#slightly less lazy on the rendering than the last one

[trebuchet151]

They agreed to let Anathema take ONE photo with their polaroid camera. And they got tipsy enough to forget their jacket somewhere so Ortega's helping them keep warm, that's all. Don't make it weird.

Sequel to this post

Gonna start dropping links to songs from Corey's playlist that match the vibe of the art so here's Sugar by Sleep Token

[leclerckiss]

prince of monaco ౨ৎ

notes: charles leclerc x reader, est. relationship, suggestive content, alcohol, insinuation of nudity (bathing) but no explicit details or sexual activity.

a/n: i wrote this at 11pm & it's a little ridiculous but this is also me projecting my manifestations for him to win his home grand prix this weekend.

The sweet aroma of your Miss Dior: Eau de Parfum in damask rose and incense against pink peonies, clean linen sheets mussed about the inviting embrace of the bed, café au lait from a drained mug on the nightstand beside sweet-smelling lilies, and white, lace stockings abandoned and draped over the velvet loveseat.

Charles' claim of 1st at the Monaco Grand Prix was most blessing, and the perfect excuse for a long night of a plentiful of Moët & Chandon champagne, honorary chants, and celebratory reverie: announcing him the 'prince' of his beloved home, a victory he has been yearning for, since forever.

You had remained with him through the week, watching and admiring through every practice session from your usual seat, enjoying luncheon together and laughing over the usual lovey-dovey or noncommittal subjects as a means to distract him from his nerves before qualifying – the kind of thing he doesn't admit to but you know is only human – and your never-leaving gaze throughout the Grand Prix itself.

Until you got to watch from below with love hearts in your eyes when he stood on that podium, in his true and most divine stature whilst the crowds called for him and the Monégasque anthem resonated like the music of the heavens.

Now, it is quiet in the apartment you both call home, all minimalist but comfortable interior in a palette of white, créme, beige and hints of colour against the décor that define it as yours: the polished trophies before the white-varnished piano, heavy and velvet curtains stirring lazily about closed balconies of their rocaille-esque motifs, the abandoned sweater forgotten on the sofa, your rose crocheting yarn on the coffee table beside a copy of last month's Vogue.

Peaceful and content, stood before the ornate mirror in the en-suite of polished marble and quiet luxury, humming some gentle and absent tune to yourself as you comb your hair – dressed down to the comfortable, white gossamer silk of your négligée – whilst the only tune that resounds being the hushed television down the hall.

It is only a minute later that you are interrupted from your daydreaming by the sound of the mahogany front door as it draws open and closed. The familiar clink of keys set down on the oak furniture in the foyer, shuffled footfalls a little less balanced than usual, quickly silenced against the sound of a familiar voice like melting caramel on the subtle, slurring song of inebriation.

"Chérie?"

Hair comb set down on the neat counter beside the porcelain embellished basin, you absently gnaw at your lower-lip whilst silent feet wander the parquestry of the flooring through the flat in your approach to the source of your boyfriend's return, tucking a hair behind your ear, "Charles, I'm–"

The words are lost on the edge of your tongue the second you emerge from the bedroom's suite, down past the plush sitting area to be met by the sight of him where the corridor joins the rest of the homely setting.

"Bonsoir, bébé."

Even when he is slightly hair-tousled with damp, brunet strays falling about his forehead and the linen of his shirt slightly wrinkled, Charles is a handsome man, devastatingly so; the kind of beautiful that renders the air from your lungs a little even when you hold back light laughter at him now.

From his posture, an effort of an elegant curve to his physique like he is trying to be some suave, pretty flirt from those old, romance comedies you watch, where one elbow is propped against the wood arch of the threshold – the only thing evidently holding him upright – whilst his flushed cheeks strain a little on a dimpled, lazy and contagious smile.

"Hello, Charles."

"Ma belle, I missed you, I'm home," With something close to a brief pout and an attempt at a wink, the man lets his lovely eyes dance down and along your own figure in a lingering admiration and a slow, drawn-out smirk that looks both laughable and far-too-endearing, lithe fingers absently adjusting his loosened shirt collar as you come closer.

"I can see that," In response, you try not to appear amused though it is perceptible on the curve by the corner of your sweet mouth when his eyes follow the subtle shift of your hips as you draw forward until your arms fold around his midriff, breathing him in: champagne and cologne, hints of warm amber and rosewood. "You're drunk."

His arm falls around your shoulder comfortably as he sways against you, kissing the crown of your head like a useless reassurance when he murmurs a lieu of words in the thickened curl of his accent, "Non, ça va, je–"

"Charles." Your face shifts with a look, the both of you stumbling a little backwards where his weight almost has you falling on the edge of a floral rug, a hushed, noncommittal sound close to a chuckle falling from the man as he buries his face into the side of your neck with the punctuation of an open-mouth kiss.

"D'accord, d'accord."

"Stupid," You mutter affectionately, rolling your eyes fondly despite knowing all too well what has him so distracted, the warmth of his mouth and the gentle rasp of his five o'clock shadow tickling the underside of your jaw and the sensitivity there, a purr reverberating from the back of his throat as a response.

"Are you hungry– would you like anything?"

"Just you, chérie, I want to..." The Monégasque trails off momentarily like he is disputing internally with his own dialogue, lightly calloused palms feeling the curve of your waist through pale silk before pausing at your derrière absently – tracing his tongue against the edge of pearlescent teeth – as the two of you move further through the sitting room, his voice a whisper, "Je veux te baiser, mon ange."

With a blush dusting the edges of your cheekbones at the obscène words, you offer a half-apologetic smile whilst stroking back his tousled hair, "How about we get dressed down and settled first, at least?"

Initially, he seems reluctant to offer any hint of acquiescence but he eventually nods a little with a vague sound of acknowledgement, fingertips still feeling over your figure as you walk the path together before reaching the bathroom, the door falling shut gently.

Even when the reality of the presence has you accepting tonight shall be long, the man is undoubtedly his most entertaining and equally sweet as romanticised prophecies when he is intoxicated.

"Mm," It is the only indication you are given when Charles' touch falls upon the lace edges of your négligée, drawing it down the curve of your shoulder slowly as he traces the shell of your ear with his mouth, "You're wearing my favourite."

A soft laugh leaves the depth of your chest – a hushed affirmative sound in reply – before his hands come to cradle either side of your jaw tenderly whilst his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek, the kiss that follows his gentle persuasion more loving, his lips parted softly.

Just as quickly as the almost peaceful, drawn-out intimacy begins, it ends when he gives some hushed, breathless sound of sheer enjoyment whilst his hips absently meets yours until you feel the edge of the basin behind, a palm splaying over his chest just enough to encourage him from pausing.

"We can have a nice bath first and then I might consider your suggestion, monsieur," You offer gently in hushed humour, undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt whilst sealing your sentence with a chaste kiss near his chin.

"I'd much rather have you."

"So romantic," Muttering the words quietly, your nose brushes the bridge of his own fractionally where you see the slight glaze of liquor in his eyes, like gentle moss and warm oak, his mouth shifting almost proudly with momentarily met gazes.

"Only for you, mon cœur, I could write you sonnets of love, la mélodie de tes yeux–"

"Okay, Romeo Montague, how about you wash first?"

The initial hope had only been to coax him into the warmth of the bath waters amongst a touch lavender oil that threatens to lull him further into quiet and peace, wash his hair from your seat and prevent the possibility of any difficulty, though clothes are mutually forgotten on the marble floors and small, white-cotton rug when he guilts you into joining him.

"Charles," A whisper of his name though the cadence of your voice lacks the intent of reproach, bodies close together as he guides you into a comfortable situation about his lap whilst you work nimble fingers through his dampened hair slowly, hoping to distract him from anything but washing and settling down from the dizziness of too much alcohol.

"You smell nice," He mumbles indulgently against your shoulder, tracing a kiss on the jut of your collarbone in the dreamy lull of his voice as though lost in the figments of his own thoughts, "Like les fleurs..."

"And you smell like a bottle of Moët."

The man offers a lowered tune of disagreement, a palm idly stroking the curve of your thigh and down the inside of your knee beneath the warm water as you lather the product through his tresses, holding back a smile when he responds drunkenly like some smitten, hopeless lover of the poets:

"Non, c'est seulement le parfum des nuages."

It is the kind of sweet words that would usually have your cheeks warming or laughing like some conjured image of him in your mind, rifling through books of poetry because you cannot fathom him thinking of such phrases alone, though the moment his lips find the curve of your throat and the sensitive area beneath your jaw, it is harder not to succumb to the gentle temptation and let him have his way, a sigh falling from you.

"What are you doing?"

"Loving you." He says the words so easily, like it is the simplest, most natural truth he could ever admit, the warmth and wetness of his mouth trailing the lines of your throat and across the arch of your shoulders.

"You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously in love with you," He sounds proud of himself. Then, he is guiding the two of you, bodies pressed flush against one another as you are moved back, the weight of him familiar and the pressure of his mouth meeting yours slowly, "Let me love you, s'il vous plaît, ma chérie."

There are the smallest fragments of his soul and the secrets of his heart within the way his body moves, the gentle touch and the softness, the vulnerability and the passion even in the humour of his intoxicated mannerisms; how he makes love and the manner he holds you after, and there is an undeniable and irrefutable trust you hold for him alone.

[juniorgman187]

Sleight of Hand (Reid Fic)

Summary: Practical Joker Reader makes the unsuspecting naive Dr. Reid the object of her most recent prank - stealing his ID badge.  Category: Pure Fluff, Drabble, One Shot Pairing: Platonic Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: Super brief mentioning of dark nature of job, prank Word Count: 2k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

Despite what anyone else may believe, or what my resting face may convey, I’m not a mean person. I don’t take pleasure in people’s pain, and I certainly don’t intend to hurt anyone.  

With that being said - I do thoroughly enjoy messing with people from time to time. Which, in my opinion, is a completely different thing than being mean. 

At work, I’m known for pulling harmless pranks. Keyword: harmless. The dark nature that surrounds our job can consume us whole if we let it, and if anyone needs a good laugh here and there, it’s the BAU. Sometimes we all just need reminders that life shouldn’t be taken so seriously, and my silly antics are just the remedy. 

A window of opportunity for my most recent practical joke presented itself when I was packing up to leave for the day. 

Right across my desk was Reid’s and to my right was Derek’s, but at the moment, Reid was parked at the kitchenette, diligently stirring his coffee and copious amounts of sugar packets together while Derek’s head was buried six feet deep in paperwork. I could tell they would both be in for a long night and I didn’t envy them for that. 

“Alright, I’m out!” I announced to them both, but before I could actually get far, Derek stopped me. 

“Wait, (y/n)! Hold up,” He sat up from his chair to reach me with an outstretched arm. “Can you put this back on Reid’s desk?” 

I blinked hard when he tossed an object at me, so only after I caught it did I open my eyes and realize it was just a pen. 

“Wow. Lazy much?” I scoffed, gesturing to Reid’s desk that was less than seven feet away. Derek was probably exerting more effort into stretching out his arm like that to give me the pen as opposed to if he just got off his butt and walked to the desk himself.

“Pleaseee,” He partially begged, causing me to roll my eyes and replace the pen dutifully. As I slipped the pen into its rightful spot in his little cup of writing utensils, something caught my eye.

Lightbulb!

Just sitting there on Spencer’s desk was his badge. It was so carelessly placed in comparison to everything else on the table that had been situated in such a carefully, almost calculated, manner.

I knew Spencer had a habit of taking it off at the end of the day, but it baffled me just how flippantly he treated it. I figured he coveted his badge, but his haphazard placement of it suggested otherwise, while simultaneously showing his humanity to me. He wasn’t so cookie-cutter perfect after all, he could be messy, too.

It was that epiphany that almost made me not want to tamper with it, but it was my own humor that pushed me to do it anyway. 

Maybe it’s time Spencer learned a lesson, rather than being the one to teach it. 

If he was going to just let this thing lie around like it was nothing, then how would he react if it wasn’t there at all? 

I slyly looked up from the badge and to Spencer, whose back was still turned to me in the kitchen and then to Derek, who was too focused on his work to even notice that I was still here. Fully taking advantage of Spencer’s oblivion and the lack of a witness in Derek, I slipped the ID swiftly into my purse. Even if Derek wasn’t the type to be a snitch, it was better that absolutely no one knew.

Less than a millisecond after successfully concealing the badge within my bag, Spencer finally turned around and saw me lingering by his desk.

“What are you still doing here?” He asked with the slightest bit of suspicion in his voice. There was no way he could’ve known what’d I’d just done unless he had eyes at the back of his head, so I stayed calm and collected, relishing in my guaranteed safety.

“Derek wanted me to return your pen,” I explained casually from across the bullpen. I watched as Spencer strolled unhurriedly towards me, and it might’ve been my paranoia that led me to this belief, but I swore I saw his eyes dart to his desk momentarily. However, if he had noticed the absence of his badge, he didn’t say anything. 

“Oh, thanks! Have a good night.” He smiled and waved back to me, showing no indication of mistrust. 

Sucker. 

“You, too!” I said with more zeal than the situation warranted. I was worried that might’ve given me away, but I had timed my escape so perfectly that I was already in the elevator by the time he returned to his desk, giving him no chance to inquire about my uncharacteristic behavior. 

That was a close one. 

When I came in the next morning, Spencer wasn’t there yet. Which was slightly strange given the fact that I was barely on time, so if he came in at any point after my own arrival, Spencer would be considered late for work. Occurrences like that only happen once in a blue moon, and usually, the reason for them are mysterious haircuts or something’s wrong. I hoped for his sake it was the former. 

Now you might consider me an impeccable troublemaker, but I’d first and foremost be rendered outstandingly forgetful. I say this only because I had completely forgotten that I stole Spencer’s badge the night before. But can you blame me? It was stashed away in my purse, hidden to my immediate sight, and the object was so small that it didn’t stick out to me or add an excess of weight in my bag that would serve as an unintentional reminder. It never once crossed my mind, not even when I looked to Derek to ask, “Where’s Reid?”

With a coffee mug in one hand, Derek put his arms out to either side of him and shrugged. Suddenly, the mug precariously shook from the draft created by someone blowing right by him. 

It was Reid.

“Whoa, slow your roll there, Pretty Boy. Almost knocked my coffee over.” Derek reprimanded playfully, clutching on tighter to his precious coffee that almost succumbed to Spencer’s speed when he breezed by.

But rather than apologizing or laughing, Spencer kept on his pursuit. Since the time he got here, his eyes were glued to his desk with determination. Even as he approached his desk, he hadn’t yet acknowledged me or Derek. Instead, he was mumbling to himself while haphazardly sorting through his desk. He was frantic and in disarray, a manner that worried both me and Derek.

“What’s wrong, Reid?” I leaned forward to observe his desk, which by now, was what I had to think was a direct reflection of his brain - completely chaotic. Papers were scattered, books were open to random pages, he even emptied out his well-maintained writing utensil cup. 

“I lost my badge.” He answered with his attention still trained on finding it. Luckily for me, that meant he couldn’t see the sudden smirk that grew on my face as a result of his response. There was no way to hide my entertainment without biting down on my lip to keep it from contorting into a smile or perching my head on my hand and using my knuckles to hide my devilish grin. 

“When’s the last time you had it?” Derek was surprisingly just as concerned as Reid and just as eager to help him find it, even setting down his coffee on his own desk to help Reid sort through his. 

“I always take it off at the end of the day, and I remember setting it on my desk, but I didn’t take it home with me. I don’t recall even leaving here with it, so I must’ve left it somewhere here.” 

At this point, my unbridled enjoyment of this was too much to physically contain, that I actually had to spin my chair a complete 180 degrees just to shield them from the sight of my imminent laughter. 

“(Y/n), do you remember seeing it -” Derek’s voice overpowered my muffled giggles, and when he looked up to ask me that, he would’ve seen my shuddering shoulders from where I was laughing hard, yet noiselessly. I spun my chair back around and looked at him with cool indifference. 

He quickly noted the shade of red I had turned and profiled the situation. But rather than outing me, he followed the instruction of my index finger to my lips and stayed quiet. 

I took his alliance as an opportunity to nonchalantly retrieve the badge from my purse. At a tantalizingly slow pace, I raised it in the air, until it was so high, Reid would be able to see it dangling from my thumb and forefinger. 

“Looking for this?” 

Spencer’s gaze immediately shot upward to look right at the badge, before flashing to me. 

What part of him reacted first, I wasn’t sure. Was it the sigh of relief or the flared nostrils and clenched jaw that came soon after? 

He wasn’t even going to say anything to me before grabbing it from me, that’s how pissed he was. But my quick reflexes lunged me backward at the same moment he reached out to get his badge from me, preventing him from successfully taking it back. I couldn’t believe he actually tried that and thought it would work. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” I wagged my finger left to right to communicate my disapproval. “Not so fast, Pretty Boy. I want something in return.”

He shot me the most deadpan glare. “What do you want?” 

I put my finger to my chin and looked up to coyly think about it, but more so to extend his torture for just a few seconds longer. I could feel him staring a hole into me as he grew more and more impatient. “Well, it’s gotta be something good. I mean, imagine what would’ve happened if this landed in the wrong hands.” 

“Evidently, it did.” He coldly replied. 

“Ouch,” I feigned offense and brought my hand to my chest to clutch my heart with a short gasp. “I’m so hurt,” I said with the biggest pout.

He was not nearly as entertained as I was, and his lack of amusement came in the form of a stoic, “I’ll teach you sleight of hand.” 

My body actually had to reboot at the sound of his proposal. “Wait, are you serious?” I clarified. 

“Yes. It physically pains me every time I watch you try to do it, so I figure it’s better for me if I teach you how to do it properly instead of having to sit through another one of your lousy, pathetic magic tricks.”

I would’ve been offended, but I’d been begging him to teach me sleight of hand for months, so the insults were quickly disregarded by me in case he changed his mind during the time I’d take up being hurt by his cruelty.  

“Deal,” I smirked while handing him his badge back. 

Needless to say, I did teach the good doctor a lesson, but it seems he still hasn’t learned … for why would you teach the biggest practical joker in the office sleight of hand? That only adds to my arsenal of tricks I have up my sleeve to use against my coworkers.

Maybe I should teach Spencer another lesson and see if he learns this time around.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

reid taglist: @s1utformgg @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @jemimah-b99 @justanothetfangirl @kylab @rainsong01 @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @carooliina @fortheloveofcriminalminds @watermelongubler  @obsessedmaggiemay @k-k0129 @aperrywilliams @eevee0722​ @spencersmagic​ @spencerreid-mgg​ @half-blood-dork​ @goldeng1rl8​ @just-a-bunch-of-fandoms​ 

[innuendostudios]

Thoughts on... some funny games

[no spoilers to speak of]

Thoughts on Lair of the Clockwork God

The wisdom of the gaming cognoscenti insists that comedy is hard to do in video games. Having grown up with Monkey Island and Zork, I've never found this convincing. But one true thing is this: it's hard to write about comedic games. The ineffability of humor is hard enough to describe in less-interactive media; I can't even explain to my partner why Gretchen saying "I met January Jones once!" on You're the Worst busted me up, and they were sitting right next to me when she said it. Throw in the "you had to be there" nature of the player's active participation and I lose myself in a cornfield. The thing I found hilarious might come a beat to early for you, or not at all, or not be funny in text like it is in gameplay.

Why did I like Lair of the Clockwork God? It made me laugh.

The premise and particulars are a lot of "that could go either way." Ben and Dan - stars of Ben There, Dan That and Time Gentleman, Please! - have returned. Ben is still an adventure game star, but Dan has adopted platforming mechanics in an attempt to get with the times. So playing the game involves switching back and forth between a character who can leap across canyons but can't pick up items or talk to people, and one who can combine inventory but can't climb over a 3-pixel rock.

Does that sound potentially funny? Potentially grating? Yes to both!

The plot centers around our heroes trying to save the world from several simultaneous apocalypses and having to teach human emotions to a supercomputer in order to do so. (Don't ask.) These means, rather like Ben There, Dan That, traipsing through a number of fantasy worlds (read: computer simulations) until the correct emotion is provoked. This requires cross-genre cooperation: finding ways to get Ben to areas only Dan can access, getting Dan new power ups by combining objects in Ben's inventory (an act Dan insists on calling "crafting").

The best bits are at these intersections, when Dan's platforming is the puzzliest and Ben's puzzles take advantage of Dan's skills. Periodically the game gives you a Dan-centric platforming gauntlet the controls are NOT precise nor pleasant enough for, or a Ben-only moon logic puzzle that leaves you googling the walkthrough.

But I liked it! A lot. The genre-hopping seems to have invigorated the developers, Ben Ward and Dan Marshall. I discussed my favorite joke in Ben There, Dan That (in what is probably the least popular video I've ever made that wasn't asking for money), but was also dismayed that the game was never that clever again. But this one is, several times over! Progression here involves cheating your way to a better respawn zone, goofing around in game menus, exploiting "glitches," exiting out and loading up entirely other games. There is a lot of poking and prodding at what a game of this nature can or should be.

But, honestly? The only real selling point is... it was funny. The humor is as anarchic and metatextual as in previous titles, but it feels good-natured in a way BT,DT didn't. And there are, here and there, little bits of meat on its bones - the characters wondering if, as a couple thirtysomething white guys, the world hasn't left them behind, no longer comfortable with the juvenile humor of their youth but not really understanding the youth of today, but having not yet fully escaped the mentalities they used to hold. (There's an unspoken humor to Dan's idea of "modern" gameplay being 2D platforming mechanics, especially at a time when adventure games are significantly more popular than on his last outing; this is a good joke whether or not it's intentional.)

Also: this game contains the most poignant urinating-on-a-grave puzzle in gaming history, and you may quote me on that.

Having finished it months ago, I can't even remember what all the gags were that tickled me at the time. Comedy fades from memory faster than drama or frustration. Mostly I just remember having a good time.

Thoughts on The Darkside Detective

Here's a hook: sometime after the mayhem ends in Ghostbusters, The Exorcist, Evil Dead 2, or some other paranormal blockbuster that you watched over and over in the 90's until the VHS wore out, some overworked detective has to come into your town and piece together what the hell happened.

This is his story.

It's a good gag, and the devs wring every drop from it. Existing in a world where these things are commonplace and you have to fit them into some notion of "police procedure" is just funny. Like, it's one thing to have a running gag where you keep observing the moon in outdoor scenes, commenting, with increasing hostility, that its behavior is suspicious (it has been present at multiple crime scenes); it's a slightly different thing when, given the things you've encountered, the moon being the Big Bad is actually somewhat possible.

The game is divided into six main cases and three bonus DLC missions (which come included in the base game now, and the third of which is the proper ending/setup for the sequel). You are the cop tasked to deal with The Other Side - and, when The Other Side bleeds into our own world, its cops have to deal with you. You have a sidekick with a mental maturity of about 6, which I guess makes you the straight man. (You have to grade on a curve to find a straight man in this game.) And you solve tasks like rounding up escaped gremlins or finding an AWOL lake monster all juxtaposed with mundane problems like inter-office squabbles and having not bought your Christmas presents early enough. It's (pleasantly) lo-res and sparsely isolated, so the dialogue and premise do most of the work, but they are ably up to the task.

The gameplay... not so much. I'm an adventure game lifer, so I can put up with a lot of nonsense. It's mostly straightforward inventory puzzles and occasional minigames. Most of the puzzles are fine enough. As the cases progress, things get more involved, and the DLCs especially involve some awful moon logic. And the minigames are not above using that same jumping peg puzzle you've solved in a dozen other games already. So gameplay ranges from serviceable to irritating, but it mostly exists to string together funny lines and silly images. (Christmas mall elves being secretly in service to Krampus - that's the kind of thing we're talking about here.) You won't feel much guilt for opening up a walkthrough; the puzzles aren't why you're here.

The sequel has just been released, and both games are cheap, so check them out if you feel like smiling.

Thoughts on The Procession to Calvary

It's rare for a game to be hilarious to look at.

The Procession to Calvary takes its name from the Bruegel painting. It also takes all it's graphics from Renaissance oil paintings, and the designer delights in making famously rendered heroes and religious icons steal, stab, fart, and swear.

A strong Terry-Gilliam-with-After-Effects vibe is what we're describing.

You play as a lady knight from a war that's just ended, which sucks for you because, in this age of peace, you're no longer authorized to kill. And killing's, like, you're whole thing. But the one person your new, pacifist king wouldn't stop you from killing is the warlord you just deposed, who fled to the South. So you embark on a nonsensical journey to seek out the one human on Earth you are authorized to kill, because killing is just The. Best. Ever.

Of the three games we're discussing, this is the most overtly cheeky, and, at times, the most scatological. I could've done with a bit less scatology, if I'm being honest, but the cheekiness is very winning. As with Lair of the Clockwork God, a lot of jokes could go either way - a field of people being tortured and a woman on a blanket selling commemorative torture merch could be painfully try-hard. But something about the victims being seemingly everyone ever crucified or broken on the wheel in a famous painting, and having them writhe on their crosses in a way that is both gruesome and goofy, and having a cacophonous soundtrack of their screams and moans that you will now imagine every time you look at one of those elegantly elegiac paintings from now on... it works. That the music score is being played by an extremely jaunty piper who dances behind you just out of sword's reach as you traverse the field pushes it over the top.

