleasant impression.

Dash in his favorite T-shirt "it's not gay if he's dead": Four words. Hips of Red Hood. The fact that it is not marked in the guidebook as the main attraction of the Crime Alley is a real crime. This dude clearly never skips leg days. My respect.

Tucker: What can I say? The speed of internet here, even during villains attacks, is absolutely  unbelievable. I don't want to leave this place.

Jazz: I love Gotham! Finally, I was able to buy all the works published by Dr. Harleen Quinzel. *girl picks up an impressive stack of books* For some reason, they are not available online.

The camera points at a red-haired guy with a twitching eye.

Wes: I'm 85% sure Bruce Wayne is Batman. I have a proof and I am ready to provide it.

A girl with a "Good Guess" pin from Riddler enters and takes camera away from conspiracy theorist.

Star: Sorry, he slipped out at night and went to look for problems. Again. Don't pay any attention to him. He's always like this when he drinks more than two energy drinks in a row.

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Like Ships in the Night…On a Train… (BSD version part 1)

Author's Note: Got horny. Thought about one of my favorite scenarios. Bon appetit 👍 Other installments are already in the works for different series. :3

Pairings: Sigma, Dazai, & Chuuya x male reader (separately)

Warnings: Male!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!characters, trans Sigma, chikan, grinding, groping, fingering (Sigma), nipple play (Chuuya)

Sigma

Why is this happening to him?! He's read the news headlines about creeps groping people on trains, sure, but he never imagined he'd be on the receiving end of that!

Sigma feels helpless as the mystery man hooks one arm around his waist, locking him in this position like a caged bird. Soon, he feels a touch on his hip, sliding down to his plush thighs as he's groped right here and now — standing in front of the train wall with his hands bracing himself against it.

Panic floods in as the stranger grabs his crotch, rubbing two fingers over his slit — you both realize something in this moment; Sigma realizes that his secret may not be safe anymore, and the dangers that come with that, while you realize that you can touch this guy more discreetly like this.

Your fingers make quick work of his pants, opening them up just enough to reach inside and touch his pussy again. Despite the fact that your victim is shaking, he's already a bit wet before you're even inside. You tease him over his underwear for a second, then dive even deeper and finally touch his bare pussy.

With all of his remaining willpower, Sigma whispers a quiet plea for you to stop, and you can practically hear the tears welling in his eyes. You ignore him, of course, already sinking between his folds and groaning at the wetness oozing out just from that.

A stranger is fingering his cunt on public transit, and no one else seems to notice. Sigma can only pray that you stop before things escalate, or before you realize he's a trans man…maybe his long hair fooled you into thinking he's a girl?

That line of thought is shattered as Sigma presses his thighs together, biting back a squeal as you fingerfuck him so rough that he squirts a little, messing up his clothes as a result. As he cums, you lean closer to his ear and whisper a “Good boy~” before you readjust his clothing for him and disappear, presumably exiting the train.

You left the man as a panting, confused mess in his little corner. Left to wonder who violated him in an almost gentle way, compared to all of the horror stories Sigma read about. His pussy was still wet, and he swears that he didn't enjoy that…but the memory won't stop replaying in his mind as he lay in bed, squeezing his thighs together once again…dripping…aching…moaning…

Dazai

How bold do you have to be to think you could get away with this? Honestly, don't you recognize the man that you're attempting to grope? Do you really think there won't be consequences?

Well, ok, hear him out… You're not being rough right now — if anything, you're actually touching Dazai rather gently. Hands caress his sides, hidden by his large trench coat, sliding across his clothed abdomen almost romantically. The most you've done so far is rub his hips, not even trying to go for anything more private (yet).

What's the harm in letting this go on, seeing just where this will lead? Dazai's pretty strong, not a big muscle man, but strong enough to hold his own when need be. If things escalate too much, or he feels unsafe, he can simply reveal who he is and threaten to call the cops on you. But for now, he'll just let this play out.

You take a step closer, pushing Dazai further against the window, and he seizes the opportunity to reveal your identity in the reflection…except your face is buried in the back of his neck so he can't actually see who you are…

Dazai feels your warm breath tickling his skin, and he can feel you… wait, are you sniffing him? Really? What a creep, smelling some stranger while you're touching him. Jeez.

That's not the only thing Dazai notices though — he also feels what he assumes to be your hard-on poking his ass now that you're hugging his body tightly. You begin to move, and this is when Dazai should stop you…but he can't deny how…nice…this all feels. Especially when you reach forward and grab his hand, clasping his with yours in a strangely soft display–

Seriously, what a depraved, obsessive, sad creep you must be to hold a stranger's hand while you're smelling them and humping them on a public train. That's just not normal, dude.

There's not much more time to question anything, as you grind against Dazai's ass until your movements stutter, then eventually stop altogether. And he can guess by your heavy breathing that you just creamed your pants without ever truly touching your victim.

'How sad. That guy could easily get off by humping another guy on the train — who knows what dirty fantasies were running through his mind to make him cum like that.' Dazai thinks, stroking himself in the shower while he pictures your fat package gliding in between his cheeks again.

Chuuya

Honestly, Chuuya surprised himself when some strange man came up behind him and trapped him in the corner of the train and he didn't say a word of protest. Perhaps the shock was what prevented his usual reactions?

Shocked at how bold you were for grabbing a Port Mafia executive by the hips and forcing his ass to meet the tent in your pants, that is. Do you really think this is going to end well? Are you just so stupid that you have no idea who Chuuya is, and how easy it would be for him to use his special ability to pin you to the floor and knock your teeth out?

You're either stupid or desperate, or maybe both, but Chuuya can't think about that too much when you're already humping him so boldly. Sure, you're somewhat hidden in the corner, but does no one pay attention to the obvious motions?

Not only are you grinding against him so hard that he's forced to his tiptoes, you're untucking his shirt from his pants and sliding your hands underneath like it's totally normal! Quickly finding his nipples and toying with them so roughly that Chuuya has to cover his mouth to remain quiet.

His smaller body jerks with your every thrust, forced to submit to this gross act of depravity or else everyone on the train will find out that Chuuya Nakahara is a public use slut. His reputation would be destroyed!

So, he lets you have your way with him — thrusting your clothed erection against the curve of Chuuya's ass until you cum, grunting right into his ear — and then a familiar chime signals the opening of the train doors, and you exit, leaving the little guy high and dry and completely disheveled as his cock leaks inside of his boxers.

Now, a Port Mafia executive doesn't have any need to use public transport — he could easily use a private car or even a fucking helicopter if he wanted to — but, Chuuya finds himself taking the same train at the same time again tomorrow. This time, he's already standing in that corner, facing the wall to conceal his hard, throbbing cock, and to advertise himself as vulnerable prey.

[sugary-daydreams3]

Quiet inbetween [Sukuna x Reader]

Summary: Collections of quiet, cozy, intimate moments you share with Sukuna, who thinks you two won't last a year. Someone who used to live a wild, fast-paced, loud lifestyle couldn't possibly be fit for a long-term relationship. But he doesn't know that you're the one he needed this whole time.

Word Count: 3.7K words

Rating: Mostly fluff with a little spice (sexual content) at the end, but no full explicit content. Mostly T with a little M.

A/N: Happy holidays y'all. This might be my last fic posted in the year so I hope you guys transition into the new year safely. Goodness, do I love writing my A.U. version of Sukuna. So fun and flirty that he makes me blush sometimes and I control what he says. But I guess that's a good thing, right. Sadly my next fic is dealing with a not so fun topic, haha. (It's Gojo-centric, so you might know where I'm going with this) Anyways, stay safe out there and I'll see you again in 2025. Enough yapping from me, enjoy!

Normal, quiet moments tend to bring discomfort within Sukuna. Dating trouble as a teen limited his time to sit and enjoy the small pleasures of life. He was all about the grand, overwhelming, taboo pleasures that one wouldn’t dare chase but rather daydream about. Or worse, make simulation games about and live out their guilty pleasures vicariously through fictional characters. But with taboo pleasures come consequences which landed him in jail for some time.  

Within the year after his release, he met you which slowly inspired him to alter his fast, vicious lifestyle. You introduced him to things he never would have found himself participating in. Things he used to tease his twin brother for being a sheep for society for. A mom-and-pop coffee shop was one of them.  

“How do you drink this shit?” Sukuna sticks out his tongue. Tanned liquid trapped in your mouth almost spills. Air blows from your nose, signifying your amusement at Sukuna’s first experience with coffee.  

Swallowing down the first sip of your coffee, your eyes admire Sukuna’s childlike distaste for your go-to morning beverage. “Because I order mine with cream, sugar, and caramel. You’re pretty much drinking burnt black water.”  

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”   

You give him a “really?” look. “I said you should start out with the caramel Frappuccino but you said, and I quote.” You notch your voice down several pitches lower. “The hell I look like drinking that sissy shit.”  

“You could have recommended me any other drink but this. This was a terrible first impression.”  

“I can order you another one to make up for it.”  

Sukuna pouts. “I’ll pass. I fear I’ll be disappointed again.”  

“Sukuna, you just drink straight black coffee, you can’t write the whole thing off just because you had one variation of it. That’s like saying “I hate potatoes” because you ate unsalted, lukewarm fries.” Sukuna scrunches his face.  

“That’s not the same.”  

“Yes, it is. It’s a perfect comparison.”  

“It’s two completely different scenarios. You really thought you schooled me with that, huh.”  

“Shut up. I’m ordering you a new drink.”  

Waiting for his redemption cup, Sukuna stares at you typing away on your laptop computer. Your hair curtains over part of your face, tempting Sukuna to reach over and fix it. Yet the messy hair curtain highlights your beauty so effortlessly, he couldn’t stop adoring your natural radiance.  

The strong smell of roast occasionally makes its mark. Ranges of chatter mingle with the loud cycle of brewing and baking. Quirky, cheesy posters hang all over, providing a drowning sense of positivity and relatability. Generic chill music slithers through the atmosphere, failing to chill Sukuna’s social anxiety. Thankfully, his new drink just came to save the moment.  

Taking a drink from the flat white laced with sugar and cream, he sits back to allow his brain to register. His eyebrows raise with a small smack of his mouth, giving you some hope that coffee redeemed itself on the oh so great Sukuna’s tastebuds.   

“Well?” You ask impatiently.  

“Not bad. Could use more sugar but it’s drinkable.” Sukuna reviews. A pleased smile killed your worry. “I’m glad you gave it a second chance. I hope we can have more coffee dates like this.”  

Sukuna narrows his eyes. “This is a date?”   

Your eyes roll. “No this is a job interview.”  

“I’m not one for customer service but if I get to look at you all day long and the pay is good then sign me up.” You hate that something as corny as that made you blush.  

“Hush Sukuna, of course this is a date. This is like our twelfth time seeing each other, I like to think all of the time we spent together so far wasn't a waste of time.”  

“Ooh someone’s no-nonsense.” Sukuna smirks, large arms crossed.  

You sigh, “I’m just over the hookups and the flings. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t just one-and-done me.”  

“Eh, all of the one-night conquests and strictly sex ordeals were starting to get stale. You got a nice face with a body to match. You’re on no bullshit and are fun for the most part. You haven't bored me yet so I don’t mind continuing this.”  

“Yet?”  

“I tend to get bored with my women so I wouldn't hold hope of this lasting past a year. Just letting you know so the heartbreak will hurt a little less.”  

You smirk, amused by his lack of filter. “Well, a year will be record breaking compared to my recent relationships these last few years. So bring it.”  

Your polished nails navigate the grassy fields of dusty pink, natural hair oil inked on your fingertips. Your poor thighs are weighed down under his dumbbells for arms. Your other hand caress Sukuna’s right bicep, fixating on the jet black tattoos contrasting with his pale skin. He rubs your left knee as he rests against your stomach.  

Sukuna releases a deep sigh, letting go of the temporary stresses of life. He’ll rather die than admit it but this is what he mostly looks forward to when he goes about his day. It took him a while to get used to you being positioned behind him, often side eyeing the first few times you two were like this.   

Call it trust issues. Slam the non-medical diagnosis of PTSD resulted from a rough upbringing and life as a criminal. Or if we’re really getting psychological, throw out the fancy “internalized misanthropy” word. Re-fucking-gardless, he’s always been highly aware and on guard whenever people are in close proximity to him, ever since he was a kid.  

Now, the more he allows himself to turn his brain off in your lap the easier you hear him lightly snoring within several minutes. You giggle as his resting figure emits loud snores thirty minutes in of scalp scratching and head caressing.   

“Sweet dreams.” You reach down to peck warmth on his forehead.  

Your wishes go unnoticed as child-like ease warps itself across face tattoos and a sharp jawline. A surprisingly dynamic clash.  

Your laughter saturates the kitchen space accompanied by music from the vintage radio. Flour dressed your behemoth all over, making it the sight of the century. Sukuna frowns as he attempts to smooth the pizza dough with the rolling pin. Tears edge your eyes; the catastrophe he was causing was funnier than any standup comedy.  

“Hush. You're breaking my focus.” Sukuna was struggling to knead the dough enough to be a thin foundation. It usually ends up shaping to be a deep dish or just a regular sized pizza. This was his third effort to mold the pizza, with two “epic failures” baking in the oven.  

When your laughter demoted to light chuckles, you rub his arm for support. “You know I can help you shape the dough. It took me fifteen tries before making an objectively decent pizza.” Sukuna shakes his head.  

“That’s because you were the one making it. It’s gonna be perfect this time.” Sukuna smooths out the dough and smirks at his “perfectly” thin pizza. You roll your eyes and walk over to gather the cheese and other toppings.  

The pizza rises within the oven, gluing the toppings within the cheese. Sukuna watches it carefully from the kitchen island, like his life depended on whether this Thursday night dinner was great or not.   

A marathon of T.V. commercial ramblings was bugging background noise as you tidied up. The other two pizzas sat on the cooling rack, being forgotten tasty mistakes. Flour ages his hair many decades, snowing down his chest with every tiny movement. He turns to see an unlikely troublemaker look down at him, a small hill of flour ready to be thrown from your palm. Sukuna narrows his eyes with a challenging look.  

“You’re playing a dangerous game, darling.”  

“Game on.” You threw it, igniting a two-man war.  

The remaining time for the perfect pizza to cook filled with flour fights, spotting majority of the kitchen with white powder. The cooking timer goes off as you two lay across the table exchanging flour and zeal between prolonged smooches.

This epic fantasy was seducing your imagination during the mundane hours of the late evening. You sense Sukuna spying on you and your book from the corner of your eye. However, the clever arrangement of words trailing above your bookmark helps you ignore him.  

“How do you read these things? That shit looks bigger than The Bible.” Sukuna pokes at the spine of your novel, trailing over the gold-engrained lettering.  

“I don’t judge stories based on length. If it’s engaging enough then I wouldn’t mind reading three hundred-plus pages of something.”  

“Where do you find the time to invest in a story that long?” Sukuna wasn’t even teasing at this point; he was genuinely curious.  

“People watch 10 seasons worth of television or animes with more than 100 episodes.”  

“Watching TV and reading are different no matter how much you try to make them feel the same. I can simply turn on the T.V. and watch 100 episodes of something without exerting much energy. You have to sit up, read so many words, and decipher hundreds of pages worth of story. It’s not the same.”  

“True, I’ll give you that. I just find it funny that people draw the line at consuming a story through reading only because you have to put a little more effort in it.” You bounced back.  

Sukuna rubbed his chin. “I remember being into poetry and haikus a lot as a teenager. But I started getting involved in other shit so I lost interest along the way.”   

You snap to him, no longer being a silent witness to a passionate kissing scene. “You like poetry?”  

“I suppose. I always liked how poets managed to craft thoughts so elegantly. Perfectly describing the complicated or unsaid.”  

“You know the local bookstore down the street has a whole section of poetry books. What’s your favorite poets? I could buy you some of their latest work.” Your comforter became a temporary bookmark with your book lying face down.  

“Hmm, I don’t really have a favorite poet. I used to buy a bunch of random poetry or haiku books and kept the ones that stuck with me. There is one writer that I really like though...”  

You wait in anticipation as you witness him in thought. Simple things like racking his brain makes him a cutie. Sukuna snaps his fingers.  

“Ahh, Yosa Takahama is his name. His work is usually written in Japanese but some translators re-publish them in their mother’s tongue. His work is hard to find around here though. I don’t even know how I managed to snag one of his books in the first place.”  

Despite the challenge, you were determined to get it for him. “I’ll figure out a way to get you one. That way we could be reading buddies.”  

“You don’t have to do all of that, doll. You’ll rip your hair out trying to find those books. I’m fine watching you ignore me in favor of a book that can knock your teeth out.” You chuckle.  

During the rest of the night, you noticed the boredom on Sukuna’s face as he mindlessly consumes television. The least you can do is try to hunt down this haiku book for him. Dating him for some time, he confessed to losing touch with so many hobbies he grew up with over the last few years. You wanted to bring that inner child back to life, killed by proving to the world how tough he was.  

Getting him to read something that actually interests him can be another way to embrace the innocent pleasures in life. You can tell he misses that wild delinquency some days, but you hope he doesn’t miss it enough to end this relationship over. If you can find it, hopefully it can be a building block that rebuilds his new path after leaving the old behind. Anything to help you be closer to him.  

6 weeks later 

Sukuna emerges from the bathroom. The odors of the food he cooked from his restaurant today were replaced with standard soap and his natural scent. Like every other night, you sat with your book, seemingly ignoring Sukuna’s lingering stare.  

After dressing himself, he sinks on the mattress and attempts to lay against his pillow. His thick neck isn't met with the soft cushion but instead a hard surface in the middle area. He stares at his pillow, offended for it not providing comfort, so he lifts it up. A white hardcover book reveals.  

“What’s this?” He asked, not turning to you yet. You shift from the words to your boyfriend’s confusion. “I don’t know where that came from. Maybe the book fairy paid you a visit.” You played dumb.  

“You’re so corny.” He holds up the book.  

“A corny girl you’ve been dating for almost a year now.”  

“Quiet. I’m trying to see what this is.” Sukuna didn’t even examine the title, the pages of the book flutter until he lands on a random page. He reads aloud.  

“Vindictive winter / A white, mighty rabbit looks / betrayed by the king / ...wait.” Sukuna looks at you and you copy his shocked expression.  

“This is Yosa Takahama’s stuff. How did you even get this? This must have cost you a fortune.”  

“It was costly and took me weeks to find a readable copy but the look on your face right now makes it worth it. I wanted you to read with me instead of being a T.V. zombie. Even if that means reading mind fuckery haikus.” You chuckle.  

Sukuna grabs your waist from the side and unleashes many wet pecks around your cheek, neck, and upper chest. You giggle as you brush his hair and hug him back.  

“I appreciate it.”  

“No big deal.” You replicate his cool cat version of “You’re welcome.” that he usually throws at you. Sukuna smirks at the playful imitation.  

The rest of the evening is spent with you two lost in your own worlds of literature. Your brains mixed imagination, broadened perspectives, and emotional intelligence from honeyed words inked against the white.

“I’m too big for this tub. You barely have any room to stretch your legs.” Sukuna commented.  

He adjusted his position behind you, the bubbles shifting from his large body. Your feet rested on the tip of the tub to keep from smushing against the porcelain. You turn to him, offering a reassuring smile. He snickers at your ridiculous face mask, particularly the cucumbers concealing your eyes.  

“No, you’re not. You say that every time you get in with me. You’re fine Kuna, really.”  

Sukuna rests his arms around the top edges of the tub, leaning back to make himself comfortable in his slightly cramped soak. The warm water, Epsom salt, and meditation music playing from your phone kneads away the hidden tension that plagues his body from the everyday.  

“Before I met you, I haven't taken a bath in almost fifteen years.” He confesses.  

“That sounds so disgusting out of context.” You cringe. Sukuna chuckles.   

“You know what I mean.”  

“I can’t imagine going that long without a bath. Baths are way better than showers.” You admitted.  

“Showers are for a quick wash. Baths are more for relaxation.”  

“I shower for fifteen minutes minimum, thirty-five minutes max. I spend about three minutes just letting the hot water hit my body and think about whatever. There’s no way I can just shower for ten minutes or less.”  

“Is that why you’re so smoking.” Sukuna flirted. You shake your head, “That was so corny, Kuna. C’mon you can flirt better than that.”  

“You’re right. I just wanted to see your reaction.”   

You two enjoy each other’s company. The heat protects you from winter and the sheet of bubbles float around and pop within. Sukuna arms lay over yours, rubbing over your wrist. Sukuna focuses on your face and develops a sense of mischief.  

“Babydoll.”  

“Yeah?”  

“Turn around for me.”  

You quirk a brow but obeyed by slowly turning his way. In a swift motion, Sukuna moves forward and bites off the cucumber sitting on your right eye. Your right vision sees Sukuna munching on your edible eye mask.  

“Really, Kuna? You couldn’t resist temptation to eat that?” You scolded. You take off the other cucumber, abandoning your hopes to keep your eyelids nice and fresh. Sukuna steals the other cucumber from your hand and flings it in his mouth.  

“You’re impossible to relax with sometimes.”  

“Thanks for the snack.” Sukuna mumbles through chewing.  

You sigh then lay against his chest and close your eyes. If he was going to interrupt your beauty routine the least he can do is be your pillow.

Sukuna big toe hugs your own after caressing your right foot. Both of your feet poke out from the thick blanket, suffering from the gentle lashes of the nippy air condition. You rest your head on his squishy but firm chest, goosebumps forming from his rough hands brushing your skin.   