Oh, and the puzzles, while never hair-pullingly obtuse, will leave you stumped at times. Push past that to get the proper ending, but, if you're sick of trying, you can, at any point, just start stabbing your way through problems. Which, again: it takes a very deft touch to make "protagonist resorts to violence" actually funny rather than lazy and obvious. And maybe, in another game, the perfect timing of every animation, the clever quips, the careful contrast of cathedrals and high-society music halls with gleeful sword-swinging wouldn't be enough. But something about it being frickin' Renaissance paintings carries it the last mile.

This is probably the basest game of the three, but it's also the one that made me giggle the most. Having a BFA that required several art history classes may have something to do with it. But check this thing out.

[texanredrose]

Okay, to put some limitations on this, I’m only including the WIPs that I’ve done more than a synopsis for... that I can remember... that’s on Google Drive... that I actually think I might post one day... but haven’t posted yet because my posted WIPs are fairly easy to identify... okay... I got tagged by @unsteadyshade and I’m tagging @faunusrights and @alexlayer69

1) Across Time - Inuyasha AU where Weiss gets thrown back in time to the ancient past, where she meets two demons (Yang and Blake) warring against each other over a misunderstanding.

2) Alpha’s Devotion - Omega’s Strength, but from Winter’s POV.

3) Bears, Oh My - An exhausted Winter, lost on a hike, comes across a cabin where Yang lives with her three pet bears.

4) Brave New World - Continuation of the Dishonored AU where Ruby and Winter reflect on the new Mantle.

5) Bruised - Third installment to the ace!Yang AU. 

6) Coming Home - Based on Dash’s Tiny Knight AU, Princess Blake is betrayed and stranded far from home and must rely on a reticent knight named Weiss to return to her kingdom.

7) Complications Always Arise - Papa Schnee is demanding Weiss marry before he’ll allow her to take his place as head of the SDC, so Yang volunteers to pretend to be Weiss’ beloved. No one else knows the relationship is fake, least of all Blake and Winter, and it’s just a bunch of pain.

8) Divided - Continuation of the By Moonlight AU where Whitley returns to the castle and Winter’s not upset by that- and Winter’s upset by the fact she’s not upset and has to figure out why her inner wolf is cool with this when she should, by all rights, be furious.

9) Dragonsbane - Mage Knight Winter hears tale of a dragon in the countryside that the local villages wish to see vanquished. Winter, however, has other plans.

10) Eye of the Beholder - Blinded and near death after a battle, Winter is rescued by the mysterious Yang and is nursed back to health despite her protests otherwise. (It’s a Medusa!AU.)

11) Fabled - Fable 3 AU where Princess Ruby and Princess Yang are forced to confront the fact that Queen Raven has lost her fucking mind, only to discover that fear drove the woman insane- a fear they must confront themselves.

12) Fields of Love - Farmer Yang offers a job and housing to apparent single mother Winter and her young daughter Penny. What starts as a kind gesture grows into something so much more.

13) Full Circle - Van Helsing (2004) AU, Winter and Weiss, amnesiacs employed by the church to handle all manner of unholy problems, are sent to discover what happened to King Taiyang. Along the way, they become wrapped up in a centuries spanning prophecy and a bloodline hanging in the balance.

14) High Bar, Low Blow - Yang owns a bar where the gimmick is that everyone’s an out of work actor and the staff is staging an ongoing drama on par with a soap opera to keep their customers coming back. Winter joins the staff and then things get a bit real.

15) Hoodlums and Hijinks - Robin Hood AU where Princess Winter and Princess Weiss are just as in favor for overthrowing the king as the group of bandits run by Ruby, Yang, and Blake. 

16) Last One 2: Electric Boogaloo (title subject to change) - a sequel to Last One where the haunt continues.

17) Lexical Access - Sequel to Tip of the Tongue, where Yang gives her girlfriend a bit of roleplaying payback.

18) Little Red - Carmen Sandiego AU where Ruby was kidnapped adopted by a group of thieves and raised to become the world’s greatest thief, but a chance meeting with Penny via a stolen phone opens her eyes to the wider world, and she meets the rebellious heiress Weiss, street smart Blake, and brawler Yang, creating a team that works to foil Ruby’s former friends while eluding capture by mysterious operatives with a somewhat familiar white color scheme...

19) Long Term Investment - Yang, a fae who lives in the woods, makes a deal with Princess Winter to save the Queen. The price? Winter’s firstborn. Winter misunderstands how she’s expected to get pregnant and Yang’s never actually intended to collect. Next thing Yang knows, Winter’s moving into the clearing beside her tree home.

20) Miscalculation - Another Omegaverse AU where Weiss is an omega and Blake and Yang are alphas, except Weiss lied and said she was an alpha when enrolling in Beacon and now she’s locked in a room with Blake and Yang on the verge of starting her heat. Sharing is caring.

21) More Than Words Can Say - Winter, rendered mute by a military accident early in her career, is honestly the best girlfriend Yang’s ever had. However, tonight’s the night they’ve decided to get intimate, and that includes showing some scars that they don’t show often. It’s less about sex and more about trust and intimacy.

22) Music of the Night - Phantom of the Opera AU where the mysterious, disfigured shade of the opera house, Weiss, finds herself at odds with the rich, jovial Yang in a competition for Blake’s heart. Then there’s Adam being a dick, too, and the opera house has never seen so much drama.

23) My Heart Will Go On - It’s the Titanic, but double the rich, unwilling-to-marry ladies and triple the won-a-ticket-to-a-ship ruffians. Penny’s there too; she, like Ruby, just really likes ships.

24) One Fucking Favor - Winter’s due for a long assignment and wants to make a sex tape for stress relief purposes. Yang doesn’t ask questions; she’s just the one with the camera. But then, Winter’s partner for the vid doesn’t show up. What’s Yang going to do about it?

25) Prophecy - Star Wars AU where Ruby, Yang, and Blake are trained as Jedi, Winter and Weiss are part of the clone army, and Ruby’s the chosen one. That’s a lot of pressure to put on someone, but Senator Salem is there to lend a helping hand...

26) Propositioned - Faunus experience bouts of heat; sometimes, they can safely ignore it and go about their lives, but every now and again, they really can’t. Concerned for Blake’s health as she’s skipped too many heats to be healthy, Yang sets up a partner for Blake’s heat. Blake’s not a fan but she does like the idea of banging Weiss Schnee.

27) Proven - ARK: Survival Evolved AU where Winter, after being ‘won’ by Yang, is taken into the bowels of the earth to learn how the underground tribes who inhabit the area survive in such an unforgiving environment. As she acclimates to the tribe’s ways, she finds herself carving out her own path, culminating in facing off against the Queen and proving herself worthy.

28) Reaping What You Sow - When Winter escaped to the countryside with Penny to start a farm, she knew she had her work cut out for her. In need of help and facing a harsh cold season, she hires Yang, a one armed drifter, to help her. The two end up needing the other more than they could’ve imagined.

29) Tear My Heart Open - Blake thought she understood how the world worked. As a member of the White Fang Gang, all she needed to do was keep everyone motivated to continue their ongoing street war against the police and authorities bent on keeping them down. But while running from the cops, she’s offered sanctuary in the home of one Weiss Schnee and her girlfriend, Yang. From there, her perception of the world is completely upended.

30) The Duel - After her father offered her hand in marriage to the winner of a tournament, Winter opted to assume a disguise and fight for the prize herself. In the final match, she faces Yang Xiao Long, a competitor she’s come to know quite well, and she finds her conviction to win wavering slightly. Is it enough to lose her the fight?

31) The Lies We Tell Ourselves - Weiss has made it; she’s opened her tattoo shop in Vale, well away from her father, and aside from a bad first impression with the florists across the parking lot, everything’s looking up for her- until her father finds her. Luckily, Blake’s been through some shit and doesn’t mind helping Weiss drive daddy dearest up the wall, even if it means letting her own parents think she’s dating Weiss. It’s not like either of them is going to catch feelings... unless...

32) The Princess’ Bride - After losing her fiancée to the dreaded White Fang Pirates, Yang vows to take to the sea herself and exact her revenge. Princess Weiss finds herself falling madly in love with Yang, who still loves Blake, and all this is thrown into even more chaos when Yang gets kidnapped and Blake comes back from the dead! 

33) Two for One - Yes, another Omegaverse AU. Five years after the fall of Beacon, Yang and Blake cross paths, each believing the other has spent the time keeping their mutual mate, Weiss, safe. When they realize Weiss is with neither of them, old wounds are torn open, but before they can resolve their dispute, Winter captures the both of them and hauls them to a remote part of Atlas where an SDC facility has been turned into a fortress. There, they find a mortally wounded Weiss clinging to life and raising twins daughters; she gives her mates until her death to endear themselves to their children, else the twins might opt to stay with Winter and be kept from Blake and Yang for good. Between learning about their kids, Blake and Yang navigate their complicated feelings and try to reconnect with Weiss, all while a sinister force gathers to destroy the fortress and steal the prize within.

34) Weaknesses - Loosely set in the Glamour AU, Yang is being forced to assume her mother’s position as leader of their vampire coven. Her fellow vamps disapprove of Yang’s werewolf girlfriend. Winter, of course, doesn’t care.

I got lazy and cut a bunch out. No, fuck you, I don’t have too many AUs, I will add more if I want. Also, some of these, the first chapter is posted on my Patreon. Don’t ask me which ones; I genuinely have no idea. I’m bad at this, y’all.

[perriewinklenerdie]

Liar, Liar (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

A/N:  Hello, hello, hello! How's life? It's two days till school starts and a little over a month till uni starts back up, so you can feel the desperation in the air. This fic took me like, two weeks to finish, because we love being lazy and would rather sleep than write (so, like, most of the times as of late for me, what you gonna do, right?), but it's here now. I did proof read, but it's possible that something slipped my attention, sorry if there are any mistakes :D

Also, IT’S LESS THAN A WEEK TILL OH COMES BACK, LET IT BE GOOD, PLS

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26198620

Tag list: @paleweasels, @kittykatchoices, @valiantlychaoticbarbarian, @usuallyamazinglyaverage, @strawberrwess @palestazure, @cordoniaqueensworld, @universallypizzataco, @princess-geek, @faithhasnowords, @mightyfangirlofthefandoms, @drakewalkerfantasy, @timmagicktoad, @laceandlula, @greywitchyshots, @llamasgrl, @gingerjane15, @bucket-harrington , @marywrites-things , @ethanplaysfavorites , @mfackenthal , @betelgeusebee , @simsvetements,  @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction, @buzz-bee-buzz, @owleyes374, @cora-nova, @aworldoffandoms, @l822, @cream-ray, @ughhhxjazzy, @silverlitskies, @justendlesssummerfeels, @togetherwearerapture, @desmaranj, @edgiestwinter, @friedherringclodthing, @daisy-ashton, @waytooattuned, @choicesgremlin , @lapisreviewsstuff, @the-soot-sprite, @writerapprentice, @chasingrobbie, @choicesobsessedd, @x-kyne-x, @thisperfectmemory, @drakewalker04, @rookie-ramsey, @jlynn12273, @thepinknymph @dr-brianna-casey-valentine, @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @justanotherrookie @mvalentine

Enjoy! <3

----------

He knew that he shouldn’t feel like an idiot; that didn’t mean that he didn’t. Standing in front of the hospital, tapping his foot impatiently and checking his watch every five seconds, like it would speed up time. He was never a patient man, and every minute of delay got on his nerves, making him even more anxious than he was in the first place.

If he could have it his way, he wouldn’t even be going in the first place. Claire, however, decided that ‘no way in hell is he declining his Father’s invitation again’, so he didn’t really have a choice.

“When did this happen?” he asked her, right after she convinced him, both of them sitting on the couch, watching some TV show. She turned her head towards him, wrinkles forming on her forehead in confusion.

“When did what happen?”

Running his hand up and down her arm, he shrugged before answering. “It’s hard for me to say ��no’ to you.”

“I mean, you can.” An innocent smile grew on her features. She gripped his shoulders, straddling him before he could decipher her intentions, then leaned in, making their noses touch. “But do you really want to, now?”

“No.” he answered, causing them both to laugh. Her lips brushed against his, once, twice; she then tried to back away, but found herself unable to do so, with his arms wrapped tightly around her, keeping her in place. “No.”

“There you go.”

The sound of a car horn going off drew him out from the memory, back into the parking lot, where a car stopped right in front of him. The window rolled down, revealing a very smug blonde. She leaned towards him, sliding her sunglasses down her nose slightly.

“Get in loser, we’re going shopping.”

His gaze narrowed as he walked closer, leaving his work bag in the back of the car before going to sit in the passenger’s seat. Claire was still looking at him, her eyes sparkling flirtatiously. He sighed deeply, fastening his seatbelt.

“I may get the reference after you made me watch the movie, and we may be dating, but I’m still your boss, Dr. Herondale.” He reminded, his tone stern.

“Nope.” Her voice was strained as she leaned over the console, trying to close the compartment in front of him. “For the next three days, you’re only my boyfriend.” Breathing out in relief when she successfully finished her task, she straightened herself. “No work, no bosses, just you, and me, okay?”

The workaholic in him hesitated. Three days without any sort of work-related activities wouldn’t be something he came up with, but the rational side of him knew, that she was right. They’ve been working nonstop for the past few weeks, cases more demanding that they expected. He’s told her many times to take a break, and she would always refuse, saying that she will rest when he will; he couldn’t argue with that logic, nor with her when she eventually would decide for both of them that it’s late and pull him out of his office to go home.

“Okay.” He nodded, smiling at how wide her grin was. She extended her hand towards him, waggling her fingers. He took her hand, which made a blush appear on her cheeks, accompanied by a gentle laugh.

“While I love holding your hand, that wasn’t what I meant.” She cleared her throat, schooling her features into a scowl. “Your phone, Ramsey.”

Ethan’s eyebrow went up, clearly thinking she was joking, but a second later he realized that she absolutely wasn’t. “And just why would I do that?”

She sighed heavily, reaching with her other hand towards his pant pocket, fishing out the device. “Because I know you. You’ll get bored at one point or the other and will start reading medical articles just to do something.” He began to protest, which she quickly stifled with a short kiss, rendering him speechless. “You know I’m right. And besides, I’ll be there to entertain you in case you have too much time and start to think about working.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” he gave her hand a squeeze, noticing something shimmery around her wrist. Upon closer inspection, he realized that it was an elaborate bracelet, many gemstones hanging from a golden chain. She caught him staring, rushing to explain.

“It’s my lucky charm bracelet.” Shaking her hand, she let it catch the last rays of the sun before it disappeared behind the clouds, sparkling with dimming light.

“How many lucky charms does one person need?” he snickered, catching a sapphire stone between his fingers.

“When you’re me? All of them.”

And with that, they were on their way. The ride wasn’t long, and yet, Claire insisted that he took a nap to rest, reaching for the pillow she had stored for him behind her seat. He had a night shift and didn’t get the chance to grab a cup of coffee in the morning, so he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand and fell asleep.

When he woke up, they were about halfway there. Somewhere during his rest, she covered him with a blanket as it got colder outside. He pulled the seat back into the upright position and took a look outside the window.

“How long was I asleep?” he asked, suppressing a yawn. Claire adjusted her hold on the steering wheel before glancing at him.

“Judging by the redness of your eyes, not long enough.” she pointed out, smiling when he scoffed at her remark. “Thirty minutes, more or less.”

His hand wandered towards her, resting comfortably on her thigh, running up and down in a soothing manner. The corners of her lips went up, her eyes trained on the road. The sound of the rain that started to trickle outside combined with the quiet comfort on the inside created a perfect concoction, causing his eyes to drop again a bit. He noticed that it was affecting Claire too, blinking twice as often as she normally did.

“Do you want me to take over?” he murmured, watching her closely. She shook her head, her knuckles getting a bit whiter from the force with which she was holding the wheel.

“I’m okay; it’s you who didn’t sleep last night, so use that time to rest. If you’re hungry or thirsty, there’s food and water in the bag on the backseat.”

“You really thought of everything, didn’t you?” he leaned forward, pressing his lips to her shoulder. Her scent filled his senses, blocking out everything, making her, once again, his one and only focus. “Please tell me the second you’re too tired to drive.”

“Yes, Doctor.” She teased him, touching her head to his when they were waiting for the light to turn green. It was at that moment that the sound of a ringing phone pierced the otherwise silent atmosphere of the car. Ethan pleaded with his eyes, recognizing his ringtone, trying to convince her to give him his phone back, but she shook her head, already answering the call.

“Hello, Mr. Ramsey!” Claire greeted his father, her voice bright and easy. Alan said something that Ethan couldn’t quite decipher, but it clearly must have been funny if it made her laugh to the point of tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. It also was most likely about him, because as soon as she sneaked a peak at him, she giggled louder. “No, Ethan cannot pick up his phone, he’s on vacation from work. Can I pass a message?” Some more incoherent words that Ethan had no way of understanding, and the call was over, his phone returning to the compartment near her. “He asked me to tell you that you should listen to me and relax.” She said, choosing to ignore with a smirk the way he shook his head at her.  

Before they both knew it, they reached Alan’s house. The sky has cleared, revealing the sun, shining above their heads as it began to aim itself towards the horizon again. They were getting their bags out of the trunk when an excited voice called out for them.

“You two are just in time for dinner!” The older man stood next to them, hugging his son tightly before greeting Claire and taking the bag out of her hands. He nodded towards the house, inviting them inside.

As soon as they stepped over the threshold, they were hit with the scent of food, making their mouth water. Alan expected them to be there soon, so he was prepared, with wine glasses sitting on the counter, food resting in the oven and a bottle of Bordeaux waiting to be opened. Having left the bags in the guest room, they made their way to the kitchen, all three of them working in complete comfort around each other, preparing the table and carrying food to the dining room. Like they’ve known each other forever; like they were a family for a long time and have done it a dozen of times.

Ethan wasn’t kidding when he once told her that his father was an amazing cook. She couldn’t tell which one of the two cooked better, as both knew their way around the kitchen and both excelled in different kinds of cuisine, having the common ground in desserts, especially (surprising no one) chocolate.

The evening was in full swing, the table cleared of plates, cutlery, and empty dishes, leaving only glasses of wine. Claire was sitting closely to Ethan, her palm sitting on his shoulder, his hand resting comfortably on her thigh. At the current moment, the couple was looking at one another, bickering playfully about who was the last one to do the laundry. To Alan, they looked like a married couple, with how comfortable they were with one another and the topics of their discussions. Neither could remember and neither would back down, being a pair of stubborn people, so they decided to agree that it’s a tie, hooking their pinkies and shaking on it. Immediately after, Ethan pulled her by her finger onto him, pressing a soft kiss to her nose.

“So, was it love at first sight?” Alan asked, laughing at their antics. They both fell silent, turning towards him with blank expressions. Claire was the first one to break out of it, leaning back into her chair with a mix of a giggle and a scoff.

“Whoever told you that is a filthy liar.”

Ethan didn’t even try to deny it, mirroring her position in his seat as his head turned towards her, smirking. “She was a pain in the ass before she was anything else.”

“Are you saying that I’m not anymore?”

“Oh no, you still are, but it’s so much more now.” his voice dropped back to the gentle whisper with every word he said, unable to stop the smile from pulling the corners of his lips upwards. Claire used the moment of his helplessness, grabbing him by his chin and making their eyes meet.

“You were an asshole for the majority of time at the beginning.” She hummed, letting him go, smirking at the way his expressions morphed from stunned to agreement. “Similarly, though, you’re not that bad now. It changed.”

“Most likely in Miami.” Alan noted, not thinking too much about it, unaware just how significant of a response his words would get. Claire, who was at the time taking a sip of her wine, choked on it, coughing excessively. Ethan, on the other hand, froze in place, unsure how to approach the situation. She didn’t even have to ask for him to know that she wanted some kind of an explanation.

“I, uh, may have slipped up while talking to Dad a couple of months ago.” A blush creeped up his neck, accompanied by an endearing smile. Claire pressed her palm to his cheek, turning him towards her.

“Aww, don’t be embarrassed! If it made you feel better about our very complicated situation, then I’m glad you had someone to talk to.” she beamed warmly, kissing his cheek softly, sweetly, tracing the line of his cheekbone with her thumb.

“To be fair, I did ask a lot of questions.” The older man confessed, pulling the attention of the pair back to him. “He seemed stressed, like a walking time bomb, so when I asked what made him this-“ he paused, spreading his arms to indicate the state in which his son seemed to be at the time. “- he started talking, and since he never talks, I tried to help him work it out.”

Claire nodded, running her fingers through Ethan’s hair, her hand resting comfortably on the back of his chair. “He does have a tendency to keep everything on the inside. I make him talk too.” She dropped her voice to a whisper, grinning widely as she spoke directly to Alan. “He hates me for it.”

“I don’t hate you, I just- I-“ Ethan jumped to his defense, struggling to word his thoughts. He gave up when he saw very clear amusement on both of their faces. “I can’t with you two.”

The night soon ended, as did the wine in the bottle. Claire jumped up, declaring that she’s going to finish up the cleaning in the kitchen, while the two of them should go get ready for sleep. Alan tried to protest, but she pulled the ‘you-cooked-I-clean’ card, so he didn’t have the needs to fight this logic.

She was in the middle of cleaning the pan when she felt the softest touch on her shoulders. Goosebumps rose on her neck, induced by the hot breath that brushed against her skin. “You know you can leave it for the morning?”

“Ethan Ramsey, are you telling me to ditch my responsibilities?” she mused, scrubbing the bottom of the dish while trying to ignore the patterns he was tracing with his fingers. He trailed his hands down her sides, wrapping his arms around her middle and pulling her to him.

“I am. You deserve a break too.” He began pressing openmouthed kisses along the line of her back. He sighed when she didn’t make a move to stop what she was doing. “At least let me help you.”

He walked over to stand by her side, towel in hand, drying the cleaned dishes and putting them away. Her hair shielded her face, making it impossibly hard to notice the subtle change in her expression. He caught it a second too late, losing the chance to protect himself from the incoming attack. A wave of water and bubbles crashed into him, soaking his clothes and hair, accompanied by her hysteric giggle.

Slowly turning to her, he looked between the sink, still plenty of water there, and her, predicting she was going to make an attempt to dodge his retaliation. His shot was perfectly timed and aimed, bringing her to the same level. A complete chaos fell over the kitchen, nothing was safe, and nothing was spared.

Truce was forced upon him when she grabbed him by the sides of his face and hauled him onto her, crashing their lips together in a heated kiss. A low hum reverberated in his chest as his eyes fell shut, enhancing his other senses. How enchanting her scent was, reminding him of early mornings when he would bury his face in her hair. How her body fit into his arms like she was made to be in them, like two puzzle pieces, creating the same picture together.

Claire’s fingers were tangled in his hair in a matter of seconds, keeping him as close as physics allowed. The counter was digging into her lower back, the sensation being the only thing grounding her in reality. Everything else was overshadowed by Ethan. The smell of his cologne was intoxicating. The movement of his lips against hers took her all the way back to Miami, where they kissed like it was worth going to hell for, like they were starved, like they were the salvation for one another.

His hands gripped the fabric of her shirt harshly, exposing the skin of her back, extracting droplets of water from the material. They’ve been this close more times than he could count, but the sensation always felt like brand new, like it was their first time, getting to know each other all over again. He trailed his lips down towards her throat, focusing on the dip by the collarbone, eliciting the boldest sigh she dared to let slip out.

Claire didn’t stay indebted for long, scratching his scalp with her nails, drawing a deep groan out of him, his body betraying him in his attempt to keep his desire for her on the low. She couldn’t see the smirk that resided on his face through her eyelids, but she knew damn well that it was there. He’s always been smug at how much he affected her, how much her body told him without words.

“We should keep quiet.” He muttered, failing to suppress the desperate moan at the feel of her pushing him onto her with her leg around his calf. She giggled softly, pulling their faces to the same level.

“Then why are you so loud?” her words were one last warning before their lips crashed again, their hands rushing to touch every square inch of each other’s bodies as thoroughly as they could. He picked her up without missing a beat, leaving the flooded kitchen far behind them.

--------------

The first thing he felt that morning was the featherlight kisses, tracing the line between his shoulder blades. Hot breath caused goosebumps to pepper his skin, slowly bringing him to consciousness.

“Good morning.” Claire’s whisper reached him from right below his ear, her voice provoking a shiver to run down his spine. Without opening his eyes, he leaned upwards, curled his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, pressing her into the mattress with his weight. His head rested in the crook of her neck, his lips touching her anywhere they could reach.

“It’s not morning until we get out of bed.” He growled lowly, his kisses gaining intensity. Their bodies were covered by thin blankets; the only thing shielding them from the biting coolness of the early hours of the day. Clothes were lost few hours prior in the heat of the moment, both of them giggling like a pair of teenagers sneaking around, shushing one another every so often and silencing with urgent kisses.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how the definition of ‘morning’ goes, but… I won’t go anywhere if you won’t.” Claire nuzzled her nose against his hair, taking a deep breath, the scent of his shampoo surrounding her briefly. She was moments away from falling asleep again, when she sensed him changing the position slightly, his lips moving upwards. He stopped a breath away from her, waiting for her move, which at first seemed like it would never come. His eyes opened slowly, finding hers already watching him, crinkling playfully. She raised her hand, running her fingers through his hair.

“Like this, you’re even more handsome.” She whispered, making Ethan’s eyebrow shot up in amusement.

“Like what?”

“Relaxed. Peaceful. All mine.” she tugged on his ear teasingly, watching him nod slightly in confirmation, a hint of red creeping onto his cheeks. “Even though that’s not the hottest I’ve seen you.”

Adjusting his grip on her, he asked, more intrigued than ever. “Oh really? Then what state of Ethan Ramsey does Clarissa Herondale find the most attractive?”

She leaned closer to him, her lips brushing his when she spoke. “When you’re displaying your intelligence. When you’re diagnosing, showing off how insanely smart you are. You’re irresistible.”

Ethan pressed their lips together the second she finished her sentence, winding his arms tighter around her. Climbing on top of her completely, he caged her between his limbs, allowing him to look at her from a different angle when their kiss eventually broke.

“I’ll have you know, that my view on when you’re ‘hot’ is very similar.”

As cliché as that sounded, their moment was cut short by three gentle knocks on his childhood bedroom door, making them both freeze in place. They scrambled to sit up and reach their clothes, pulling them on hastily when Alan called out from the corridor.

“Son, I wouldn’t want to walk in on something that would make us all uncomfortable, so if you two could meet me downstairs soon, I’d be grateful.”

Ethan’s face was white, horror seeping onto it with alarming rate. Claire, on the other hand, was biting her lip as hard as she could, trying all she could to stop herself from laughing out loud. She nudged him, leaving the bed, getting dressed as she went. Noticing that he didn’t make a move to get up, she collected his clothes for him, smirking at how red his cheeks were.

“I’ve never been in a situation like this in my whole life.”

“Well, there’s always time for a first.”

Not even five minutes later, they stepped into the living room, Alan already waiting for them by the entrance to the kitchen. Claire waved at him, overcoming the embarrassment momentarily. “Good morning, Mr. Ramsey!”

“Good morning, Claire. Before we begin eating, I have a question for you two. When I went to bed last night, what did you do?”

Blonde woman turned to look at her boyfriend, noticing how pale he was, frozen in place yet again. Knowing that she would have to be the one to do the talking, she tried to figure out what she was supposed to say, when Alan, clearly realizing what the two of them thought he was asking, rushed to elaborate.

“Ethan, please breathe, you’re going to suffocate. I meant, what happened to my kitchen?” he nodded towards the room with his head, both doctors leaning forward to look inside.

The floor and cabinets were flooded with water. They looked at each other, then towards Alan, pointing fingers at one another, shrugging their shoulders, refusing to take the blame. The older Ramsey man sighed, shaking his head at their antics, inviting them to the table for breakfast.

“You two, liars, are never doing dishes together again.”

[nearlymanaged]

21. The Long Wait and James’ Exasperation

“Remus!” Suzy, a bespectacled Gryffindor sixth year with enchanted flowers braided into her hair, caught up with him. 

“Hey,” Remus stopped, holding the portrait hole open for her.

“Thanks…” She breathed out as she climbed in with an armful of assorted spellbooks, quills, parchment, and ink bottles. “My bag broke today,” she explained.

“I’m sorry,” he offered a genuine smile. “My bag’s broken once, too. Granted, it was being held by James and Sirius. Who were flying on two separate brooms at the time. So maybe not quite the same...”

Suzy let out a tickled laugh and almost dropped half of her things just then. Remus, however, reacted in time and, with a flick of his wand, lifted all of the weight out of the girl’s arms. “Thanks again,” she beamed.

“No worries. Well, have fun with…” he gently pushed one of the books, floating mid-air, out of the way, “History of Magic,” he said after a glance at the cover. “Ah yes, the class that, six years in, has taught me how to take notes while napping…”

Suzy laughed again, taking over the steering of her possessions with her own wand now. “That’s actually hilariously accurate… Maybe we could work on our homework together sometime, for moral support?”

“I do lead a study group every Thursday… Although lately, it’s been more like every once in a blue moon, whenever we can squeeze it into everyone’s schedules...”

“Maybe you and I can have a private study group then?”

“Er…” Remus stammered while his brain worked to figure out whether Suzy was asking him out or genuinely trying to get some help with homework. For some reason, he thought, the older he got, the harder it was to read anyone. “I’m absolute shite at History of Magic..?” He attempted with a shrug.

“Then maybe I can tutor you some?” 

Ah… It certainly sounded like the girl’s interests spanned beyond homework. A mild panic was setting in as Remus tried to come up with an appropriate response, but nothing came to mind. So he decided to just go for it, as clumsy and awkwardly as he knew it would come out. 

Thing was, Remus never really came out to people. Yes, obviously he had been open about his sexuality with Vincent, and at this point, most (if not all) of his friends had caught on, and, matter of fact, he didn’t care if the whole school knew. He felt like a bit of a freak anyway, what’s another thing to add to the list? He just never went around talking about it. In all fairness, it was probably because he’d gotten used to keeping it to himself at home, with his dad around. He could hardly imagine having that conversation with his family (“Hey dad, guess what? I’m gay!”) so he had sort of pushed that idea aside and moved on altogether. But now, he inhaled deeply in anticipation...

“Suzy... I’m…”

“Alright, I’ll just say it… I just need a couple of bottles of butterbeer and I…”

“...ga-- What?” Remus froze all of a sudden, only his eyelids fluttering in a rapid succession of baffled blinks.

“Did you...just say you’re gay?” Suzy peered at him, looking no less confused than he felt.

“I…er...”

“I knew it,” someone uttered in a group of fifth years flocking around the nearest sofa.

“Nevermind that,” Remus mumbled while wishing to literally die right then and there. “You said you need butterbeer?”

“Ehm, yes. I know that you and your friends know where to get some…” Suzy, very graciously, employed a facial expression determined to ignore Remus’ little outburst.

He hastily assured her that he’d talk to his friends and get some butterbeer for her during their next expedition to a mysterious source that Suzy had no business knowing anything about anyway. Still feeling the burning embarrassment pulsing all the way from the pit of his stomach to the top of his head, Remus turned to run upstairs to put his stuff away and maybe suffocate himself with a pillow while he was at it. Before he could leave the scene of his mortification, however, he was beckoned over by the very giggly duo of Lily and Dorcas.

“Rem, did you just yell ‘I’m gay’ at--”

“Five points from Gryffindor.”

Lily let out a loud gasp that somehow ended with an indignant squeal. “James told me you do that…” She crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips, but didn’t say another word about the topic.

“Welcome to the club, Remus,” Dorcas grinned at him. “I always knew there was a reason I liked you. Straight people can be so...intense sometimes -- no offense, Lily,” she finished with a smirk.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t judge all straight people based on Potter…”

Both Dorcas and Remus cackled at this. “What about you, miss I Hate This Arrogant Toerag But I’ll Still Spend Every Waking Moment Hanging Out Around Him?” Remus tilted his head rather eloquently with a little quirk of his eyebrows.

“Oh! Please! Pshh!” Lily started shuffling around in her seat with an outraged glare.

“That’s what I’ve noticed, too!” Dorcas beamed at Remus. “She can’t get enough of him lately, can she?”

“You think it has anything to do with him being Quidditch captain?”

“Well, straight people do seem to have a thing about sports…”

“Shut up, you idiots!”

“So - and forgive me for being so blunt - Sirius?” Dorcas beamed at Remus, evidently deciding that Lily’s had enough mortification for the time being.

“What about him?”

“Rumour has it, you’ve got the hots for the Black boy?”

“The rumour’s name wouldn’t happen to be Lily, would it?” Remus shot a pointed glance at the girl in question, but Dorcas merely chuckled at it rather dismissively.

“There’s also the fact that everyone in this school has eyes and ears, Remus. And some of us know how to use them, too. Question is, who’s going to make the first move?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Remus felt a kind of warmth flood over him - against his own logical thought, he couldn’t help but feel pleased to know that other people could see it. “Hard to say,” he mumbled through a grin that refused to be toned down.

“I think it should be you,” Lily stated matter-of-factly.

“How so?”

“Because, obviously, you’re the somewhat more sensible one.”

“I don’t think romance has much to do with sensibility, Lils,” Dorcas leaned back in her seat. “I think it’ll be Sirius. Precisely because he lacks it.”

“What are we, making bets on my life now?” Remus folded his arms over his chest; he only barely resisted the temptation to reference their very secret plan that he wasn’t supposed to know anything about.

“That’s a great idea!” Dorcas cackled at his feigned indignation. 

“All jokes aside,” Lily beamed, “I have a feeling you two will get together soon. It’s Spring, after all. A time for new beginnings.”

“I thought you dropped Divination?” Remus pulled a funny face at her, pretending to be puzzled by her words.

“Yes. But, as Dorcas already pointed out, some of us have functioning eyes and ears.”

“And some of us might even know more than we let on…” Dorcas uttered, a faint smirk curving her lips.

Lily smacked her arm lightly. “Dee!”

“What?”

“What?” Remus echoed, his eyes darting between the two girls.

“Nothing. Dorcas has a strange sense of humour, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh… So anyway, speaking of new beginnings--”

“Oh will you drop it?” Lily cut across him rather sternly. “Even if I did agree to go out with him, so what?” She added quieter.

“Oh? I was going to say, isn’t it strange that the last summer of our Hogwarts years is almost here. But your thing is more entertaining,” Remus shot her a smug grin.

“Remus!”

“What?” He laughed out.

“And she might agree to go out with him sooner than we’d suspect, too.”

“Dorcas!!”

The three of them went on about sensible minds and love and sensible minds in love; mostly courtesy of Lily and Dorcas while Remus was quietly replaying every moment he’d spent with Sirius in the past few days, only occasionally offering a joke or a commentary. This was happiness, he thought. To have friends that cared (enough to devise some sort of a secret plan) and a boyfriend who was one of the best friends he’d ever had and one of the best people he’d ever known. This was happiness - being seventeen and in love and surrounded by good people, and it didn’t even matter that he had just embarrassed himself in front of Suzy and half the Gryffindors.

* * *

Remus looked like there was some kind of a magical glow about him as he sat there - bathed in sunlight streaming in through the high, narrow windows of History of Magic classroom, his chin in his hand, his quill unceasingly taking notes. There certainly was a distinct warm and bright afternoon laziness in the air, which rendered Sirius completely unable to pay the slightest bit of attention to Mr Binns’ monotonous recital of Gargoyle Strike of 1911 facts. 

Instead, his gaze was resting on the side of Remus’ face, quasi-secretly taking in the way the sun glistened in his sand and honey coloured hair, the way that that one scar ran across the bridge of his nose like a vein of ore, the way that his eyelids lowered over his brilliantly green irises, the way his soft, yet always a little chapped lips feebly formed silent words here and there as he wrote them down...

“Sirius, you’re staring.”

“You’re just now noticing?” Sirius purred back at Remus’ whispered observation.

“I was busy taking notes, which you’ll be thankful for later.”

“I’ve been staring at you longer than that.”

“Stop it…” Remus mumbled, quieter now, a slight blush tinting his cheeks and ears, which Sirius noticed to his great delight.

“Surely, you don’t actually mean it, do you?”

“Stop it, Sirius…” He repeated with even less conviction in his voice. 

“What do you think they’re planning? To get us together?” Sirius perked up slightly, genuinely eager to dive into speculation about the topic. In all honesty, anything that had to do with Remus had been his favourite topic lately -- or not so lately.

“I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about it too,” the boy’s eyebrows slowly knit together over his thoughtful eyes. “I can’t imagine anything that would require James and Lily to go on a fake date.”

“You can’t use your own logic for this. We need to think like them,” Sirius grinned.

“Ah yes… We must think like someone who’s gotten hit in the head by a bludger more times than I have fingers.”

“Hey!” Sirius protested and then shrugged apologetically, remembering he was in the middle of a classroom. “I’ve gotten hit by a bludger too. Read the room, Moony.”

“So you have. That’s why I talk so slowly whenever you’re around,” Remus whispered and gave Sirius a smile that might have been intended as an expression of mischief but in reality looked more flirtatious than anything else.

“And yet,” Sirius leaned in a little closer, speaking a little quieter, feeling a little giddier, “I happen to be where you choose to lay your affections.”

“I never claimed to be perfect…”

“You’re such a tease, Moony.”

“You bring it out of me,” Remus mumbled as he bit down on his lip, evidently determined to bridle his grin. “When do you think they’ll carry out their secret plan?”

“Hm… I don’t know, there’s not really anything special happening anytime soon. The Quidditch game, maybe?”

“But surely, James can’t be on a fake date with Lily if he’s playing Quidditch?”

“Good point. D’you think they’ll fake an injury? That’s probably very likely, statistically speaking.”

“Statistically speaking?” Remus shot him a curious glance. 

“Fake injuries tend to be the driving force of a lot of our successful pranks, don’t they?” Sirius grinned.

Just then, the bell rang throughout the castle and all the students started getting up from their desks and funneling out into the hallways. Sirius and Remus both shoved their belongings into their bags and started heading for the door of the classroom along with their fellow sixth years.

“Why is Suzy McGregor giving you weird looks?” Sirius gently nudged Remus’ ribcage. “What?” He asked when Remus took a deep breath and sighed.

“I yelled at her..?

“You yelled at her?..”

“That I’m gay…”

“You...pardon?”

“I thought she was trying to ask me out…” Remus kept trailing off as he spoke, determined to slowly but surely power through this embarrassing tale, holding his wide glossy gaze straight ahead as they walked out into the corridor.

“But she wasn’t?” Sirius offered curiously.

“She just wanted some butterbeer…”

“But not on a date with you?”

“No. I’m not invited to drink butterbeer with her.”

“Why’d you--”

“She chose very confusing wording to lead with, alright? And besides,” Remus finally met Sirius’ eyes, “it’s not like I don’t ever get asked out by people.”

“I wasn’t trying to imply,” Sirius smiled brightly. “I mean, I asked you out myself, didn’t I? What?” His expression clouded over with a confused kind of smile when Remus laughed.

“I wouldn’t exactly call that asking someone out.”

“Well you should look up the definition of asking someone out because that was exactly it!”

“You asked me to help you with homework. Exactly like you’ve done dozens of times before.”

“If not hundreds. But that’s not the point,” Sirius whispered hastily as they were overtaken by a group of Ravenclaw sixth years. “I’m sure it’s nothing compared to whatever Vincent would have done,” he blurted out without thinking.

“Vincent?” Remus repeated that name as if he’d never heard it before, to Sirius’ vague delight. “What’s he got to do with anything?” He was smiling now.

“I don’t know, you seemed pretty fond of him…” Sirius trailed off this time, unsure where he was going. For some reason, all of a sudden, he simply wanted to know that he was more important and special to Remus than the French git -- which was a ridiculous thought, seeing as they’d been inseparable friends for years.

“I think that’s a bit of an overstatement.”

“It is?”

“Are you jealous?” A big smile blossomed over Remus’ mouth as he uttered the question.

“Should I be?” Sirius shrugged nonchalantly as he thought to himself that he was, he absolutely was.

“Sirius.”

“Remus?”

Without another word (albeit with a roll of his eyes), Moony grabbed Sirius’ hand and swiftly dragged him into the nearest classroom - which conveniently happened to be one that they often counted on to be empty, for it hadn’t been used for lessons in at least two years.

Before he could figure out what was happening, Sirius found himself pinned against a cold stone wall. Remus’ left hand traveled up to touch his face, ever so gently, to rest along his jawline, as he kissed him slowly and deliberately. Sirius was dimly aware of Moony’s other hand holding his, their fingers laced through each other loosely, yet without intention to let go. He couldn’t comprehend how he had spent so many years without being kissed by this beautiful boy like that. 

When Remus pulled away slightly, just enough for their foreheads and noses to still touch, Sirius managed to stammer out, “Moony?”

“Mhm?”

“Where...where did you learn to do this?”

Remus recoiled now, a sheepish smile painted across his beautiful, flushed face. “Sod off, Padfoot.” He turned around on his heel.

“No, I’m serious!” The black haired boy followed him out into the corridor, a giddy grin crowning his own features. “Is this how you kiss other people too?”

“I don’t kiss other people, Sirius…” Remus narrowed his eyes ever so slightly when the other boy caught up with him.

“But in the past!”

“Are you...are you retroactively jealous?”

“Only if you have kissed other people like that,” Sirius mumbled, only half jokingly.

“I don’t know, I’ll have to conduct a survey to see what they have to say.”

“Such a tease,” Sirius smirked at his boyfriend. 

He felt so in love and so happy as they walked towards one of the moving staircases. It almost seemed to him as though there had to be a catch to it, as though complete bliss like this wasn’t meant to be free. But whatever the price could be, all he cared about were those green eyes, full of joy and love.

“Oi, Sirius!” James’ voice bellowed over the excited clamour of the hallways. “I’ve been-- Are you two alright?” His demeanor changed instantly when he approached the two boys.

“Yeah, why?” Remus shrugged while Sirius continued to float in the pleasant haze of his own mind.

“Pads is clinging to your arm… Are you hurt?”

“Oh, that,” Remus chuckled and gently peeled Sirius’ fingers off from around his forearm. To Sirius’ own surprise, however, he couldn’t remember how or when his fingers ended up wrapped around it in the first place. “I think I might have broken him…”

“What did you do?” 

“I, er…”

“I’ll tell you later, Prongs,” Sirius finally rejoined the reality and their conversation. “So what about you and Evans?” He asked, foolishly - and very much aware of it - hoping that he could nudge James and his mysterious plan into motion a little faster.

“What do you mean?”

“When are you going to get together?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but haven’t you been telling me to forget about her and get over it at least once a week for the past year?”

“Nonsense! Have you been asking her out lately?”

“No…” James narrowed his eyes.

“You were looking for him?” Remus reminded with a nod towards Sirius.

“Ah, yes… Bad news - Quidditch is postponed until next week.”

“Why?” Sirius attempted to sound somewhat interested in the topic, while in all honesty, he was starting to become impatient about an entirely different thing. 

“There was a break in at one of Hogsmeade shops. The school,” James uttered these words rather contemptuously, “feels it would be unwise to have the overwhelming majority of pupils out in the open grounds so close to a suspected Death Eater attack.”

“How dare the school,” Remus nodded with a solemn expression; a heartwarming attempt at solidarity.

Sirius, in the meantime, was getting lost in his head again. He was thinking about how much he wanted to tell James that Remus kissed him in Hogsmeade. He wanted all his friends to know. And he wanted to hold Remus’ hand all the time and kiss him whenever he wanted. Sneaking around might have sounded exciting in theory, but he didn’t think that now. And not only that - he wanted everyone to know that they were together, he wanted the whole school to see him with Moony and to realise just how much luckier Sirius was than all of them. He wanted all the students to talk about how much they loved each other and what a lovely couple the two made. He wanted the whole staff to be on the lookout for the snogging in the hallways. He wanted to be able to share his intoxicating happiness with everyone and anyone.

* * *

James pushed a couple of second years out of his way as he darted through the portrait hole, into the common room. He threw a half-hearted apology at them, without so much as a glance, as he made a beeline for the far corner of the room, where a collection of old, red velvet clad furniture crowded around the fireplace.

“Why is everyone talking about how Remus Lupin came out as gay in the common room?!” He stopped in front of the boy in question, his hands on his hips, a subconscious mirror of his mother.

“Wh-- Who’s talking about it?” Remus scrunched his nose, his body frozen halfway through a flinch, the book that he had been reading now lying face up in his lap.

“Who’s...he’s asking me who’s…” James muttered bitterly. “My sources, alright?”

“Your sour--”

“Why am I, once again, forced to learn about things like that from other people?!”

“I didn’t--”

“How do you think that makes me look!?”

“I--”

“Makes me look like a bad friend, Remus! Do you think I’m a bad friend?”

“No…”

“Then why wouldn’t you tell me before you start going around telling the whole school?”

“I didn’t--”

“Nevermind that, I have to go send an owl to my parents to stop asking you about girlfriends.”

“Oh, it’s really alright, they’ve only asked a handful of times--” Remus mumbled feebly, obviously very confused by James’ outburst.

“A handful too many!”

“Prongs, it’s hones--”

“They might start pestering you about boyfriends though…”

“That’s...that’s fine with me, James,” Remus smiled brightly out of the blue.

“Hm, I’ll think about it… Either way, I need to ask for more of mum’s flapjack…”

“You do that, James.”

“I hope you didn’t not tell me that you’re gay because you thought I’d do something ridiculous, like disapprove or give a broom riding fuck at all, honestly. Unless you started fancying me...you know my heart belongs to Evans.”

“I know, James,” Remus was positively radiant now.

“Good. Right. I’ll go send that owl then. Jaffa Cakes?” James lingered on the spot.

“That’d be lovely. Send your parents my love.”

“Will do. Sorry for raising my voice,” he added after a moment’s consideration.

“That’s quite alright.”

“Let me know if anyone gives you grief about it.”

“Thanks, James,” Remus beamed at him, at which he nodded and turned around on his heel.

Now that he’d gone through with the confrontation, his mind was catching up with what had happened - he had overheard a handful of Gryffindors talking about Remus and how he had told Suzy McGregor that he’s gay. Of course, James was aware of Remus’ sexuality, he just never talked to him about it - he wanted to give his friend all the time and space he needed rather than force him to come out if he wasn’t ready. And when he heard those kids talking about it, he couldn’t help but feel hurt; hurt that Remus didn’t feel like he could talk to James, perhaps?

And - just like most things James would get riled up about - now it turned out to not be a big deal at all. Once he paused to think about it, James realised that more than anything, he was worried that Remus would feel like he needed to hide his sexuality just like he’d been hiding his lycanthropy. And if that ever turned out to be the case, he silently swore to himself to do anything he could to make Remus feel like he didn’t have to be ashamed about any part of his wonderful existence.

As James was crossing the common room, deep in thought, he almost walked right past Sirius, who had just descended from the dormitories. 

“Were you aware that Remus is, in fact, very much not straight?” James grabbed his arm and pulled him closer. 

“Er…” Sirius briefly stared off across the room before returning his gaze to James’ face. “Vaguely.”

“As in, he’s very much gay.”

“Uh-huh…”

“Did he already tell you!?” James gasped.

“Not exclusively, no.”

“Well? Aren’t you happy about it?!”

“Oh! Yes, very!” Sirius nodded a tad too vigorously.

“Do you not fancy him anymore?” James screwed up his face in confusion. He’d been finding himself growing more and more exasperated lately; he couldn’t figure out why his two friends were being such idiots and was beginning to put more and more stock into Lily and Peter’s plan.

“Oh no, I do. I very much do.”

“Why won’t you just tell him?!” James whispered hotly, gesturing his arms around.

“Oh, you know,” Sirius shrugged, “because we’re friends and all that jazz, I guess.”

“Are you sure you still fancy him?”

“Yes. Aren’t you?”

“You haven’t been whining about him lately.”

“I don’t whine, excuse you,” Sirius puffed out his chest dramatically.

At this, James let out an amused laugh. “Sure. You want to walk to the owlery with me?”

“Uh…” Sirius stared off again. “I needed to talk to Remus, actually. About the study group thing...”

“You know, if the boy doesn’t figure out that the only reason you attend his study groups is so that you could stare at him, then maybe I’ve overestimated his intelligence…”

“How dare you,” Sirius popped his eyes in another facetious gesture. “I care about my education, that’s all.”

“Mhm.” James arched his eyebrows and watched Sirius walking away for a few moments before continuing on his way.

Some thirty minutes later, James was back at the portrait hole, giving the Fat Lady the password, when Lily caught up with him.

“Potter,” she nodded with comical gravitas.

“Evans,” he mirrored her. “Coming back from a Dorks Anonymous meeting?” He cast a glance at the stack of books in her arms.

“Is that your new seduction tactic?” She squeezed past him, through the portrait hole into the common room.

“Is it working?”

Lily opened her mouth, as if about to say something, but then just laughed, melting James’ heart just a tad more.

“Say, have you noticed anything strange about Remus and Sirius?”

“Yes, actually,” she stepped aside, out of the way of people climbing in and out the common room entrance, and turned to James. “I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but they seem to have started acting a lot less...annoying?”

“Yes!” James grabbed Lily’s shoulders excitedly and gave her a light shake. “Sirius hasn’t been whining...at all, really. ”

“And Remus isn’t staring at Sirius with that pining look at mealtimes. In fact, I saw him hand feed Sirius at lunch the other day.”

“I’ve seen Remus braid Sirius’ hair at least three times this week.”

“I’m so confused… Why won’t they just get it over with and get together?”

“You know, I’m starting to think your plan will prove to be a necessity…”

“Oh, interesting.” Lily shuffled her weight on one foot and raised an eyebrow as she shot him a sly smirk. “I seem to remember you calling it a waste of our time.”

“Can’t hurt to try, can it?” James shrugged defensively, trying not to stare at her lips too obviously as he did.

“Well, we’ve just got a couple more weeks before the next Hogsmeade trip. We’ll have to start thinking about how to fake this date,” Lily grimaced.

“I do have feelings, you know. You could at least pretend to not be repulsed by the idea,” James pouted.

“I’m not! That’s not what I mean…”

“I’m just yanking your wand, Evans,” he chuckled and fell into step beside her when she started for their usual corner of the common room. 

Before they even reached their friends, they exchanged very eloquent looks at the sight of Sirius perched up on the armrest of Remus’ chair - they seemed to have formed a new habit of sharing a seat whenever they could get away with it (anytime they weren’t in class).  

“Sirius,” Lily squinted at him, “are you wearing Remus’ sweater vest?..”

James’ eyes darted to Sirius, his face screwing up in a horrible realisation that he had somehow missed that detail up until then.

“This?” Sirius tugged at the hem of it. “Yep.”