“We should light the fireplace.” You suggested.  

Sukuna let out a lazy sigh, “What you really mean is that I should light it.”  

“Yeah, you should.”  

“I could but I fear I’ll turn into a popsicle.”  

You giggle. “Hey, at least you’ll taste good.”  

Sukuna smirks, “I already taste good. You should know out of anyone.”  

You playfully shrug. “Eh, you’re alright. No fine dining though.”  

“Oh really?”  

“Yep.”  

“How about you taste this then.”  

Sukuna leans down and traps your lips in the moment. His lips were smaller than yours yet they managed to govern the heat stirring between each lingering kiss. The frigid air in the room is forgotten in your minds as you and Sukuna make out under the grey blanket. After a couple minutes of sensual touching and lip pulls, Sukuna goes for your neck.  

“Well?” Sukuna lands soft bites inches under your chin.  

“I was just kidding earlier but that was...”  

“Better than fine dining?”  

“I don’t know what’s better than fine dining but, yeah, better than that.”  

Sukuna chuckles, “Glad to remind you.”  

Sukuna “accidentally” lands a hard bite just above your collarbone, caging a pleasured groan within closed lips. Sukuna kisses the forming red patch, “Sorry baby, got a little greedy there.”  

“I hope I give you a brain freeze.” You joked, trying to take your mind off the aching spot.  

Sukuna hooks his finger around the side of your silk underwear, his other hand slowly appreciates your ass. “I’m sure it’ll be worth it.”

Your body slowly rocks on top of him, the yellow and orange from the fireplace illuminate your dips and curves. The aftershocks of your second orgasm calm down, giving you the signal to stop riding him. One hand caresses the trimmed hairs sprinkled across Sukuna’s chest. The other traces the small gold chain decorating his pecs. Sukuna squeezes the body fat from your hips then pats your left butt cheek.  

You hop off and lay down on the blanket you set down for your second round. Sukuna pulls off the condom and gets up to throw it away. The contained fire warms your naked body from a distance, defending you from the army of white cold. You hum while the fire entertains you until Sukuna comes back. He’s wearing the boxers he had on earlier with the embroidered knife patterns. Where he got those kinds of boxers you may never know.  

Sukuna drops the pillow he stole from the couch then sits down on the blanket. He pulls you towards him and you two lie down together. You perform his signature trait, pushing his hair back, enabling his wild look. Sukuna traces your spine, quietly admiring both how strong and weak one’s bone structure could be.  

“I never thought I would enjoy silly things like sitting in front of a fireplace during winter.”  

“It’s silly?”  

“Not really. I guess I just associated this with Christmas activities. Christmas always seemed too cheesy to me so I associated things like this as silly holiday stuff.”  

“Yeah, I get it. Sex in front of the fireplace, just silly wholesome Christmas activities.” You joked. You instantly felt Sukuna’s laughter rumble throughout his chest. After calming down he gives your arm a light pinch.  

“You know what I mean.”  

“I’m just happy you allowed me to bring some mellow in your life. I remember when I met you, you were always in some crazy illegal trouble. It seemed like I could barely keep up with you and your fast-paced lifestyle.”  

“Yeah, it was fun for a while, I’ll admit. Even getting caught had some sort of thrill. Now that I’m pushing thirty, I just feel over it.”  

You chuckle, “Not a spring chicken as you used to be.”  

“Yeah. I suppose every hot shot has their limit.”  

“Well, I’m proud that you’re beginning to settle down. I know your brother is too.” You rub his cheek.  

“I was surprised when he offered to help me set up my fight clubhouse. He’s usually against violence and shit.”  

“Maybe he thought that it would be a nice distraction from your life with crime. Even if it meant supporting you doing something he also doesn’t like. Like a lesser of two evils kind of thing.”  

“I never knew someone so predictable yet unpredictable at the same time more than him.” Sukuna said. You giggle then sprawl your hands across Sukuna’s abdomen, trailing over the ridges in a playful matter. Sukuna tender gaze studies your features as he softly pulls little cushions of your skin.  

“Thank you for sticking with me.”  

You look up to see the wild orange shadowing his strong features. His usual too cool-for-school attitude was replaced with a loving nature only reserved for you. A nature molded by small, seemingly insignificant moments sparked by a mutual agreement of casual dating. You plant a few kisses against his jawline then lay back on his chest.  

Before your eyes close for the night, you slur a few words that gets a smile out of Sukuna. “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”  

[redvexillum]

A/N: Hoe, Hoe, Hoe! Happy Holidays, folks! Can you believe it? We've made it to Day 25, and there's just one more story left before Smutmas officially comes to a close! This story is particularly special to me because it's a direct sequel to one of my very first ventures outside my comfort zone—Off Script—where I took on the challenge of writing Alastor as a sub. I really hope you all enjoy it! I did my best to keep him in character, so fingers crossed it hits the mark. And finally—Kit, let’s both finish Smutmas tomorrow with a… bang!

SUMMARY: Alastor thought he was being clever when he snuck extra spices into your gingerbread mix, but his bratty antics had consequences he clearly wasn’t prepared for. As sweet as you usually are, you’re also a master of dominance, and tonight, Alastor learns exactly what that means.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, pleasure dom! reader, bratty sub! alastor, alastor has a tail, oral sex, overstimulation, pegging, anal plug, aftercare, p in v, fluffy-wuffy, no ANGST (because people be thinking I'm writing angstmas??? >:U)

The first time you broached the topic of introducing your particular interests in the bedroom to Alastor, it did not go as planned. In fact, it spiralled into an entirely unforeseen direction. He veered off script, revealing an unexpected side of himself. It didn’t take long for you to realize something that honestly shouldn’t have been too surprising: Alastor was, perhaps, the most delightfully bratty submissive you had ever encountered. 

At first, you had been hesitant, cautious even, testing the waters with a delicate touch. You started slow, pinning his wrists above his head while straddling him, your slick folds gliding teasingly along the hard length of his cock. His body was tense beneath you, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts as he fought to remain still. And yet, you could see it—the flicker of amusement, the glint of curiosity, and the unspoken challenge in his ruby eyes. 

“Darling,” he rasped, his voice a mix of feigned irritation and genuine arousal, “you do realize I am the one in control here.” 

You leaned closer, your lips brushing his ear. “Oh, of course, love. It’s all for you,” you whispered, your voice dripping with honeyed submission, knowing full well how the words would stoke his ego. 

That balance—teasing the line between control and surrender—was crucial with Alastor. He was willing to explore these new dynamics with you as long as he felt the game was his to win. Over time, these intimate games deepened your connection, building trust in a way neither of you had anticipated. 

It was in these moments of play that you discovered just how much he enjoyed being edged. He saw it as a competition, a challenge, and every false word of bravado he muttered only made you more determined. 

“Is that all you’ve got?” he taunted one evening, his hands tied above his head as you licked a slow stripe along the underside of his cock. His body betrayed him, trembling with the effort of restraint even as he smirked. 

“Oh, you’ll see what I’ve got,” you replied sweetly, revelling in the sharp gasp that escaped him as you abruptly stopped, leaving him throbbing and desperate. 

In time, Alastor even began to participate in choosing the tools for your escapades. When you brought out a selection of dildos, he would inspect them with a meticulousness that was almost comical, tilting his head and tapping his chin as though he were selecting fine wine. 

“That one,” he’d say with a grin, pointing to the one you knew he loved. And when you took your time with him, thrusting the toy deep into his ass while your lips wrapped around his cock, he would surrender so completely it left you breathless. His body would go slack, his head tilting back as he moaned your name, every line of tension melting away. In those moments, he was utterly yours, and the vulnerability he showed was nothing short of beautiful. 

But, as you learned, this came with its own set of challenges. 

Take the time you had decided to edge him for hours as “punishment” for one of his pranks—spiking your tea with a hellpeppers just to see your reaction. He had whimpered, begged, and finally come undone in a way that left him breathless. But instead of deterring him, it only seemed to spur him on. From that day forward, his pranks became more frequent, each one more mischievous than the last, as though he were daring you to make good on your “punishments.” 

Like today. 

You had been looking forward to baking gingerbread cookies, humming softly to yourself as you worked. But when you took a bite of the first batch, you nearly gagged. The sweetness was overwhelmed by a fiery burn that made your eyes water. Whirling around, you saw him standing there, hands clasped behind his back, his signature grin stretching impossibly wide. 

“Alastor!” you snapped, pointing accusingly at the tray of ruined cookies. “Did you do this?” 

His laugh was a low, melodic hum, a sound that made your skin tingle. “Why, my dear, I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” he replied, though his twitching nose and barely contained snicker betrayed him. 

You narrowed your eyes, stalking toward him as he took a step back, his grin faltering just slightly. “Oh, you know exactly what I mean,” you said, your voice syrupy sweet and laced with intent. 

The sharp click of your teeth echoed in the quiet kitchen as you fought to rein in the rising tide of frustration. Your eye twitched, your hands curling into fists at your sides as you surveyed the latest in a string of sabotages. The day had started with a simple enough task: helping Charlie decorate the hotel with festive holiday cheer. It should have been done in two hours. Two. Instead, six gruelling hours later, you were still at it, thanks to Alastor’s relentless interference. 

Like a mischievous shadow, he’d been everywhere, undoing your progress with a gleeful flourish, all while flashing that infuriating grin. 

Now, staring at the ruined cookie dough—a batch you’d painstakingly mixed, rolled, and shaped—your patience finally hit its breaking point. The thought of starting over from scratch, gathering ingredients, kneading dough, and baking again made your stomach churn. 

But just as you were about to storm off searching for a quiet space to collect yourself, something stopped you. 

The faintest movement caught your eye—the way the back of Alastor’s coat fluttered as he turned, the eager, almost expectant glint in his eyes as he glanced your way. 

And then it hit you. 

The realization came as a sharp pang of guilt. Between the influx of new sinners at the hotel, Charlie’s relentless schedule of events, and your constant involvement in helping out, you’d been neglecting Alastor. It hadn’t been intentional, but you couldn’t deny it either. Months had passed where you’d barely seen him outside of fleeting interactions, let alone shared any meaningful moments together. Even the intimacy of the bedroom had been replaced by nights spent alone in your own room. 

You sighed softly, the frustration in your chest shifting into something else—understanding, perhaps even regret. Of course, Alastor, with his peculiar ways, wouldn’t simply say he missed you. That wasn’t his style. No, this was his way of communicating, as exasperating as it was endearing. 

Walking toward him, your demeanour softened. Your fingers grazed lightly down the front of his chest, the movement enough to draw his attention. His grin faltered for just a moment as you spoke, your voice low and soft. 

“I’m going to my room,” you murmured, offering no further explanation as you turned and walked away. You didn’t need to look back to know he would follow. 

By the time you stepped into your room, the shadows shifted, and Alastor materialized before you with his usual dramatic flair. 

“Already, darling?” he chimed, his tone as jovial as ever. “Oh, I pity poor Charlie for hiring someone who can’t manage such a simple task,” he teased, his grin widening as he prodded at your lingering frustration. 

But this time, instead of rising to his bait, you smirked. Slowly, deliberately, you closed the distance between you, your eyes never leaving his. His playful expression faltered, just slightly, as you leaned in, resting your head against his chest. 

“I’m so disappointed, Alastor,” you whispered, your voice carrying a softness that belied the weight of your words. His body stiffened beneath your touch, and a shiver ran through him as your fingers deftly began to unbutton his shirt. 

“You’ve been so bad these last few weeks,” you continued, each syllable dripping with quiet reprimand. 

Alastor’s breath hitched as the fabric slipped from his shoulders, exposing his skin to the dim light of your room. “Oh, that’s what I do best,” he quipped, though his voice trembled slightly, betraying the bravado in his words. 

With a gentle push, he stumbled back onto the bed, his legs spreading instinctively as he leaned back on his arms. His cock twitched, already hardening, as he watched you climb onto him with methodical slowness. 

“And what will you do about it, darling?” he goaded, his tone laced with challenge. 

“Well,” you mused, straddling him without letting a single inch of your body touch his, “I suppose it’s only fair that I receive my recompense.” 

Your fingers traced the sharp lines of his face, moving with tenderness that made him shudder beneath you. His grin faltered, his composure slipping as you let your touch wander downward. Your nails ghosted over his chest, tracing patterns against his skin, stopping just shy of his now achingly hard cock. 

“Darling,” he rasped, his voice thick with need, his body trembling with the effort of restraint. 

“Patience,” you whispered, a smirk playing at your lips as you leaned in closer. “After all, you’ve been so bad—surely you understand the importance of a little... delay.” 

Alastor’s eyes burned with equal parts anticipation and defiance, but he made no move to stop you. For once, he was entirely at your mercy, and you intended to savour every moment. 

“Since you love to play around so much,” you murmured, your gaze locking onto his piercing crimson eyes, “let’s playtogether, Al.” 

Your words were honeyed, teasing, as your fingers finally wrapped firmly around the thick shaft of his cock. His breath hitched audibly, and for a fleeting moment, his ever-present grin wavered. That alone was victory enough, but you weren’t finished. Leaning in, you let your lips ghost over his, so close that your breath mingled with his. 

“Hours, Alastor,” you whispered, your voice dripping with promise. “I’ll play with you for hours.” 

The effect was immediate. His eyes fluttered closed, and a soft, involuntary moan slipped from his lips. The usual bravado he wore like a mask began to crack under the slow, deliberate stroke of your hand. You could feel the way he melted into your touch, his body responding with a shiver as the tension in him ebbed away. 

He no longer held back, no longer stifled the sounds he made or the soft confessions of what felt good beneath your touch. It had taken time, patience, and trust to reach this point, where he no longer masked his vulnerability in shame but surrendered to it with you. 

You pressed your other hand to his chest, urging him back, and he complied without resistance, lying against the bed as you worked him with skilled hands. His cock throbbed hot and heavy in your grasp, silken beneath your palm as you pumped it with slow, deliberate strokes. 

“D-Darling,” he breathed out, his voice trembling, his head falling back as his hips began to roll against your hand. His moans started low, rising in pitch as his body grew more desperate, his movements frantic in his chase for release. 

You matched his urgency, your hand moving faster, guiding him closer to the edge. His foreskin slid over the glossy tip of his cock, only to be drawn back down, exposing the glistening head with each thrust. The slick sounds of your motions filled the room, mingling with his erratic breaths and soft cries. 

“Darling, darling!” he cried out, his hips canting forward one last time before his release overtook him. Hot, sticky ropes of cum painted his chest, streaking his skin with creamy lines. His breath came in heavy, uneven pants as his body trembled in the aftershocks of pleasure. A haze of satisfaction clouded his crimson eyes, but beneath it, you saw the flicker of anticipation. He knew this wasn’t over. 

Your fingers lazily dipped into the sticky warmth of his release, swirling through it before lifting to your lips. Your tongue darted out, tasting him with a soft hum of appreciation. “Mmm, it’s been a while, hasn’t it, Al?” you teased, pressing a lingering kiss to the oversensitive tip of his cock. He jolted, his hips bucking instinctively at the sudden contact. 

“You haven’t been finding release without me, have you?” you asked, your voice sweet but laced with mischief. 

“Hah!” His laugh was strained, tinged with his usual bravado as he tried to recover some semblance of control. “Please, darling, I can hold myself back just fine,” he quipped, though his eyes darted away, betraying him. 

“Is that so?” you murmured, your tone light and teasing. Without warning, you leaned down, engulfing his still-soft cock with your mouth. 

Alastor hissed sharply, his claws sinking into the bedsheets as you drew back his foreskin with your lips, swirling your tongue over his sensitive head. His body jerked beneath you, trembling as overstimulation began to set in. 

“Ah, d-darling,” he panted, his voice shaky, the usual radio-filtered crackle distorted by the raw edge of his cries. “A-ah, ah!” His cock twitched weakly in your mouth, his body entirely at your mercy. 

You didn’t relent, your tongue working over him with precision, coaxing out every last tremor of pleasure you could draw from him. His head fell back, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat, as his hands fisted the sheets in a futile attempt to ground himself. His breath came in ragged gasps, his voice breaking as he moaned your name again and again. 

But you remained attuned to him, careful to read the signals of his body. Alastor, ever stubborn, would never admit when pleasure teetered on the edge of too much, and you wouldn’t let him push past his limits. For you, his pleasure was your greatest reward, the sight of him unravelling before you igniting a heat in your core that left you clenching and aching with need. 

Still, you slowed your ministrations, pulling back just enough to let him breathe, to bask in the blissful haze that softened his sharp edges. His trembling body told you everything his words wouldn’t—that he trusted you completely, in this and in everything else. 

The moment his thighs began to tremble, instinctively closing around your head, you knew it was time to stop. With a calculated precision, your lips tightened into a seal around his cock, sucking deeply one last time before pulling back. His length slipped free with a loud, wet pop, leaving him quivering and gasping beneath you. 

Alastor's abdomen fluttered with each shallow breath, his chest rising and falling erratically as he tried to gather himself. A thin sheen of sweat coated his pale skin, catching the soft light and accentuating the slight tremor that rippled through him. His crimson eyes, glazed and unfocused, stared blankly at the ceiling, his usual composure nowhere to be found. 

Your gaze softened as you admired the rare vulnerability etched into his features, but a spark of mischief flickered in your chest. Leaning forward, you dragged your tongue languidly along your middle and index fingers, wetting them thoroughly before trailing them downward. When you pressed the slick pads of your fingers against the tight ring of muscle between his cheeks, his entire body jolted as if struck by lightning. 

His sharp intake of breath was followed by a low, trembling moan as his crimson eyes flicked downward, meeting yours. That familiar grin of his began to reappear, albeit strained, but you matched it with one of your own. Slowly, deliberately, you worked your fingers inside, the tight, hot walls clenching around you as you sank deeper. 

“Ohhh,” he moaned, his voice pitching higher as his hips began an instinctive, grinding motion against your hand. Each stroke and press of your fingers sent shockwaves through his body, and you couldn’t help but relish the way he cried out your name, breathless and desperate. 

“Is this what you missed, Alastor?” you murmured, your voice dripping with sultry amusement. The heat pooling between your thighs was almost unbearable now, your soaked underwear clinging to your skin. You punctuated your question with feather-light kisses along the sensitive curve of his balls, earning another full-body shudder from him. 

“D-don’t be ridiculous,” he managed to huff out, though the quiver in his voice betrayed his bravado. His hips bucked against your hand, seeking more, needing you to go harder, deeper, faster. “You—hah—you’re the one who seems to need it more than I do!” 

His words faltered into a broken cry as you curled your fingers inside him, pressing directly against his prostate. The reaction was instant—his cock, already half-hard, twitched violently before stiffening completely, precum dripping steadily from the swollen tip. Thin, sticky strands pooled on his stomach, glistening in the dim light. 

“I-I c-can smell you,” he groaned, his voice cracking with static as the radio distortion flickered uncontrollably. “I can s-smell your arousal, d-darling.” 

His eyes fluttered as he struggled to focus on you, the effort clear in the way his brows furrowed, and his lips parted with ragged breaths. You smiled wickedly, never ceasing the relentless rhythm of your fingers as you leaned in close. 

“Is that your way of saying you want me to ride you, Alastor?” you teased, your tone saccharine sweet, as you slowly withdrew your fingers. 

The way his ears flattened against his head and his lips pressed together to smother the pitiful whine that escaped him was nothing short of endearing. You straightened up, locking to his gaze as your hands moved to peel away your clothing. 

One by one, the layers fell away, revealing more of your heated skin to him. Alastor’s crimson eyes darkened with unrestrained hunger, his slender fingers flying to his cock, stroking himself slowly as he devoured the sight of you. The moment your panties slid down your legs, his attention zeroed in on the dark, damp patch that clung to the fabric. 

The sight of how soaked they were made his breath hitch. His grip on his cock tightened, his strokes quickening ever so slightly as he watched you stand before him, completely bare, the evidence of your arousal dripping down your thighs. 

Picking up your damp underwear, you held it delicately between your fingers, bringing it close to Alastor’s face. His eyes, smouldering with unrestrained hunger, followed the movement intently. A sly grin curled your lips as you whispered, “Go on. I know you’ve been dying to taste me.” 

In the past, he would have resisted—an adamant refusal to entertain such a base desire. But now? Now, his restraint was a distant memory. He eagerly took the fabric from your hand, his sharp grin widening as he pressed it to his lips. His tongue darted out, licking and suckling on the soaked material, his moans vibrating softly into the delicate fabric. He savoured every drop, his eyes fluttering shut as if lost in your essence. 

While he indulged, you turned your attention to the drawer by the bed, fingers searching for a specific item. A soft laugh escaped you as you pulled out the toy you’d been looking for—one of his favourites. The memory of the day he wore it, the secret only the two of you shared as he moved through the hotel with it snug inside him, made heat rush to your cheeks. 

The anal plug, adorned with curvy ridges and capped with a glittering pink heart at its base, glinted in the low light. Alastor froze mid-lick, his gaze snapping to the toy. His tail, which had been lazily swaying, thumped excitedly against the bed. 

You teased him further, holding his gaze as you slowly lowered the plug to your wet core. You pressed the tip to your entrance, coating the ridges in your slick. Alastor’s breath hitched, and a groan slipped past his lips as he watched you pump the toy in and out of yourself, each movement deliberate, each moan of yours feeding his anticipation. 