“But…” James peered at him. “You always make fun of it. You hate it, don’t you!?”

“Hate it!? Dear Merlin, of course I don’t hate it.”

“I’ve literally heard you describe this exact piece of clothing as a ‘poor shoe shiner child’s uniform’, multiple times.”

“Dragondung, I would never say that.”

“No, actually,” Remus interjected with a very indulgent smirk, lowering his book in his lap, his index finger marking the page, “I too remember you saying those exact words.”

[aion-rsa]

Were Rampage’s Monsters Really Based on King Kong, Godzilla, and The Wolf Man?

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

If the release of Godzilla vs. Kong has you feeling nostalgic for the golden age of giant monsters, you’re not alone. There was a time when it felt like giant monsters ruled TVs and theater screens everywhere. They were even prominently featured in one of the most beloved arcade games of the 1980s: 1986’s “smash-em-up” Rampage.

Actually, there were quite a few years after Rampage‘s release when it remained one of the best ways to live out your giant monster fantasies. Later games would more fully realize the “destroy everything” philosophy that Rampage was built on, but it took a long time for another game to come close to matching (must less surpassing) Rampage‘s simple and satisfying gameplay. For years, it was the best way to let gamers play as Godzilla, King Kong, and even The Wolfman (despite the fact the games didn’t use those names).

But what if I told you that all of those years we spent pretending that Rampage‘s characters were based on some of the most famous monsters in movie history may have been based on a lie? Were two of Rampage‘s main characters really based on the leads of Godzilla vs. Kong? The answer is more complicated than you probably thought…

Yes, Rampage’s George is Based On King Kong

This one probably won’t come as a surprise to anyone, but Rampage’s iconic giant monkey (we know him more fondly as George) is indeed based on King Kong.

“I’m a huge fan of Harryhausen and Willis O’Brien so I made George an ape,” says Rampage designer Brian Colin on the inspiration for the character.

While it seems simple enough to suspect that King Kong was the inspiration for a giant ape wreaking havoc on a city, we’re about to discover that such assumptions are not as simple as they seem. Besides, George isn’t exactly a 1:1 copy of King Kong. Their physical differences are slightly different and George even has an origin story that suggests he was turned into a monster as the result of an experiment with a vitamin gone wrong.

One other interesting thing to note is that the version of George seen in the Rampage movie looks noticeably different than the character’s big-screen inspiration. Well, it turns out that there’s a pretty simple reason for the change.

“We just wanted to separate ourselves from every other monster movie that had ever used a gorilla, King Kong obviously,” said Brad Peyton of the character’s design while also noting that they made him a rare albino gorilla to help explain why The Rock’s character may have felt more of a need to protect him while he was young.

Still, it’s fair to say that those times you imagined you were King Kong when you were playing Rampage were not in vain as the game’s creators were apparently dreaming of the same thing.

Lizzie Isn’t Based On Godzilla but Another Giant Lizard…

While it’s difficult to buy into the idea that Rampage’s Lizzie isn’t actually based on Godzilla given that Godzilla is on the first ballot of any monster Hall of Fame ceremony, Brian Colin has previously revealed that the character was actually inspired by the design of the creature Ymir from the comparatively obscure 1957 Ray Harryhausen monster film, 20 Million Miles to Earth.

It probably sounds wild to think that a giant lizard in a monster game could possibly be a nod to anything but Godzilla, but as you can see in the comparison shot above, it’s hard to deny the design similarities between Ymir and Lizzie.

According to Colin, the decision to base Lizzie more on Ymir than Godzilla can partially be attributed to the logistical issues presented by portraying Godzilla and Kong as physically similar characters in a video game.

“Lizzie had to be a lizard, but she had to fit the same frame and size as George,” says Colin. “There’s no way Godzilla could fit inside that frame! Godzilla smashes buildings but Godzilla, ya know, has an ass the size of Boston! We couldn’t do Godzilla in that game even if we wanted to.”

Considering that some have already pointed out that Godzilla vs. King Kong hardly feels like a fair fight on the basis of their size difference alone, Colin may have been on to something there. 

While this may break some people’s hearts, Colin has also reportedly stated that he was “not a Godzilla fan or a kaiju fan,” which probably made it that much easier to pass up the opportunity to make a game that unofficially stars the legendary monster. Of course, nothing is preventing you from pretending Lizzie is Godzilla as you likely already have been during these years of blissful ignorance.

Ralph Is Based On a Last-Minute Effort to Conserve Memory (With Maybe a Little Wolf Man Thrown In)

Ok, a giant monkey and a giant lizard are obvious enough candidates for a trio of monsters, but what about Ralph? Who is he based on?

The answer to that question is kind of strange, but the first thing you need to know about Ralph is that he’s in Rampage due to some technical shortcomings that required the team to reuse some assets.

“Ralph is Ralph because he’s just George with the head swapped out and a different color palette. That way we could squeeze three monsters into the game without using three times the sprites,” Colin has previously explained.

Well, that makes sense, but why is he a wolf? Some have speculated it’s because Rampage was supposed to be a Universal Studios monster game at some point and that Ralph was going to be based on the Wolfman. However, Colin has previously said that rumor is “hogwash.”

Still, it’s highly likely that the decision to use a wolf as the final creature was at least partially inspired by Colin’s love of classic monster movies and the designs of those creatures. Future Rampage games even make subtle jokes that reference classic werewolf horror films. Besides, there are few giant monster movies that actually star werewolves. 

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Interestingly enough, the only giant monster movie I could find starring a werewolf was the 1983 “fan film” Legendary Giant Beast Wolfman vs. Godzilla (aka Godzilla vs The Wolf Man). While it seems impossible that anyone on the Rampage team was even aware of that film’s existence, it’s interesting to note the design of Ralph is somewhat similar to the design of the wolf in that movie and that it and Rampage seemingly marked the first time anyone showcased a giant wolf and a large lizard on the same screen. 

The post Were Rampage’s Monsters Really Based on King Kong, Godzilla, and The Wolf Man? appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3m7FpcN

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Overgrown Metal

Series Summary -  Almost two decades ago, the fae rose up from beyond the veil with technology far surpassing the human race, quickly taking over after laying waste to nearly everything in their wake. Now eight paths cross to right the wrongs on both ends, working to uncover secrets that would have rather stayed hidden.

Chapter 2 - Camping

Wrapping his cloak tighter around himself, the young man grumbled quietly to himself as he scooted closer to the small fire. Two cans of mini raviolis sat nearby, cracked open slightly and heating up just a foot away from the flames. He let out a quiet curse as his stomach grumbled loudly, making more noise in a couple seconds than he had in a week.

'What the hell is taking you so long?' he thought at his still absent companion. The water of the nearby river was freezing, it shouldn't be taking this long to clean. He would had heard if the other was attacked. Even if the attacker was silent Roman typically wasn't, their overly dramatic battle cries carrying over fields if they so chose them too. Maybe they fell in? Again, he would have heard the yell...unless the shock from the cold rendered them nonverbal. Or something had dragged them in. Maybe while cleaning off their weapons their hand had slipped and they had sliced themself open and was currently bleeding out and he wouldn't know because he was being too stubborn to leave the warmth of the fire. What if they fell and cracked their head open on a rock? What if-

Crunching footsteps interrupting his racing thoughts and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. While he was getting better at not having to check on Roman every few minutes to make sure they were still around, it didn't stop his thoughts from quickly spiraling when the thought of him being alone again filled his head. Roman plopped down beside him having deposited their pack with their other belongings nearby, leaning forward to carefully take the cans away from the fire and depositing one in front of each of them before procuring spoons from God-knows-where but he was hungry so it didn't matter.

He growled low as he snatched the utensil, ripping the lid the rest of the way off and shoveling the ravioli with essence of tin in his mouth regardless of the heat.

"Slow down, dark and stormy gremlin, you're gonna choke!" He didn't even spare a glance at the scandalized face as the last of the sauce was scraped up and eaten in less than a minute.

"Was hungry." He mumbled out, hands disappearing back into the cloak as he burrowed further into its warmth.

The other eyed him fondly. "Honestly, Virgil I can't take you anywhere. I get a spot at the nicest pasta joint in town and this is how you behave? I really can't take you anywhere."

They frowned as they only received a soft huff in response. "Are you alright? I'm sorry I was gone for so long, that oil takes a while to work out in cold water."

Virgil shook his head. "....that."

Catching only half the mumble, Roman set their own empty can down and scooted closer. "Can I ask you to repeat that or is it a signing day?"

Virgil squeezed himself tighter in the fabric and lifted his head up towards the other. Roman's eyes shone with concern even in the dim light of their small campfire, the effect only slightly ruined by the dark curls drying in the humid air making them puff out in a fluffy halo around their head. The image made him smile lightly and duck his head back down to suppress his giggles.

"Hairs messy."

He only giggled harder at the offended gasp. "I'm offering you a damn heart to heart here and I get insulted!" Roman grimaced as they felt what state their hair was in, ruing their days as a traveler if only for the fact that hairstyles were rendered useless on an adventure. They were still bitter over The Great Hairspray Debacle of 2015, having to give the space up in their pack for "actual necessary supplies, Roman".

Virgil's laughter died down as the nervous feeling began to creep back into his thoughts. Roman noticed the sobering mood and sat back slightly, willing to wait for the young nervous wreck to gather his thoughts.

"Town's coming up."

Roman nodded. They knew there was a town with an underground market a few days travel away from the last time they had come through this way. They hadn't had time to stop before, but this time around they needed to empty out their packs of the items that had been piling up for a few weeks now and their supplies were getting low enough that they would have needed to stop to stock up anyway. They gestured for Virgil to continue even though they knew what the source of anxiety was going to be.

"What if..." Virgil growled in frustration as the words stuck in his throat, the rolling anxiety in his stomach and mind making him struggle to not shut down. Long, pale fingers twisted and bunched the fabric around him until with a frustrated huff they darted out and flipped out a quick gesture.

"Recognized?"

Roman nodded in understanding and he sighed in relief. He knew not being able to speak most of the time had to be annoying for his companion but thankfully they never seemed to mind, only waiting patiently for either words to be forced out or hands to jerkedly spell out what little bit of sign language he knew. He made up a lot along the way and most of the time he was able to be understood. With no internet to look up the language, books being a Society privilege and a general distrust of people making it difficult to ask anyone for lessons, even though they never stayed in one place for long, official sign wasn't something either of them were good at.

"That's why we have the cloaks and hoods and even the masks if we feel like we need them. We're pretty far away though, I doubt anyone we would know would be around." Roman took up a stick and poked around the fire a bit, stirring it as the embers began to die down for the night. "Nothing has ever happened at any of the towns we've been in, and I've heard this one is particularly...underground, so to speak. No one who would recognize us would be caught dead near there. We'll go in, sell our parts, grab supplies and get out. Next stop after that will be that abandoned city-town-place wherever that we heard about a while back. It'll be fine, Anx."

Virgil smiled at the old nickname, something Roman had taken to calling him when he refused to reveal his name the first few months they began traveling together. His shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit as the name ironically released some of the pent up anxiety, fingers releasing the cloak and instead splaying on his ripped black jeans to try and wipe off the accumulated sweat.

They both sat in silence for a while after that, watching the fire die down completely as the late evening faded into complete darkness, the clear sky allowing the stars to be on full display with no threat of light pollution to obscure their giddy twinkling. Crickets chirped quietly in the long grass, fireflies answering back their call with lazy winks of light. Even the river was hushed, water seeming to lap quieter at the shore for fear of breaking the rare tranquility the nearby travelers were soaking in.

With the world this soft and still, Virgil could pretend for a moment that this was merely an extended camping trip. Maybe they were on their summer break and were hiking for the fun of it. Tomorrow they could trek through a forest like it was nothing, sunlight streaming through normal tree branches as untouched wildlife teemed around them. All of their gear and supplies could be innocent in nature, the heaviest thing in their packs could be a small camping stove rather than their extensive collection of foreign trading parts. Their supplies were running low, so they'd soon start heading back the way they came, finding their car and laughing at some dumb play argument they had on the way back while they reloaded everything and climbed in the front, laughter turning to more bickering as they fought over what music they'd listen to first. Roman would drive first since Virgil only had his permit and wouldn't feel comfortable taking the wheel until he recognized the roads they were on. They'd get to Virgil's house and it would be coming onto late evening so he'd let Roman stay the night, knowing his dad-

Virgil furiously scrubbed at his eyes, snapping back from his thoughts. His dad wouldn't care of a friend stayed over. He didn't care about anything. He didn't even care when - no. Nope, not tonight. Rubbing absentmindedly at his arms he scooted backwards away from the now dead fire and laid back to watch the sky, Roman following soon after. They didn't say anything as he turned and wrapped himself around the other tightly, for which he was grateful. He smiled as he felt lips touch the top of his head and careful arms lay themselves across his back. Surrounded by safety and warmth it wasn't hard for sleep to find him.

-------

".....an."

"Come on, Ro....."

"Princey, get up!"

Roman shot up, blinking rapidly to clear the lingering sleep from their eyes and shaking their head to try and whip the tangled curls away. Glaring in response to their brothers shit-eating grin, they settled for flipping him off while they rubbed at their eyes, getting a water bottle thrown at them in retaliation.

"Too early." They mumbled as they fumbled with the lid.

Virgil laughed. "Try again, Sleeping Ugly, it's almost noon. I've had camp packed up for hours now."

Offended at the nickname but grinning nonetheless, they downed half the bottle in one go and dragged their pack over lazily. Virgil was always the early riser in their party of two, despite the late nights he often kept as a sleeping schedule. Roman however, was happy to spend the day hitting the metaphorical snooze button unless they had actual plans. Which, unless another Mech Beast was spotted this close to a town, which was highly unlikely, this was supposed to be a day of resting.

Looking over at the other however, their irritation softened as the ball of anxious energy went from task to already done task trying to keep himself busy. Though it seemed he'd be more talkative today than he had been that didn't mean his nerves weren't soaring to the sky with how close they were to people again. They knew they should both take a break today, but if moving would help...

Mind made up they stood, swinging the pack around to rest on their shoulder and picking up another to carry first for the time being. Different pieces of metal and containers holding strange substances clanked together inside, securely wrapped in paper and fabric to prevent them from breaking or getting scratched. They'd make Virgil carry it later on but they figured since they got extra sleep it would only be fair to carry the heavier pack first.

Trying one last time to fix their hair back into a reasonable shape Roman turned towards Virgil with a smile.

"Ready?"

Hoisting up his own pack he nodded and kicked at the already severely scuffed dirt, rising up on his tip toes as he began to walk.

"As I'll ever be."

This work is also available on AO3!

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[eightlittletalons]

Prompt #5: Matter-of-fact

Here we go, 5th prompt for FFxivWrite2020! 

Definition of matter-of-fact 1: adhering to the unembellished facts also: being plain, straightforward, or unemotional

“Is it true that you’ve trained in the arts of the bards?”

It was a lazy morning within the dimly lit room in the Pendants, the only sunlight filtering through the shuttered window. The Warrior of Darkness and Crystal Exarch had put aside their mantles for a quiet moment and simply basked in the joy of one another’s company.

“How do you know about that?” E’andhris asked, lifting his head to gaze at G’raha. The smaller miqo’te lay on his stomach, nestled against the Warrior’s warm side with his chin propped up by his spoken hand. His crystalline arm lay draped haphazardly across the hero’s bare chest. 

“I once read of some reports from the liberation of Doma and Ala Mhigo of those who witnessed you wielding bow and song,” G’raha softly explained, dancing cold, smooth fingers down E’andhris’ ribs. “Though I confess to being surprised. I’ve never seen you with bow or quiver in hand.”

The Warrior’s abdominal muscles jumped under the caress, and he bit back a laugh against the ticklish sensation. He lifted an indolent hand to undo G’raha’s braid, then fanned the hair out across his shoulders. “It’s more or less something that I dabble in,” he breathed, his eyes soft and very warm. “The life I’ve led in recent years doesn’t grant me as much time as I’d like to hone other skills than the ones I’m most known for - white magic, primarily.”

“Had you already begun to learn when we first met? If you’d asked, I could have given you some pointers,” G’raha pressed. He pushed himself into a sitting position, eager to learn more about the man his life revolved around for so long. That eagerness turned to pure excitement when E’andhris’ gaze slid to the side with a shy look. He gripped the hand that had been petting through his hair fiercely. “Andhris, I vow to you that I would never tease you, whatever it is.” 

E’andhris pulled his hand carefully away to cup G’raha’s cheek as he rose to sit as well, bunting his forehead against the Exarch’s affectionately. “There was a summer,” he began, with a sly look. “Shortly after I first began to come to fame, that I spent with an eccentric young researcher from Sharlayan. He was an impressive shot and told the most intriguing stories of Allag, though I admit half the time I didn’t know what he was talking about. I suppose you could say that he was my inspiration for taking up the bow.”

G’raha’s eyes widened and he felt the burn of a blush spread across his cheeks and down his neck, staining his freckled shoulders. E’andhris’ matter-of-fact way of speaking rendered him speechless, and he bent to hide his face against the taller seeker’s shoulder. “Ah, but I haven’t progressed very far. If your invitation for lessons still stands, I would happily take you up on it,” the Warrior said inn a hopeful tone, rubbing a comforting hand across G’raha’s back. 

“It’s been many years since I last held a bow, I’m afraid,” G’raha admitted, sitting upright again with a soft exhale to center himself. He brushed his fringe back from his eyes before rubbing his crystal arm in a self-conscious gesture. “I don’t know how much I’ve retained. As you are well aware, I’ve shifted to focus more on the magicks that the Crystal Tower allows me and more direct forms of combat.”

E’andhris’ smile was nigh blinding in its intensity. “There’s no shield I’d rather trust to guard my flank,” he declared proudly, leaning in to kiss G’raha’s forehead.

The Exarch went deathly still, his brain turning to pure static. He faintly felt his face explode with heat, and his crystal hand grabbed onto E’andhris’ bicep like a lifeline to steady himself. “Might I ask...” he began, clearing his throat twice when his voice came out a croak. He searched around the room for something to focus on, and found his eyes drawn to naught but the Warrior’s boundless skin. He cleared his throat a third time and settled for staring at the wall behind and slightly above E’andhris’ head. “What does this mean for us?”

“What would you like for it to mean?” E’andhris sounded so patient, but the counter-question made G’raha whine softly in his throat. His spoken hand fisted in the mussed sheets and he released the Warrior as if scalded. 

”I...! I can hardly ask more of you than you’ve already give, Andhris!” he exclaimed, ears pinned and tail thrashing. “Everything I’ve put you through, everything you must yet go through before we find out friends safely home-”

He was silenced by a single finger pressing softly against his lips. E’andhris tilted his head with an indulgent smile, the one G’raha was finding was reserved for him, and his pointer caressed slow and heavy across his bottom lip. An intense look within his eyes belied the tenderness of his expression and the Exarch shuddered. He felt pinned in place. “May I kiss you, Raha?”

With a desperate sound, G’raha grasped E’andhris by the back of his neck and pulled. Their lips crashed together, clumsy but perfect, with teeth clinking hard. E’andhris threaded his fingers through G’raha’s hair then closed his hand into a fist, tugging hard enough to make the other miqo’te whimper. Then he fell back onto the bed, pulling G’raha down on top of him with a low growl.

[snoopdoggkun]

Taiyuu Round 1

Popi was not living her best life. A woman screamed in her ear for a whole thirty minutes, it was hot out, and honestly she just wanted to take a nap. She figured that she would be able to return home and play with the rats that live in the walls soon, but alas, fate has never been kind to Popi. So here she stood, standing in front of a black haired girl. Popi’s face was lazy and tired, while the other’s was determined. No way was Zoe going to let down her friends and family by losing to some weirdo.

“I’m not going to lose, so good luck,” Zoe boomed through the thick air that seemed to only surround her. Popi only hummed at the threat, gotta be calm, cool, and collected, right? Before she could think, a blur darted towards her. Luckily, Popi bent her back, causing Zoe’s hand to fly right above her and scrape her nose. Both were on opposite ends now, Popi now in full fighting stance. Wasting no time, the grey haired girl bolted to the offender. Her arm aimed for Zoe’s shoulder, only for the latter to move back slightly. The black haired girl held onto the other’s shoulder, successfully pinning her down.

Now Popi was in a bit of a predicament. Her arms were held down onto the mat, rendering her quirk useless. At times like these, she’d usually give up, and she was seriously considering it. Yet that blonde’s face flashed before her eyes once again. Like a scar that never vanishes, or rather a cut that never heals. Saki Minori, the girl who had tore Popi apart, cut her pride, made her mother upset. She remembered why she was here; to get powerful. To destroy anything and everything that bothers her; to kill Saki Minori.

Popi found the ambition that brought her here once again; the need and thirst to kill. She wasn’t going to lose; no, not today. She opted to use her legs to get her out of this vulnerable position. She pushed the two limbs into Zoe’s ribs, knocking her off. The dark haired girl was slung off to the side, seething at the pain that was heavy in her chest. Zoe stumbled back into a fighting position and torpedoed towards her target.

Popi moved herself back into a stance as well, but her body was heavy. Everything was heavy. Her thoughts were like slow moving silk, falling lazily into place a moment later. Her mismatched hues became cloudy and itchy, a foggy pool. Where was she again? What was she doing? Oh, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that this mat is looking like a pretty nice place to sleep for the next 100 years. Wolfsboon eyed his very obviously losing student in disappointment. It had been, what, five minutes since the fight started? And his student was already losing? He scoffed to himself, shaking his head at the already deemed ‘Failure Child.’

Popi collapsed with a thud. A smile streaked across Zoe’s face in triumph. She took no pleasure in seeing a fellow hero in the making injured, however, and trotted over to make sure Popi was alright. If too much energy is taken, she could end up immobile for at least a couple of hours, and that’s no good. Once reaching the form that laid on the ground, Zoe dipped her head down, “looks like I got a little ahead of myself,” she scratches the back of her neck awkwardly, “thanks for letting me borrow your ener-,” before she could finish the sentence, she felt a cold hand clasp around her wrist, squeezing tightly. A wicked smile adorned Popi’s features, her empty eyes bore into red ones. The latter didn’t really have time to decide what she was going to switch, so she just hoped for the best. Luckily, a wild amount of energy sputtered from Zoe’s right hand, unleashing a mini explosion. The two were flung by the impact, creating a distance. Other than a few bruises, Popi was more or less fine, but her opponent was not doing so hot. She had lost nearly all of the energy she had been storing as well as taking from Popi as the fight went on.

Zoe’s body was stiff, yet similar to jello at the same time. Her knees were too wobbly to work and her chest hurt from the fall as well as Popi’s earlier attack. She mustered up all of the energy she had left, knowing this wouldn’t be any good for her body, but if it meant that she might be able to take down her opponent she’d take the risk. A makeshift dagger flew from her fingertips aiming straight for Popi. It might’ve killed her if she hadn’t moved away at the last second. Now thoroughly annoyed and cranky, Popi was ready to get this over with. The other girl was basically dead, she couldn’t move. Popi staggered over to the figure on the ground. Zoe struggled to push her head up. She almost accomplished too, but Popi had kicked her back down to the ground.

“Looks like I got a little ahead of myself,” she mimicked, poison dripping from her tongue. Her cold hand clamped around the back of Zoe’s head as she activated her quirk. The fight was over. The black haired girl could no longer move, not even courage could break her from this spell.

Laccadaisy shot out from her seat, cheering, “and we have a winner!” She held up Popi’s hand, like they do in movies. It was pretty dramatic, but Popi kind of enjoyed it. The girl was content with all that had happened, despite her injuries. Suzuki Popi was one step closer to her goal, one step closer to her dream.

@taiyuu-high-oct

[danowsawawrites]

'The Scales That Bind’ - A Breath of the Wild Fanfiction

Chapter 2: Give & Take

As the wagon wheeled along the magnificent bridge that crossed atop the mighty waterfalls of Zorana, Lall made sure to keep his head down and his eyes up, still skeptical of this place and its people. He turned to his cousin, whose body was shivering worriedly as he pushed himself tight against the back of his seat, eyes wide open, clutching the one invoice they had left to his chest as though he were deathly afraid. Lall's lips curled up humorously as he peered over the edge of the bridge, shaking his head with bemusement.

"You're never supposed to look down!" Lall grinned.

Jarrol turned his head toward him slowly, one wrong move sure to send him to his demise, "E-Easy for you to say, c-cousin! You kn-know I'm not one for adven-ture!"

"What adventure?" Lall shook his head dismissively, "We're just going from point A to B, on business no less. Rather boring if you ask me."

Having never left his small village along the plains of Hyrule, nor his job as a apothecary, Jarrol was nonetheless shaken by the foreign feeling of being high above seemingly bottomless pits of roaring waters, his cousins assurances doing little to calm him. He'd always been far more comfortable at a desk than out in the wilderness, where there were troubles that elixirs could not mend.

"Still," Lall grimly muttered, "I'd keep an eye out."

He checked his bodyguard, making sure he wasn't about to be subjected to some malice, though Link merely continued walking, almost as if not hearing the two of them at all. Lall's lips curled downward as he leaned back into place, shaking his head as he started understanding, perhaps, this bodyguard's intentions in coming along.