By the time you pulled the toy free, glistening and dripping with your arousal, Alastor had already lifted his legs, spreading them wide to present himself. His sharp grin turned expectant, almost demanding, his crimson eyes glinting with challenge and desire. 

You chuckled at his eagerness, running your free hand along the curve of his thigh. “Patience, darling,” you murmured. He squirmed beneath you, his cock twitching against his stomach as you pressed the slick plug against his entrance. Slowly, you began to work it in, the ridges catching slightly against his tight walls before sliding deeper, inch by inch. 

Alastor’s breath came out in stuttering gasps, his hands gripping the sheets tightly as the plug seated itself fully to the base. His cock throbbed, a bead of precum trailing down to pool on his stomach. He looked utterly wrecked, his body trembling and his chest heaving as he adjusted to the sensation of fullness. 

But you weren’t done. Without giving him a moment to recover, you straddled his hips, gripping his throbbing length and guiding him to your entrance. In one fluid motion, you sank down onto him, taking him to the hilt. His reaction was instant—a sharp gasp, his hands flying to your hips as his back arched off the bed before collapsing again. 

The tight heat of you gripping him drove him wild. His cock twitched inside you, sending jolts of pleasure radiating through both your bodies. But your focus wasn’t on his body—it was on his expression. His usually sharp grin softened, his crimson eyes half-lidded and hazy with pleasure. His body trembled beneath yours, the rare vulnerability in him stirring a possessive warmth in your chest. 

He hummed low in his throat, a sound of pure, unfiltered delight, as you leaned forward. Pinning his wrists beside his head, you met his gaze, your movements slow at first. Each roll of your hips elicited a delicious tremor from him, his breath climbing with every downward thrust. 

“Y-you’re i-insatiable, d-darling,” he managed, his voice trembling as your pace quickened. 

You smiled wickedly, increasing the rhythm, the sound of skin meeting skin mingling with his stuttering breaths and deep moans. His sharp cries soon gave way to something softer, more desperate, as his body began to tense beneath you. His head fell back, exposing the long line of his neck as his eyes squeezed shut. 

“Look at me, Alastor,” you commanded softly, and his gaze snapped back to yours. The raw, unguarded desire and faint embarrassment in his expression sent a thrill through you. His cries grew louder, his hands flexing against your grip as he reached his peak. 

With one final, broken moan, his body shuddered violently beneath yours, his cock twitching as he spilled into you. The hot flood of his release filled you, his seed coating your walls as he gasped for air. His body remained taut for a moment before he melted into the bed, utterly spent, his eyes glazed with lingering satisfaction. 

Catching your breath, your body hummed with unresolved need, but it didn’t matter. Watching Alastor surrender beneath you, unravelling with every calculated touch, was pleasure enough. 

His lips were parted, a thin line of saliva glistening at the corners as his chest rose and fell in uneven gasps. The edges of his crimson eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and his expression—dazed, undone—was utterly intoxicating. His usual composed veneer had crumbled, leaving him bare in every sense. 

A quiet chuckle escaped you as you finally lifted yourself from his trembling form, feeling the warm trickle of his release sliding down your thighs. “We’re not done yet, Al,” you teased, your voice carrying a sing-song lilt. “We still have one more of your favourites, remember?” Reaching for the strap-on, you held it up—a big, crimson silicone cock gleaming in the dim light, its impressive weight resting heavy in your hands. 

You caught the way his body tensed, his tail twitching in anticipation, but there were no sharp remarks, no coy retorts. He was beyond that now, surrendering completely. With a sluggish roll, he shifted onto his stomach, his cheek pressing into the bed as his hips lifted, presenting himself to you. His red-and-white tail puffed out and flicked upward, revealing the sparkling jewel of the heart-shaped plug still nestled snugly within him. 

“Good boy,” you purred, and his tail wagged weakly in response. His fingers reached back, spreading himself open, stretching his cheeks taut in a silent plea. 

You smiled, strapping the harness to your hips, the familiar weight grounding you in this moment. Slowly, deliberately, you began easing the plug from his entrance. Each inch coaxed a muffled whimper from him as he buried his face in the mattress, his body trembling beneath your hands. The resistance gave way, and with a final tug, the jewelled plug slid free, leaving his entrance clenching and exposed. 

The sight of him, so open, so needy, sent a surge of heat pooling low in your core. You rested a hand on his hips, guiding the slicked synthetic cock to his waiting entrance. Without hesitation, you thrust forward in one fluid motion, burying yourself to the hilt. 

Alastor choked on a cry, his body jolting forward before he melted into the bed, a low, guttural moan spilling from his lips. His claws raked over the blankets, shredding the fabric in a desperate bid for control. 

But there was none to be had—not here, not now. 

You set a relentless rhythm, your hips snapping forward with precision, filling him over and over. The wet slap of skin meeting skin filled the room, mingling with his muffled cries and the breathless moans you couldn’t suppress. The way his body clenched around you, his walls tightening with every thrust, only spurred you on. 

“Ah—ah—darling,” he panted, his voice breaking into a mix of static and white noise as pleasure overwhelmed him. His body arched beneath you, his hips rolling back to meet your thrusts with desperation. 

“You like this, don’t you?” you murmured, your breath hot against his ear. “Being filled so completely… You’re so beautiful like this, Al.” 

His only response was a shattered moan, his body spasming violently as he came again, thick ropes of his release painting the ruined bed beneath him. But even as his trembling form sagged into the mattress, you didn’t stop. 

“Isn’t this fun, Alastor?” you panted, your grin wicked as you leaned over him, your pace unrelenting. “I could do this all night.” 

His claws curled into the shredded fabric, his body shaking with overstimulation as he gasped and whimpered beneath you. He was utterly wrecked, undone, every piece of him yours in this moment—and it was everything you had missed. 

Your hands slid to either side of his trembling frame, hovering over him as you moved with deliberate intensity. His voice had dissolved into a symphony of broken moans and guttural grunts, his ears pinned flat against his head in a rare display of vulnerability. Leaning closer, your breath ghosted over his ear as you purred, “Let me see your face, Al. Don’t rob me of my pleasure.” Your fingertips traced the back of his head, the touch tender yet insistent. 

He shivered at your words, slowly turning his head to meet your gaze. His lips hung open, strands of saliva pooling beneath his cheek. His crimson eyes, distant and unfocused, shimmered with tears that spilled in streaks down his flushed cheeks. And yet, despite his unravelling, the faint trace of a grin lingered—a testament to his unyielding spirit. 

“More?” you asked, voice laced with teasing affection. Alastor’s only reply was a low, ragged moan as his hips pressed back against you, silently pleading. A soft chuckle escaped you as your fingers danced down the curve of his spine, drawing a visible shudder from him. “You really are a masochist, aren’t you, Al?” you murmured, your words barely above a whisper. 

When his moans faltered into silence, his teeth clenching as he fought to muffle the smallest of whimpers, you knew he’d reached his limit. Carefully, you slowed your movements, easing out of him with a touch as gentle as a whisper. Both of you were coated in a thin sheen of sweat, your breath coming in soft pants as you sat back. 

Alastor lay trembling, his body spent and quivering in the aftermath. Every so often, his legs would twitch, jolting with the lingering aftershocks of overstimulation. His hand reached out, trembling and seeking, and you didn’t hesitate to meet it, intertwining your fingers with his. The silent gesture spoke volumes—his need for your warmth, your gentleness, your grounding presence. 

With care, you removed the strap-on, setting it aside before sliding into the bed beside him. Your body folded seamlessly into his, your hand cradling his as you pressed a tender kiss to his knuckles. His half-lidded eyes locked onto yours, filled with exhaustion and unspoken affection, unable to look away. 

Smiling softly, you lifted his hand, your lips brushing over each finger with reverence. One by one, you kissed his thumb, his index finger, trailing your touch over his palm. The gesture was unhurried, filled with tenderness, as you snuggled closer to him, your lips finding the curve of his shoulder. 

A warm chuckle rumbled low in his chest, his voice soft and worn. “Darling,” he rasped, his tone laden with affection as his tail gave a lazy thump against the bed. He sighed deeply, basking in the featherlight kisses that travelled up his neck and over his face. His cheeks, his forehead, his closed eyelids—all received your gentle attention before your lips finally found his. 

The kiss lingered, a soft press of emotion and intimacy. When you pulled back, his voice, though hoarse, carried a familiar teasing lilt. “You’ve been far too busy this month,” he murmured, his crimson eyes slowly opening to meet yours. 

Your heart swelled, warmed by the rare vulnerability in his gaze. You smoothed back a stray strand of hair from his face, your fingers brushing his skin with care. “I have, haven’t I?” you answered softly. Your lips curved in a tender smile as you leaned down to kiss him again, the touch light, barely there. “I missed you,” you whispered against his lips, your voice thick with sincerity. 

He chuckled again, though it was tired and weak. “And yet, you chastise me about your cookies,” he teased, his grin slipping back into place. 

“Ruining my cookies,” you corrected with a mock glare, your tone playful. 

“You love it when I spice up your – ah – cookies,” he countered, his voice carrying a faint echo of words he’d said long ago—a callback to the early days of trust and intimacy you’d built together. 

A soft giggle bubbled from your lips as you pressed your forehead against his, your eyes brimming with affection for the cunning, mischievous demon you adored. “You’re such a silly man,” you whispered, nuzzling your nose against his. 

His arms came around you, pulling you tightly against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear was a comforting reminder of the unspoken bond you shared. In that quiet moment, you held each other close, the world beyond forgotten. Only the warmth of his body and the soft hum of his love remained. 

“And you, my darling, are my special girl,” he murmured, his voice a tender caress against the quiet of the room. He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head, his lips warm and soft. Slowly, his breathing steadied, each exhale becoming longer, deeper, until it melted into the gentle rhythm of sleep. 

You stayed there, cradled in his embrace, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. A gentle smile tugged at your lips as your fingers traced small, absent-minded patterns along his side. The warmth of his words lingered in your heart, a balm to the chaos and distance of recent days. 

As you listened to the quiet thrum of his heartbeat, you made a silent promise to yourself. Next time, you’d find ways to give him the attention he deserved, to show him how much he meant to you—perhaps even preempt whatever mischievous “spicing up” he might dream up to draw your focus. 

For now, though, your heart felt full, brimming with love and contentment. Snuggling closer to him, you let yourself be enveloped in his warmth, your body fitting perfectly against his. The steady cadence of his heart matched your own, the two rhythms intertwining as if they were always meant to be. 

You closed your eyes, a peaceful smile lingering on your lips. Wrapped in his arms, you let sleep claim you, your dreams filled with the love you shared and the quiet promise of all the moments yet to come. 

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[aloveofclaritea]

Hi and thanks for your reply. You have a couple points here that I am happy to address.

"This logic of spaces by sex didn't stop abbusive men to get access to women spaces"

By this logic you are arguing that it doesn't matter whether we have single-sex spaces or not. That it makes no difference to the safety of women and girls to have single sex spaces. This is patently false. Even when the single-sex space is established by social custom alone (i.e. no armed guards at the doors of the bathroom, just a sign saying "Women") this provides more safety to women and girls than if the door says Men/Women/All.

Why would this be? After all, it's just a sign, right? There are different reasons, but one major one actually links back to the original quote. Men who DO respect women's boundaries and spaces would never purposefully enter this female-only space (unless there is a good external reason like a father needing to change a diaper and there isn't a changing table in the men's). Consequently, a man who DOES enter purposefully gives us a pretty good idea that he doesn't have good intentions because he has broken a social contract and is violating a female-only space. Not only that, but a woman in this situation can have recourse to other people around her, to people in authority, to security and law enforcement, can say "There's a man in the woman's bathroom," and expect that her concern will be treated seriously.

So yes, it may not stop predators and abusers, however it does help to identify and guard against them. Human beings are social creatures. Social norms and customs are actually strong motivators of behavior and when those norms and customs are broken it provides important information that keeps us safe.

2. "Cis men could just pretend to be [trans men]"

As soon as that man opens his mouth, if there was any confusion about what his sex is (which is ludicrously doubtful), there would be no longer. The truth is, no-one can change sex, and over the millennia humans have developed a fine-tuned ability to accurately sex other humans as male or female. This has been scientifically shown through research many times over. It is a myth that we suddenly just "can't tell," and if there is any initial confusion it is cleared up fairly quickly in-person.

Even if a man who pretended to be a woman pretending to be a man DID manage to fool people into thinking that he belonged in the woman's bathroom, the law and norm should still be in place that will provide consequences for that man violating a female-only space.

3. "Trans women would be thrown as a shield for cis women, and they would be targeted the ones who pass could be SA'd the ones who didn't also would be SA'd by being immediately clocked and also ridicularized"

Preserving women's single-sex spaces has nothing to do with "transwomen" being a "shield" for women. "Transwomen" are men. As previously stated, human beings cannot change sex. Trans-identifed males belong in the men's bathroom, and all other single-sex spaces for men.

Men assaulting other men in their single-sex spaces is truly a problem. In fact, male violence in general is huge problem around the world (important to remember though that the primary victims of this violence are not other men). However, it is not a problem to be solved by abolishing women's single-sex spaces.

"What are you going to do, have genital inspections to use the bathrooms?"

-a TRA

Males truly cannot conceive of the idea of simply respecting the space and boundaries of women. It literally doesn't cross their minds, so their minds immediately jump to whether or not women can forcibly stop them. The belief is that if a woman cannot forcibly prevent it, you may take anything you like from her with impunity.

- Marian Rutigliano

[animeomegas]

MtL - Likely to worry if his alpha uses his given name instead of a pet name

(Incl. Iruka, Chouji, Shino, Neji, and Shikamaru.)

A/N: This is a Christmas gift for the wonderful @omeganronpa!!!! It's nothing crazy this year because of the ol' arm situation, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!! I wish you a very relaxing and merry Christmas and want you to know that I am honoured to have lived yet another year with you as my friend <3333

And a very merry Christmas and happy Hanukkah to everyone!! 🎉

Warnings: Non-descriptive allusions to sex.

LEAST

Chouji

A normal, well adjusted king, we stan.

Pet names sometimes come into the relationship, but Chouji is equally okay with being called Chouji.

That's his name, why should he worry or feel weird? He doesn't have a guilty conscience like some others on this list 👀

In fact, he actually loves to hear his name from your lips. The soft voice, the love, the sing song tone. He revels in it.

There's something about you using his given name with him in private that makes him feel seen. You see him, all of him, the real him, and you love him.

And that's the most precious gift he could have.

Preferred pet names for you to use for him: His name or babe usually. Occasionally, super sweet ones like sweetheart or sugarplum, said with complete earnest.

Neji

Neji also likes to go by his actual name a lot of the time, so it doesn't raise any red flags for him to hear it fall from your lips.

Much like Chouji, he finds it entirely logical for you to use his given name, and he never assumes you're mad at him.

I only put him a bit higher on the list because he can sometimes get finickity about what you call him in bed.

If you call him by his real name, but you don't use a super gentle, loving tone, he doesn't like it and he WILL get grumpy.

It makes him feel a bit unloved, like the sex is transactional and you're just saying what you think you have to say.

He wants you to call him darling, prince, my love, or any other classic pet name when you're ravishing him, and if you have to use his name, it better be whispered into his skin with hushed reverence befitting the worship of a god.

Otherwise he can sometimes get upset. And because he's Neji, he won't say why he's upset, he'll just pout about it until you notice.

This issue doesn't crop up that often, but it's been known to happen, hence his slightly higher ranking on the list.

My beautiful princess with a disorder, please talk to me.

Preferred pet names for you to use for him: He adores the classic but slightly fancier pet names, such as darling, my love, prince(ss). And he's always willing to accept appearance based names, like beautiful, too.

Iruka

When it's just the two of you, or you're in the presence of close friends or family, you always call him Ruka.

Because he's your Ruka at home, just like he's Iruka sensei at the academy, or 'the shouty chunin' at the missions desk.

So it absolutely stands out if you suddenly call him Iruka and he will notice straight away.

But he's still on the terrifyingly small list of mostly well-adjusted shinobi, so he's not going to panic.

He kind of assumes that you're starting a conversation about something more serious when you use his full name. He zones in, fully focused, ready to problem solve whatever has happened.

This has the unfortunate consequence of snapping him out of intimate moments when you use his full name.

Iruka sat on the bed trying his best not to fidget with the comforter as he stared at the bathroom door. His mind was racing with possibilities and no amount of deep breathing or internal arguments about restraint were controlling them.

It had been an entirely normal day ten minutes ago. He'd taught his classes, covered for a few hours at the mission's desk for a sick colleague, and then stopped by a convenience store on the way home so that he didn't have to cook.

Not that you let him in the kitchen anyway.

But then you'd approached him, all coy smiles and well-placed touches, telling him that you had a surprise for him, but that you needed a few moments to get changed and that he should wait on the bed.

So now he was here, on the bed as directed, eagerly anticipating the opening of the ensuite door. Should he get undressed in preparation? No, no, that would probably be weird. But maybe he should take his hair down? Yes that sounded good; you loved his hair down and it would give him something to do while he waited.

He pulled it down and spent a few moments running his fingers through it and trying to arrange it as best he could, but then it was done and you still hadn't opened the door.

He just needed to be patient, you shouldn't be much longer.

Although that was easier said than done when his underwear was becoming uncomfortably wet.

There! He could hear shuffling approaching the bathroom door. He straightened himself out, ready.

"Iruka?" you called from behind the door.

He blinked as he registered his full name. Oh no. Don't tell him something had gone wrong. He was so looking forward to this! His mind conjured images of disaster. Maybe the outfit had ripped? Or you had accidentally hurt yourself? Or the sink had broken and was now spewing water everywhere.

"What's wrong?" he asked, getting up from the bed and approaching the door. "Are you okay?"

The door opened, and you stood on the other side, blinking at him in confusion. He tried not to focus too much on the new lingerie. There was a problem to solve first, he couldn't get distracted.

"Yes?" you answered, the question clear in your voice. "Why are you at the door? I told you to wait on the bed."

Before his mind could catch up, he asked, "Is the sink broken?"

There was a pause.

"Why on earth would the sink be broken?" You sounded entirely baffled.

"Well, I'm not sure, but-"

"Did you do something to the sink?"

"No!" he defended, crossing his arms over his chest. "I haven't touched the sink."

"Then why are you asking about it???"

"Because... because..." Iruka paused when he realised how stupid it would sound to explain that he'd assumed something was wrong because you called him by his full given name. He rubbed at his scar bashfully. "It doesn't matter, sorry, I was being... never mind, don't worry about it."

You blinked at him, and he coughed awkwardly.

"Okaaaaaay," you drawled, stepping back into the bathroom. "Should I close the door again and pretend this never happened?"

"Please."

"Right."

And when you opened the door this time, he was waiting on the bed, stunned speechless by your lingerie and ready to end his normal day in a particularly extraordinary way, bathroom sink forgotten.

Preferred pet names for you to use for him: Ruka is his favourite by a wide margin. He doesn't mind babe or baby either, nor omega specific names.

Shino

If you're in public, he fully expects you to use his actual name.

In fact, it's for the best that you do, because pet names in public will make him embarrassed enough to try and hide in his coat.

But when you're at home, just you and him... he will immediately assume you're upset with him or signalling a need for space if you use his given name.

Because Shino basks in the loving pet names you lavish him with. He doesn't have to be Shino with you, or at least, he doesn't have to just be Shino with you. He can be your love, your honey bun, your sunshine.

Every time one of those names is whispered in his ear or spoken against his lips, Shino squirms in pure joy. There is nothing else that can brighten his day so quickly and effectively.

And you can absolutely get creative with pet names for Shino!

Excluding the most ridiculous ones, and some of the appearance based ones, Shino loves them all.

But calling him his name is :(((

He will anxiously and sadly wring his hands together every time 🥺

You let out a relieved breath through your nose as you finished the penultimate page of the paperwork you'd been forced to bring home.

One more. Just one more and you were free for the evening, then you could run it by the jounin commander tomorrow morning, and this whole situation could be behind you.

Work disasters were the absolute worst.

You took in one more big breath before letting it out slowly. One more. You could do one more.

But just as your pen was about the make contact on the paper, movement from the corner of your eye drew your attention out of the little paperwork bubble you'd cocooned yourself in. It was Shino. He was lurking in your periphery like a shadow, idly rearranging knick knacks on the shelf but glancing over in your direction every five seconds.

Now that you were aware of him, you were also aware of the anxiety swirling in his scent. You may have wanted to get this paperwork done and out of your life as soon as possible, but you could hardly ignore your mate's unusual behaviour now that you had been made aware of it.

"Shino?" His head snapped to you instantly. "Are you okay?"

He dropped the eye contact and went back to fiddling with a rock from the shelf. "I'm fine," he said simply, the lie extremely obvious.

"Shino..." To your surprise, he flinched. What?

"I'm... fine." The lie was somehow even more obvious this time. He was either consciously or subconsciously hoping to pull your attention onto him with a lie so blatant.

You stared at him intently, trying to figure out what was wrong. Why would he...?

Oh. Your face relaxed into understanding when you figured out what you'd done.

"What's wrong, lovebug?" You made an effort to push as much affection into your tone as you could. He looked at you again, some surprise colouring his gaze. You patted the seat next to you on the couch in invitation. He immediately accepted, coming over in quick steps and slotting himself against your side. You pressed a kiss to the side of his head. "Is this better, lovely?"

Shino hummed gently, resting his head in the juncture of your shoulder. You grumbled a comforting noise to reassure him.

"I think this paperwork kept me in work mode even after I'd got home," you explained. "I forgot that it was just us here."

Shino hummed again, acknowledging and forgiving you in one noise.

"All the more reason to get this paperwork over and done with so we can relax. It shouldn't take more than twenty minutes. Is that alright, honey bun?"

He purred his approval, so you returned to the paperwork, but this time, you had one hand focused on holding your omega.

Preferred pet names for you to use for him: Anything extremely cute and sweet will make him melt. Honey, sweetie, lovely, etc. Lovebug is one of his special favourites 🤭

Shikamaru

Two words: Guilty Conscience.

He's another one who goes by a shortened name by default, Shika, so calling him Shikamaru will immediately grab his attention.

And he will assume he's in trouble with you every single time.

Sometimes it's pretty funny to watch, but other times his stomach drops and his mind races to try and figure out what you could be mad about.

And during those dramatic times, because Shikamaru can't be normal for even five minutes, he oftentimes jumps to worse case scenarios where he's failing to make his obsession happy and you might leave him because of it.

You never know which response you're going to get when you call him Shikamaru. He's either going to claim his innocence in regards to an imaginary misstep, or Panic™️.

The only exception to the rule is during moments of heightened emotions and extreme vulnerability.

For example, if he's very sad, saying "oh, Shikamaru..." will push him over the edge into tears immediately.

And groaning out his full name at the moment of your orgasm is a one hit K.O. for him without fail.

If you want to avoid the Nara dramatics, better stick to Shika most of the time 😉

"Shikamaru?" He heard your voice clearly from his position on the tatami mats of his office where he was playing a solo game of shogi. Usually, hearing your voice after a long day was a balm that soothed the nerves he hadn't even realised had been frayed, but now, those same nerve ends were crackling with the beginnings of anxiety.

Oh no.

You had used his given name. That couldn't mean anything good.

Shikamaru uncrossed his legs and stood from the floor as his mind raced. He could see the situation clearly in his head. You had come home from work, exhausted, and immediately been confronted by some kind of chore or errand that Shikamaru has said he would run on his day off and then fucking forgot about like he always did! Now you were going to be annoyed with him and his plans for a peaceful evening would go up in smoke because he couldn't even remember what he was supposed to be apologising for.

He heard your footsteps coming up the stairs. "Shikamaru? You in your office?"

Think, think, think! What did you ask him to do? There must have been something! Probably something you could have seen not long after walking through the door, likely in the living room or kitchen.

Shikamaru tugged on his ponytail in frustration as your footsteps reached the landing, just outside his door.

Did he have to wash the cushion covers in the living room? No, he did that last week and there was no need to do them again so soon. Did he promise to make dinner in time for your arrival home? No, no, he specifically remembered you saying that you were going to cook dinner together tonight. Then what could it possibly-

As the door swung open, the answer struck him like a bolt of lightning.

"There you are! Why are you just standing in the middle-"

"I didn't buy soy sauce!" Shikamaru blurted, his voice much louder than he had intended.

You jumped at his shout, blinking at him in surprise. Shikamaru felt the rush of heat that flooded his cheeks. He awkwardly cleared his throat and tried again.

"I forgot to buy soy sauce today." He managed to keep his voice somewhat level this time. "I'm sorry. Really, I didn't mean to forget, it's completely my fault."

Shikamaru tried to analyse your face to see how well his apology had landed, but all he saw was confusion. Right, that made sense. You were confused as to why he was apologising when he should be just going out to fix it.

"Sorry, I'll go and grab some now, it shouldn't take long." When he tried to move past you, you grabbed his arm and halted him.

"You forgot to buy- what? No, I only asked in a 'if you happen to go out today' kind of way, you don't have to go out now, it's not a big deal." You squeezed his arm. "Relax, it's fine."

"But, but we're going to cook dinner together tonight," Shikamaru protested.

"And we'll live without soy sauce for one night." You stared at his face, eyes narrowed like you were trying to solve a puzzle. "What's got into you today?"

Shikamaru's thoughts whirled for a moment, trying to figure out if that question was some kind of trap that would soon reveal the real reason you were upset with him. But soon the energy needed to keep up that level of questioning collapsed, and instinctively, he moved to directness.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked, hating the insipid imagery of needy omegas that jumped to mind at the question. This was so stupid, what was he doing?

Your brows furrowed and you gently cupped his face in your hands. Shikamaru shivered as you ran your thumbs against the space underneath his eyes.

"No," you said softly. "Did you think I was?"

His mouth feels dry all of a sudden and he can't form the words, so he just nods. You coo at him, a deep noise in your throat, and Shikamaru is embarrassed at how well it drains the stress from his muscles.

"I'm not angry, Shika. I'm so happy to be home with you, my love."

With your use of his shortened name, the last anxious fog clears and Shikamaru is left only with the stark and sudden realisation that he was being absolutely ridiculous.

You must have noticed the clarity returning to his eyes because you laughed. You laughed at him, all gleeful and knowing. The heat returned to his cheeks and he dropped his head onto your shoulder.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything." He could hear the smile in your voice.

"These instincts are more trouble than they're worth."

"You're such a liar, Shika."

Yeah... yeah, he was.

Preferred pet names for you to use for him: Shika is the go-to, but as long as the pet name is simple and mostly serious (babe, omega etc.) he's fine with it. If you call him something ridiculous like pookie or nugget, he will assume you are making fun of him. And if you aren't making fun of him, he'll make fun of you for thinking it was a good idea.

MOST

[futurepastme]

Unmatched II

[Soulmate Au] [Act.I]

I hope I remembered to tag everyone who asked: @luflorysblog @valewright67 @schweetheart @funkiemoon @xs-crit-hit @dancingpieces @jellytamalies @shana-rosee @purpuraffe @saladscream @princess-of-morkva @orliththedragon @clairebonnefoy @enjaami @hakka84 @evedaser @tabbycat105 @guiltyscarlet @just-wandering-in-my-mind @percyspencer @tonystarkdeservesthewholeworld @thedollopheadofcamelot @amostunpleasantpeasant @toomanyfanficsbruh @braziiis @lottelorelei @acey-lacey @leana316 @the-sun-is-also-a-star @styxhuntress @rem-the-moth @caraspud @kintsugikid-moonysversion @beebsnas @221b-bitch-st @eat-a-handful-of-bees @highest-brightness @generouswolfdetective @read-write-thrive @0happyeverafter0 @lab-trash @faithiikins @musichooman

Act.II: Arthur Pendragon

Time seemed to pass very quickly for those who were part of the Royal Household. From feasts to meetings, from knights’ training and patrols to simple everyday tasks, everyone seemed to always have their hands full with their daily duties.

No one, though, had their hands fuller than Prince Arthur himself, who had recently risen to the position of Prince Regent after his father's sudden illness, which followed the unexpected reappearance of the now Princess Morgana Pendragon.

While the Prince was not yet King, Camelot already showed small but significant differences from King Uther's reign. Not only had he completely ceased public executions, but he had also stopped actively hunting magic users. And the most shocking and scandalous decision of all: Prince Regent Arthur Pendragon had started to knight commoners.

That brought new faces to Camelot, such as Sir Lancelot and Sir Gwaine to name a few, but also many others that came not only for the possibility of becoming a knight, but for the curiosity of what Camelot had to offer under the hands of a younger almost-King.

The new influx of people came with the additional benefit of bringing soulmates together. Wherever you went you could hear the stories of couples finding each other, and if you were lucky you could stumble upon a wedding celebration or two.

The newly soulmatched also contributed to the changes in Camelot. A lot of them stayed, choosing to continue their lives in the Kingdom, but a good few decided to leave, following their soulmates to whatever kingdom they called home.

As a consequence, many shops were closed and houses were abandoned, however, new ones appeared in their place with brand new couples and families. The old tailor shop became a bakery, the lower town butcher became a smithy, and young Gillis’ house turned into a carpenter shop accompanied by the carpenter's whole family.

Camelot was thriving under Arthur's Regency, and all that the people could think about was what would the Kingdom look like when he took the throne for good, knowing that no matter what the future brought, they would be safe in the good hands of their future King.

“I don't know what I’m doing.” A loud ‘clank’ resonated through the chambers when Arthur's head hit the table, hard enough to make the ink pot jump and to ruffle some sheets.

“Have you ever, though?”

“Shut up, Merlin!” Came the muffled response from the Prince, who still had his head pressed against the table top.

“C'mon, share with the room. What's wrong this time?” Merlin made his way across the room and sat himself on top of the table, next to Arthur's head. He had to resist the urge to run his fingers through Arthur's hair, which looked particularly soft today.

Arthur turned his head enough to lay it sideways on the table — his cheek squished against the wood — and raised his eyes to Merlin's.

“You are sitting on the prince's table.”

“I don't know, he doesn't look very princely from here.” Merlin smiled. Arthur looked very cute when he was pouting.

“Why are we friends again? I don't seem to remember.”

“You're deflecting.”

Arthur sighed and straightened up, only to sag back on his seat. He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it a little bit. The gesture, somehow, soothing his nerves.

He let his hand fall on the arms of his chair and looked through his window. It was a sunny day and he could almost feel the kingdom buzzing with activity.

He looked back at Merlin and his watchful eyes.

Since the day, many moons ago, when Merlin opened up about his soulmate and completely broke down in front of the prince, Arthur had made a conscious effort to be more vulnerable around Merlin and let him see his emotions as they were — just like Merlin did then.

While this would never replace the connection and unity one finds in their soulmate, Arthur hoped that Merlin could find some comfort in having a friend who trusted him like that. Besides, to Arthur, it seemed only fair to repay Merlin with the same amount of trust he’d placed in Arthur that day.

Eventually, though, Arthur found out that he liked to share his feelings with Merlin. More than once he was overcome with the sudden need of telling him everything.

At some point, before that night but after they became friends, Arthur had learned to share with him the more worrisome matters and to trust Merlin's advice.

But now Arthur found it so easy to just open up to him. His fears and torments, his insecurities and moments of self doubt, his frustrations. As well as his hopes and dreams, and tiny moments of joy he felt during the day.

Feelings were not something that existed in Uther's Princely agenda, so Arthur grew up crushing them and putting them aside, treating them as a weakness. But Merlin had found his feelings and hugged them with his words, he held them with care and encouraged Arthur to nurture them.

He showed Arthur that he didn't have to be ashamed about them, at least, not with him.

So Arthur told him everything that troubled his heart.

“I’m…” he paused to breathe in, “I'm concerned, Merlin. I fear the choices I'm making are for my personal interest instead of for the good of the kingdom.”

“And what choices did you make that were for your personal interest? Please enlighten me.”

“Morgana, for one.”

“Ah, yes,” Merlin nodded and leaned forward. “The very selfish decision of supporting your sister when she was afraid your father was going to kill her. How could you?” He smirked, Arthur frowned.

“People have been leaving. More than 10 shops closed down just this last season.” Arthur tried again.

“And twelve more opened in their place.”

“The lack of public executions display a weak front to our kingdom, one with a lenient ruler that is too inexperienced to do what’s necessary. My way of ruling welcomes enemies to our doorsteps and might just be Camelot’s downfall.”

“Ah! So that’s what this is about.”

Arthur crossed his arms, waiting for an explanation.

“That’s not what you really think, you’re just quoting Lords Weird Moustache, Crooked Nose and Hairy Ears.” He numbered them on his fingers and finished with a smirk.

Arthur's frown deepened. “Lord Randall, Lord Belemy and Lord Tirswell have always been great assets to my father and have proven to be loyal men throughout his entire reign.”

Merlin huffed in annoyance. “Hairy, Nose and Moustache are your father's biggest old farts!”

“Merlin!”

Merlin crossed his arms. “You are so concerned about the good of the kingdom, when was the last time you've seen your people?”

“The last public hearing was—”

“No, no, no. No!” Merlin interrupted. “Public hearings are great to hear your people's problems, but when was the last time you've been with them? Like, among them?”

“Well, I…” Arthur opened his mouth but no words came out. He looked through the window again, the kingdom still buzzing.

It was true, since he became Regent he had been so focused on not disappointing anyone, that he hadn't had the time to walk through his kingdom.

It's not that he didn't want to, but with the whole Morgana-has-magic-and-is-his-blood-sister and his father falling in his unresponsive state, he had his hands full since before the council even agreed on his regency.

He was pulled out of his thoughts with the sharp sound of a clap coming from Merlin's direction.

“That settles it, then.” He jumped out of the table, filled with excitement. “Today we're having a stroll down the lower town.”

“We have a council meeting in two hours.”

“Which gives us over an hour, c'mon! Move your fat ass out of this chair.” Merlin started pulling him.

Arthur fought him, letting his body weigh him down on the chair.

It's not like he wouldn't follow Merlin, but he had to show some resistance. Imagine if Merlin knew how easily ready Arthur was to follow him anywhere. Unacceptable.

Besides, he liked this dance of theirs. Where Arthur weakly tried to stop him, and Merlin manhandled him into doing his bidding. It was fun.

That's how Prince Arthur spent his early evening walking around the lower town in the company of his servant.

They visited the new shops and spoke with the people about the old ones. They saw busy people running to do their duties and children playing, and at some point they walked past a rather loud door, full with cheers, laughter and music.

“Excuse me,” Merlin stopped a flushed lady that came out of the noisy building. “What's the occasion?”

“Oh, it's wonderful!” She started with a big smile. “The tailor's daughter found her soulmate last week, they just split the coin! The whole street was invited for the celebration.”

“That is wonderful, indeed!” Merlin smiled at her.

“Oh, they should be leaving any minute now.”

Just as the woman said, two young women walked out of the door holding hands, with a cheering crowd following after. One of them Merlin recognized as the tailor's daughter, Marigold. The other had auburn curls and crooked teeth, and Merlin had never seen her around before.

They smiled and waved to the crowd, hands always interlocked, and everytime their eyes met, the absolute happiness and overwhelming love they felt for each other was clear for everyone to see.

While everybody watched as the couple left on a horse, Arthur kept his eyes on Merlin.

He saw that the small corner smile he had on when the girls left the building, slowly faded as the horse rode away. His soft, gleaming eyes turned sad, and Arthur recognized the longing in them.

He wondered how many times Merlin would have to watch other people's happy ending, knowing he would never get his.

Arthur brought his hand to Merlin's shoulder in a friendly manner, “that was lovely, but we do have a room filled with old farts to get to.”

That made Merlin smile again, his eyes crinkling “So you admit they are old farts, then.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

The meeting proceeded as usual, so did the week. Uther's council was still skeptical of Morgana's presence and of Arthur's leadership, postponing his ascension as King for another season — even though Uther continued in his unresponsive state, his mind completely gone from this world.

Then there was Agravaine, who allegedly came to help Arthur, but whom Merlin couldn't really trust. The man seemed to be loyal enough, but too on the fence about most things for Merlin's taste.

Either way, life moved on. Knights trained, servants worked, meetings were had, and public hearings continued to open the court to the people's problems.

It was one of those hearings that brought Prince Arthur, Merlin, and three of Uther's knights on patrol close to the border of Mercia. Rumours of mysterious disappearances and shadow men that came out of nowhere, putting fear on the hearts of the nearby villagers.

Somewhere along the way, between Merlin and Arthur's banter and Uther's Knights' chatting, they found themselves caught in an ambush.

At first they all thought it was a normal bandit attack. Merlin himself even went as far as thinking it as the ‘annoying weekly bandit encounter’ before going to ‘hide to safety’ and start dropping branches on their heads.

One after the other, the knights of Camelot fought their way through the seemingly endless group.

It seemed, though, as if while their numbers got smaller, the bandits’ skill increased. The fight kept getting harder in a way it hadn't been in a long while, but eventually it ended.

Arthur looked around, taking in his men and then the defeated bandits that lay on the ground. He listened for a second, and once he deemed the area safe, sheathed his sword. “Is everyone alright?”

He did a quick once over of his knights, checking them for injuries. When he was satisfied, he turned to where he last saw their horses, hoping they would be close by.

Arthur was mid step when he realized how quiet it was. No rustling of leaves, no loud footsteps, and the worst of all, no complaints followed by a thousand ‘I told you so.’

He turned around, “Merlin, you can come out now.”

The knights stopped what they were doing, and listened. As the seconds passed without an answer, the quietness of the place got louder.

Arthur's heartbeat resonated in his head.

“Merlin!” He marched to where he last saw him hiding, making his way through bushes and thick tree trunks.

Ba-dump

Merlin wasn't there. Instead, Arthur found tracks.

Ba-dump

The tracks showed that someone was dragged away, but there were no signs of struggle, the person didn't seem to have fought their capturers.

Ba-dump

Arthur signed for his knights to follow him, his eyes focused on where the track would lead them.

Ba-dump.

They followed the tracks for a while, until they got to what looked like the entrance of a glade. Arthur signed to his knights again, sending them in opposite directions around the edge of the glade.

He focused on calming his heart while waiting for them to be ready.

Merlin would be alright. Arthur would know if he wasn't.

Once the knights were positioned, Arthur prepared himself before giving the signal for them to move, following the last of the tracks.

Ba-dump

Once they got there, Arthur was astounded with the horrific vision that greeted them at the end of the trail.

Nothing.

Ba-dump, Ba-dump, Ba-dump

He got closer to where the track ended to make sure — legs marching quickly and feet crunching leaves, — but the trail ended right there in the middle of nowhere. It was like whatever left those dragging marks had completely vanished in thin air.

Ba-dump, Ba-dump, Ba-dump

He went back and forth a few times to be absolutely certain he hadn't missed anything. To make sure he had followed the right track.

“Sire?” His knights waited for orders.

He shouldn't have to order, it should be obvious.

“Find me that dollophead.”

The knights looked at each other in doubt.

“Find him!” Arthur shouted, making the knights nod and move away in separate directions.

Arthur went back to where the trail ended, but the sight was the same. Someone was dragged away to where he stood now by two other people, and then they all vanished. There were no signs of horses or carriages, no more footsteps and no more signs of bodies being dragged.

The only option left was magic, but why would a sorcerer choose to kidnap a servant instead of attack the prince? It didn't make sense.

The trees closed in around him, his chest tightened and his breathing came in short, shallow gasps. The weight of the scene finally sinking in.

Merlin was gone.

Arthur didn't know what had happened to him, and he had no trail left to follow nor any sign that he was still alive.

His breaths seemed to be racing against his heart, both going faster and faster. Arthur dropped to a crouch, squeezed his eyes shut and raked both his hands through his hair, gripping tightly.

°•°§°•°

Merlin woke up cold and in pain. It took him a few minutes to fully come to his senses — his head had a sharp pain and he felt dizzy. His arms hurt from holding his own weight up, and his whole body seemed to weigh twenty times more than what it was supposed to.

He couldn't see anything when he managed to open his eyes; wherever he was didn't have any windows, and no torches were lit.

He was hanging from his wrists.

He felt the bite of the chains on them and straightened up to try to put some of his weight on his feet, even if they barely reached the ground.

Next, Merlin tried to remember what had happened — the weird sluggishness he felt, clouding his mind.

They were attacked and Merlin secretly helped the knights with his magic from behind some trees, as he usually does. Then there was nothing.

Did somebody hit his head from behind? That would explain the ringing in his ear and the pounding in his head. Was that what fallen branches felt like when he made them drop on bandits' heads?

He needed to get out of there and go back to Arthur.

Just when he was about to reach for his magic to try and get out, he heard the familiar sound of a door opening, followed by echoing footsteps.

When the footsteps stopped, a second door opened — this time in front of him, — and the brightness that suddenly flooded the room blinded him for a second, forcing him to close his eyes.

He heard them come in closer and cracked his eyes slightly open.

There were two of them, one walked around the room lighting the wall’s torches with his own. The other made his way straight to Merlin, lifting his torch close to Merlin’s face. “Well, well, look who finally woke up.”

He fought to keep his eyes open — the usually kind caress of torchlight, burning like a thousand suns before Merlin’s eyes.

The man had a scar across his face and was missing a tooth, and Merlin couldn’t escape his sour breath when the man laughed. “When we were told that the closest person to the Regent was his servant, we thought this would be the easiest job we ever took.”

He paced away. The other man stood by the wall next to the door with his arms crossed, he had longer hair that went to his shoulders. Both men were wearing dark clothes, but Hairy had a black cape where Scarface didn't.

“However!” Scarface turned around suddenly, “we were both very surprised to notice that the skinny little weak servant of the prince’s eyes turned gold.

Merlin froze, the scowl he had managed to put on during Scarface’s rambling weakened as the surprise hit his eyes. They had seen him.

He decided to act and reached for his magic to throw them away from him — maybe make them pass out — but his magic didn’t surface, and nothing happened. His head snapped up to where his wrists were chained up, and his eyes goggled.

That the chains were made of cold iron was an educated guess, and an expected one, but what brought true horror to his face was the thinner bracelet below those chains on both his hands. They weren't connected and didn’t seem designed to physically restrain him — the ring wasn’t skin-tight and even slipped down Merlin’s arms. Despite being thinner, they were heavier, and while the chains cut up his wrists raw, the marks carved into the bracelets were the ones that concerned him most.

He felt a chill run down his spine while the laughter from Scarface resonated through the walls. Cold iron — while very effective in neutralizing usual magic users — didn’t completely stop him from using his magic. He would be weaker, but not helpless.