"Ohhhhh…" Jarrol moaned sickly, wavering queezily as his squinted eyes peered up toward the heavens, noticing the dull sky above, "They're even content with living beneath all these mountains- they hope to steal the sun away from me as well…"

He shivered as he returned his attention to the bridge ahead of them, his eyes shooting open as a small, blue-bodied creature scampered their way, Jarrol's body instinctively falling against the back of his seat as though having been confronted with a wild boar. The Zora child's feet sent a rhythmic pitter-patter into the air as he slowed his run, his eyes widening as well at the sight of strangers. He slowed to a walk, with only his head raising to follow the eyes of the human watching him, the Zora's mouth gaping open in awe of the sight, despite the Hylian's perceived fright.

In a split second, the Zora child grinned before raising his arms and ejecting a childishly loud, "Rawr!"

"AH!" Jarrol shouted, jumping back against his cousin, who only burst into laughter at the sight.

The child snickered before breaking into a run once again, skittering along the bridge back toward the mainland where the wagon had previously come from, Jarrol sliding back into his seat as he clutched his chest, breathing deeply, "Was it your sister's intention to have me killed?!"

Lall chuckled heartily, "One can't know such things, dear cousin. Please, though; if you might embarrass us once we arrive, cover yourself with a shawl or something- we're more or less representing Hylia itself with how little these people interact outside their borders. If they think we all scare as easily as you, who knows what might come of it."

"Oh, yeah," Jarrol nodded sarcastically, wrapping himself in the shawl beside him anyway, "The creatures who live hidden from the sun most certainly want our lands. You know how much of my business comes from shipping out that jelly Zora's use to cover themselves with? I have no financial reason to want people ill, that's for sure."

Lall threw his head over his shoulder, examining their wagon-load of supplies, "You didn't happen to bring any with us, did you?"

"One or two cartons," Jarrol explained, "I figured I might could sell some while we were here. Why?"

Lall chuckled, "Just on the off chance we're bartering for our lives, it'd be nice to have stock of something they'd want."

Jarrol buried his face beneath the shawl so as to hide his expression, though Lall smirked at what he could still see of his cousin's shaking head, "You're the worst, cousin…"

Turning to his bodyguard, Lall spoke up, "It's all in fun, good sir, I assure you."

Link did little more than nod.

"Well, we're coming up on the main landing of Zora's Domain," Lall explained, reaching down for the invoice that remained desperately clutched within his cousin's hand, "You said you'd done this before?"

"Yes," Link answered, distantly, "They know me well here."

Lall nodded, "Alright, I'll hold you to that, then. I apologize if I'm unfamiliar with their customs."

Link turned a blank face up toward him, "Just don't stare too long and you'll do just fine. They aren't able to wear much clothing because of their skin, so they're wary of outsiders doing such things."

"I didn't- Ah, that explains earlier," Lall confirmed, stroking his light beard.

Link's face remained unchanged, "They'd do much worse than me."

As he finished, Link's gait increased as he approached the guards who'd already been alerted to their guest's appearance. Lall smoothed out the invoice before yanking at his horse's reins, slowing them to a stop as Link and the guard approached him, Lall catching only the latter part of their conversation.

"-and I can leave them in your care?" Link finished.

The Zoran guard nodded, though Lall spoke up, "H-Hey! I thought I hired you to-"

"You didn't hire me," Link muttered, interrupting him, before turning to leave further into the Domain, "Tovar here will ensure your safety."

Lall went slightly pale at the mention of the tall Zoran guard who nodded at being mentioned, "Okay, well- Here's the invoice. The King wanted to make sure you were all well considered when it came to this last harvest- such a major surplus that hadn't been seen in years, apparently."

Tovar nodded as he ran his eyes down the list, "Alright. and what's that contraption beside you?"

Lall turned to find his cousin, still hidden, shaking up a storm as he sat there.

"It looks like it's about to explode or something…" Tovar muttered suspiciously, leaving Lall to frown unhappily.

He reached an arm around his cousin's shoulders and pulled him against him, "Not at all- this is Jarrol, my cousin! He's just, uh… Well, he's considerately placed himself beneath this fabric here, it seems."

"Uh huh," Tovar nodded slowly, "You won't take offence if I should keep an eye on you, correct?"

"Not at all!" Lall exclaimed, "Your home, your rules."

Tovar gave a final nod before turning back, waving the wagon along as Lall slapped at his horses, signaling them to move along, hearing Tovar's voice above the clopping of hooves atop the pristine platform they trailed upon, "Good to see you've arrived in due time. My liege has prepared a return shipment of the finest sea life for you to return with- I'd hate for it to go bad on your way back."

"O-Oh," Lall replied, unsurely, "Not- Not at all; I'd hate for that as well…"

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Atop one of the Domain's sleekly ascendant pathways, two crimson legs dangled above the rest of this place, gently rocking back and forth, both pairs of toes daintily pulling in and out in a rhythmic sort of pattern, in time with the gently high humming from above where Lady Mipha's head swayed, side to side, her eyes listlessly staring down at the book in her hands. She had a pencil cupped between the book and her hand, mulling around words in her mind as she hummed musically to herself, recalling a tune her mother would often sing when she'd been taken to the peaks of Zorana to bathe in the sun, an activity that would often render her sleepily lazy as she curled up atop one of the rocks she'd decided to warm herself in. Her mother would stay by her side, keeping watch, and lulling her child through endless dreams.

Mipha would often hum this tune at times of distress or depression, often using it as a means to calm herself, quelling much anything that found her heart in need of comfort or assurance. In this case, her birthday was barely days away, yet there were two people absent from the festivities that would soon take hold of the Domain. It might not have been her first birthday without her mother, yet it still tugged on her heart whenever any big event would take place- her mother was often the fairest and most grand of all the Zora, and her absence was sorely noticed by all, particularly her family.

She pulled her pencil to the page, her lips pulling to one side in bitterness as she finished her thought, "…at least my dearest brother hasn't known this sorrow."

Sighing gently, she closed her diary, putting it off to one side as she reached her arms behind her, reclining slightly as she stared up toward Polymus Mountain, thinking of her younger days that seemed so far away now. Inevitably, those memories would nearly always include the other person whose absence she greatly missed- that of the warrior boy, Link, she'd first admired as a child and had grown to love as he'd grown older.

Her lips curled upward in a gently mischievous grin as she recalled the days before that first arrival of his where she'd fallen in love with him. She was presumed to be wedded to a rather prestigious Zora, and although she hadn't many qualms about this arrangement, she recalled the rationale that tortured her in those days before she saw that Hylian again.

"If he's taller than me this time…" she mused to herself, laughing as light as a Princess might be expected to sound in politeness, "…only then will I allow my heart to be his."

Of course, as soon as she'd found out about this particular development, she hastily, yet delicately, removed herself from her original suitor; though, to be in love with a Hylian, while not principle frowned upon, it was all but unheard of when it came to Zoran royalty. The two would go on to be perceived as good, strong friends, yet behind the scenes, the two had grown far closer.

It was due to this that Mipha's heart fell this day, nearing her birthday without her dear knight. That grin from earlier dissolved, following her eyes' lead as her brow furrowed in sadness, thinking of Link with a wistful heart.

She turned to reach for her diary, her heart nearly pouring sadly from within her, though her hand was met with nothing but the metallic sheen of the Domain's staging, her head slightly turning to allow her eyes a chance to find her book, though in a split second, they jumped up toward the man standing nearby, leaning against one of the platform's spires with his hands in his pockets, a knowing smile shown beneath his golden hair.

"I wouldn't let your height dictate my love for you," Link spoke, shrugging boyishly, referring to the gentle words that had managed to leave Mipha's lips just moments earlier.

Her eyes broke open with a blinding speed as she hopped onto her feet, leaping across the platform to eliminate their distance, the two of them embracing the other tightly, with Mipha's adoration breaking free of her throat, "Link! You made it!"

"Of course I did," he smiled, running his arm up and down her sleek back, "I just needed a reason to get away from my King's direction- he's been pretty strict about getting everybody ready and willing after that Akkalan thing. I caught wind of a shipment coming this way, so I made myself its bodyguard, and here I am, right on time."

Mipha's head pulled away, though their arms remained wrapped around one another, "A shipment? Will you be here for three days?"

Shrugging, Link answered, "I'll come up with something to stall for time. They don't seem like two guys who'll shy away from a festival, so maybe they'll just hang around. I'll give your father my word of their trustworthiness."

Content with his explanation, Mipha rushed to bury her face into the crick of his shoulder once again, too hasty to catch her head brushing against Link's neck, causing his body to shiver as his knees dipped, his head falling against her as he spoke up through a ticklish gasp of chuckles, "Ah, cold as always."

Shocked, Mipha pulled away, though Link's arms prevented her from doing so, her face quickly opening in fright, "S-Sorry! I didn't mean to-!"

"It's fine, it's fine," Link assured, pulling her closer, "I was just surprised, is all. It hasn't stopped us from holding one another before, has it?"

Mipha frowned, "Someone might think you'd get smart and find somebody who conflicts less with your biology."

Link's head fell closer to her's, their eyes meeting as he spoke, "You have a heart, just like me. That's all I need to know. That, and I know you can handle polearms better than anybody in this world; I know you can protect yourself. What makes you think I would have continued coming here if not for-"

As he spoke, Mipha's face had slowly turned and pressed itself against his chest, her grip around him tightening at his attempts at flattery. Link paused and merely held her, silently, continuing to rub her back with his arm, his thumb zig-zagging along her side as it went. A gently hum escaped Mipha as she remained that way, Link's warmth fully encompassing her in this way, her body readily accepting his offer.

"I love your warmth…" she murmured almost sleepily, "I missed it so much."

Link could only smile, "I kind of missed sharing it, to be honest."

Her eyes opened into narrow slits, peering off into the distance as she now pressed her cheek into his chest, "It's not as warm as the sun, but…it's different. Something you can't get from any Zora."

With nothing in the way of a reply to such a statement, all Link could offer was a quick kiss atop her sleek head, simply allowing her to take from him the warmth he was all too ready to share with her. It was something in the way of the physical that the two could partake in, and as such, it was something they both, especially Mipha, enjoyed.

[movedyourchair505]

Napule Nights - quarantotto

First of all, bit of a smut warning. Second of all, thanks to Elana 👻💕

- chapter navigation -

x

There was a shiver that shook his body awake, his eyes snapping open and he hardly even had the energy to move, to do anything, tempted to just accept his fate when he saw a rotation from the corner of his eye that had grown unfamiliar, his blurry vision focusing on the ceiling fan that spun slowly, blinking the sleep out of his eyes and realising that there was nothing to accept, no one lurking around the corner to inflict more pain on him, but instead, he slowly grew aware of the warmth that hadn't been there before, deprived of something he so desperately craved night after night.

He drew the covers down slightly, wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm, hissing as he brushed against one of the cuts, yet biting down harshly on his lip to drown out the sound. Her body was curved into his, her long dark hair cascading down her shoulders and forming soft patterns between them on the pillow, his hand reaching out instantly, carefully to not touch the branded letters on his arm, brushing her hair to the side and pressing a lazy kiss to her shoulder as she shifted backwards and came closer to him, his arm then looping possessively around her to pull her closer, hardly paying attention the pain his own movements caused him.

Before he could implement his plans, he heard her breathe out gently, her body tensing and then relaxing again when she realised he was right there, he was okay, held her closer, his hand pressed to her abdomen, searching for the first inch of open fabric he could reach to get access to her bare skin, making her gasp when his hand moved easily to part her legs before she had even properly woken up. Her scent was too much for him, yet he couldn't get enough, desperate for more.

“Alexander...” she whispered, her tone scolding while her body betrayed her, curving her body right into his touch, his wrist disappearing beneath the flimsy material of her peach-coloured playsuit, no underwear underneath to interfere with his plans and she gasped, his calloused fingertips coming in contact with her clit once he'd properly spread her legs. “A-Are you-...”

“Yeh kno' yeh want meh...” he drawled, surprised by the strength in his voice, yet instantly ready to use it to his advantage, his lips pressed to her shoulder again as he started drawing slow circles on her clit. “Doll, dun't fookin' stop meh...”

She breathed out shakily, instantly desperate for more of him while simultaneously trying her hardest to resist, but it was to no avail. Her body moved into his touch, had him chuckling with satisfaction and she was careful to not move too much, to keep her distance so she wouldn't hurt him but as soon as he caught on, he pressed his thumb down hard on her clit, drew her in until she could feel him hard against her ass, his fingers sliding inside her without warning, filling her slowly, stretching her, the feeling so familiar, but she'd missed him so much, had at times thought she'd never have him again and now, she was so grateful, she didn't find it in herself to stop him, she wanted him badly and she knew that even if she'd wanted to try and stop him, there was no stopping him now.

He curled his fingers inside her, pushed his thumb against her clit and she whimpered, a soft mewl escaping her lips and she pressed her face into the pillow, her fingers clenching into fists. “Fookin'ell, Jade...” he whispered, his pain forgotten for the moment. He was so drunk on her, on the way she was already submitting to him in a way he'd missed more than anything, and he couldn't get enough, not when she was giving him everything he'd dreamt of. He felt her walls fluttering around his fingers, tight and squeezing them, her body shaking. “Can't take a few strokes of me fingers anehmore?” He teased.

Her face was flushed red, her hand gripping on to his abruptly when he buried his fingers deep inside her, curling them once again to hit the spongy spot that made her body tremble in his arms. “A-Alex...” she whined, the way he was already dominating her effortlessly with a few flicks of his fingers and only a few words overwhelming. “P-Please don't tease me...”

The movements of his fingers stilled and he inhaled deeply, shuffling closer to her, ignoring the pain that shot through his chest. “I asked yeh summat...”

His lips were so close to hear ear, his breath tickling her skin, his scent so comforting and familiar that it was like he'd never left her, had never left her worried as well as unsatisfied for several days. “I-I haven't-...”

A dark chuckle, another stroke of his fingers and she'd reignited a fire she knew would only grow now, a flame within him she never wanted to fade. “Yeh 'aven't wha'?” He drawled. “For a fookin' week?”

She breathed out shakily, was surprised by herself when she admitted it out loud, when he spoke the words for her, immensely satisfied with the way she curved her body into him, bucked her hips into his touch. “N-No...”

“Oh, Jade...” he drawled, moving his thumb to start pressing into her clit over and over again, harsher each time in a way that he knew would make it impossible for her to respond, her little gasps of pleasure, the shudder washing over her body, he wasn't looking for her to reply, only to torment her further. “Been waitin' for meh, 'ave yeh? Oh, doll, I can't believe tha'...” His fingers were moving faster inside her now, well-aware that he couldn't push it much longer, that he would have her crying in his arms within mere seconds. “Yehr cunt's been empteh all this time, yeh?” He teased, deepening his voice as he continued. “Yeh fookin' need meh, dun't yeh?”

“Alexander...”

He curled his finger harshly inside her. “Talk teh meh, pupa...” He rasped weakly, yet determined to have her bend to his will once again. “D'yeh miss me touch? Me voice?”

She cried out quietly, didn't find it in herself to disobey because she'd waited for so long, knew he would draw this out if she provoked him, would get angry and she couldn't hold on any longer, he'd pushed her to the edge within seconds. And she'd missed everything about him. “I-I need you” she cried. “Needed you all this time...”

He hummed, yet found himself less satisfied than he would have expected, his movements ceasing once again. “Jade, dun't yeh dare obey meh so I stop...”

She whimpered, cursing herself as her plan backfired, but she was worried beyond anything she had ever felt while she also wanted him desperately, didn't find it in herself to disobey him, even though she should have known it's what he craved. “A-Alexander, I just … n-need you s-so bad” she whispered. “P-Please...”

“As soon as I properleh can, I'll fook yeh up, Jade...” He groaned, his drawl as much of a promise as it was a threat. He couldn't resist her, abandoning his game, despite her ulterior motives knew she needed him, it was enough for now to know how desperately, and he nudged his thumb hard against her clit, his fingers stretching her with each stroke, curling inside her over and over again until he had her shaking in his arms. “Dun't yeh worreh 'bout meh now, doll...” he whispered. “Wha'ever yeh need, I'll give it t'yeh...” His lips were pressed to her shoulder, his breath ghosting across her skin as he chanted his promises. “Dun't matter wha' yeh need, doll, I'm 'ome now...”

“A-Al-...”

He groaned, focused entirely on the way she moved, smelled, sounded. “Cum for meh.”

She whined softly, her body shaking with pleasure as he buried his fingers deep inside her, toying with her clit to coax her through her orgasm, holding her as close as he could as she came down, breathing heavily, soft whimpers falling from her lips each time he nudged his thumb into her clit again, just to tease her, to savor the control he had over her.

“Mmm, I kno', doll...” he whispered. “Been neglected, darlin', I'm sorreh...” There was a deep sense of pride in his voice, he'd hardly been able to rest knowing he hadn't given her anything back after the night before, and before she could recover, regain her breath and compose herself, she already felt him pulling the fabric of her playsuit to the side to expose her, spreading her legs apart once again and she gasped when she felt the tip of his cock against her folds.

She shuddered, the strength and will power to stop him fading instantly. She'd missed him too much, her lips parting in a desperate cry when he filled her, stretched her walls, the friction, the searing burn of pleasure taking over, his fingers starting to rub lazily at her clit again, his other arm now finding its way around her, holding her down as soon as she attempted to move, take a little bit of control from him so he could save his energy, but there was no way he was letting her to this now and he started moving his hips slowly, pleased with the way she cried his name, the way her body shook more the deeper he pushed himself inside her, stroked at her burning walls, feeling her get wetter each time their hips collided, each time he spoke softly into her ear, his voice gentle, yet so deep, promising her all the things he'd do once he'd properly recovered.

The way she enveloped him felt heavenly, a bliss he'd been so afraid of being denied and he knew he wouldn't last long, was overwhelmed by how she felt, how he knocked her breath from her throat when he pushed inside her hard, disregarding the way his hips were aching, the way his wounds were brushing against the sheets, against her skin, none of it mattered, he just needed her closer, needed her harder, contemplating for a moment to let her take control to satiate both their urges but he insisted instead, had to take her his way, reveling in the way her walls squeezed him, the way she cried and gripped the sheets.

“Missed me cock, did yeh, pupa?”

His voice was going to kill her, she'd missed him desperately, missed the way he held her, spoke to her, fucked her, had the power to render her speechless, to evoke a bliss within her that only he and he alone was capable of. “S-So much...” she whispered, regretting for a moment that she hadn't forced him to rest, but she knew it was no use now, now that he knew how desperate she was for him, he wouldn't cave the way he had the previous night and he was taking her so good, so hard, she couldn't resist, whining, losing control of her body, her words once again. “Thank y-you...”

“Thaa's reyht, pupa...” he drawled, the way she whined, sobbed for him as he started pushing his hips into hers harder, as hard as his strength allowed him at the moment.

“Alexander...” she cried, fresh tears pearling down her cheeks and she resisted gripping his arms and moving back against him too much but he was doing it all himself, felt even stronger because against all odds he refused to hold back, refused to give her anything less than his all.

“I missed yeh so fookin' mooch, darlin', fookin' cum wif meh...” he grunted, his breathing heavy, his hips snapping into hers one more time, his thumb flicking her clit and she fell apart in his arms, her body tensing, then shaking as her orgasm washed over her, dragging him over the edge with her.

She felt him twitch inside her as the friction between her legs, their connection burned and set her alight, had her whining his name, chanting it repeatedly until she calmed down again, panting and shaking in his arms, the aftershocks as the movements of his hips slowed heavenly, blissful, her eyes shut tightly.

He lay with his arms wound tightly around her, breathing shakily when she shifted to the side so he slipped out of her, smiling with satisfaction as he heard her whimper and she turned around to face him, stroking his hair from his face that had fallen into his eyes and he tilted into her touch needily.

“Alexander Turner” she sighed. “You are too fucking much.”

He chuckled weakly, wiggling his eyebrows. “Jade, principessa...” He drawled.

“No” she cut him off, shaking her head. “Don't distract me. Yes, you fucked me good. But do me a favour, let me take you to see a doctor.”

“Jade, I 'ave teh fookin' call a meetin'.”

Her eyes widened, her mind torn as she regretted letting him make her so weak while still reveling in the afterglow. “Alexander, you can't” she said. “You're not fit for work now...”

“I'm Alexander Turner” he said, stretching his jaw slightly, shutting his eyes when he felt a surge of pain. “I … fookin' 'ave teh go. We 'ave teh act now.”

There was a determination in his eyes, a spark she had seldom seen and her lips parted slightly, a slow blink and she leaned closer to him, her gaze softening. “You have a plan.”

Less than an hour later, Helders opened the door for them to enter the headquarters. Jade had insisted on Alexander letting her at least clean his wounds again, helping him get dressed and he was now wearing the most comfortable shirt she'd been able to find, baby blue and cotton, a suit that was as loose as he'd have allowed, yet still too tight for Jade's worries. But she'd tended to his wounds best she could, and as she walked alongside him, sat beside him in the conference room, her tight blue dress matching him, she'd never been more attracted him.

He stood confidently addressing the men around him, conferred with Serena sat on his other side and acting like nothing had ever knocked him down, like he'd never been stronger despite the wounds underneath his clothes, despite the branding, now not allowing it to tear at his ego, to even allowing his confidence the slightest crumble, his hair slicked back, his face tense, determined, Jade by his side. There was nothing that could stop him now, and it showed as he oozed a sense of confidence that was indestructible, radiating determination, authority and limitless power.

There wasn't the slightest bit of hesitation now, as if he'd not missed a second, he assigned tasks, arranged duties, set everything in place, announcing that he would fill everyone in on his final plan as soon as he had figured it all out, ending the meeting with a minute of silence for the member of security that had given his life protecting him.

Upon exiting the office, his arm swung around Jade for support as well as possessiveness, he paused by the door when he saw Miles, took his hand thankfully when he offered it instead of a hug, as careful as it might have been, and squeezed it.

“Ya alreyht, yeh, mate?” He drawled, looking from Alex to Jade. “Two of ya are alreyht?”

Jade nodded, smiling, physically ached to be closer to Alexander next to her, yet knowing if she couldn't drag him to see a medical professional, she had to at least watch him and make sure he rested as much as he would accept, to make sure no one made his wounds worse, especially not her.

But before she could properly reassure Kane, Helders and Cook were walking ahead, meant to have her and Alexander follow them and she promised Miles to have lunch with him the next day, then hurried with Alexander to follow his security, back out of the building again and into the car.

“Alexander, where are we going?”

He lifted his head from her shoulder, rolling it to the side as he looked at her while they drove, practically flew through the streets with the city rushing by. “Me parents' place” he said, his eyes wide as he blinked back at her.

Jade tensed, remembered the last time she'd met them but telling herself that was going to be okay now, that she'd helped getting him back, that he'd forgiven her, seen she hadn't really betrayed him, that she still had him by her side. “And you want me there?”

His eyes widened. “Dun't beh fookin' ridiculous, Jade” he said, shaking his head slightly, a quiet hiss following when he moved his neck too much.

“Will you fucking sit still? If you refuse to see a doctor just fucking rest.”

He sighed, letting his shoulders slump and relaxing against her once again, all the tension that had built up during the meeting to reestablish himself now loosening again, just for the ride, just until he had to face his father, had to tell him that once again, he'd messed up. But now – he had a plan to eliminate those that had always weighed him down.

They arrived in front of a large gate, a few seconds passing until it opened and they drove inside, the heavy black metal closing behind them and Jade's eyes grew in awe as she stared up at the large house in front of her, steps going up the drive and leading to a big front door, the facade white, glass walls lining half of the interior and accentuating it from the outside, trees blooming in colour all around and shading the open and light space and she hardly knew where to turn her head, where to look as Helders opened the door for her but she quickly snapped out of it, assisting Cook in helping Alexander out of the car.

“They live here?” She asked, instantly intrigued, already determined to not lose her composure this time.

Alexander smiled. “Yeh, 'ave ever since weh moved 'ere.”

“We?”

“It's me 'ome” he said. “Grew up 'ere.”

Jade smiled, as surprised as she found it endearing, for a moment felt strangely out of place when she heard his words because it seemed like a new level of intimacy entirely, like he'd let her in on something when she'd thought there was no more to discover, it was so personal and a part of him she hadn't expected to see as he led her up the drive and to the door, knocking and instantly tensing with the movement as they anticipated the heavy white door swinging open.

“Oh, cucciolotto” his mother called as she opened the door, swung her arms around him as soon as she saw him, brushed her fingers through his hair and smoothed it down over his neck, tried her hardest not to hold him too tight but she could hardly contain herself, cupping his face when she drew back to look at him, quickly leading them inside. “Oh, wha' did they do t'you?” She asked with a sigh, pressing her lips together.

“Mamma, I'm alreyht...” Alex mumbled, yet couldn't help but feel even more at ease that she was not disappointed in him, only worried about his well-being, but as soon as she stepped aside and he realised that the door of the office was closed, he swallowed hard, looking to his mother.

“Alex, bello, 's alreyht” she assured him, gently placing her hand on his shoulder.

He nodded quickly, a weak smile as he turned to look to Jade who nodded back and him with a gentle smile, reassuring, encouraging, he knew that no matter what, she'd be right there to wait for him. “I've got a plan, mamma.”

The smile that spread across her face matched his, his unique features with so much warmth and familiarity that Jade was instantly calmed too, pressed a kiss to his cheek but he turned his head, with a surprising amount of strength he held on to her and captured her lips in a deep kiss, hard and eager and confident, had her feeling his strength, intoxicated by his scent, the way he tasted, smoke and whisky and he pulled away too soon, left her breathing heavily and staring right back her, the intensity making her knees weak as he dragged his thumb affectionately across her bottom lip before stepping back and heading into his father's office.

She stood unsurely for a moment. “Mrs. Tur-...”

“Oh, please, Jade” she said. “Call me Penny.”

Jade smiled, forced herself to compose herself, following her as she led her out of the hallway and into a bright lounge, gesturing for her to take a seat on one of two stools at a high bar counter, made entirely of shiny crystals pressed between two layers of glass.

“I 'ear you like cognac.”

Jade sat down, watching her draw a bottle of Hine, 250, from a shelf above the bar, her eyes widening. “I … I do” she said.

“Don't tell David” the woman in front of her smirked, her eyes shining with the same sense of excitement she'd seen so many times in Alexander's. “'s an expensive one.”

Jade crossed her legs, pressing her lips together to suppress the giggle that was threatening to escape, but she saw it either way, smiled right back at her.

“I thought we could 'ave a drink while the men talk” she stated as she placed two crystal glasses on the counter and poured the sunshine coloured liquor. “Alexander is alreyht though, yes?”

It broke out of her before she knew what she was saying, who she was saying it to, because it took not a single thought or moment of interpretation to see that she would for once receive the reaction she hoped for, the worry in his mother's eyes so apparent. “He refuses to see a doctor” she sighed. “But I tried to take care of his wounds best I could.” Only as she said the words out loud, she realised how much it bothered her, how frustrated she was, still scared that even though he was back, the pain they'd inflicted on him would come back to haunt him.

“Yeh're not alreyht either” Penny observed, sitting down beside her.

Jade swallowed. “Neither are you.” Her eyes widened when she heard herself speak, another set of words rushing out in a surge of passion, an instant regret for how much she'd said. But then again, she did hope Alexander's parents knew how much she cared for him. “Scusa...”

Penny smiled, waving it off. “Oh, bambina, no” she said, shaking her head. “Yeh're quite reyht. I am worried 'bout 'im, but I can see 'e's not unprepared. And when 'e 'as a plan, I kno' 'e'll beh alreyht.” She sighed. “But wha' can I say? Alexander is me weakness.”

Jade pressed her lips together, her fingers closing around the cold glass and she nodded slowly. “Yeah...” she whispered, now relaxing as she saw there really was something she could see in her that she could predict, that she could understand. “Mine too.”

Penny smiled to herself, nodding back at her, the look on her face carrying so much more than a sense of understanding they shared, the worry about Alexander, she saw something in Jade. “But yeh don't tell 'im tha'...” she chuckled. “It'll go reyht to 'is 'ead.”

In an instant, the tension left her body and Jade laughed quietly, nodding in agreement. It felt strange, yet welcome to talk about him this way, with all the love and affection she carried while his mother also knew him so well.

“Serena were telling us all the fings yeh did while they were gettin' readeh to get me figlio back last week...” Penny continued. “Yeh didn't follow 'is rules because yeh wanted 'im back...”

Jade swallowed, but if she'd learned anything, it was to stand by her choices, be it now or with Alexander. “They weren't moving fast enough” she stated. “His rules were nonsense.”

Penny nodded. “It's because 's puts the business before 'is own life.”

There was no response Jade deemed suitable, nothing to calculate, because while his mother of course worried too, Jade was unsure how she could approach the statement, how much she after all prioritized the business alongside her husband, her son. Before she could settle for something appropriate, Penny continued.

“I did tha' once” she said. “When David were just a couple of years older than Alexander is now.  Him and his right 'and were taken by business rivals” she stated. “I were left in charge because we just got married.” She brushed her hair back, smiling. “And I did wha' yeh did. Even though David told meh teh always put the business first.”

“And what happened?” Jade asked.

“Well, 'e's alreyht, isn't 'e? Wha' they don't understand, bambina, is tha' they are the business.” She looked at her, her own smile growing when Jade smiled back at her and nodded, then she lifted her glass. “To Alexander?”

Jade pressed her lips together, nodding. The way his mother pulled the strings in a way she had not been able to predict entirely although had gotten a taste of when first meeting her made her feel at ease, because she stood by Alexander after all. She lifted her glass to meet Penny's and took a deep breath. “To Alexander.”

[hayleysstark]

Title: Anniversary Words: 11178 Warnings: Swearing + vomiting  Summary: Arthur's birthday isn't really his favorite time of year, for obvious reasons, but Merlin is going to fix that. Provided this pesky little cold of his doesn't get in the way, of course. One-shot. Post-S4. Merlin-gets-sick-and-tries-to-hide-it fic. Arthur's probably OOC.  Notes:  WHY IS THIS,,,,,,,,,,,, SO LONG,,,,,,,,,, I,,,,,,,,,, AM SORRY,,,,,,,,, I JUST,,,,,,,,,, KEPT GOING? dfhjtrfghgfgf oH MY GOD i am SO SORRY like,,,,,, shut the fuck up, onceandfuturewarlock. oh, god, I'm sorry. why is this so long. oh, also, fun fact yes I did get the idea of Merlin and the others giving Arthur a sheath for Excalibur off the myth! we're going to pretend in this version that Merlin cast a thousand protective enchantments over that sheath to render Arthur practically unkillable when he wears it lmao. MERLIN IS TAKING NO CHANCES WITH HIS DUMBASS KING ALL RIGHT. ONCE AND FUTURE KING? ARTHUR PENDRAGON IS THE ONCE AND FUTURE DUMBASS AND MERLIN IS TAKING NO CHANCES WITH THIS BITCH. oh god i'm sorry this note is almost a big a disaster as this story.

Read on Fanfiction and AO3. 

Merlin was up to something.

Well, all right, fine, the idiot usually was up to something—mouthing off to esteemed guests or skiving off his chores to go to the tavern or calling Arthur a prat or accidentally instigating full-scale, free-for-all, every-man-for-himself prank wars between the knights—and the fool still tried to insist, to this day, that he'd had absolutely nothing to do with any of it, and it had all just gotten a bit out of hand and it was only an accident, but Arthur knew better than to believe him—no one else in the kingdom was imbecilic enough to set his own hair on fire, and leave Gwaine covered in gravy in the courtyard and hang Percival's unmentionables from the castle battlements—

Arthur suppressed the memory with a shudder—no use dwelling on that. Best to just be grateful everything had sorted itself out in the end, and a few hours in the stocks had more than helped Merlin learn his lesson.

Well. The fact remained. Merlin was up to something.

He'd been on time every day this week, for a start—no, no, rephrase, he hadn't just been getting up on time, he'd been getting up on time without any sort of outside prompting—Gaius was gone, off treating that village in the north, struck down so suddenly and violently by that mysterious, fast-spreading fever, and hadn't been there to wake his ward—for an entire week, he hadn't been there to wake his ward—and, on top of it all, Merlin had assumed nearly all the duties of a physician while the actual physician was away, dressing wounds and brewing draughts—and hadn't said a single word about it, either—Arthur himself wouldn't even know if he hadn't seen Merlin making Gaius' usual rounds about the castle and the town—and the man still managed to keep up with his regular tasks as well, rousing Arthur and Guinevere at sunrise every morning with a tray of breakfast in his hands and a bright smile on his face.

And it wasn't just that.

Merlin had taken to disappearing lately, too—and not like the way he usually disappeared, for hours or even entire days at a time, then came back looking exhausted and pathetic and more than a little drunk—his absence these days lasted only a few moments, here and there, and he returned with a big dopey grin on his face, and then insisted he'd been right there the whole time and Arthur was just an oblivious clotpole and he wasn't grinning at all.

The worst of it was, Arthur had started to suspect that he'd dragged the knights, and Guinevere even, in on it, too.

The way everyone had taken to looking at him lately, especially when they thought he wasn't looking at them—the smiles that dropped off their faces the instant they locked eyes with him and the fleeting half-glances they exchanged when they crossed paths in the corridors and the hasty, whispered conversations they thought he didn't know about just before he rounded a corner or entered a room—Merlin was up to something, and he'd let everyone in on it except Arthur himself, and it—

—it sort of stung.

No, no, that wasn't the right word—Arthur couldn't care less—let Merlin have his secrets—his mysterious disappearances—his hushed conferences and personal jests with the knights—so long as he wasn't distracting the men from their training, or their defense of the kingdom, it didn't matter one way or the other—Arthur absolutely did not feel even the slightest bit excluded or lonely just because his servant had—what? Grown a bit closer with his knights without his notice? Stopped paying attention to him? Become a damn sight better at his job?

No. Absolutely not.

As a matter of fact, he was quite glad of it—Merlin's cheerful, inane prattle was the absolute last thing he needed at the best of times—now, with his anniversary on the morrow, he had bigger things to worry about—the preparations for the feast alone had taken up nearly a month, and the end to it all couldn't come fast enough, in his opinion.

He just wanted it all to be over.

Well, all right, truth be told, he didn't want there to be a feast at all, but he'd discovered, time and again these past few years, that ruling a kingdom meant it mattered very little what he wanted, even when what he wanted was to just not celebrate the day his father had taken the blow meant for him, and died in front of him—died because of him—just like his mother—

No.

Arthur swallowed and shut his eyes.

He was not opening that door, not tonight.

He would go to sleep—he shifted a little closer to Guinevere, seeking her steadying presence as much as her warmth—and he would not think about anything else, not his mother leaving this world so he could enter it, or his father's life drawing to a close so his could continue—no, he would not think about it—he would get this horrible feast over with, and he would be okay, and he would breathe again.

He would be okay.

Or, at least, he would make damn sure no one else knew that he wasn't.

He sank a little deeper into his pillow, and willed sleep to come.

"Rise and shine!"

Arthur swallowed a groan, shifting groggily in the sheets as the sunlight struck him, and the world behind his tightly closed eyes—rather rudely, in his opinion—turned orange. No, no, it couldn't possibly be morning—not already—he could swear it had only been moments since he'd last shut his eyes—just a few more minutes—he buried his face in the nearest pillow—just a few more minutes, and he'd drag himself up—he reached blindly for Guinevere, aching for the comfort of her skin against his, but his fingers found only empty, cold sheets, and Arthur was suddenly very awake.

"Where's Guinevere?" He sat upright, squinting slightly from the sun's dazzling glare.

"Oh, she's already up. Waiting for us, actually," Merlin said breezily, as though this didn't just answer one question, and open up about a dozen more. "Come on, then, let's have you, lazy daisy!" He even had the nerve to throw in a grin.

Arthur didn't move, only fixed the servant with his best scowl. "I've no time for your riddles, Merlin. Where is Guinevere?"

"I've just told you. Waiting for us. Hurry up and get dressed, and we'll set out." Merlin gathered up the jumble of freshly-laundered fabric from the end of the bed, and tossed it at the king.

Arthur caught the clothes deftly and frowned—this couldn't be right—his third-best tunic, and riding breeches? Either Merlin was deliberately trying to lose his job, or he'd mucked up again. Perhaps he was on the cider. "This isn't—where's my—my good cloak? My ceremonial mail?"

"Oh, you won't be needing it." The corners of Merlin's mouth twitched, threatening another smile.

"Quit fooling around, Merlin!" Arthur lobbed the clothes back at the younger man—he could hear the stocks calling the idiot's name, and it wasn't even noon. "I've a feast to attend in eight hours, and you are not helping—!"

"Oh, the feast was cancelled."

Arthur stopped short. "What?"

"The feast," Merlin repeated, handing the clothes back to him. "It was cancelled."

"It can't have gotten!" Arthur yanked the garments from the other's hands, and dropped them in a heap on the wrinkled sheets before he clambered from the bed to look Merlin full in the face. "That feast was weeks in the planning! How on earth—?"

"I said we should cancel it." Merlin knelt to grab a few dirty tunics up from the floor, and stuffed them hurriedly in the laundry basket before he straightened up and grinned at Arthur. "Gwen agreed with me."

"Don't—don't be ridiculous, Merlin," Arthur sputtered—idiot really was on the cider, then. There was just no other explanation. "You're a servant. You can't just walk right up to the queen and say you think a feast should be cancelled, and—"

"But I wasn't speaking as a servant." Suddenly, Merlin wasn't smiling anymore—there was a strange, steely, steady sort of look in his eyes, and a tight, grim set to his mouth. "I was speaking as a friend."

And Arthur—

—Arthur didn't have anything to say to that.

No, actually, he had about a thousand things to say to that, starting with don't be an idiot, Merlin and maybe a we aren't friends from there, perhaps a stop being such a girl for good measure—but the words wouldn't come, sticking somewhere in the back of his throat, so he just stood there, like an utter fool, silent and still and stupidly blinking at Merlin.

"You've not been yourself lately, Arthur." Merlin hefted the basket up from the floor and set it on the edge of the bed, bracing a hand on either side to steady it. "Gwen's beginning to worry about you." He lifted his head, and locked eyes with the king. "We all are."

Arthur's face burned, mouth going dry—a furious heat blazed in his cheeks, skin scorching all the way up to his ears and down to his neck—in the vivid glow of the new dawn, there was no way Merlin didn't see the flush—how had the man noticed? How had any of them noticed? He'd done everything he could to ensure they didn't notice—done everything he could to keep his burdens to himself—to let them see would be to weigh them down—and they had all already carried so much for him—and they had all, it seemed, decided to bear still more, and it was suddenly near impossible to swallow.

"We all know this has been hard for you, Arthur," Merlin left the basket, tottering unsteadily on the edge of the bed, and took several steps closer to the king. "And we know why. We just—" he hesitated, biting down, hard, on his bottom lip. "We just wanted," he said at last, "to make things a bit easier on you."

"S-so—" Arthur finally forced himself to speak, but stumbled all the same over the words. Gods, he sounded like a—like a dollophead. "—so, the feast, it's—?"

"Cancelled," Merlin finished—a tentative smile half-tugged at the corner of his lip. "But you've still got a bit of a day ahead of you, Sire, so I'd suggest you get dressed for it." He gestured to the clothes, still scattered untidily on the unmade bed.

Logic said Arthur should probably be furious right about now—should probably order Merlin down to the stocks, if he was feeling merciful enough, and the dungeons if he wasn't—put the servant in his place, then call the feast back on—logic said he should set everything to rights—logic said he should be angry—but—oh, hell—

"Th-thank you, Merlin."

And then, like the absolute girl he was, Merlin just had to go and beam at him like he'd set the stars in the sky with his own two hands—Arthur rolled his eyes and huffed, and hoped with everything inside him that Merlin did not notice the flush returning to his cheeks—change of topic, change of topic—quick, before the idiot tried to turn things sappy—

"Where has Guinevere got to, by the way?" He grabbed the clothes up off the bed, quietly grateful for something to do with his hands, and stepped behind the dressing screen—he stripped off his trousers, and flung them over the top of the screen, biting back a grin at the sound of Merlin's furious "Just hand it to me, you prat!" from the other side.

"I told you," Merlin huffed, then coughed a little, boots slapping across the stone floor as he presumably gathered up the discarded shirt. "Waiting for us."

"Yes, you mentioned that, Merlin," Arthur rolled his eyes again, even though Merlin couldn't see him, and pulled on the fresh tunic. "But since you won't get it any other way, I suppose I'll spell it out for you – I didn't ask you what she was doing, I asked you where she was." He tugged on the breeches.

"Oh! No, I can't tell you that bit," Merlin replied, which was extremely far from reassuring. "But you'd best hurry up, if you don't want to keep her waiting." He coughed again, a bit quieter this time—from the sound of things, he tried, without much success, to muffle it behind his hand.

"Merlin," Arthur emerged from behind the dressing screen with a frown, "you can't just cancel an entire feast and make off with my queen and—"

"I didn't 'make off' with your queen!" Merlin broke in, the picture of indignation. "Gwaine did!"

"Do you—do you hear yourself?!"

"No, no, she's with the others, too!" Merlin added hastily, waving his hands wildly at Arthur, palms out, as though trying to calm an agitated horse. "Elyan and Leon and—" He snapped his mouth shut. "…you were not supposed to know all that yet."

"Merlin," Arthur raised his eyebrows, suspicion taking hold, "what are you up to?"

"Nothing!" Merlin dropped his hands back to his sides and flashed a bright smile, but the sheen of nervous sweat on his forehead belied him.

"Keeping secrets from your king is treason, Merlin," Arthur reminded him—and yes, he was using what Gwaine would call his "princess" voice, which it absolutely wasn't, thank you very much.

Merlin's grin faltered a little. "I—I am an open book, Sire."

"Good, so you can tell me exactly why you've got my knights and my queen waiting for me at an undisclosed location. And run and fetch my breakfast while you're at it," Arthur added, upon further thought. "Honestly, you can't expect me to put up with you on an empty stomach."

Merlin didn't move. "Actually, breakfast is—"

"Wait, let me guess," Arthur held up a hand to silence him. "Breakfast is waiting for us, too."

"You're catching on." In spite of everything, the corners of Merlin's lips began to twitch. "Never thought this day would come."

"Insulting your king is also treason."

"Existing is treason," Merlin muttered under his breath—ever exaggerating—and headed for the door, throwing an expectant glance at Arthur over his shoulder. "Come on, let's go. They'll get to wondering where we are if we don't show up soon."

"I give the orders, Merlin," Arthur reminded him, and stayed exactly where he was.

"Right, well, then, think of it this way," Merlin said. "The quicker you get there, the quicker you get breakfast."

"Threatening to starve your king? Also treason."

"Oh, trust me," Merlin cast a deliberate glance toward Arthur's middle, "my king is in no danger of starving."

"Merlin—!"

He didn't even get to finish his sentence before the idiot threw open the door and flung himself bodily through the gap. He tore down the corridor like hell itself nipped at his heels, so Arthur did the sensible, rational, mature, kingly thing—

—and chased after him.

Forget the stocks, Arthur decided, as his pulse picked up speed at the sudden exertion—a few hours of discomfort and rotten vegetables was far too kind a sentence—not even the dungeons were good enough at this point—he rounded the corner, and thundered down the next three flights of stairs without pause—sheer luck kept Merlin's gangly, long-limbed figure always just out of his reach, because no way had the idiot somehow gotten faster than him without his notice, no bloody way—round another bend, and Arthur realized, a second too late, just where Merlin was taking him—he stumbled, tried to stop—finally brought himself to a clumsy, skidding halt, there in the middle of the entrance hall—and he had to grab onto the banister behind him to keep upright—outside the open double doors at the other end of the hall, he caught half a glimpse of the horses, tacked up and ready—his own, spirited snow-white mare, tossing her head and snorting haughtily—next to her, Merlin's docile chestnut nag nickered softly and flicked her tail—the idiot had planned all this, hadn't he? And that same idiot had all but collapsed beside the horses, bursting into a furious fit of deep, hacking coughs—even from this distance, Arthur could see how the force of them shook his skinny frame, and he rolled his eyes heavenward.

"Honestly, Merlin," he called, and let go of the banister. He crossed the entrance hall, striding out into the sun. "That was barely a sprint, and if that's all it took to take you down, maybe I ought to have you run a few drills in training tomorrow with the knights—"

"No, no!" Merlin interrupted, and hastily straightened up, fixing on a sunny grin. "No, no, nope, no training needed here. Absolutely not." He shook his head emphatically, and glanced to the horses. "You know, Sire, since we're already out here, and," he gestured to the mounts, "the stable-hand has already gone to all this trouble of saddling up our horses for us, and it's such a beautiful day—"

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur said flatly, and held up a hand for silence—he just—he just needed a moment to think—if Merlin could just give him a moment—gods, the idiot really had planned all this—and he'd actually done a halfway decent job keeping it quiet—until this morning, Arthur hadn't had the faintest inkling—and damn it if he wasn't curious now as to what lay ahead—besides, best way out was straight through, and all of that. Gods knew the imbecile wouldn't rest until he'd gotten what he wanted.

"Well," Arthur drew himself up and started down the steps, breezing past Merlin and hauling himself up onto his horse in hardly half a moment, "come on, then. Don't just stand there looking like a startled stoat."

Merlin beamed, and scrambled onto his horse, a bumbling gawky jumble of messy dark hair and limbs too long for his body—when he'd pulled himself up, he cast another glance at Arthur, glowing smile still fixed on his face.

Arthur rolled his eyes, and tried very hard to pretend he hadn't noticed, as he gave his mare a nudge in the flank with the heel of his boot, and she broke into a trot out of the courtyard—the clop of hooves on the cobblestone behind him said Merlin was following close behind. As he always was.

"Where to?" Arthur glanced over his shoulder, only for a moment, as they rode through the arch marking the boundary of the courtyard. "Don't tell me this is some wild goose chase you've set me on, Merlin," he added warningly when the man hesitated.

"No, no, it's not that," Merlin's lips twitched up into another grin—how he had the energy for so many of them, and before breakfast, even, Arthur would never know. "Just—through here." He tugged lightly at the reins, pulling a pace ahead of Arthur, and guided his mount toward the woods, the trees' bare autumn branches, stark against the silver dawn sky, swaying and bowing in the strong morning wind.

Oh. Arthur brightened a bit, and sat up a little straighter in the saddle—the woods, yes, now that was a worthy destination. The thought of the loamy green depths awaiting them brought a grin to his face—already, he could feel the sun on his skin, its bright warmth beaming down through dense, ashen clouds—could smell the soil, sodden from the week's heavy rains—could hear the cheerful trills of nearby birds—the sharp cracks of fallen twigs and branches snapping underfoot—if Merlin had just told him up front this was where they'd be going—the moment they entered the ostensible shelter of the naked trees, leafless limbs arching high up over their heads, Arthur couldn't help it anymore—he laughed, full and bright and real, for the first time in what felt suddenly like years, and threw his mare into a gallop, and didn't even care about the small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of Merlin's lip.

Under these open skies, the formalities and the ceremonies, the titles, the customs, the tired, too-old conventions of the court seemed a distant dream, back within the castle's walls. Out here, in the golden glow of the newly-risen sun, the weight of the world's expectations left his shoulders, and he remembered how to breathe. Out here, no one looked to him for answers. Out here, no one needed him to be the king. Out here, he was just Arthur.

Fallen leaves crunched and crackled under the horses' hooves, the only sound as they wended their way through the trees—the mounts plodded leisurely along the path for nearly half an hour, and Arthur was just beginning to suspect that the idiot had gone and gotten them lost when—

"We're here!" Merlin hauled on his reins until his horse halted.

Arthur frowned and drew even with Merlin, gazing round the decidedly empty patch of forest he'd seen fit to stop in. "There's nothing here."

"Oh! Just beyond those trees," Merlin nodded at a thick clump of sturdy-looking beeches. "But we'd best leave the horses here." He swung himself out of the saddle, and staggered when he hit the ground—stumbled so bad he nearly fell, and had to press a hand to his nag's side to keep his feet.

Arthur snorted and quit his own saddle, with far more finesse. "Graceful as always, Merlin." Actually, not as always—not now that he stopped to think about it, even Merlin, clumsy as he was, had mastered the art of getting off a horse since he'd come to Camelot, and it was honestly rare to see him blunder about like that upon dismounting nowadays.

"Just one of my many gifts," Merlin grinned, and straightened back up to his full height. He set off through the trees a moment later—still a bit off-balance, if the slight, sudden lurch to the left was anything to go by.

Arthur followed after him—had to be near enough to tease if the idiot fell, after all—and swatted aside a few low-hanging branches, brushing and scratching at the unprotected skin of his face. He stepped nimbly over a tree root that sent Merlin sprawling—Arthur reached out and caught him, on instinct, by the upper arm before he could strike the ground, and righted him.

"What is wrong with you today?" Arthur demanded—the minute he took his hand away, the man swayed like a tearing tree in a fierce gale, and Arthur reflexively grabbed at him again, catching his shoulder this time, to steady him. "Even you've gotten the hang of putting one foot in front of the other by this time, haven't you?"

"Ah, s-sorry, Sire," Merlin smiled again, but something in it seemed a bit forced this time. "Dizzy."

"Dizzy?" Arthur couldn't keep back a snort. "Not going to swoon like a maiden on me, are you, Merlin? Perhaps you need to go to the fainting couch before you dirty your petticoat?"

Merlin's cheeks colored. "Maybe if you weren't such a prat—"

"Come on," Arthur cut him off, choking back another laugh at the indignant look on his face—gods, he hadn't gotten the chance to get the man this riled up in weeks, Merlin had seemed so distracted lately, "I'd like to get this over with today, you know."

"We would already be there by now if you hadn't insisted on putting up such a fuss," Merlin said, a touch testily.

"I didn't put up a fuss, you told me Gwaine had 'made off' with Guinevere because you can't explain things to save your life," Arthur reminded him, and checked that Merlin was steady on his feet before letting him go.

Arthur turned away from Merlin and plunged into the trees—if the crinkle of leaves beneath thin, worn boots was anything to go by, the idiot was right on his heels, but he didn't bother to glance back to be sure. Just up ahead, the trees thinned—several gaps appeared amongst the sturdy trunks and—oh, finally—at least now he could finally get to the bottom of all this—he put on a fresh spurt of speed, and stepped out at last beyond the final beech.

Before him stretched a glade, small but beautiful, ringed all round by more of the towering, bare-branched beeches, and the ground a carpet of colorful leaves—a bit farther on rushed a stream, clear cool water splashing persistently over the worn, wet stones, gleaming under the bright, full sun—and there, in the center of the glade, with a few wicker baskets set down beside them, on a thick scarlet quilt that must have come from the palace, and bright, beaming smiles wreathed on every warm, familiar face—

"HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!"