This thing, though. This was different.

“I see you’ve found our toys. Aren’t they pretty? I doubt a peasant like you has ever worn something so fancy before.” Merlin didn’t look at him, he was focused on the carvings. The ringing in his ears got louder, and his head didn’t seem to pound as much when compared to the beating of his heart.

“It was a witch who kindly shared the secret for successfully binding someone's magic, you’d think it’d be common knowledge with how often magic users are hunted down, but to our surprise it turns out most people don’t know anything stronger than the good old cold iron.”

Binding someone's magic. It echoed in Merlin’s head as the man kept talking.

“Good for us, I say. Magic users are surprisingly more open to talk once they realize there’s really nothing they can do.” He laughed again.

Merlin snapped back at him with a scowl on his face, anger suddenly burning through his body. “What do you want?”

“How kind of you to ask, so polite.” He turned his head to his friend, “they are never this polite, are they?”

Hairy didn't answer, he didn’t move at all. In fact, he looked bored by his mate’s talking.

Scar turned back with a smile, “here’s the deal, scrawny, you will tell us what we want to know and my buddy will stay back there, bored out of his mind.”

“And when I don’t?”

Scarface’s eyes gleamed with a dangerous light, his already deformed face twisted with something evil and an interested smirk grew ominously. “Trust me, darling, you don’t want to give him a reason to leave that wall.”

Merlin looked back at Hairy. He was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed and didn't seem to be paying any attention to them.

“Now,” Scarface smiled, “why don't we begin?”

Merlin's cold gaze was still fired by his anger. It wasn't the first time he was kidnapped, he knew the drill. They would ask, he wouldn't answer, and then they would beat him up.

It was nothing he couldn't handle.

Still, the cold of the bracelets made for an eerie reminder that this time, he was really on his own. Not a single spark of magic would rise for his aid, and he wouldn't be able to save himself.

A chill ran down his spine when Scarface stepped closer.

°•°§°•°

The knights of Camelot rode after their Prince with quick strides. They had looked for Merlin throughout the night and part of the morning before the prince decided they needed backup. Their horses galloped through the gates of Camelot’s castle bringing with them an overwhelming sense of urgency.

Leon rushed to Arthur’s side before the man’s feet had the chance to hit the ground. “Sire?”

“Gather the knights in the war room,” Arthur didn’t stop, marching quickly through the courtyard straight to the castle’s doors. “We are separating into groups, our goal is to cover the largest amount of land in the quickest time.”

“What is going on, Sire?”

“Merlin is gone!” Arthur said, not looking back and not stopping, and that was all Leon needed to know before turning away, ready to gather as many knights as he could find.

Before the hour was over, the war room was filled and ready for action. Unfortunately, the plans were being delayed by Uther’s council who protested against the amount of knights the prince wanted to send for one servant.

“Unacceptable! The amount of resources, and time!” Said one of them.

“Not to mention the way this would weaken our defenses.” Another nodded in agreement.

“King Uther would never…” A third one started, but was interrupted by Arthur himself. “My father is not here to make a decision.”

He met the eyes of each lord with a stern gaze, before continuing:

“We will send search parties for Merlin. That is not up for debate and trying to change my mind about this will only be a waste of everyone's time.”

Arthur rose to his feet and leaned on the table, his eyes fixed on the map spread before him. “Whoever — or whatever — took Merlin must be tied to the disappearances along Mercia's borders. That was why we went there in the first place. I’m sure that finding him will uncover the truth behind those events and allow us to put an end to the threat once and for all.”

When no more protests came forth, he continued:

“The parties will be separated into the usual groups of five and six,” Arthur started to separate them, pointing on the map where each group should go. Elyan, Percival, Leon and Gwaine were each assigned party leaders and a region where they should start.

Before he could assign Lancelot his region, Gwaine asked: “What about Mercia itself, sire? If he disappeared near the border there's a chance he’s no longer in Camelot.”

Arthur nodded in acknowledgement, “I plan to lead a party through Mercia myself.”

The room exploded in a cacophony of voices, the lords rising to their feet to loudly protest their disagreement. There were so many complaints that Arthur couldn't really make out what exactly they were, though he had a good idea.

“Sire, if I may.” Agravaine stepped closer, and when Arthur nodded the room quieted to hear him.“Perhaps our lordships would feel more at ease if they knew Camelot’s Regent and only legitimate heir to the throne, was staying safely inside the castle's walls.”

He paced around the room, meeting the lord’s eyes and gesturing to their direction slightly. “We are all, of course, deeply concerned with Merlin’s well being and want him home as quickly as possible. But since Your Highness is already assigning so many of our bravest knights to this noble quest, perhaps it would be for the best to stay behind and wait for your men to report back with their findings.”

The lords behind Agravaine started to nod their agreement.

“Not to mention, Sire,” he continued. “The implications of going over the border yourself without notice.”

Arthur felt trapped, he wanted to go himself — it wasn't that he didn't trusted his men, he had trained them himself, but Merlin was his responsibility, his problem, his friend, his — but with the many protests and arguments that he couldn't rebut properly, he found he didn't have a choice but stay behind.

"Very well then, Lancelot shall lead a party through Mercia's border from their side. I'll stay behind and make sure King Bayard is properly informed of the situation.

Another round of murmured protests came from the Lords, but none dared to push their luck any further by speaking up, their prince would stay behind and they knew that was the only change of plans Arthur would allow.

"You are all dismissed." Arthur said to the rest of his court, before addressing his knights "I wish you all good luck, and I hope to hear from each of you soon enough."

He looked each of them in the eye, and found nothing but unwavering determination. "bring Merlin home."

And with this final words, the knights took off hurriedly, their steps echoing through the walls as they made their way to the courtyard. Their friend was missing, and every single one of them was willing to stay in the forest until they got him back.

°•°§°•°

Merlin didn't know how long he had been in that room.

He had been starved, beaten, nearly drowned, and he was sure he had something broken somewhere. Without the aid of his magic to soften the blows, the pain he had been put through so far had been ten times worse then what it usually was when he did have his magic.

If he were a weaker man, he know he would've cracked by now.

He heard the echoing footsteps that signified his captors approach and mentally prepared himself for another round.

Scarface came in, slamming the door strong enough to make it hit the wall — he liked to make a big entrance everytime, and if the sound of it hitting the wall worsen Merlin's headache, well, that was a bonus.

"Good morning, darling!" He came towards Merlin with excited steps, and posted himself right on Merlin's face, grabbing it with his dirty hands.

"I'm very disappointed in you, darling. I thought we had something between us, especially after all this time we spend together." He mocked being sad, before giving a full belly laugh. He did that a lot.

"But, it has become clear to us that you're not much of a chatter-mouth, unfortunately." He pouted. "That's why, darling, I'm sad to inform that our time together has come to an end."

Merlin froze, panic rising through his chest.

"Oh, don't worry, we'll still see each other. I wouldn't want to miss the show, now, would I?" He laughed again.

Just then, Merlin noticed Hairy moving around the room on the background. That raised more alarms to his head. Hairy had, so far, stick to his spot on the wall. Merlin couldn't see what exactly he was doing — Scarface seemed to be purposefully blocking his view — but the fact that he was actually inside the room at all and not just standing by the door, was concerning enough.

"Most people would say that I'm the good guy, you know?" Scarface brought his attention back to him, his voice was quieter than it had ever been. "Don't get me wrong, I do like the bit that I do. It's interesting work, but honestly? Watching my friend there do his thing is quite entertaining, he's almost an artist."

He glanced back and Merlin saw Hairy approaching. "You should have answered my questions, boy." Was the last thing Scarface said before Hairy reached them. He took a step back so they could stand side by side, both staring at Merlin.

He still couldn't see why Hairy was walking around the room — both him and Scarface blocked his vision of the room like a human wall — and the uncertainty of what would happen made him anxious.

"How do you want to start?" Scarface asked Hairy.

Suddenly, Hairy pulled a dagger out of nowhere and aimed it in Merlin's direction, his hand moving quickly.

Merlin braced himself for the pain of being stabbed, closing his eyes tightly.

He didn't have to, though, instead of pain he was suddenly hit by cold air that made goosebumps run across his body. He kept his eyes closed still, waiting for what was next on Hairy's agenda now that he had his chest bare and at their mercy.

"Now what do we have here? You are full of surprises, aren't you, darling?" Scarface said before — once again — laughing loudly.

Merlin opened his eyes and looked at them with confusion. Why had they stopped?

He kept looking from one to the other, looking for the answer. It wasn't until he paid closer attention to Hairy that he figured it out. Hairy had frozen in place, dagger still in his hands, and eyes staring at the same spot on Merlin's torso.

He felt his body go tense as realization struck him like a sudden slap. He didn't need to look down to know what they were seeing, and why they had stopped. And if he hadn't figured out by himself, Scarface would have clarified things when he excitedly asked: "But why didn't you tell us you were soulmates with the prince? Now, this changes things!"

He flung an arm around Hairy's shoulder, a sick smile on his face. "What do you think?"

Hairy stared at his soulmark a while longer before snapping his eyes to meet Merlin's. And if Scarface's smiles creeped him out, it was nothing compared to how Hairy's made him feel.

With the wicked grin still on his face, Hairy raised his dagger once more. Merlin tried to struggle away, but was held tightly in place by scarface. It didn't matter much, after so many days locked inside that place, Merlin didn't really had any strength left to physically fight them back.

The last thing Merlin remembered before passing out, were the coldness of the knife when it first touched the skin near his soulmark and the distant sound of someone screaming in pain.

°•°§°•°

Arthur paced around his room, constantly running a hand through his hair. A month.

Merlin had been gone for a month and still there were no news about him or any leads of where he could have been taken to.

"Check again."

Morgana sat at Arthur's table with a bowl of water. Everyday since Merlin's disappearance Arthur would knock on her door and ask her to try to find him with magic. "I've checked three times, Arthur, and the result is always the same. Wherever he is, my magic can't reach him."

"He's not dead, Morgana! I would know if he was, I would feel it."

"Nobody said that he was."

"They didn't have to! You think I don't known? Everybody thinks he's dead by now, that I'm crazy for wasting resources on a lunatic quest for a corpse they won't even find!" Arthur kept pacing.

"Arthur!" She placed herself in his way, resting her hands on his shoulders and trying to calm him with her eyes. "We are not going to give up on him, alright? Me, Gwen, our knights, we are all worried and we won't stop looking until we figure it out where he is , and when we do we will bring him home. Alive."

Arthur untangled himself from Morgana's grip and sagged down on his chair, face hidden in his hands. "It's my fault," he whispered, "I shouldn't have left him alone."

Morgana watched the messy state of her brother. While in court, Arthur presented himself as the proper Regent the lords expected him to be, but once he was around his friends — not that he knew they were his friends — Arthur's facade crumbled, and they could all see the worry and fear he felt for Merlin.

Day after day, his knights sent him reports about their findings — or rather, the lack of them — and Morgana watched the hope slowly disappear from his face everytime a new parchment came back with nothing new to report.

"It's not your fault, your idiot." She sat on the chair next to him. "If you want to blame anyone about this, you should blame me. I'm the seer, remember? I should have seen that it would happen."

"You aren't the one who kidnapped him, Morgana, of course it's not your fault." He lifted his face to reassure her.

Morgana had a small smile and looked at him like he had just stated the obvious.

When Arthur realized why, he frowned. "That's different, I was there."

"It's not, Arthur. You've been attacked a million times before and Merlin knows how to take care of himself on ambushes. It was unfortunate, but it wasn't your fault."

Arthur looked a her with tiredness in his eyes, "I'm glad we could put our differences behind us, Morgana," he smiled to her before pressing his fingers against his eyes, "I don't know what I would have done without your help."

"Probably stumble around the castle like a headless chicken." She smirked.

Arthur was startled by the sudden laugh that came out of him. "Yeah, probably."

The whole blood-related thing with magic on the side had been a mess, they fought a lot at the beginning until Morgana realized that Arthur wasn't like Uther. Still, even with Arthur's secret support of her magic and the promise of a safer Camelot in the future, their relationship hadn't been quite stable.

If this whole thing ended in tragedy — it wouldn't. He knew it wouldn't — then at least he was glad he would come out of it with a sister he was close with.

They were suddenly interrupted by loud knocks on his door, Arthur had barely managed to recompose himself before George barged in. "Sire!"

"George? what is going on?" Arthur jumped from his seat and reached for his sword, adrenaline suddenly pumping in his veins.

"It was the strangest thing, my lord." George was out of breath and dishevelled, sweat clung to his forehead and he spoke hurriedly, barely comprehensively. "The boy came out of nowhere, then I tried to see where he would go, I did! But he was just gone!"

"Hold on, George I can barely understand. A boy?"

"He had a message. A message for you, my lord. Said it was urgent."

Just then he notice the package in George's hand. He reached for it and while Morgana tried to calm the man down he inspected it.

It wasn't much anything, just a simple leather bag that could have belonged to anyone. He opened it up and inside he found a parchment and some type of fur or animal skin rolled up to fit inside the bag.

He went for the parchment first, if they went through all this trouble to send him a message, then he would hear it.

To his royal Highness, Prince Regent Arthur Pendragon of Camelot I believe this belongs to you.

Arthur frowned to the paper and looked back inside the bag. He hadn't lost any animal fur, he hadn't even had time for hunts since he became the regent.

Reaching inside the bag with a frown, Arthur retrieved the animal fur from it and tried to see if there was anything special to it. It seemed normal enough, the skin had been rolled up like a sleeping bag and holding it closed was a small belt. He reached for the buckle and opened it, letting the fur unravel towards the ground.

When the fur unfolded, he heard the sound of something else hitting the ground. He looked down and saw what it appeared to be a piece of leather, or maybe more animal skin.

He placed the animal fur on the back of his chair and crouched down to pick up whatever it was. His eyebrows furred and his nose scrunched up while he examined the weird thing. It did look like leather, but it felt wrong on the hand and the colour didn't seem right. He stood up still examining it, confused on what it could be.

He flipped it over to look at the other side.

'Arthur Pendragon'

His breathing suddenly hitched, his heart beat faster in his chest and goosebumps run across his entire body, raising the hairs from his arms and nape. He stumbled back, managing to take three steps before he hit the table and toppled it over to the ground with him.

"Arthur!?" Morgana ran to his side.

Arthur felt nauseated, he kept his eyes at the black swirly curls hoping they would disappear, that it was a lie. He heard Morgana gasp once she saw what he had in his hands.

His eyes met hers, they were wide open and teared, his face was pale, and a whirlwind of emotions fought for control. "Tell me it's fake," he begged.

Morgana wasn't faring much better, shock froze her in place. "Tell me it's fake!" Arthur screamed, shaking her back to life. She dropped down to her knees next to where Arthur had fallen and gently hovered her hands over the words. With her eyes closed she reached for them with her magic.

When she opened them again, tears ran down her face and she met Arthur's eyes with an apologetic look. "It's real."

Arthur broke eye contact and hunched over it, "leave me."

"Arthur…"

"Leave me!"

Morgana hesitated, but decided to do his bidding. She stood up, and noticed that George was still in the room, his face paler than Arthur's nightclothes. She signed for him to follow and together they left Arthur's chambers, worried about their prince's reaction.

Arthur stayed on the ground, thick tears fell down his face and he sobbed over his soulmate's skin. Losing Merlin had taken it's toll on him, leaving him emotionally unstable as he fought to ignore his feelings and focus on his kingdom and on planning the next strategy to find him; now, beside losing Merlin, someone had found his soulmate and hurt them.

He tried to focus his vision through the blurring tears, his eyes going over the fancy loops that formed his soulmate's mark. His name. His stupid name that had gotten them kidnapped and hurt.

His eyes began to dry as sudden rage filled his heart. Someone out there had found his soulmate and decided to use them to reach him. His head snapped back to where he has left the note, heart pumping his anger through his body, giving him purpose.

When he reached the note, he was surprised to see new words appearing on the parchment. They asked for a ransom and provided a location and time, as well as instructions that Arthur wouldn't bother to follow.

He marched out of his chambers, straight to the war room. He needed to strategize and he needed maps. He would also need his knights.

The realization almost made him stop on his track. Sirs Leon, Gwaine, Lancelot, Elyan and Percival were, of course, looking for Merlin. But if he was to go after his soulmate —because this time he would go, not going after Merlin had almost killed him, he wouldn't be stopped a second time — he would need people he trusted.

Arthur mulled over the last reports he received in his head. He knew Leon would be back by tomorrow — originally to restock and regroup before leaving once more — and Elyan and Percival were closer by than the others.

Once he reached the war room he went straight to the map, leaning over it. He would have to be careful. And no matter what, he would not stop the search for Merlin. Soulmate or not, Merlin was still a priority.

He focused on the map and on the information he had so far, and started to work on a plan.

°•°§°•°

Merlin kept going in and out of consciousness, the pain he felt was too much to bare, every second he spent awake was painfully torturous and he would pass out before he could be aware of his surroundings.

He didn't see his captors again, or at least not that he noticed. Darkness seemed to surround him in every direction and he couldn't tell the difference between reality and delusion anymore.

His mind spiralled with images both from his friends and from his captors. Gwen's smile turned into Scarface's laugh which echoed for painful instants before changing into Gwaine's. He heard Leon's voice saying his name and saw Elyan and Percival standing in front of him before their figures morphed into Hairy and Scarface.

He felt Arthur's arms around him. That one he knew was an illusion, just his mind giving him something good to hang on to. He didn't care. He let his mind wrap him up in Arthur's warmth and begged for the gods that they would let him stay there. And if he were to die, to let him die in the illusion of having Arthur's arms hugging him and lulling him to sleep.

Arthur's arms didn't stay, though. After what it seemed both forever and mere seconds, he felt them letting go of him, and he felt cold.

Suddenly a new feeling emerged from somewhere withing himself, overflowing him with familiar warmth that he hadn't felt in a long while. It spread through him like a raging sea, reaching for every corner of his body and mind, not settling until it had consumed him entirely. He revelled at the feeling.

He felt himself waddle through the fog of his mind, following the sound of muttered words that he couldn't really hear.

It was like he was under a thick blanket, the thickest he has ever seen, and couldn't really get out from under it.

He kept trying, though. He pushed and pushed and pushed until he finally could get through.

He was blinded by sudden light and his heart beat faster.

Light.

How long had he stayed in the darkness that just the small hint of light brought tears to his eyes?

"Merlin? Are you awake, my boy?"

°•°§°•°

It took Merlin a week to wake up.

A week since Arthur left the castle to find his soulmate, only to find Merlin in their place.

Merlin who hanged from his wrists covered in wounds and dried blood, passed out cold.

Arthur thought he was dead when he first saw him. He ran to his side and took him down into his arms, frantically looking for his pulse. When he found it — weak but still beating — he cradled his face and cried over him, filled with relief, concern and guilt. It wasn't until Leon entered the room, surprised to see Merlin on his arms, that Arthur remembered he was supposed to be there for his soulmate.

He spent the ride home — quick gallops flying with the wind, trying to reach Gaius as fast as possible — trying to figure out what had happened.

Only after he was alone in his room — Gaius tossing him out from his tower — that he remembered that Merlin had already told him.

'I'm not a match with my soulmate.'

Arthur felt his knees weaken and his breath caught in his throat as the conversation from that night flooded his brain.

'I could never make them choose.'

'If I have to watch them be happy from a distance then that's what I'm going to do, all it matters to me is that they are happy.'

'I'm not going to say it doesn't hurt, because it does.'

'I love my soulmate, Arthur'

'I love my soulmate. Arthur.'

'I love you'

Arthur didn't sleep that night and spend the week waiting for Merlin to wake up. He needed an explanation. He needed to know why.

He gave Merlin an extra day to rest before going to see him. He had every intention to let him talk, to be calm and try to comprehend.

He entered Merlin's chambers and for a second he forgot about the whole thing.

His heart swelled at the sight of his smile. He still looked weak, but much better than he had been before. Arthur took a step in, wanting to hug him, to be next to him, to call him an idiot for have worried him so much. To cry in relief that he was awake and alive.

Then his eyes fell to Merlin's shoulder, where his name was peaking out off the bandages, and he felt himself tense up.

Soulmarks couldn't be erased, even if someone tried to remove them —like those monsters did to Merlin — they would eventually show up someplace else.

Merlin looked confused for a second before following his gaze and tensing up himself. He didn't look back up. They stayed in silence for long minutes, Arthur staring at him and Merlin looking down at his hands, unwilling to speak up.

"Say something, Merlin"

Merlin shrugged, "there's nothing much to say."

Arthur felt a sharp pain through his heart, Merlin's dismissal clashed against his already messed up feelings and he felt sudden anger start to bloom.

"How can you say that? Nothing much to say?"

"It's not important."

"Not..? I had the right to know!"

"And I had the right to not tell you!" Merlin's head sprang up, his voice raising to match Arthur's.

They snapped at each other.

"God dammit, Merlin! You didn't give me a choice, I had the right to choose and you took that away from me!"

"The right to choose? And what choice would that have been, Arthur? Are you saying you could've just let go of your soulmate? Forsaken that name you spent your whole bloody life thinking about?" Merlin shook his head "And for what? For the clumsy idiot of a servant that you barely ever have the balls to call friend?"

That was a low blow, Merlin knew that, and despite Arthur's hardest efforts to hide, Merlin could see its effect showing in his eyes.

He continued his desperate rant, not giving Arthur any chances to talk.