There was no unity to the sound, absolutely none at all—Percival's deep, rumbling tones, Guinevere's sweet, clear pitch, Leon's solemn timbre, Gwaine's playful inflection, Elyan's composed but cheerful call—it was all horribly discordant and glaringly inharmonious, and the moment they were through, they, all of them, every single one, fell about laughing as if they simply couldn't stop themselves—even the ever-serious Leon cracked a grin, and Gwen pressed her hands to her mouth to quiet her giggles—

Arthur stood, struck dumb, frozen in every limb, on the edge of the glade, staring round at the knights and lady gathered on the quilt—they'd all—had they all—had they all really—?

"I think the polite thing would be to join them."

Arthur startled—he hadn't heard Merlin come up behind him—then spun round to face his grinning servant. "You—you all—?" He swallowed, hard, around the sudden block in his throat. "For—for me—?" Oh, gods forbid, but Merlin must be rubbing off on him. He was turning into an absolute girl.

"Yeah." Merlin managed, somehow, to make the single word count more than a thousand courtly speeches. "For you." His smile turned a touch softer at the edges.

"You were all in on this?" Arthur turned to survey the others—Leon and Elyan passing around skins of water and pitchers of wine while Gwaine and Percival got into some quarrel or other over a picnic basket and Guinevere, his beautiful Guinevere, shook her head and smiled fondly at them—all of them, every last one of them, they were here, they were all here, and gods, they had cancelled a feast for him, gone mucking about in the forest before sunrise for him, just to try and make him happy—

"Ooh, very good, Sire. Nothing gets past you, does it?"

Arthur didn't look at him, didn't want to tear his eyes from the party gathered on the quilt, but he could hear the smile in Merlin's voice all the same.

"Shut up, Merlin," he murmured, half to himself.

"Come on, Princess!" Gwaine called, from his place half-wrapped around the picnic basket to stop Percival getting to it—Arthur really didn't want to know the story behind it, to be honest. "Let's cut the chit-chat and get to the part where we eat!"

"Eloquent as always, Gwaine."

"'Course," Gwaine shook out his hair, and shot Elyan a broad grin. "Part of the charm, and all."

"No, Gwaine's got a point," Merlin spoke up. "We all know what Arthur's like when he's not had his breakfast."

"Shut up, Merlin!"

Guinevere laughed—laughed! Arthur stung with the betrayal—and shifted to make room for her husband and Merlin. "Come on, you two. Cook absolutely outdid herself, it's wonderful."

When Arthur had taken the seat on the quilt beside her, she added, under her breath, "It was all Merlin's idea, really." She shot the man in question a glowing look as she spoke, brown eyes bright and warm. "He came up with everything."

"Merlin?" Arthur repeated doubtfully, and raised his eyebrows, following Guinevere's gaze to throw Merlin a glance of his own—the fool wasn't even looking at them, had already begun laughing with Gwaine at something or other—one of their inside jokes, Arthur suspected, with a slight pang of something like hurt—gods knew the two of them had a lot of those, especially in recent weeks—

Wait.

Inside jokes—recent weeks—inside jokes—recent weeks—oh, gods, Arthur was an idiot. The inside jokes weren't inside jokes. And the strange disappearances—those ones that only lasted mere minutes and left Merlin with a huge, stupid grin, and wasn't he always trying to deny—? And the swift, stolen glances Guinevere and the knights had been giving him all week when they thought he wasn't looking, when they thought he wouldn't see—the secret smiles—the stifled laughter, the conversations held in hushed whispers down deserted corridors, the ones that ceased the instant he appeared and he told himself that he didn't need to know every bit of idle gossip his servant and soldiers and queen saw fit to discuss without him and—

Merlin had not been excluding him at all.

Arthur turned, sharply, to face Merlin. "This—this is—" He swept his gaze over Gwaine and Percival then, too. "This is what you've been keeping from me, isn't it? All of you!" He twisted to look at Leon and Elyan as well. "This is what's got you all acting so strange!" He came back around to Guinevere.

"Oh, well done, Arthur," Merlin said, in the tone of one teaching a small child, and swiveled away from Gwaine to look him full in the face. "You are officially—mm—let's say—one-sixteenth less the oblivious clotpole I thought you were. Excellent job, Sire. Percival, I owe you a shilling."

Elyan snorted into his drink, and tried valiantly to pass it off as a cough.

Arthur flushed. "Don't go getting any ideas, Merlin, just because you're halfway decent at keeping one little secret—!"

Merlin laughed at this, a little harder than Arthur thought the comment strictly warranted. "Oh, you have no idea, Sire."

"Oh, go on, Merlin," Gwaine nudged the man in the ribs, "you haven't even shown him the best part yet." He unwrapped himself from the picnic basket, and pushed it toward Merlin with a grunt.

"Oh," Merlin's smile got, if possible, even bigger, and he hauled the basket up onto his knee at once, flipped back the lid, reached in with both hands and—

—and pulled out an entire cake. With icing.

Arthur closed his eyes. "Merlin." He opened them again. The cake was still there.

"Sire?"

"There—" Arthur blinked. No. The cake was definitely still there. Definitely. "There's a cake."

"Well spotted, Sire."

"Merlin!" He whipped round to glare at his servant. "You can't just—just go into the kitchens, and steal an entire cake!"

"No, no, no, I didn't!" Merlin threw up his hands in an obvious effort to placate Arthur. "See, Gwaine helped, so technically, we each stole half a cake, and—!"

Percival clamped a hand to his mouth to muffle his snickers. Gwaine looked like someone had bought the Rising Sun in his name.

"—and it's your favorite, too, so you should really go on and tuck in, and I can't give it back now, anyway, because then the cook will know it was us, and she'll kill me—she can't do anything to Gwaine, but I'm not a knight, there's nothing stopping her from having a go at me, and you've seen how she can get with that ladle of hers—"

"Merlin?" Arthur raised a hand.

Merlin sputtered to an uneasy stop, and muffled a cough into his palm.

"Are you going to prattle on all day, or are you going to let somebody cut the cake at some point?"

Merlin dropped his hand from his mouth to reveal a beam.

"Why—?" Arthur felt his face turning a little red as Merlin dumped the clumsily-wrapped, slightly lumpy parcel unceremoniously down into his lap. "Why did you lot get me gifts?"

"One gift," Gwaine corrected. "We don't like you that much, Princess. 'Sides, it was all Merlin."

"No, it was not all Merlin, it was everyone. You all helped," Merlin said, whipping round to frown at the knight—he swayed a second or two, shaking and unsteady on his feet-Arthur remembered, with a stab of something like concern, that he'd said he was dizzy earlier—he wondered if Merlin had actually eaten anything with the rest of them—now that he thought about it, he distinctly remembered the man waving away a proffered slice of cake, saying he wasn't hungry—

"Gwen and I helped," Elyan corrected fiercely, pulling Arthur from his thoughts. "The rest of you lot sat around and gossiped. Like old maids."

Leon and Percival had the grace to blush. Gwaine did not.

"What are you waiting for?" He demanded of Arthur, and gestured impatiently at the parcel. "Open it!"

Arthur hesitated a second longer, then slowly undid the wrappings—something thin and supple rolled lazily out of the paper and twine trappings, a rich earthy brown in color—there was a faint sort of gleam at one end of it—a dragon, wrought in gold, a perfect match to the Pendragon emblem—

"A sheath," Merlin said, slightly apprehensively. "For—for Excalibur." He coughed, and motioned to the ornate sword hanging at Arthur's hip. "We—we thought you might like—?"

"It's incredible," Arthur breathed, running his fingers lightly over the fine leather, too full of wonder to mind much else, "it's—I—wow."

Somewhere above him, Guinevere laughed.

"I—" Arthur tore his eyes from the beautiful sheath, and lifted his head to look at Merlin. "Thank you."

Merlin's answering grin threatened to split his face clean in two. "Elyan and Gwen really did most of it, they're much better with leather than I am, it wouldn't have gotten done without them."

Arthur sent the two of them a small, grateful smile, and a quick nod of thanks. "It's incredible," he repeated, more for Guinevere's benefit than Elyan's, and he was rewarded when she smiled back, her cheeks turning a lovely shade of rosy pink at the praise.

"Oi!" And a grape struck Arthur square on the forehead—burst, with a loud, thoroughly unpleasant sort of squelching noise, sticky juice streaking down his temple, trickling over his cheek and all the way to his chin.

He sputtered, in what Merlin would probably have called a most un-kingly fashion, and scrubbed furiously at the syrupy liquid with the back of his hand. He didn't need to look round to see who the culprit had been. "Gwaine!"

"Well," the man sounded entirely unrepentant, "are you going to actually use the sheath, or are you just gonna stare at it some more?"

Arthur wiped the last of the juice from his face. "I don't know, let's see how I feel after we've come back to Camelot, and you've served some time on night patrol." He snapped up an abandoned cherry off a nearby plate, lobbed it at Gwaine in retaliation, and allowed himself a grin when it hit its target—he never missed.

Gwaine let out a cry of dismay as the cherry hit his head and exploded in a gummy mess of sweet red liquid running down his dark hair in a steady cascade. He raked his fingers frantically through the shaggy, stylishly-unkempt strands in vain, amid gales of uproarious laughter from the other knights, and stifled snickers from Merlin and Guinevere.

He flicked his head up again to toss a glare at Arthur. "Princess, you asked for it!"

A second later, a whole wedge of cheese had gone soaring through the air straight for Arthur, and he ducked on instinct to avoid the projectile. It landed, with a solid thunk, on the plate he'd nicked the cherry off.

"Hey, hey, no, Gwaine! What are you thinking, honestly, somebody could get seriously hurt—?!"

Arthur grabbed up a bread roll to even the score, and Sir Leon's concerns went decidedly unheard.

"Come on, you lot can do better than that!" Arthur called over his shoulder, and nudged his mare lightly in the flank with the heel of his boot, urging her on to greater speeds—the wind rushing into his face with the speed of a crossbow bolt ripped the breath from his lungs, and a loud laugh from somewhere in his chest—behind him, he could make out the thump of hoofbeats, the others hot on his tail, Merlin's old, slow nag undoubtedly bringing up the rear.

"You got a head start, Princess!" squawked the ever-competitive Gwaine, over the roar of the wind in his ears.

Arthur laughed again, and tossed a glance back at the others. Gwaine's hair, a bit of cherry juice and icing off the cake still smeared in it, much to the knight's obvious chagrin, was the first thing he could make out, and he stifled another grin at the sight—a bit farther back, he saw the rest of their party, Percival's broad bare shoulders easily visible through the sun-dappled trees, closely followed Leon's ginger-blond curls with Guinevere's rough cotton lavender dress in place of the rich silken finery she wore at court nowadays and Elyan's stocky shape half a pace behind, and Merlin—

—Merlin—?

Arthur spun round and jerked roughly on the reins—his mare, ever-faithful, stopped dead at once, smack in the middle of the path—he twisted in the saddle, seeking the dark-haired head, the worn brown jacket, the ratty red scarf—

"Where—" he nearly fell clean off his mount, and hastily steadied himself. "Where's Merlin got off to?"

Gwaine pulled up short. "What? He's right there, he's just past—" he glanced over his shoulder. "—just past Percy—" The rest of his sentence died unspoken, whatever it might have been, when he spotted the glaring lack of cheeky, badly-dressed manservant. "Hey, has—" he cleared his throat and raised his voice by a fraction, winding the thick leather reins absently round his fingers, "—has anyone seen Merlin?"

"Not since that stream back there," Guinevere called back. "He slowed down just before we cleared it, I think the race tired out the poor horse."

Arthur snorted. "Or the idiot got himself lost," All the same, he swung himself from the saddle, fisted a hand around the reins, and headed back the way they'd come, his steed nickering behind him with every step. "Right, I'll go and fetch him."

"We all ought to head back, really," Guinevere said, and slid smoothly from her steed as well. "If we want to get back to the castle by nightfall."

A second later, and the knights slipped from their saddles too, a faint murmur of assent rippling through the armored party like a wave, as they set off through the cool woods, withered leaves crunching under heavy boots and shod hooves—Arthur heard the stream before he saw it, the merry babble and gurgle of water lapping over wet stones, and he quickened his pace, a brisk, straight-backed stride through the leafless, close-growing trees—if he went quick enough, and quiet enough, he could sneak up on the idiot, give him a good scare—Merlin had this funny little screech he always did every time someone startled him, and no, Guinevere, it was not mean to laugh at him and call him a girl about it, honestly, had she ever heard the noise before, it sounded like—

Arthur cleared the final line of the trees at last, and Merlin came into his view. Except—except something wasn't right—

On hands and knees in the mud beside his chestnut mount, skinny shoulders shaking something awful under his too-big brown jacket, hands white against the dark, rich earth, a glistening line of sticky sweat streaming down his temple, pale cheeks gone red as cherries, with sick pouring from his half-open mouth in a vile, yellow-white surge—

"Merlin!"

Icy fear ripped through Arthur, sharper than an enemy's blade, and he bolted across to the bank, went to his knees beside Merlin, vaguely aware of the others thundering after him—he put a hesitant hand on one of the servant's trembling shoulders, rubbing small circles in the bony back. It seemed to take an age for the bout to pass, for the flow of sick to cease—Merlin remained, bent double, for several moments, his face inches from the leaf-strewn ground, his breath a harsh, rattling gasp in his throat.

"Gods, Merlin," Arthur whispered, "what is wrong with you?" The instant the words left his mouth, he winced—that was a terrible way to put it, that was a really terrible way to put it.

"N-nothing," Merlin shot back up, hastily uncurling from the tight ball he'd crushed his shaking body into. "Nothing, I'm f-fine." He scrubbed at a line of sick clinging to the corner of his mouth, and smiled at Arthur, actually smiled at him, with bile on his lips and dark shadows, like bruises, beneath slightly glassy eyes. "S-sorry, guess I just—uh—ate something bad, thought the strawberries tasted a bit funny—"

"You look like hell." Gwaine sounded about as incredulous as Arthur felt. "Look at yourself, mate, you look sick."

"What?" Merlin managed a laugh, even, but something, or maybe everything, in it sounded painfully forced. "Don't be ridiculous, Gwaine, I'm fine—"

Guinevere's smooth brown hand found Merlin's forehead, pushing aside the dark fringe to place her palm flat to the skin beneath. "Merlin!" Her eyes widened. "You've a fever, you're burning up!"

No, no, that didn't make any sense, that didn't make any sense at all, how could he have gotten that sick so quickly—? Unless—a block of ice seemed to form and freeze in Arthur's stomach, frigid and heavy—unless he'd been like this all day—

"N-no," Merlin sat up on his knees, and knocked her hand aside with one of his own. "No, I'm not, Gwen, you're feeling things, I'm fine—" He pushed himself to his feet and swayed alarmingly in place.

Arthur stood up, too, and seized Merlin's arm to stop him falling, and oh, gods, he'd said he was dizzy, hadn't he, he'd said he was dizzy, and he hadn't stopped coughing all day, and he hadn't eaten a damned thing, not even a bit of that cake he'd nicked from the kitchens, and gods knew you couldn't keep Merlin from cake, and why hadn't Arthur seen—? "Merlin, you idiot, why didn't you tell me you weren't well?!" Why didn't I realize, why didn't I see, he shouldn't have had to tell me because I should have paid attention, I should have realized, I should have seen—

Merlin snatched his arm from Arthur's grip with a glower. "I am well, Arthur! I'm fine!"

"Don't be stupid, Merlin!" Arthur snarled. "You look like you're about to collapse!"

"I'm—!" The words left his lips a weak sort of rasp—his voice had gone hoarse and scratchy, and sounded painful—he winced, and rubbed at his throat, fingers pale and trembling against the rough red cloth of his favorite scarf— "I'm—I'm fine—" he shuddered, and his stumbling, shaking legs crumpled under him, and he fell.

Arthur threw his arms out, on instinct, and caught his servant before he hit the ground, reflexively pulling the bony, shivering body closer to his own—Merlin's dark-haired head dropped down onto Arthur's chest, and he sank back to his knees to lessen the unexpected weight—the proximity should have embarrassed him, would have, if Merlin hadn't been shuddering so violently against him, he could swear the man was about to burst apart where he sat—Arthur couldn't stand it—he stripped the jacket from his own shoulders, and wrapped it round Merlin's gangly frame, over the worn brown layer he already had.

"I—I'm s-sorry, Arthur," Merlin said at last, in a small and shaky sort of voice Arthur had never heard from him before, and never wanted to hear again. "I was tr-trying to give you a good anniversary, a really good anniversary—" he pushed back, pushed away from Arthur, and weaved a little where he sat. By some miracle, he stayed upright. "—I know how h-hard today must be for you, and I thought I could t-take your mind off—" he swiped miserably at his nose. "—off all of it—" he slumped a little farther in on himself, and shuddered horribly, head turned down, face hidden. "—but I g-guess I kind of—" he didn't say it so much as he slurred it, every word running together, too garbled and jumbled to be called speech, "—guess I kind of r-ruined it, huh?"

Merlin barely got the last word off his lips before his skinny, shuddering body went limp, and he collapsed into Arthur's chest.

Arthur kind of lost it. A little. Maybe.

"You really are a complete idiot, aren't you, Merlin?!"

Right, so, maybe Arthur kind of lost it a lot, and maybe there was no kind of about it, and maybe Gwaine lost it, too, if the sudden string of obscenities aimed in his direction was anything to go on, but Arthur couldn't help it—Merlin had just—all limp and pale and sweaty and shaking—oh, gods, he looked awful—what on earth had he even been thinking—?

Arthur knew—of course he knew, there was no way for him to not know at this point—Arthur knew when it came to the two of them, Merlin had developed a bad—no, alarming was the right word, more than anything—all right, then, so Merlin had developed an alarming habit of putting himself second, and Arthur knew that, knew the man in front of him would drag himself through hell if he thought it'd make Arthur happy—he thought, again, for the thousandth time since it had happened, about the sight of the thin, still body, going stiff on the cold stone floor as the Dorocha's ice took hold—but this—sweating and sniffling and shaking fit to fly apart, his long limbs trembling under the strain, too weak and dizzy to even get off his knees, with a puddle of his own sick soaking slowly into the mud, and the sorrys spilling off him like rain—the idiot had pushed himself to complete collapse, and all he'd cared about was what this would mean for Arthur—ruined it, Merlin had said, I ruined it, like he actually believed that—like he actually believed he'd done something wrong, just by getting sick, like he actually—like he actually believed he'd let Arthur down—

If anyone, Arthur thought, and his grip tightened on Merlin's too-warm body, still slouched, boneless, against his chest, if anyone's let anyone down today, it's me, it's not Merlin, it's me—

"We—" he forced himself to raise his head. To look at the others. His voice, when he tried to speak, sounded very far away in his own ears. "We need to get him back to Camelot."

Merlin didn't wake.

In the time it took them to make it back to the city, his eyes stayed stubbornly closed, his body slack as a doll—Arthur had been almost grateful for it, at first—at least the awful shivers had stopped—now, as he stumbled up the steep stone steps to Gaius' chambers and half a pace behind Gwaine, and cradling the still, motionless form of his servant in his arms, he thought he'd rather have the trembling again, horrible as it was, over this unmoving, almost deathly calm.

Arthur lowered Merlin onto the first cot he saw, huffing a little as he released the weight—he'd scarcely gotten the man settled when Guinevere spoke up—

"Water," she said, clearly, "cold water, lots of it—"

Gwaine dashed off for the pump before she could say another word.

"Help me get his clothes off," she added, to Arthur, one hand already taking hold of the rough brown fabric of Merlin's jacket, "he's burning up with fever, we need to cool him down."

Arthur didn't even think to protest—it took a bit of maneuvering to work Merlin's skinny arms out of the overlarge sleeves, to unwind the red scarf from his neck, ease the sweat-drenched blue tunic over his head—

"—his boots," Guinevere nodded to Merlin's feet, "get his boots, his socks—"

Arthur dashed to the foot of the bed, fumbled with the tarnished silver buckles, gleaming against the brown cloth, but the cold metal didn't want to give—come on, come on, come on—gods, you'd think the man had done them up with magic—Arthur's searching fingers finally found the clasp, and he flicked it open, wrenched off the wretched boots—note to self, buy Merlin boots that are easier to undo—well, first, never let Merlin think he needs to push himself until he collapses ever again, then let's do something about the boots—as Arthur tugged off Merlin's socks, Gwaine came barreling back in the door, clutching two enormous, overflowing buckets by their large handles—

"Wonderful, Gwaine, thank you," Guinevere spared him a nod and a slightly harried smile. She plunged her own kerchief in one of the buckets, pausing only to wring it out before sponging down Merlin's brow and temple. "Arthur, grab a rag and get his chest," she didn't look away from Merlin's flushed face, "his stomach, his arms, his back, too, if you can, I don't think this will be enough."

Arthur discarded the boots on the floor and bolted to the opposite end of the room to seize one of Gaius' rags, moving so fast the cluttered chambers blurred around him—he made it back to Merlin's bedside in scarcely an instant, and soaked the rag in the bucket, as Guinevere had done—he didn't stop to draw out the excess, just put it to Merlin's chest, let the water run in rivulets out over the bare skin—

Merlin twitched, and flinched at the icy rain pouring over his naked torso, a soft moan escaping through his pale lips—"Don't be such a girl, Merlin," Arthur murmured, on instinct—Guinevere glanced up, her dark eyes sweeping the scene—

"Oh, thank goodness," a shred of the tension in her pretty features seeped out, "oh, thank goodness, he's reacting to the cold, that's—that's a good sign, that's a very good sign, keep it up, Arthur."

The faintest stirrings of relief pricked at Arthur, and he nodded, dabbing lightly at the exposed stomach and ribs as he worked his way down.

"Leon, Elyan," Guinevere called, gingerly wiping down Merlin's blazing red cheeks with her kerchief, "go into Gaius' cabinets, tell me if he has any astragalus root—big, erm, brown things, lots of limbs," she added, at the knights' perplexed looks. "Get some sage, too, and keep an eye out for echinacea, big pink flowers, petals have a sort of droop to them—"

Leon and Elyan shot over to the cupboards, ripping open the creaking doors and rummaging through with feverish intensity. In seconds, Elyan had pulled out a heavy, pale brown clump covered in what appeared to be copious amounts of coarse black hair, and Guinevere shot him a tired smile.

"Fantastic, Elyan, that's exactly what I'm looking for! Gwaine," she continued, "get a fire going, and put that other bucket over it, get the water hot—"

Gwaine snatched up the bucket and sloshed over to the dark hearth with no further prompting.

"—if we can get Merlin's fever down far enough to wake him, we can get him some astragalus tea," Guinevere explained, when Elyan raised his eyebrows. "It'll work wonders, Gaius uses it all the time."

Arthur hastily returned to his own work, redoubling his efforts on cooling Merlin down—he didn't know how long he stood there, swiping at the man's burning, fevered skin—it felt like hours—certainly long enough for Gwaine to get a good fire going in the grate, long enough for Elyan and Leon to start clearing up, for lack of anything else to do, Arthur supposed—but the flush receded at last from Merlin's thin face, and Guinevere gently cleared away the last line of sweat, still clinging doggedly to his temple, a smile curving her lovely lips, before she pressed her palm to his brow.

"His fever's come down," she revealed. "I think we've done all we can for the moment."

Arthur smiled—the first time since Merlin collapsed in his arms, and it was still scarcely more than a quirk at the corner of his mouth. At the memory of it—the weight of Merlin against his chest, the horrible rasping sound of his breath as it left his lungs, the rapid, uneven flutter of his lashes as his eyes fell closed, the scorching heat of his skin as the temperature took hold, his slurred and shaking voice as he whispered his fervent apologies—Arthur couldn't keep back a wince, and the smile slipped from his face like it had never been. He scrubbed a tired hand down his slightly sunburned face at the thought of it. "How long has he been like this? Do you know?"

Guinevere frowned, her small mouth twisting up as she thought. On any other day, Arthur wouldn't have been able to keep from leaning in and kissing her at the sight—he loved her "concentration" face—but Merlin's slow, labored breathing on the bed between them wouldn't let him forget the matter at hand.

"Well," she said at last, and slowly, "I don't know, but if I had to guess, I'd say he made himself far worse than he would be, if he hadn't been working quite so hard lately."

Working hard? Horrible, burning guilt seized Arthur, blazing in his veins, bubbling up like acid in his stomach, tongues of unchecked flame scorching through his chest, searing up his throat like bile. "I—I worked him too hard?" He looked to Guinevere, in the desperate hope that she might say otherwise. "Did I—did I make him—did I work him until he was—?" Bad enough that he hadn't noticed the state of his own servant until the idiot had passed out in front of him, but worse still to think he'd put Merlin in that state to start with.

"Oh, no! No, Arthur, no," Guinevere's eyes went round—she reached across the bed, and placed her warm hand over his. "That is absolutely not what I meant at all, I promise. I don't think," she worried her lip, "well, I don't think Merlin's exactly been doing the best job looking after himself since Gaius went away. He took on Gaius' work in addition to his own for you—"

Arthur nodded. He knew that.

"—and then he threw himself into all these preparations for your anniversary, and of course he couldn't tell you about that bit—" she tightened her grasp on Arthur's hand as she spoke.