"What would happen later, then? When your actual soulmate shows up on your doorstep? Was I supposed to just pretend to not be hurt? Should I thank you for the time you gave me, for the generous, generous act of staying with me while you waited for your true match to show up?"

He spat the words with a sarcastic tone.

"I wouldn't have gone back on my word if..."

"I don't want your fucking word, Arthur!" He screamed, interrupting.

Arthur surrendered himself to his hurt, he felt hot anger burning through his body and he lashed out, blinded by rage he didn't know he had.

"What do you want, then, Merlin?!? A marriage proposal?! Should I shower you with expensive gifts, crawl on my knees and beg you to wed me?"

Those could have been warm, intense and passionate words, a confession even, but the sarcasm and the anger that dripped from every word, revealed the poisonous malice in them.

Arthur's sky-blue eyes were so dark with anger that they almost seemed black.

"Is that what you want? For me to beg? Should I make it public, then? Give you and Camelot the whole spectacle of having me before you on my knees!"

Merlin's heart crumbled, he felt the fight leave his body and a sudden cold that began in his stomach went through him like lightning. He was exhausted and hurt, he had been for weeks, but somehow he hadn't felt defeated.

Scarface and Hairy might have gotten to his body, maybe a little to his mind, but Merlin still had his spirit, his heart. No matter what, that part of him still shone bright and alive, always able to get him through the ugliest of the storms. Until now.

Merlin sagged down looking back at his hands, and with teary eyes, he gave up.

"Let it go, Arthur."

"You can't just expect me.."

His head snapped back at Arthur, anger growing in his chest.

"I'm not expecting shit. That was the cruellest fucking thing you ever said to me.”

Thick tears went down his face, he didn't care.

Arthur felt like he was suddenly slapped. The anger he felt had blinded him and he spoke without thinking, forgetting who he was talking to. His heart crushed at the realization of what he had said and how he had said it. He wanted to take it back, but didn't know how.

"I never wanted you to give up anything; never wanted any promises that I knew you couldn't keep." Merlin started.

He had never looked at Arthur like that, not even on those first days at Camelot, when he thought he hated Arthur. His eyes were hurt, angry, and cold.

"You're going to walk out of this room and forget you know anything about my soulmark. You will pretend nothing happened and we won't ever talk about this again." He spoke in a whispered tone; his voice was raspy but firm, despite the lump in his throat

Arthur's mouth was shut tightly, a small twitch could be seen on his jaw. He was still angry, but the guilt and regret he felt kept him from lashing out again.

Merlin's eyes weren't as dark as before, but they were intense and the tears still rained down his cheeks as he spoke.

"Now get the fuck out of my chambers."

Arthur stared at Merlin's eyes for a while longer before turning around, opening Merlin's door, and walking away, slamming the door with all his frustration and anger.

He walked past Gaius, who was pretending to not have heard the discussion, and marched out of the physician's tower without looking back.

He walked through the hallways blinded by rage, frustration and guilt; servants and guards quickly got out of his way as he passed, noticing the storm that followed him.

He entered his chambers and slammed his door as well, walking straight to his desk. He rested both his hands on the back of his chair and leaned there for a while, his knuckles turning white with the strength of his grip.

He felt wetness on his face and a burning pain on his heart.

The chair flew through the room and hit a wall, where it broke in three separate parts, an agonizing scream following its demise.

Arthur paced and threw things, his vision blurred, and when he couldn't walk anymore he fell to the floor, leaning against his bed.

He brought his knees closer to his chest where he rested his elbows, and buried his face in his hands. One single word danced around his head.

Why?

It was so unfair.

He felt weak, so tired of this month and everything that had happened. Hating himself for what he had said.

After a while, anger started to resurface: anger about Merlin, who had lied and given him no choice; anger about himself, who had hurt Merlin; anger about the people who had kidnapped him and started this whole mess; but most of all, anger about the Fates, who had denied him the chance to match with his best friend.

He jumped up, grabbed his sword, and marched down to the training grounds.

°•°§°•°

The days passed with Merlin still bedridden. The aftereffects of the magic-binding bracelets made his magic weak and unstable, unable to help him heal as fast as it usually would.

Arthur didn't come back to visit, and Merlin didn't know how he felt about it. He was still hurt and somewhat angry, but he couldn't help but miss his Prince.

When the day came where Merlin could, at last, return to his duties as Arthur’s servant, he hadn’t seen him in over two weeks. Time seemed to slow down as he entered the prince’s chambers. Arthur was already dressed and sat at his desk, reading over some papers.

Merlin saw Arthur’s shoulders tense right as he entered. Neither of them said anything, and Merlin proceeded to do his tasks feeling the heaviness of the room.

Arthur didn’t look at him, didn’t give him any absurd chores, didn’t ask for his help or his advice with any of his documents. When Merlin had to help him put on his armour, he did so with the utmost care not to touch him, not to meet his eyes.

Merlin cried himself to sleep that night, quietly sobbing on his pillow the ache off his heart.

The days went by once more, Merlin no longer followed Arthur everywhere. He polished his armour and sharpened his sword in the armoury; he folded and mended his clothes in the laundry room; he cleaned Arthur’s chambers when he was busy with either knight’s training or council meetings, which Merlin no longer took part in.

He only saw Arthur in the mornings when he had to wake him up — always on time and with a polite knock on the door — when he had to bring his meals — still hot and untouched — or when he had to prepare his baths and dress him up — careful not to touch him more than necessary.

Merlin had become the perfect servant, he didn’t speak unless spoken to — and on the extremely rare occasions where he did, it was always with the appropriate title — he didn’t make eye contact, and bowed to the Prince Regent both in acknowledgement and before leaving his presence. He had successfully become part of the decoration, invisible to everyone unless needed, as a servant was supposed to.

He had never been so miserable in his life.

The pain he felt had long subsided into something less, but somehow mutated into something more. He was just so tired. Longing had shifted into mourning, and the dull ache he felt — that weird mix of nothingness and heaviness that clung into him, making him wish he could just lay there on his bed forever — had become his most loyal companion.

His magic was inconsolable, it still longed for Arthur’s presence every single day, sneakily it tried to reach him, to just for a second revel in the warm light that was Arthur. Having to reel it in every day before it did something stupid, was one of the hardest things Merlin had to do, especially when he wanted to do the same thing himself.

His friends had tried to help, they really did. But there was nothing they could say to help, not really.

The one month mark came and went by, and if Merlin had had any hopes that they could still talk this off, he couldn't find it anymore. He hadn’t reached out to Arthur, at first out of anger, then out of hurt. Now he simply hadn’t the strength anymore. And if Arthur wanted to fix things, he would have said, or more likely, done something — something stupid, and with all the tact of someone with zero emotional intelligence — by now.

Arthur didn’t want to fix things.

He had once learned how to be content with the idea of not being Arthur’s soulmate. Now, he simply had to learn to accept he would never be nothing more than a bystander, watching as his heart lived his own life away from him.

He had to relearn how to live without Arthur.

With his mind made up, he walked from his chambers to Arthur’s in a daze. It seemed like he had just left the physician’s tower when he found himself facing the prince’s door, a fist raised up, ready to knock just like he had been doing these past weeks.

He stared at his fist and was suddenly overwhelmed with his feelings. His ears started to ring, tears surged in his eyes and he felt breathless, panting more as the ringing seemed to grow louder.

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, trying to push his feelings as well as the traitorous tears, back down to where they should have stayed. He stayed there for a long while, breathing and just listening to his heartbeat calming him down.

Once he opened his eyes again, he felt more himself then he had in goddess knows how long. He felt resolute, and calm. His heart ached still, but that had been there since before the ambush.

With a certainty he hadn’t had in a while, he reached for the doorknob and pushed the door open without knocking.

Arthur sat at his desk going over some documents. Merlin noticed how his shoulders tensed upon hearing him walk in, and he turned his head slightly to the right, looking in Merlin’s direction with a brief side glance before facing forward again.

“My lord,” Merlin started and he watched as Arthur stopped moving completely, his back tensing even more. Merlin understood, he hadn’t started an interaction with Arthur in who knows how long. “I have received news from Ealdor.”

That made Arthur turn and face Merlin. And for the first time in what it felt like forever, Merlin met Arthur’s sky-blue eyes — the ones that he loved with all his might — with his own, and stayed there, planning on maintaining eye contact the whole time he spoke.

Arthur’s eyes were guarded, but Merlin knew him — by the gods, did Merlin know him — and was relieved when he didn’t find any anger there. The only thing he saw was mild concern.

Merlin’s heart beat on his chest, alive once more. Arthur’s gaze, testing his decision.

“Good news.” He said, intended to reassure the prince, but just like that — after a small glimpse of relief crossed his eyes — Arthur shut himself up and presented his court face. His emotions now secure away from Merlin’s eyes.

“Apparently Ealdor has been graced with what is looking like a very fortunate season, crops have reportedly grown in such abundance as not seen in decades.” Merlin didn’t leave his place by the door. Arthur’s eyes watched him, waiting.

“With blessing of this nature, the village has come together to seek help with this next harvest season.” Understanding gleamed in Arthur’s eyes, but he remained silent, waiting for Merlin’s request that he knew was coming.

“If it would be agreeable with your highness, I would like to formally request permission to—” He cut himself short, it felt wrong, the formality in which he spoke — even if that’s what he had been doing lately. He cleared his throat trying to restart. He didn’t have to, though.

“You want to go home.” Arthur spoke — for the first time since their fight, something that wasn’t an order.

“Yes.”

“To help with the harvest season.”

Merlin’s eyes flickered away and back for a second. “That’s the plan, yes.”

Arthur nodded and looked away himself. “You have my permission, Merlin.”

For a moment there, Merlin thought he sounded resigned. He dismissed it as wishful thinking.

“Harvest is upon us, I assume you will be leaving soon.” He turned away, going back to his papers. “Take as many provisions as you deem necessary.”

Merlin nodded to Arthur’s back, grieving the loss of eye contact. “I will be leaving as soon as I finish packing, if that’s alright with you.

Arthur grunted his agreement and added: “take one of the knights with you.”

Surprise surged in Merlin’s face. “I don’t—”

“That’s the condition if you want to go”

Merlin lowered his head — was Arthur… concerned about him? — before shaking his thoughts away. “As you wish, my lord.”

He waited a few seconds. A heartbeat, two, when it was clear they were both done with talking, he prepared himself to leave the room. “By your leave?”

Once again Arthur turned his head slightly to the right, and without looking at him, nodded his dismissal.

He turned around and reached for the doorknob, he stopped. This moment felt final, and he realized that once he walked through that door, he wouldn’t be seeing Arthur again. At least, not for a long while.

He felt his magic protesting again, wanting to go to Arthur. Merlin couldn’t deny it a goodbye, so he let it free.

Slowly it floated towards the prince, hesitantly, as if it was scared to do something wrong. Once it reached him, though, it embraced Arthur completely, softly caressing his skin.

Merlin had never hugged Arthur himself, but if it was anything like what he felt through his magic, he lamented the fact.

“Goodbye, Arthur.” Merlin whispered to the room, and he saw when Arthur stopped moving.

His magic retreated, and just when Merlin was about to leave, Arthur turned around again.

His eyes were soft and he carried an hesitant, sad, smile. “Send Hunith my regards.”

They nodded to each other.

Seconds passed, and when Merlin couldn’t bear to stay there any longer, he turned away, closing the door behind him with a quiet shut.

Within the hour, two horses could be seen leaving the gates of Camelot.

Merlin rode away without looking back, with unshed tears in his eyes and a heaviness in his heart that weighed him down completely, burying with each step his last hopes of recovering the bond he used to have with Arthur.

He made his way home, not knowing what his future would look like. He knew Arthur would still need him in Camelot — the prophecy that bound them together still had to be fulfilled — but for the first time in a long while, he didn’t know what his role would be.

All he knew was that he had lost, permanently, the trust and friendship of the only man he would ever be able to love with every drop of his being.

He hoped that with time, the pain that crushed his heart would be bearable enough, and that his heart would learn to accept that he and Arthur were simply not meant to be close in any way known to men.

°•°§°•°

Leaning against the wall, Arthur watched from his window as Merlin rode away, Lancelot following him close by.

He noticed Merlin didn't spare a single glance to the place he had called home for so many years — he didn't blame him.

He stayed there, following Merlin with his eyes as he disappeared into the horizon — his heart wearing thinner and thinner as Merlin inched away from him — until long after he had disappeared from his sight.

He had done the right thing. He must have.

The past weeks had been the hardest of his entire life. He had never been so miserable; never had a task so arduously difficult as this one. Watching Merlin distance himself, seeing him slip through his fingers straight into the role of a simple servant, as if he was just another passerby in Arthur's life. It had been too much for him to bear.

He stared blankly at the place Merlin had disappeared, lost in his thoughts.

He cursed the Fates for the choices they had made. If Merlin wasn't meant to be his soulmate, then why make him Merlin's? Why make Merlin the most important person in his life, but not THE most important person in his life?

If he wasn't supposed to love Merlin back, then why did his heart seem to wear thin when he vanished beyond the horizon?

A part of him hoped Merlin would come back, that he would scream at him, curse him, call him names once more. It was a foolish wish, a selfish wanting that he had bravely fought against, and won.

The prize for his battle had been Merlin's freedom.

Arthur knew he had hurt Merlin — he had destroyed their friendship and crushed any chance of it ever being something else. But he hoped that with that, with the absolute certainty that Arthur didn't want him, Merlin would move on. Maybe someday Arthur would hear whispers about how an old servant — the one that used to follow the prince around — had just had his third child, with his lovely wife whom he loved so dearly and who loved him back.

Time passed, the room grew colder, and after the sun had set and the moon shone through the night sky, he was snatched away from his daze by the sound of knocks on his door. George's familiar voice came through, reminding him that, even though it shouldn't, the world kept moving on with or without Merlin's presence.

He tried to shake away the gruesome realization that he had purposefully lost not only his best friend, but the only person Arthur had learned to love. If it was in a romantic way or not, it didn't matter anymore. And if the Fates were to be trusted, it never did.

Princes didn't cry, it simply wasn't done. But if his fingers brushed his skin to wipe away sudden wetness, no one would be the wiser.

"Come in." He said to the door, and turned away from his window, trying to continue his life as if nothing important was missing.

End of Act.II

Hello everyone! (waves from behind a safety wall) I'm sorry it took so long to update this, work got really busy this past month but I'm officially on vacation! (yay!) I want to thank everybody for the love I got on Act.I, I know I didn't answer any comments but I hope you know how much every note I got there meant to me. You guys got me through this month. Thank you with all my heart.💖 Also, I think I should say: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone! I spend the past two days trying to finish this in time for the 24th but wasn't fast enough. The 25th will do, though. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and that it could make you happy ☺️ (Smiles in Alex Vlahos' Mordredmas) And I'm sorry this post was so big, I don't know how that happened. (it's 11k words, guys) I left out so much background plot that was trying to sneak in — if you see something you think seems random it's because I had to get rid of plot or I wouldn't finish this ever — but even with all my getting rid of things it still ended up this big. I feel weird making it just the one post but the original idea was that all of this happened on Act II so I'm keeping it like that. I still have some figuring out to do for Act III, but I'm already writing it. I do want to try to finish it this year, but since I have never finished any story that I wrote in my life, I will give myself time to do it without pressure. So no promises as to when I'll be posting it. I will post it, though, and happy ending is still a promise. If you'd like to be added or removed from my "people to tag" list, please let me know ( I hate assuming, makes my anxiety go wild) Quick and usual reminder that english is not my first language, and that I barely edited this at all, so forgive me for any mistakes and weird formatting. I hope you guys have a great season and fantastic new year. Don't forget to keep warm if you are somewhere cold, to drink lots of water, and remember to take your medicine if you have any. 💜

[circeyoru]

The Only Reason _ Part 4 *END*

[Yandere!Sung Jinwoo x Worker!Reader - Mana Chaos AU]

Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 (here)

You sat behind Kaisel while Jinwoo willed it to obey him without trouble. A sudden shift was all it takes for your arms around Jinwoo’s waist to tighten like your life depended on it. Well, it does since you were a few thousand feet above land and sea. You could hear Jinwoo’s rich chuckle at your hold and enjoyed your dependency on him for safety, even when you didn’t have a choice in the matter.

After Jinwoo completed that high-ranking dungeon with ease, he was initially supposed to be sent back to his cell and put in a straitjacket. Though, you managed to convince your other Personnel colleagues to let Jinwoo roam around a bit, with your supervision, of course. While you did say ‘roam around’ it was actually a family visit for him, it has been a while since he last saw them face to face. You had no family to speak of, but you understand the family bond and love.

Jinwoo was no monster or beast overtaken by power and strength.

You guided him to Jeju Island, the island you brought under his name but with your wealth. A gift of sorts, since you thought Jinwoo would prefer if he could use his powers and train in a more secluded spot. Plus, you had been planning this move with his mother and younger sister for a while too. 

Not long after Jinwoo was admitted, you did a background scan of him while Personnel 001 was busy testing Jinwoo and subjecting him to their games under the excuse of writing up Jinwoo’s qualities and potential harm. You have never liked 001, but you can’t deny they were talented in some sense, so you never fought against it.

While you went over Jinwoo’s background, you found the records of his earlier days as an E-Rank Hunter, the lowest of the low. Not a pretty past story, he was in constant warzones over his caliber, facing difficulties that you saw as hard to deal with. Then you saw his protectiveness and care over his mother and younger sister. That was what got your attention. He voluntarily placed himself in the facility to protect his family.

Naturally, you had to see for yourself the two people he cared for. You dressed comfortably and went to them outside of work when they both would be at home. While you made your way there, you noticed some Guards stationed from post to post to monitor Jinwoo’s residence. Some had moved away when they recognized your status, none questioned why you were there, for no one is allowed to question a Personnel.

You brushed your clothes before you knocked and waited for an answer. There was obvious sounds coming from inside, but it was long until a response came.

“Go away.” The voice of a young girl shouted through the door. You deduced it to be Jinwoo’s younger sister, Jinah.

“Hello, I would like to have a chat with Hunter Sung’s family members, I mean no harm.” You announced your purpose.

There was another long silence before the door creaked open and half the face of an older woman was seen. “Please leave us alone. You already took my son away from us. What more do you want?”

You forced yourself to stay as professional as you could, stopping yourself from sighing. Not because things weren’t going smoothly, but because things progressed in such a way. Not only is a member of their family gone and treated like a tool, but they were also observed like some suspect. “Mrs. Park, I truly mean no harm or ill intent. If you wish, I will call off the guards stationed near you as proof of my sincerity. I’ll visit another time.”

And you did as you promised. While you were dealing with your work, you’d have glimpses of Jinwoo in the testing area with Personnel 001. It was nothing short of experimentation and everyone was all for it, thinking and taking another S-Rank Hunter as the perfect test subject to toy with without regards for the consequences.

Briefly, you’d see Jinwoo’s eyes lock on yours and you’d see the sharpen in them, though also a softness. You’d turn away or would have your attention cut off abruptly due to something and the thought was gone like the wind.

It took some time, yet worth it when you earned trust from Mrs. Park Kyung-Hye and Jinah. They had a lot to share about Jinwoo and gave you a picture of Jinwoo before he became an S-Rank Hunter, even before he worked as an E-Rank Hunter. The things you never found in the background check was all there to give you a clear perspective of who Jinwoo was as a person.

That’s why. When Personnel 001’s death was announced during work, you were neither sad nor grieving. You quickly saw through the cause labelled as ‘accidental’ and saw the culprit. Hunter Sung Jinwoo snapped. After what happened with Personnel 001, no one wanted to work close with Jinwoo if they could help it, so you took up the slack.

As expected, Jinwoo had intentionally done it for a reaction and change of some kind. You’re thankful to him for pulling out a thorn at your side, so you wanted to repay him in some way. You’re reminded that the two females truly loved and cared for Jinwoo as much as he does for them. It was heartbreaking to see them separated once more after reuniting for a moment.

So why not earn an opportunity where they could meet?

It started small. A disposable device so that they could text each other. A phone call with a burner phone provided by you. Then, a video call. Last was sneaking Jinwoo out of the building through the shadows. He called it <Shadow Exchange> with a cooldown of a few hours; in those few hours, he spent it to the fullest with his family while you would stay in the cell to keep watch and ensure no one knew Jinwoo was gone.

It was something that heavily relied on trust. For if Jinwoo were to decide he’d rather stay with his family than return to the cell, that would be it. You nor anyone else could restrain him or bring him back, and your place within the facility would plummet (but that was none of your concerns). With what you know of his abilities, he could have left the country and sought somewhere safe to live with his family without issue. 

Still, he returned every time.

The perfect opportunity came when the Jeju raid was prioritized. You were in the meeting on how to deal with it. An alliance with Japanese Hunters. It was risky to have the S-Ranks in public, even riskier with S-Ranks from another country. Some wanted Jinwoo to be on the assault team, but you disagreed, saying it was not good to use a trump card when the Japanese Hunters seemed to be playing something. 

The team was decided between you and the other Personnel with the advice of Go Gunhee, a head figure of the Hunter Association before the EMI took over. That old Hunter still had a good say over what happened with Hunters, especially the high-ranking ones in the country. He was the only S-Rank allowed to remain among the public due to his fragile and slowly routine health; the only precaution against him was the <Outrage>. So, the association building became the headquarters for the EMI Korea branch.