In spite of her intentions, Arthur only felt the weight on his chest grow heavier with every word—he should have seen—how had he not—? How had he not seen—? Merlin had been running himself into the ground like this ever since Gaius had gone away—and Arthur had noticed it, hadn't he—had thought—oh, gods, he'd thought how impressive it was, that Merlin managed to keep up with Gaius' job as well as his own—impressive, yes, not concerning, not worrying, not far too large and heavy a workload for one man to carry—how had he not seen—?

"—but—but this wasn't your fault," Guinevere broke in, as though she could read his mind, and shook her dark-haired head, brown curls bouncing with the movement. "Not in the slightest. Merlin's been pushing himself far too hard for far too long now. I just—" she glanced at the motionless form of Merlin between them, and there was the slightest tremble at the corner of her mouth. "I just wish I'd realized it had gotten this bad."

"No, it wasn't your fault, Guinevere," Arthur said at once—he knew the shame in her voice too well, knew her too well, and the gravity of his own blame fell back a bit in the face of the burden she had no need, no right, to bear. He squeezed her hand, and pulled his mouth up in a smile when she met his eyes. "You had no way of knowing. Merlin wasn't exactly announcing it in the city square, was he?"

Guinevere's eyes still betrayed her guilt, but her lips twitched marginally. "Perhaps he hung a banner."

Arthur huffed out a short, quiet laugh. "Perhaps."

"Erm—?" Elyan wheeled around, away from the hairy brown root still lying on the table, to look at his sister, his dark eyes wide. "Do you know how Gaius makes the tea? Leon and I have just been—we've sort of—erm—" he gestured, helplessly, to the root.

Guinevere laughed then, too, one hand jumping to her mouth to cover the sound. "Oh—oh, yes, I'm sorry," she gave Arthur's hand one last squeeze before leaving the bedside to join Elyan at the table. "Here, I'll show you…"

Merlin barely opened his eyes when Guinevere roused him to give him the tea—the fever had waned significantly, but Arthur still didn't think he was entirely lucid—he all but poured the tea down Merlin's throat himself, to the last drop, refused to let up until the cup had run completely dry.

Leaving was the absolute last thing he wanted to do just then—he owed this much to Merlin, at least, owed it to the man to stay with him until he'd finally woken—but there were, Guinevere and Leon reminded him, court matters to be taken care of, and nobles to be appeased, and Gwaine outright refused to leave Merlin's side for anything—he was in trustworthy, if not altogether capable, hands and Arthur must content himself with that—hours passed before he could return—the matins rang out before he made his way back to the physician's chambers, and he was briefly, intensely grateful to Guinevere, that she didn't try to stop him, didn't try to lead him to bed instead—perhaps she realized he wouldn't, couldn't, sleep until he'd made this right.

Gwaine put up a bit of a fight at first, but the shadows under his bloodshot eyes spoke for him, and he eventually took himself up to Merlin's room with, if not good grace, at least a less-than-courteous resignation.

Arthur sat in the chair his knight vacated, staring down into Merlin's still, sleeping face. Now that there was nothing left to do—no fever to fight or tea to brew, no speeches to give or crown to wear, no meetings to hold—now that he was on his own, he couldn't hide from the truth anymore—it stared back at him, silent and accusing and so terribly stark in the flickering light of the hearth fire, casting fleeting shadows over Merlin's sharp features.

Didn't the idiot know, didn't he realize, didn't he see that nothing, certainly not some stupid day on the calendar, a day that would be there next year, and the year after that, and the year after that, didn't Merlin see that nothing in the world would ever matter so much to Arthur that he would want his servant to drive himself to his limits? Didn't Merlin see, didn't Merlin realize—didn't he—didn't he realize—?

Maybe—and the guilt flooded back in like the ocean in a storm, rising in his chest like the tide, frothing furiously in his lungs—maybe he didn't. Maybe Merlin didn't realize, maybe he didn't know, because when had Arthur ever given him cause to think otherwise—when had Arthur ever—had he ever—had he ever—?

"A-Arthur?"

"Merlin!" Arthur startled, jerked, leapt from his seat—he lifted a hand, on instinct, to Merlin's bony back to steady him while he struggled to rise from the thin mattress. "How—?" He hesitated. "How are you feeling?"

Merlin's head bobbed up at once to look at him. A tiny frown twisted his mouth as he finally pushed himself upright. "I've had better," he said, hoarsely, after a second, and a small, tired smile found its way onto his face. "What happened?"

Arthur almost laughed. It would be easier, he reflected, to tell him what hadn't. "Guinevere brought your fever down. Some sort of tea, she says Gaius uses it often, she—" he broke off abruptly as he remembered, "—she said to give you some, if you woke, hang on—" he hurried to the table, where Gwaine had apparently left the kettle, and hastily poured a steaming cup—thin coils of vapor rose off the smooth amber surface as he offered it to Merlin. "Here."

Merlin eyed it warily. "It's astragalus root, isn't it." It wasn't a question.

"I take it you don't enjoy it."

"Not in the slightest."

"Well, I'm hardly going to face Guinevere's wrath just to spare your delicate sensibilities," Arthur motioned to the cup. "Drink."

Merlin scowled, but obligingly sipped.

Near-total silence reigned for the next several minutes, nothing but the crackle of the fire, and the reluctant Merlin unhappily drinking his tea—Arthur shifted slightly in his seat—tried not to look at him—

"I'm sorry," Merlin said at last—only, he didn't say the words so much as he whispered them into his tea—it was as if he half-hoped Arthur wouldn't hear them at all.

I'm sorry, Arthur—I was trying to give you a good anniversary, a really good anniversary—I guess I kind of ruined it—Arthur's stomach jolted unpleasantly. He didn't have to ask what Merlin meant—he already knew.

But it appeared Merlin didn't need him to ask. "Today—" His free hand fisted around the blankets slung over his legs. He ran his thumb over the fraying edge. "Today isn't really a day you want to remember all that much, is it? And—and I understand—I mean, I don't, no, I don't understand, that's—that's the wrong—I only meant—"

The point, Merlin, Arthur thought—had it been any other day, he would have said it, too—but this time—this time—he shut his mouth.

"—well, today just—" Merlin swallowed. "—just isn't a good day for you."

Arthur didn't bother to answer. Merlin would know it was the truth even if he denied it until his dying breath.

"But it's—it's not—it's not right," Merlin continued, haltingly—it occurred to Arthur, for the first time, that maybe this wasn't any easier on Merlin than it was on him. "It's not right because it's your anniversary, and you deserve to have at least one good memory of your anniversary—everyone does, but especially you—forget I said that," he added, sharply, when Arthur looked at him, "that bit will just go to your head—look, I—I just meant, everyone deserves to have a good memory of their anniversary, and I thought if you had a good one," he uncurled his fingers from around the blankets, and picked at the loose threads, "I th-thought if you had a good one, it might help with the badones."

Arthur swallowed hard—damn Merlin, he thought, blinking furiously, damn the stupid idiot, being so stupid and nice and loyal and trying so hard—trying so hard for me—

"But I—" Merlin pulled him from his thoughts, still gazing into his tea, "—I guess I ruined—" His cheeks colored. It was almost as if he caught himself in the act of saying something he shouldn't. "—I guess it didn't work."

—the shake in his shoulders and the flush in his cheeks and the shadows under his eyes and guess I kind of ruined it huh—

"Merlin," he said, and it was like he couldn't stop himself, "Merlin, look at me, you didn't ruin anything."

Merlin froze. His head snapped up.

"You did give me a good memory of my anniversary today—a really good one, if I'm being honest, the best one I've ever—don't look so pleased with yourself, you're still an idiot," he tacked on hastily, when Merlin began to grin. "Did you stop, even once, to think, hmm, maybe I should tell someone I'm so ill I'm going to swoon like a maiden—"

Merlin went pink to the tips of his overlarge ears. "I did not—!"

"—no, I bet you didn't, because you're an idiot," Arthur concluded, and sat down, heavily, in the chair by the bed again.

"I wasn't that ill. I wasn't!" Merlin added when Arthur raised his eyebrows incredulously. "Besides, it was your anniversary! What was I supposed to? Skip it? I don't think so! I'd been planning it for weeks!" He appeared so indignant at the very thought, Arthur almost laughed, and let him off the hook.

"Funny thing about anniversaries, Merlin," he schooled his features into the sternest scowl he could manage, "they're an annual thing. Suppose I should have known you haven't figured that out yet, I mean, I shouldn't expect that much from you—"

Merlin huffed, and opened his mouth to retort, so Arthur hastened on.

"—but my point is, the anniversary would have been there next year, Merlin. And the year after that. You shouldn't have ignored what you needed for what you thought I did."

Merlin bit his lip. "I just—" he shifted uncomfortably on the cot. "—I wanted to make sure you were all right—"

"Thank you for that," Arthur said sincerely. "Really. Thank you, Merlin. But you should have made sure you were all right first. My anniversary may not be my favorite day, but it is just a day, and you matter far more to me than any—" Oh, no, oh, gods, the stupid idiot was grinning like a loon, abort abort abort—

"You'reanidiotandyoushouldn'thavegonemuckingabouttheforestwhenyouweresickallrightnowgobacktosleepMerlinthankyou!"

Merlin sniggered, and took a sip of tea to hide it.

Arthur didn't stop to think—he grabbed the bottom of the teacup in Merlin's hands, and tipped it up until the liquid splashed over the man's face, and he sputtered, dripping the warm liquid all over the cot.

"Arthur!"

Arthur swallowed back the laugh bubbling in his throat, and reluctantly handed Merlin the nearest dry rag—Guinevere would have his head served for dinner tomorrow night if he didn't—Merlin scrubbed the residue off his face with a grimace, and swayed slightly, a tearing tree in a fierce gale—

"Merlin?" Arthur bit down, hard, on his bottom lip to hide the grin.

"Mm?" Merlin flung the tea-drenched rag into the nearest basket, and settled slowly back on the cot.

Arthur wondered, for a minute, if he might be going too far. Nope. "So I guess you did need the fainting couch after all."

"Oh, you ass—!"

[terminally-anxious]

Aisling (chapter 12)

summary: Virgil has been dependent on helpers around his apartment after an accident rendered him unable to take care for himself. After his previous helper quit, Virgil needs to find a new one. And the lucky person is a literal ball of sunshine with glasses and freckles.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, those fully belong to Thomas Sanders and his friends.

Word count: 1740

Tw: Swearing, Deceit, stalking, obsession, threats, stalker (if there are any more please tell me)

Authors note: Okay just a quick heads up! I was recently at the doctors, and it turns out i’ve been living with a broken hand/badly healed hand the last two years, and because of this i need surgery. Which unfortunately means that i don’t know how many new chapters i can get out before i need to operate. so if there is a sudden lack of chapters, that’s most likely the reason.

Previous chapters  

Logan and Emile / Roman and Remy / D.C (Deceit) / Patton and Virgil

Pairings: (finally) Moxiety and Logience

Two days later found Patton and Virgil sitting close on the twins’s sofa, They were currently alone, seeing as the other two occupants still had jobs to attend to.

The case had been reported to the police the same day Virgil had received the letter, but due to the lack of evidence there wasn’t much they could do. So the small group of friends had been advised to stay vigilant, and if anything happened they only needed to call.

Logan had been furious with the police, furious that this wasn’t taken seriously. He’d only managed to calm himself later on that evening, and after much discussion between them all, they figured that Virgil and Patton would be rotating around for a place to stay. The first three days were gonna be at the Picani’s, the next three at Roman’s, then Patton’s, And finally Remy’s. Then the cycle would repeat.

Virgil worried about being a burden to his friends, but that was quickly shot down. They would much more do this for a while, rather than losing Virgil to a lunatic.

There was only one problem, neither Virgil or Patton had brought with them any change of clothes. Patton’s problem was easily solved, when the twins got home, he would drive to his house and grab some of his clothes, and then return. Virgil’s situation was a bit more difficult, he needed to go home to his apartment, not only for clothes but for important medications as well.

They suggested just sending Patton, but Virgil had protested, his stalker didn’t like Patton, what if he just killed the aid. No, Virgil insisted on coming along, besides there was safety in numbers. Reluctantly the others agreed. The two of them would head out tomorrow to collect Virgil’s stuff and Patton would pick up his clothes that evening, when the twins came home.

Right now though, the two sat in a comfortable silence, exhausted after the last couple of days. Virgil sat curled up into Patton’s side, his head resting on the white haired man’s shoulder, and Patton had his right arm curled around Virgil.

Virgil felt completely safe with Patton, even if their situation at hand was dire. The white haired man had come into his life when he had truly needed him, and his kindness and compassion had awakened something within him.

Just thinking about it made all sorts of emotions swirl.

The ravenette looked up at Patton, seeing nothing but darkness, but for once since the accident, he found that it didn't really bother him.

“Virgil?” Patton asked, his voice pitched low, but instead of sounding sexy, it was more comforting in manner. Many things about the aid was comforting, reassuring. It was no wonder that Virgil fell hard for Patton.

Patton had brought with him a sense of security that Virgil hadn’t felt since he got diagnosed with anxiety as a teenager. Patton could brighten his day with just speaking to him, could make him flustered with just a touch, he made the hard days bearable.

So with confidence that Remy had helped him build, he spoke.

“Pat, do you think I could see what you look like?” He didn’t need to know what his caretaker looked like, he’d already fallen in love with his voice, his gentle touch, his lively personality and his goofy yet professional demeanor.

So he truly didn’t need to, but damn if he didn’t want to.

He’d only done this with a few people, but it felt right to extend this to Patton as well, this intimate sort of closeness that is difficult to explain to the seeing. Most people didn’t put much into seeing another’s face, but to someone like Remy and Virgil, it was like being introduced to a person all over again, to know them in a way that no one else could.

It certainly made him feel less lonely. It would give the voice he had grown to love a face. It would give him something more.  

“o-oh, of course you can kiddo..” The aid stammered out, flushing lightly.

Virgil smiled, and Patton’s heart sped up within his chest. Virgil’s face held a gentleness rarely seen, and it made him look gorgeous. A dimple shyly greeted him, his eyes gaining the smallest of squints, highlighting the creases in the corners of his eyes, and it was breathtaking.

Patton wanted to frame that smile, this expression of gratitude, fondness and love.

The aid took off his glasses, and gently lead Virgil’s searching hands towards his face. The soft pads of his fingers touched his cheeks, and Virgil hummed, the same gentle smile on his face.

“Close your eyes?” Patton immediately closed his eyes, unable to resist such a cute request.

The blind man cupped his face and softly brushed his thumbs underneath his eyes, before carefully going over his closed eyes.

The gentlest of pressures was applied.

His patient’s ministrations went up to his eyebrows and forehead, Virgil giggled when Patton wrinkled it on purpose.

He figured it was safe to open his eyes again, so when he did, he was slightly startled by how close Virgil was.

The fingers that were cupping his cheeks moved along his jawline as the thumbs brushed over his nose. Virgil was openly grinning, but when his fingers reached his mouth, the expression turned fond and longing.

Patton’s heart skipped a beat in it’s quicker tempo.

“Can I?” Virgil’s voice had lowered in volume, barely a whisper, but Patton wouldn’t have missed it even if he wanted to.

It was obvious what the younger man was asking, they had grown closer as of the last 2 months, and while Patton was sure of his own feelings for his patient, he had been unsure about the nature of Virgil’s own.

But it seemed that they were the same.

“Yes.”

The kiss started off as careful and shy, just a simple brush of lips, a shared space of breath. The sweetest of kisses Patton had ever had the pleasure to receive.

However it seemed like Remy’s lessons in self-confidence had really helped Virgil, for the next thing he knew, Virgil was straddling him, eyes full of mischief as he turned his blinded gaze down at the white haired man. Patton’s arms wrapped around Virgil’s middle, urging him closer, and it seemed that the ravenette was completely onboard with this.

Pale hands found themselves cupping the caretakers face and Virgil pressed their lips together a second time. This time there was an increase in pressure, Virgil’s lips were slightly parted, and Patton couldn’t help but mirror it.

While the first kiss conveyed shyness, this one translated as one of deep infatuation or love. It was one of those kisses that leaves a person breathless, in awe and brimming with love.

Patton couldn’t help grinning, ridiculously happy at the moment.

The ravenette smiled in return, before pulling away. He did not go far, as he shyly rubbed their noses together in an eskimo kiss. It was freaking adorable if you asked Patton, but then again he was pretty biased in his opinions about the man in his lap.

A comfortable silence settled over them as they just basked in each other's presence; content and in love.

“Thank you.” Patton spoke in awe, the words unable to convey the extent of his gratitude.

“It was a pleasure.” Virgil reassured, feeling a little light headed by his strong feelings.

Virgil’s hands had started an absent minded caress of his cheeks, and without warning Patton turned his head and kissed the inside of Virgil’s open palm.

“Oh my god!!” Roman’s screech made them jump out of their skins.

“Roman, do you have to scream everything you say?” Remy’s voice sassed, moving past the openly gaping drama teacher.

“Do close your mouth Ro, you’ll catch flies.” Logan seemed calm and hardly fazed by the display on the couch, instead opting to carry a few of the grocery bags into the kitchen.

Virgil could barely contain the giggle that wanted to leave him at Logan’s deadpan and flat response. “I suppose congratulations are in order, storm cloud.” Emile’s use of his nickname made him smile in the direction of his older brothers voice.

“WHAT?!! YOU TWO KNEW?!” Remy and Virgil cringed at the noise. “Roman, gurl,” Remy sounded unimpressed “Even me, who is blind, could clearly see that there was something between the two of them.”

“B-but! I’m supposed to be the romance guy, how did i miss this?!” The drama teacher gestured wildly at Virgil, who still was seated in Patton’s lap.

Propping his chin on top of Patton’s head, Virgil levelled Roman with a flat look. “You’ve probably been too busy chasing tail yourself” A raised eyebrow and a lazy smirk pulled at his features, which developed into a full grin when the amputee squaked with indignation.

Remy laughed as he plopped down onto the couch. “Gurl, you always talk about Logan, so sunshine here does have a point.” Virgil groaned.

“Damn you Roman, now you’ve gotten him to start with that bloody nickname.” The ravenette grumbled, shooting daggers in the drama teacher's direction.

“I think it’s cute!” Patton chirped, smiling up at Virgil. “but i gotta wonder why does Roman call you sunshine, while Emile calls you storm cloud? Those are kinda opposite…” The white haired man trailed off.  

Virgil opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by Logan. “We call him storm cloud because he used to rush outside whenever there was rain or thunder outside.” Emile continued, “we used to think he could predict storms and such, sense them in a way.” The oldest twin shrugged, joining the others in the living room.

“and sunshine came from his overall mood, which was pretty sour. I just called him that one day and he almost decked me.” Roman laughed, remembering how Virgil’s face had gotten an impressive shade of red.

“Roman, you have three seconds to run before i beat you with our own leg.”

“oh come on Virgil, we both know you won-!!” Roman didn’t get to finish as Virgil vaulted himself over the back of the couch and navigated his way to Roman quite quickly.

“NOT THE LEG!” 

The others laughed as Virgil gave chase to Roman. For a moment they all forgot what had happened two days prior, this moment of joy too great.

But tomorrow they would learn how dangerous it was to forget.

((tag list: @metaphoricalpluto2 @funsizedgremlin @ako1209 @the-straight-as-a-circle-girl @callboxkat @storiesarereality @lara-crofters @fandoms-n-ship @astraastro @nightmarejasmine @that-one-invisible-chick @virgilisaneternalmood @yourhappypappypatton @nienna14 @evillive369 @ivesscottthis @generalfandomfabulousness @twomutesplusone @smokeyrutilequartz @randomslasher @daughterofsomnus @trans-pan-rainbow-man @amber1594 @afilhadehades-blog @hamilin-manuel-miranda @ijustreallylovesanderssides @miraculousfandoms @fullmetallovr21 @rileyfirstname @hanramz-the-fander @enderperson43 @ladynightmare12 @nonofthekingshad-arthurization @chocopirate @oh-star-how-the-mighty-fall @patton-loves-coloring @reba-andthesides @nightmareelmst @itsbilliejoemotherfuckers @aricana8 @impossiblebluebirdcreation @panic-wizard-sex-walrus @narniasfinestavengingsociopath @iris-sanders-athena @peanut0303 @emo-potato-virgil @darkle-elkrad )) 

[thesinglesjukebox]

DEMPAGUMI.INC - PRECIOUS SUMMER [6.62] When we last covered them, it was 4 years ago and they had 2 fewer members. We got a lot of catching up to do.

Taylor Alatorre: This sounds like someone hired a group to do the opening theme for the next YuruYuri OVA but they were deemed to be too fast and too loud, so they decided to get even faster and louder as revenge. It's cosmically hilarious that anime openings are one of the places where the insurgent spirit of punk rock remains most vibrant, albeit filtered through happy hardcore and caked in moe sensibilities. Dempagumi themselves have a mixed record when it comes to anime songs, with "Punch Line!" being weighed down by panty-related punnery that's unfortunately quite relevant to the plot. Here, with no media property attached, they're free to chase the wildest, most high-velocity sounds possible, and the listener is free to imagine whatever cute and wacky scenarios they want. The yearning power pop outro is the meaning of the song's title belatedly coming into view: that those carefree summer days are indeed precious and cannot be made to last forever, no matter what BPM you charge at them with. It makes the preceding thrill ride all the more worthwhile. [9]

Katie Gill: Initially, I was ABSOLUTELY confused because I didn't realize that "DDR song from the early 2000s mixed with that one song I can never full combo in Love Live" was a genre. And yet it is! "Precious Summer" is an example of a denpa song, a song characterized by traits like off-key vocals, an intensely over the top tune, and a generally 'weird' or 'out of touch' feel. "Precious Summer" succeeds in that regard: this song does not stop. It makes me feel like I have a caffeine buzz just by listening to it. And despite the very real people performing this, "Precious Summer" sounds amazingly fake. The vocal manipulation borders on the uncanny at times, more Vocaloid than actual person. But that's possibly the point. This is a long-winded way to say that initially I was completely baffled by this song, and now...I'm still completely baffled. But at least now I know that it's a 'this is probably not a genre for me' sort of thing. [5]

John Seroff: Combo after combo.... look at all those combos! I'm very glad this kind of frenetic jpop denpa nerdmetal exists and, in proper dosages, I've been known to indulge. It's just that when I go one toke over the line (say, past that third repeat), I feel like I'm gonna hyperventilate and die. Helluva drug! [6]

Iain Mew: One of those bits of fantastic music writing which has stuck in my brain forever is MG's groovesnjams description of Girls' Generation's "I Got a Boy" as an arcade machine attract reel. The first couple of minutes of "Precious Summer" is more like someone impatiently hammering through the game's lavish menus, intense cues piling on top of each other as they're not even given the chance to play out before the next one slices in. After that it stays exactly as ultra-demonstrative but slightly less ultra-fast, which is as close as a concession to the reasonable as you get with them. [7]

Ryo Miyauchi: The frantic electronic beat of "Precious Summer" turns up the speed by 1000% with saturated colors bleeding as if to signify the effects from the beating sun. The line distribution moves back and forth just as intense, enough to inspire some motion sickness. It's more or less what you'd expect from a Dempagumi single cashing in on the season. While the group delivers exactly what's called for, if you're familiar with Dempa, you know you don't necessarily have to wait until summertime to enjoy this kind of music from them. [6]

Jonathan Bradley: It's been a little while since I last checked in with the frenetic and eternally glitching Dempagumi.inc, and it was welcome and faintly disappointing to hear how familiar "Precious Summer" is. Welcome, because there is still so much glee in this act's overclocked call-and-response shouting and jump-cut arrangements. But listening to Dempagumi should be an off-kilter experience, one in which the horizon has not only been lost, it might have been rendered entirely unlocatable, and this song traces its shifts in pace and tone in ways that propose the confusion is a recurring set of convoluted compartments bolted together rather than ever-replenishing chaos. Still, fitting for a tune with a title Joyce Manor could borrow, "Precious Summer" is the nearest this band has come to pop-punk, and that's a good fit for them; the counter-melody on the outro could have been sung by Tom DeLonge on a Blink-182 track in 2001. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: There's a lot of innate energy in a colorful denpa song like this, but the longer it goes on, the more that any and all excitement is squeezed out. While the normalization of these ostensibly disparate elements is fine, it reveals how "Precious Summer" could use stronger songwriting to compliment all the accouterments. The vocal melody that graces the outro almost convinces me that the rest was worthwhile. [5]

Rebecca A. Gowns: I know next to nothing about J-pop, so I usually abstain from writing about it. This time, the video intrigued me, resurfacing fuzzy memories of watching Lucky Star and K-On during a lazy summer 10 years ago. The association isn't random, as it looks like Dempagumi.inc's whole thing is being a group of otaku girls who got together to try and make it as an idol group. Musically, it reminds me of those shows' openings: plucky girls singing rapidly, stream-of-consciousness, shouting interjections, quirky and cute in an extremely conscious way. Wikipedia tells me that Dempagumi's music is not just idol music, it's also denpa, which I haven't seen other writers reference here before. Suddenly the anime theme songs and Dempagumi's songs are outlined with a more cohesive thread -- this is the sound of electromagnetic waves infiltrating your brain. Now I get it. This performance is exactly what you dream about after watching too many episodes of "Lucky Star" on a hot summer day. The memory comes to me more clearly now, and I appreciate this song for what it evokes; that feeling of being a young girl with in the throes of a sticky, depressed mania, and grabbing onto cute pop culture and happy make-believe as if it was a life preserver. [8]

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