You were going to go with the selected Hunters to Jeju Island, along with a few Personnel from the Japan branch. However, when Jinwoo or his Shadows overheard you’d be going to a dangerous raid to supervise with another Personnel, he was quick to demand your presence in his cell and threaten to <Outrage> if you had gone to said raid.

So you stayed in the facility building while watching the raid broadcast live through body cameras on the Hunters. You and everyone else’s eyes were glued to the scenes. The others were focused on wishing for the raid’s clearance. You were focused because you hoped—prayed—for the Hunters’ safe return. They were still Hunters.

Why can’t anyone see that? Understand that?

You recall the moment Cha Hae-In was knocked out on the verge of death, Min Byung-Gyu was killed with his head devoured, Choi Jong-In’s mana had long since ran out, Lim Tae-Gyu was outmatched and rendered useless, and Baek Yoonho and Ma Dongwook’s defence and strength were depleted due to lack of energy. The talented S-Rank Hunters of Korea were about to be wiped out since the Japanese said they were falling just as quickly.

There was no time to lose. There was only one answer. One hope for this nightmare.

“Open the door.” You coldly instructed the guards. 

You didn’t care that they flinched and fumbled out of their seats to do as you ordered, unable to hide their phones that played the live stream of the raid. You also didn’t miss the gossip from the other guards silently cheering that their job might be lighter with empty cells, meaning they hoped for the S-Rank Hunters’ fall.

The doors slowly opened for you, and you made your way through them, approaching the darkness. You took exactly five strides, and you knew you’d be standing in front of what would be the side of Jinwoo’s bed. He’d be sitting by the bedside, waiting for you with a smirk. His glowing eyes betray his location and his anticipation of your sudden but expected visit.

“Clear the Jeju Island Raid.” You spoke firmly.

“I’m not interested in doing charity.” Jinwoo’s eyes closed. You heard ruffling and then faint footsteps that were made on purpose since his movements could be compared to that of an assassin or even a ghost. You felt his presence before you saw his glowing purple eyes closer in front of you. “So I’ll have to decline.”

“For me. Do it for me.” You knew. You knew well that the only way to get through to him now was to you. From his interest, it turned to obsession and then to possessiveness. You knew you were the only reason Jinwoo hadn’t broken out of you once he knew you were shielding and treating his family with care, not out of manipulation but out of the rare kindness of your heart. In his eyes, you were a gem among trash.

Jinwoo hummed and chuckled. You felt his forehead against yours and his hands cupping your face with gentleness anyone else would shake and think it’s impossible for a Hunter of his status. “Of course. How could I refuse? It’s great that you know how much power you also hold over me and not just the other way around.”

Your hands reached up to pat his cheek, though you ended up with his neck due to the darkness and height difference. Jinwoo giggled as if he was ticklish. You pouted with a blush and uncharacteristically reached higher on your tiptoes to pat his cheeks. “Time is of the essence.”

“At your command. You just lead the way.”

Your memories brought you back when you noticed the familiar island. You pointed down for Jinwoo, and he guided Kaisel to fly down. From the air, one could see the built mansion and the playground and fields around. Surrounded by forests and a few pathways that connected the mansion to other areas of the island. There were some of Jinwoo’s Shadows out and around on the island like guardians. 

“This place is counted as private property; no one can step foot here without permission. If they do, they could be punished. This is my gift to you and your family, also an apology for what you all have endured.” You spoke as the ground came nearer and nearer. You saw the mansion doors open, and his mother and little sister came out to greet him, all smiles and tears. “I’ve removed you from the facility records and became your official Guardian. So you don’t have to return there any more.”

Kaisel landed and Jinwoo looked back at you. “Won’t you be reprimanded for what you’ve done?”

You shook your head with a smile. “It’s about time I did this for the Hunters. I’ll do the same for the others back at the facility as well. There are plenty of small islands they can use and inhabit too, so—”

“No.” Jinwoo gripped your hands tightly. He suddenly carried you in his arms and jumped down from Kaisel’s back. Out of reflexes, you wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in his collar. His words made you look back at him. “You can’t do that for the others. Don’t just free me and forget about me.”

“But I…” You were at a loss for words. You thought Jinwoo would be more content with this since he would logically care for his family more than you and let you do your work.

“Big brother!”

“Jinwoo.”

The calls of Jinah and Kyung-Hye interrupted your sentence, and you didn’t want to dampen the otherwise tearful reunion. Jinwoo placed you on your feet. “We’ll talk later.”

You watched the two hug Jinwoo and he smiled in their presence, so innocent and childish, a stark contrast to the attitude he’d give to any other soul on the planet, apart from you in some cases. Now that you think about it, you look back to see Kaisel had long melted into Jinwoo’s shadow, and showed you the scenery of the sea. Did you even prepare for a way back to the facility or off this island?

As your head turned back to Jinwoo, he flashed you a carefree smile.

Oh. You missed that detail.

Note: Last one for this month, I think. And this marks the end of the series! Thanks for coming along for this ride! There's not much to continue from this point on cause Jinwoo basically got his freedom back, but who knows. Maybe I'll get some ideas and continue, or this would stay as the end~

𝕮𝖎𝖗𝖈𝖊 𝖄.

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[gatorbites-imagines]

Hi, can I please get Wally West x trans reader? Maybe something where the reader is feeling dysphoric and he comforts them, and also some dry humping?

Wally West x FTM reader

Headcanons

Readers vaguely based off of Daredevil, since I like that guy a lot. And the mental image of Wally and his gritty boyfriend is fun to me. Don’t correct me on if keystone city is right, idc.

Nobody could really tell when you and Wally started dating. You just happened to be a vigilante in Keystone city before Wally showed up after being kid flash and all that. His presence really messed up your mojo.

You were the devil incarnate, ready to break as many bones as it took, but you didn’t kill. That didn’t stop you from maiming folk though. Having Wally swoop by to bring people to the hospital and then be back to try and lecture you, really hurt your image.

You were there first though, so there was no way Wally was gonna stop you from doing what you had to do. In the beginning it was kind of like a new tomcat showing up in someone else’s territory.

You didn’t have the speed to be all over the city like Wally, so it was kind of accepted that hed take care of everything else when you were busy. People started begging for Wally to be the one to catch them doing a crime, since you’d break their kneecaps, and then nail them in the head with your billy club.

The relationship between you two was kind of a running joke in the league, especially in the Titans. They all knew that Wally thought you were hot in your own broody, horned way. Someone, probably Garfield, would joke about your suits matching, since you both were red. And yellow, if you wear the yellow and red daredevil suit.

You two were kinda like Batman and Superman, in a way. With you being broody, growly, the night, I am vengeance and will make you suffer the consequences. And Wally being easier going and lighter, full of jokes and hope.

That didn’t mean Wally couldn’t snap and get down and gritty if he needed to. That was probably when you started feeling attracted to him in return, when he couldn’t go easy on somebody who deserved it.

Up until this point you’d have picked up the changes in his pheromones and body heat, as well as his heartrate, which made you understand that he liked you. But it was after you smelled the blood on him and heard his blush rushing through his veins from an almost animalistic adrenaline that you started returning the feelings.

You guys probably date for months, if not a year before the league and the Titans figure it out. Wally would say something about needing to get back to the city since he had to make it in time for your anniversary dinner, and that’s when everyone would figure it out.

The two of you a very much opposites attract. Someone is gonna try to use your relationship with Wally to make you join the league, but he wards them off before you can break tall their teeth for even asking.

You being trans doesn’t matter much to Wally, outside of how it may affect your relationship. And by that I mean, if you for example don’t want him touching your torso or specific areas of your body, what wording to use, helping you with your T injections, so on and so forth.

Hes more perceptive than people think, at least after you guys have been dating a while. Hed start noticing the different signs that point at you feeling dysphoric. Like you going out for longer patrols because being the devil makes you feel more masculine. Or you wearing your binder for too long, if you need one of those.

I don’t think hes just gonna appear and demand answers, instead Wally has tried to figure out overtime what might help. He knows you aren’t the type to just talk about all your feelings and what can be done about it, so Wally would try to find other ways to be supportive and helpful.

You can always tell what he’s doing, since Wally starts going on about how handsome his boyfriend is, how manly you are and smell, how good your muscles look. Even if he’s buffer than you, you better expect him to drool over your muscles.

If you are fine with being touched, Wally would also just cuddle you when you have days where you struggle to look at yourself or even being in your own body. Hes always ready to talk or make changes if he can do anything to help, or just lay in silence if that’s what you need too, even if laying still for a longer time is difficult for a speedster.

Having a speedster boyfriend also means it’s easy to sense it’s him. Having the abilities you do, means you can point out any hero or villain you’ve met before, even in a crowd of a thousand. But the speedster’s connection to the speed force makes them so easy to point out.

It becomes a comfort for you, to feel the buzz that’s seemingly always present around Wally. It’s different around each speedster, but Wally is the most special out of all of them, to you anyways.

Having a speedster boyfriend also means you have access to something very few do, a boyfriend who can vibrate and who has close to no recovery period. This just means Wally is all over you on days where you are fine with that.

And if its one of those days where you want to get off to deal with dysphoria, you barely have to say anything before he’s on you, or beside you, or behind you.

Dysphoria means you don’t want to be touched skin on skin sometimes, and on days like this, good ol dry humping is just as good as anything else Wally could think up. Hes especially a fan when its him laying down and you on top.

It makes you seem so strong and in charge, even if your eyes can’t meet since well… you cant see like the average person. Wally is just giddy and almost buzzing out of his skin as you guys grind together, his hands shaking where they’re holding your hips.

Your heightened senses let you notice just how much he starts buzzing when he gets close. Other people would never notice until he’s just above to fall over the edge, but you can almost taste how his scent and pheromones start buzzing in the air when he’s turned on.

Hearing his heart race and his blood rushing through his body becomes a turn-on in its own way, just as much as grinding down on him and listening to him moan. Wally is also the type to kiss when you guys grind together, his tongue almost fizzy feeling against your own.

It becomes a lot easier to forget your dysphoria with a boyfriend like Wally, who does everything in his power to distract you from it, especially when he gets to rut against you and moan into your ear or neck. Just watch out for small sparks that might come off him, and that your senses don’t get too overwhelmed thanks to the speed force.

[ernmark]

I apologize for derailing, but I recently had a very similar experience with reading The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde as an adult (and specifically, as a queer adult who last read it as a teenager raised in a religiously conservative family).

In that story, Jekyll's transformation into Hyde loosens his inhibitions and dramatically changes his appearance, but it doesn't wipe his memories of the things that he does, and he seems to have Jekyll's same goals and knowledge.

And... we are never actually told what he does for the most part. The entirety of the story is framed as gossip shared by two of his contemporaries who see what happens from the outside. But they keep bringing up details that my younger self read as 'sinister' and my adult self is clocking entirely differently.

We're told he had a wild youth, but that in his later years as a bachelor he's a kind and respectable member of society. Upon his deathbed he confesses that he starts taking the Hyde serum deliberately, and then continues taking it because he wants to keep experiencing the things he's doing as Hyde without the repercussions falling back on him.

My younger self-- based on what I've seen in pretty much every adaptation since it was written-- assumed that 'the things he's doing as Hyde' were decidedly serial-killer-y.

As an adult, I asked myself if maybe he was gay. If he'd already suffered the repercussions of being too open about it in his youth, and being forced into the closet. And here he finds his salvation in the chance to go back out and live his authentic self while essentially shapeshifted, without the pressure of society and his reputation threatening to ruin his life.

In the original story, there are three acts of violence that Hyde is guilty of: in the first, he's marching through the street while distracted and runs into a little girl. He's distracted, clearly doesn't see her, and is cornered by a crowd of angry people and made to make reparations. It's an accident, albeit one he handles poorly.

(What is it that has him so distracted that he nearly tramples someone without noticing? My younger self read it as callous indifference, my older self has been around the block a few times.)

The second is a world apart-- he straight up murders a man in broad daylight, beating him so violently that the cane he uses for a bludgeon snaps under his effort. Not just a man, though, but a member of Parliament, who is well liked and highly respected. (And that detail, who he is, rings all too true for me, especially now. The story gives no indication about why Hyde pursued and violently murdered that man in particular. But given the laws in place at the time, and the people who would have been making speeches about them before voting on those laws, I could imagine. I can think of a few things that would push me to bludgeon a politician to death if I had a chance.)

The third is his suicide.

After the trampling, Jekyll stops taking the serum. He essentially puts Hyde back in the closet, with no intention of ever letting him out. But after that point, he's spent so much time as Hyde that he starts transforming again against his will, often in the middle of what else he was doing. Despite his best efforts, he keeps outing himself.

After the murder, he locks himself in his lab and desperately tries to come up with a 'cure' to stop his transformations, but repeatedly fails. He plans to take his life, but worries that he won't follow through when he's Hyde. By the end, he's left with a choice: to live the rest of his life as Hyde, facing the consequences of everything he has done and everything that he wants to do, or to die alone locked in that little room.

I don't necessarily think that any of the things I read into it now, as an adult, have any bearing on what Stevenson wrote. He was a contemporary of Wilde, and Wilde himself was far from the only queer author writing at the time, but that was far from the only reason why upper-class people would have had to conduct themselves with fear and secrecy in that time.

I think it does do a lot to make me infinitely more sympathetic of Jekyll-- and particularly of his choice to keep taking the serum after that first time. And that gives the story a lot more depth and dimension than I felt for it as a kid.

Rereading Dickens Christmas Carol for the first time in a long time. And the more I reread, the more it strikes me how seamlessly a queer reading could slip within these pages. Not an especially twee reading, wherein all Scrooge's troubles start and end with grief over Jacob Marley's death. For we know that Scrooge was a "Tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner!" And we know that he and Marley were "two kindred spirits"

And perhaps that very fact makes the similarities to queer life, unintended as they most likely were by Mr. Dickens, achingly poignant to me. Scrooge is, we're told, "secret and self-contained and solitary as an oyster." How much that resonates, for so many of us who shield our innermost selves but from a select group of friends. And we know that Scrooge and Marley were, at the very least, certainly that for one another. Scrooge is Marley's sole mourner; his sole executor and beneficiary; and even Dickens notes, "friend." How reminiscent is that of queer couples across history, estranged from their families?

Scrooge lives in a set of chambers that once belonged to Marley—clearly Dickens wanted us to believe Scrooge gave up his own dwellings after Marley's death to economize. But with only a flicker of change, those chambers become _their chambers, rented by Marley as the senior member of the couple. The place is so desolate Dickens notes "one could scarcely help fancying it must have run there when it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with other houses, and have forgotten the way out again." The perfect abode for two queer misers who wanted no one prying into their business.

Marley's name is still above the door of Scrooge's counting-house: a mark by which, no doubt, Dickens meant to convey Scrooge such a penny-pincher he couldn't bother to have it changed. But a thing can be both! mark of frugality to ludicrous excess and! mark of mourning. "sometimes," Dickens opines, "People new to the

business called Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley, but he answered to both names. It was all the same to him."

This is why "death of the author" matters so much, in expanding our interpretations of texts. It is vastly far from the lens Dickens would have intended. But, the idea of a ghost of queerness, so taboo in the society it could barely be glanced at sidewise in this tale that is all about the inexplicable and yet that lingers over everything becomes an astonishing lens through which to read this book. Thinking of Scrooge as a queer man, his "melancholy dinner at his usual melancholy tavern" becomes a eerie prefiguring of the hollowness of days spent by Isherwood's A Single Man. In this universe, little wonder Scrooge doubly hates mention of time with family, marriage, etc. when the precise nature of his grief is both unacknowledged and unacknowledgable.

And readings like this are vital, because the uncomfortable truth is, discrimination doesn't "discriminate between sinners and saints", to borrow a Miranda phrase. It is easy, in my liberal circles, to fight for queer people who hold "the good sorts of politics". But what about men like Michael Hess, culpable for supporting Reagan even as his contemptuous homophobia let the aids epidemic run rampant? How much harder is it to remember Michael had a partner? That he deserves empathy and compassion for being practically tarred and feathered out of the party upon his own aids diagnosis?

Expanding our imaginative universes to include queerness, not as redemptive panacea, but merely as one aspect of identity, personality, often in vicious conflict with others. Even! as we consider those stories equally worthy of being told feels vital if we're ever to truly express the complexity of what queer humanity looks like.

[cloudinthesky444]

The complexity behind Sauron's affection for Galadriel.

Galadriel left Sauron so traumatized and hurt by her rejection that now he seeks out any girl who bears even the slightest resemblance to her.

He ends up watching them, trying to find traces of Galadriel in them.

But in the end, he realizes no one could ever match her and immediately detaches himself from that illusion.

Have you ever had someone you were in love with completely change your perception of everything, become your "type," and replace your previous aspirations? If this has happened to you, I think you'd understand Sauron.

That kind of attraction we often feel for people who resemble our ex-partners is more complex than people think.

It has a lot to do with emotional factors and psychological conditioning.

--------

POSITIVE ASSOCIATION:

If you had gratifying experiences or intense emotions with that person, your brain might associate those feelings with the physical traits of that partner.

Similarly, the desire to recover what was lost can lead you to seek a "substitute" with similar characteristics.

Sauron felt so affected by Galadriel's rejection because he clearly sensed there was an emotional connection between them, and I believe Galadriel felt it too.

2. COMFORT ZONE:

Sauron felt that with her, he could be himself and stay in his comfort zone.

Being with her gave him a sense of security and allowed him to remain in a familiar emotional environment.

3. EMOTIONAL NOSTALGIA:

As a result, the emotional connection he developed toward Galadriel reinforced a "mold" or an ideal prototype in his mind, which he consequently seeks to replicate.

Something I would like to mention is that Mirdania acts almost the same way Galadriel acted when they first met: arrogantly and stubbornly, irritated because he was there.

4. IDEALIZATION OF THE PAST:

If you haven’t fully moved on from the previous relationship, you may unconsciously seek to relive what you perceived as positive in that partner.

-------

Sauron has affection for Galadriel and knows what she desires; that’s why he wants to prove to her that he is capable of giving it to her.

svabinsky, maximilian - Versmelting der Zielen (1873-1926).

He wants to show her that he is just as ambitious as she is and that if she stops rejecting and despising him, he would do everything in his power to give her EVERYTHING she has ever wanted and still desires.

He doesn’t ask for much in return; he only asks that she keeps him in her light, that she becomes the source of his aspirations, the beacon she already is.

Affection, devotion.

Edmund Blair Leighton - Pelleas and Melisande (1852–1922).

[waitforyrlove]

slytherin ! matt doesn’t make it easy.

PART ONE.

the next few days were unbearable. Every time you saw Matt in the corridors, his gaze lingered a moment longer than it should have. You could feel the weight of his unspoken words pressing against you, and your thoughts were consumed by the question: what did he want? What was he going to ask of you?

you spent your time in a constant state of anxiety, trying to focus on schoolwork, but all of it felt like background noise compared to the looming promise you’d made. You couldn’t avoid him forever. You’d agreed to the terms, and now you had to face the consequences—whatever they were.

it wasn’t until Thursday evening that you got your answer.

you were walking towards your common room after dinner, mindlessly heading to your dorm when you bumped into him.

Matt was leaning against the stone wall just outside the hall, arms crossed, his green-and-silver tie hanging loosely around his neck. His eyes flicked over you with a trace of amusement, and you froze in your tracks.

“Fancy running into you here,” he said, his voice low, but there was something in it that sent a chill down your spine.

“What is it, Matt?”

he pushed off the wall and took a step closer, making your pulse spike. “I’ve been thinking about what I want you to do for me.”

your heart skipped, a mix of dread and anticipation swirling in your chest. “And?” you managed to ask, though your voice betrayed you, cracking slightly.

Matt’s eyes glinted, the playful smirk never leaving his lips, “I think I’ve come up with something just right for you.”

you braced yourself, knowing he wouldn’t make this easy, “What is it?”

he studied you for a long moment, as though savoring the tension, before speaking, “I want you to sneak into my dorm again. And this time, I want you to steal something of mine.”

you blinked, stunned by his request. “What?” you whispered, your stomach dropping. You’d expected something more devious, something humiliating—not this.

he chuckled at your reaction. “Relax, it’s not that big a deal. I’m not asking you to steal something important. I want you to grab one of the books on my desk. Something that looks like it could be of value. Take it, get caught, and bring it back here.”

you stared at him in disbelief, “You’re joking aren’t you?”

“Nope,” he replied smoothly, his eyes flashing with mischief, “You’re going to do it for me. The more… chaotic, the better. Just make sure you get caught... I’ll be watching.”

the idea of breaking into his dorm again, of deliberately getting caught, made your skin crawl. But you knew what would happen if you refused. The consequences. The debt you’d agreed to.

“I’ll be waiting here after you’ve done it,” Matt said, as though he were giving you a homework assignment, “If you do this for me, you’ll be square. No more debts.”

you opened your mouth to argue, to protest, but something in the cold certainty of his tone stopped you. He wasn’t playing. And you had no choice.

“Fine,” you muttered, your voice barely audible. “But you owe me after this.”

he grinned, his eyes alight with satisfaction. “Deal.”

the evening arrived far too quickly. You couldn’t stop thinking about what you had to do, but there was no going back now. As the shadows grew long and the castle grew quieter, you found yourself standing in front of the Slytherin common room, heart pounding in your chest. The cold stone walls loomed, the same ones you had crossed once before—too easily, you now realized.

you hesitated, staring at the door. There were a thousand reasons to turn back, but only one reason to go through with it: you had to.

the password whispered to you, and you entered the common room with caution, trying to blend in with the low murmurs of students talking or laughing around you. As before, the greenish light filtered through the lake’s murky water, casting an eerie glow over the room. It was just as you remembered it—a place that felt so unfamiliar to you.

the boys’ dormitory door loomed across the room, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. You knew what you had to do.

you walked as quietly as possible, stepping lightly over the plush carpets, trying to avoid making a sound. The laughter from the upper common room seemed miles away, a muffled sound as you approached the door.

this was it.

you placed your hand on the doorknob, feeling the cool metal beneath your fingers. The room was dim, just as it had been before. You knew Matt’s room well now, every book on his desk, every parchment scattered on the floor, every piece of his life that he’d so carefully arranged.

you crept over to his desk, trying to remain as silent as possible. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, the tension mounting in every breath. But you needed to act fast.

your eyes scanned the desk. There, a thick, worn leather book, sitting innocently on top of a pile of papers. It looked important and you reached for it.

that was when you heard the creak of the floorboards above you.

Matt.

your pulse slammed in your ears as you looked toward the door, your heart lodged in your throat. He’d been waiting for this. And now, you were caught.

before you could react, the door slammed open.

Matt stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, a smirk playing on his lips. “Caught in the act again, are we?”

your heart skipped a beat as his eyes raked over the book in your hands. The look of satisfaction on his face made your stomach twist.

“You were supposed to get caught, remember? and you did got caught, by me.” he said, pushing off the door and stepping inside.

you couldn’t bring yourself to speak. There was no point. You’d done exactly what he’d wanted—exactly what he’d planned.

“I think you’ve learned your lesson, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice low, each word making the air grow thicker between you.

you didn’t dare respond, your eyes stayed fixed on the floor, and the book seemed to grow heavier with each passing second.

Matt took the book from your hands, setting it down on the desk. “Now, about our agreement,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “You’ve done your part. But I’m not finished with you yet.”

you looked up at him slowly, dreading whatever else he had in mind.

he stepped forward, tilting his head slightly as he stared at you, his eyes sharp. “One more thing before we’re done. There’s always a little bit more, isn’t there?”

you could feel the weight of his words, but you had no idea what kind of game he was playing now.

Matt’s words hung in the air like a storm cloud, his voice dripping with a mix of amusement and something darker. Your chest tightened in response, but you didn’t dare look away. You knew that look in his eyes—he was enjoying every second of this.

“You’ve done your part,” he said, his tone almost lazy as he placed the book back on the desk with slowness. But then his eyes shifted back to you, narrowing slightly, and you felt your breath catch in your throat. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

the words sent a shiver down your spine, your heart hammering in your chest. You could feel the air between you both growing heavier with each passing second. Your legs felt rooted to the spot, and despite every instinct screaming at you to run, you couldn’t seem to make yourself move.

Matt took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. The distance between you shrank, and you could feel the heat of his body so close now that it was almost suffocating.

“You’ve been such a good little accomplice,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, like velvet. “So obedient. I think you deserve a reward..”

you tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. You knew exactly where this was headed, and part of you—the curious, reckless part of you—wanted to see how far he would take this.

“I’ve done what you wanted. Can I go now?” you asked, your voice betraying your uncertainty.

he smirked, the familiar, confident grin spreading across his face as he stepped even closer, until you were forced to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. “You’re not going anywhere just yet.”

his hand brushed your neck, his fingers cool against your warm skin. A gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it. You stiffened, trying to pull away, but he was faster, his other hand gently cupping your chin to keep you in place.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “You’re not in control here. Not today.”

your pulse was racing, the words hanging in the air like a challenge. You couldn’t breathe. His thumb traced lightly along the curve of your jaw, making your skin feel electric. The tension between you was palpable, and it took everything in you not to give in to the pull he had on you.

and then, he kissed your neck.

the sensation was electric. Soft at first, his lips barely grazing your skin, but then it deepened, and you could feel the heat of his mouth against you. It sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. Every nerve in your body seemed to be on fire, and you hated how much you craved the contact.

you fought to push him away, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. It wasn’t even that you didn’t want this—it was that this wasn’t what you wanted. Not like this.

Matt’s lips brushed against your skin again, teasing you, his breath warm and steady against your neck. “You’ve been playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips tracing a path down to the edge of your collarbone. “But I think you like it.”

you closed your eyes, trying to ignore the wetness in your panties, but it was impossible. He made it impossible to think clearly, his presence consuming you. Your pulse was racing, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell if you wanted him to stop or if you wanted him to keep going.

he paused, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. The smirk on his face was almost predatory, and you could feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch.

“You’re so easy to read,” he muttered, his voice laced with satisfaction. “You say you don’t want this, but I can see it in your eyes. You’re not so different from me, are you?”

he stepped back, the distance between you suddenly cold and empty. He studied you for a moment, as though savoring the tension in the air.

“You’ve got your reward,” he said, his voice now calm and almost detached. “But you can leave. Go back to your precious common room. Get some sleep. But next time… next time, don’t come back here without knowing exactly what you’re walking into.”

you felt a mixture of relief and confusion. Your head was spinning, and your heart still pounded in your chest. What had just happened?

without saying another word, you turned on your heel and hurried out of the room, trying to steady your breath. You could feel Matt’s eyes on your back, watching you leave, but you didn’t dare look back. You couldn’t.

as you made your way back to your Tower, your thoughts were a mess. You had gone from a simple bet to something you didn’t fully understand—and you weren’t sure whether you wanted to know what was next. But the pull of Matt’s presence, his challenge, was far from over. You couldn’t escape him, no matter how hard you tried.

and you weren’t sure you wanted to.

© waitforyrlove. all rights deserved. do not copy my works. or modify my work.

˙ . ꒷ 🪽 notes from author ˙— had really fun making this little two part slytherin matt, please please please, spam about him in inbox and send reqs :)

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[niccolites]

can't stop thinking about that highlander art by @lurrlonde found here

highlander!soap who is the son of a laird. fiercely against the English, and with no time for politics. his father is at his wit's end with him, sick of the constant reports of his son firing up rebellion's wherever he goes, causing bother with English soldiers, making it difficult anyone in the clan to not be tarred with the same brush - troublemaker

his father tries to set up countless betrothals for his son. a wife would calm him, give him something in the centre of him. johnny shirks this off as well. the ladies are sweet things (and maybe he does charm a few of them into letting him slide his hands up their skirts), but they don't settle him. he is ravenous, an open maw in the shape of a man. these ladies with their practiced words would be swallowed up by him, dainty fingers that are snapped off to reveal delicate white bone

but, he does love his father, so in the light of the fifth attempted engagement that he spurns, he stays and helps his father out. meetings with other clansmen, the politics boring the shit out of him. but he does know his duty, even if he believes that he answers to a higher power than the pleasing of other lairds

you live in a small village of little consequence. at least you did, until some englishmen roll through and start up trouble. angered at the torching of a nearby fortress of theirs, and more than happy to let off that steam nearby. unluckily for you

and johnny, finally listening to the twitch of his hands and heading out to escape the counting of his father's rents, happens upon the scene of you shrieking in your burning field. held back by one soldier, another torching your crops. a third, trying to rip open your bodice as you scream, red in the face and crying

johnny, more broadsword than man, hasn't swung his arm out in a few weeks. your screams are a divine calling and he answers, barely half a thought of a plan before he is across the field, bloodletting until his muscles sing with it. a higher purpose, received and delivered.

he kills all three of the men, only gets a cut along his brow and a bayonet in his calf in return. lightwork, but it certainly seems a lot of blood to you

there is dead men in your field, but you drag the man who spared you the worst of it into your home after you manage to extinguish the fire before it ruins everything that you and your brother have managed to plant that spring

he really has been worse off, but he leans on you just a little more than he should. feels the buckle of your knees and eases up again, apologises for being a burden and basks in the the rush as you tell him that of course he's not, he's just at least 2 heads taller than you and it's more weight than you're used to carrying. he understands, angel, this all must be a lot for you

in your home, you let him slump in a chair and kneel down to dress the wound on his calf. his blood stains your skin and he watches, enraptured. red into the fine lines of your palms, like maybe it had been there even before you had stitched up the cut in his leg. stares down at you, struck silent with dark eyes that make the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up. something about him making you nervous even as you force that down, given he likely saved you from a fate worse than death from those soldiers

you stand up and now he's looking up at you instead, mouth parted as he watches every slight shift of movement that you do. you reach for his face, a damp flannel that you clean the cut on his brow with. his chest heaves, and you feel it, like a phantom ache in your own lungs

you ask if it hurts at all. drowned in the sweet cup of your hands on his face, he tells you that pain could not be further from his mind

you're why he's doing this, he realises. every fight he has been in has honed his body for this, for saving you. his father has been trying to convince him of his purpose, to be laird to his people, but he's found it here, in the clasp of your hands

you suddenly realise that you are treating a wounded animal, mistaking it for a tamed beast. you pull your hand back, but the teeth snap shut, caught

[truearchangel]

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ"It also requires death." Michael stated, raising his gaze up to the man beside him. "And I don't mean that figuratively, if there is such a way to take it as such. Literally, if one wishes for a new afterlife, they have to die." Perhaps that sounds a bit dramatic, perhaps it seems silly to think of it so simply, but the fact is still there and it appears to be one the Princess of Hell has not considered. But one she should very much sooner rather than later. Michael has been tip toeing around the subject with her, fearful of bringing it up.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ"It makes sense, doesn't it? Once you really consider what she's doing, Alastor? Changing the place in which a soul has fallen once it has has experienced death." He took a few steps forward and crossed in front of the demon's path, getting him to stop walking so Michael could better have this conversation.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤHis legs are so long and Michael is very short.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ"Your soul is weighed upon your death and that is what dictates where you go when you die. Every action you've taken, every choice you've made, the virtues and the sins. Each action leaves a mark on your soul. And when that soul is judged it's place in the Heavenly order is decided. And all of this happens, as I said, when you die."

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤMichael doesn't have any say in that, it's all a system already in place. It's a system they've adhered to since Lucifer granted the world free will. Since death became a possibility. All souls have to have a place to go, and Hell was just where those unworthy ended up. Doomed to a fate of eternal suffering with the Fallen Angel.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ"To get an afterlife, a soul has to experience death. As long as the soul itself isn't shattered by angelic steel." Since that would be a permanent death, eradicated entirely. "Charlie's dream is ambitious, but I don't believe she's considered the ramifications and the exact nature of what she wishes to do will cost. After all, who would willingly risk a second death just to see if they could get into Heaven?" How desperate would someone have to be? Especially since recovering from death isn't an instant thing. Regeneration like that takes time.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤYou lose hundreds of years possibly all for a chance at something that might not even work.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤThere are always consequences to what sounds to good to be true.

If he understood, Alastor reasoned, then it would not be so easy to ask him to simply permit the guard to drop. No, he would be opening himself up to a brand new litany of issues, his attachment to Michael notwithstanding. But so too did he know that the angel was simply looking to breach a divide between them that seemed, perhaps at the moment, a bit insurmountable. As was always the way when one made an attempt to get in close to the radio demon.

So complex a process.

When Michael caught up once more, lamenting about the 'mood', Alastor shook his head.

"You did nothing of the sort. I am simply giving you my perspective," he said, though he did not slow his steady pace any. Michael had wanted to continue to spend time together, had he not? And once they were out of the immediate throng of cannibals wandering about in the markets, he was able to speak a bit more freely.

"Here, we are all punished. To have a belief that there will ever be anything good to be found in the act of letting someone in is to be woefully naïve. Or, at least, that is the prevailing attitude. Perhaps that is to change, now that the princess has an endeavor to teach Sinners that there is an alternative. But to change minds and hearts so quickly is impossible. It takes time, dedication, and patience."

But he did not want Michael to believe that he was immediately chastising him for the ideals he held - so he added:

"But I think you are capable of those things."

[deadbydad]

Captain Curly (Mouthwashing) - When You Can't Fix Everything and Why He's a Victim of Jimmy

There are many discussions surrounding Captain Curly all around the internet on whether he is a good person or not.

Some say he isn't while some say he is, but the question simply has an easy answer.

Curly is a morally grey character.

Captain Curly, when we first play as him and see through his perspective, we come to learn a lot about him with the short amount of sections where we do play as him.

We know that he is very optimistic, he cares deeply for his crew and always tries to look on the bright side of things. He just wants everything to be fine, and will always try to fix it if it isn't because, well because he's the captain.

But him being so optimistic is what was his downfall, and I think that's what makes him such a well written and realistic, morally grey character.

Curly isn't innocent, but he is a victim of Jimmy just like everyone else on the ship is.

Let me explain.

Curly was the first person Anya told about when Jimmy assaulted her and how she was pregnant, and Curly told her he would talk to Jimmy.

He would fix it.

I hate when people say that he didn't care about Anya or didn't believe her. Curly never said he didn't believe her, and he never said he was defending Jimmy either.

This is one of the examples of his optimistic views doesn't work out for him.

We know that Curly invited Jimmy to work with him in Pony Express and we immediately assume that because they're friends, then Curly is defending Jimmy.

But if you replay and really pay attention to Curly and Jimmy's conversations, you come to realize that Jimmy is borderline controlling and abusive with the way he talks to Curly.

He isn't and doesn't see Curly as a friend, but Curly being too nice and tends to look past that type of stuff, that made it easy for Jimmy to manipulate Curly.

After Anya told him, Curly did talk to Jimmy about it, but he went about it in a calm way. I think what he did is pretty realistic for the situation they're in, but I'll talk more about that later.

Curly talking to Jimmy is what led Jimmy to crash the ship and get Curly injured and fuck everything else up. Not to mention that Jimmy wanting to get rid of Curly so he could be captain also played a huge part in it.

Jimmy never saw Curly as a friend, he only saw him as someone he could use to get what he wanted.

Curly trying to fix what happened by talking to Jimmy was his wake up call, his karma in a way.

Because of the crash, Curly understands Anya in a way when Jimmy starts to hurt and force him to take the pain meds. Curly being brutally hurt and injured can only lay and not do anything to stop it.

He finally understood what Anya had felt in a way, and he probably hates himself because he didn't do something to protect her.

And her killing herself in front of him and watching the rest of his crew die to the hands or consequences of Jimmy, even Jimmy himself, was what made Curly realize that he simply can't fix everything.

Curly is absolutely a victim of Jimmy like everyone else on the ship is.

He was manipulated, abused, and not to mention Jimmy literally ate some of his body. All of this was because Curly was too optimistic.

Curly is one of the most realistic characters, and I think people saying that he's as bad as Jimmy just aren't thinking about the fact that he was a victim of Jimmy himself.

Yes, he could have done more to protect Anya, most likely by switching her over to a room that has locks.

But I believe that he couldn't do anything besides that, especially when it comes to Jimmy.

He knows how crazy and angry Jimmy gets. He was probably thinking that he couldn't just go up to him and start a fight because, let's be real, Jimmy was going to kick Curlys ass and he was probably going to crash the ship no matter what.

Curly, in my opinion, while yes, he didn't do anything to protect Anya, he wasn't protecting or defending Jimmy.

Curly was trying to look at how he could fix it, but I think no matter what he did it wouldn't have mattered.

I see people saying that Curly could have shot Jimmy with the gun or locked him up in another room or contacted the higher-ups of Pony Express. I don't think any of this would have realistically worked.

One, he can't kill Jimmy because he is the co-pilot, and they needed a co-pilot for the ship, and locking him in a room wouldn't have worked either.

Curly couldn't have called the higher ups either because Pony Express wouldn't have done anything because they simply just don't care about their workers.

No matter what Curly did or what he could have done, none of it realistically would have worked or done anything to solve the problem.

I'm not defending Curly at all, I'm a victim of assault myself, so I understand Anyas feelings, I'm simply saying that we should look at the other possibilities and should start thinking about what Curly was actually thinking before saying he was as terrible as Jimmy.

Curly isn't innocent, but he was a victim of Jimmy.

His optimistic views on life and on people are what caused his downfall.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

updated and improved "all the fears want arthur lester carnally" list

just a general tally of influence/Marks arthur would have received if you were playing by TMA rules. enhanced with further contemplation and with some peer review from @luci-z-wont-shut-up thankyouuu

the eye

VERY dedicated private investigator. consistently more invested in Solving The Mystery than, like, Remaining Alive

was magic-stalked by the KIY and his cult throughout season 1

also kayne was watching his whole life and taking notes to roast him about his trauma later. apparently

something something metanarrative implications of an audience gathering around just to watch you suffer

the spiral

possessed by a god of madness (twice) (three times?) (possibly more depending on how you count?)

was held hostage in a fake dream-realm mental institution with fucked up architecture so one of the aforementioned madness gods could pry information out of him (which also gets cryptically described as "Here, there, everywhere, nowhere. Anywhere." which is sooo the spiral-coded)

relies on someone else to be his eyes so there's always the lingering background awareness that he may be missing or outright misrepresenting information & consequently he can't trust what he sees

the end

he's died.

multiple times.

there's also the omnipresent threats on his life but mostly just that. like. he's been The Ended. doesn't get much more direct than that

the stranger

i still think "losing parts of your body to another consciousness while they are still attached to you" is VERY the stranger type activities

the king in S1 turning any weak-willed bystanders against him so any stranger could turn into a threat without warning

also, the king and scratch posing as normal people, even people he knows sometimes!

orbited by a cast of nonhuman Entities remaking their identities into something closer to humanity for one reason or another (john, yellow, scratch, kayne) and frequently not quite hitting the mark (ty luci)

the lonely

general sense of alienation from his peers that started young and—just vibe checking here, just taking a general temperature—doesn't seem to have gotten much better over time

"I want him safe." / "You want him back." / "...Yes." <- guy who can totally handle being alone

john left and he went fully off the deep end in the span of like, a day

it's just one of those things that i think he hates and is terrified of but also is constantly haunted by

the desolation

the whole vibe of the death/destruction specifically of things that could have brought meaning to the world, or people who had a lot to live for and could have touched other lives and had an effect on others, is... um. (gestures vaguely at the. all of them)

will do LITERALLY ANYTHING to avoid losing anyone else.

also pain. i feel like pain takes a thematic backseat but it is still a part of the desolation and good lord is this man in so much pain basically all the time

one time he did an arson at an in-progress building site and left a guy bleeding out in the ruins!! desolation come get your juice

also independently invented molotovs so he could use them to kill a different thing which was perhaps divine inspiration straight from the lightless flame itself??

the slaughter

start with parker's death and just work your way down from there tbh

the butcher confrontation "Whose life did you take without provocation, without threat? Who did you kill that was innocent?" vs the slaughter's "random, senseless, unmotivated violence"

also knowing that pain and death are coming but not where or when or how. Yup 👍

just. in general. he has been wading through his own and other people's blood in equal measure since the start of the damn show

had to hide in a pit full of rotting corpses that one time

the vast

timelines! go confront how meaningless your entire life is in the face of the uncaring multiverse! have a quick crisis about it! fuck meaning!

i still don't have a whole lot for this one tbh

he can't stop falling off things obviously but i don't think he's particularly scared of that. i think he's resigned to it. balance is a fickle beast and he has accepted that it does not return his affections.

one time a kraken almost drowned him?

the buried

known claustrophobe!

almost got pinned in a cave, unable to move, on multiple different occasions!

this man and caves in general have a very very bad relationship. they keep making him be underground and then terrible things happen to him down there.

drowning goes here also :)

the dark

"Funny. Before all of this, I used to fear the dark. Not in any crippling way, but – but now it’s… well, now it’s no different."

used to be unnerved by the dark and now he is blind. checks out

also, the dark world. it's in the name, baby. that's more john's fear but i think it has to rub off on him at least a little bit

the corruption

eeeeverything that happened with the witch. she tried to use him to breed maggots. now that's what i call Corrupt™

horig, also

obsessive, almost self-destructive levels of devotion to an entity that killed his friend and wrecked his life. listen i'm supportive i think they're perfect for each other in an ESH way i'm just saying this probably also falls into the corruption's purview (ty luci)

ESPECIALLY considering john lives in his body like a parasite. not trying to be derogatory here but like, on an objective level. he is stealing his body parts. and arthur loves him. again, incredibly on-brand for the corruption

the web

he Doesn't Like Being Told What To Do >:[

ongoing vendetta against cult shit for this exact reason

the idea of not having fully free will seems to be very actively and deeply concerning for him

"I am the captain of my soul" and so on and so forth

got literally brainwormed by The Creature back in addison (twice!)

the flesh

Michael Fucking Faust

also, had to bite his own finger off before that. in case you needed or wanted some bonus points

the hunt

HOO BOY has he ever been Hunted. so many times by so many different things. take your fucking pick

also: "You are hunting." / "Predators need to be hunted." <- basically an active prayer to the hunt

this man is prey animal rage incarnate honestly. go!! lose yourself in the bloodlust!! kill them before they can kill you!!!!

john would really appreciate it if he was a little Less cozy with the hunt tbh :(

the extinction

i'm actually not counting this one bc it doesn't take avatars and also doesn't rrrreally exist yet

he's lived through a world war and a pandemic. how's that. i think that's as good as it gets.

CONCLUSION: i still think arthur should go shake hands with the vast and get carried off by a bird and hope that gets the rest of these assholes to fuck off. i think it's his best bet atp.