#Arthur may be a bit fucked up but its not his fault

[gaiussleechtank]

I've seen the 'Poet, King and Solider' test been going around on tiktok lately and I have so much to say about it.

If Arthur were to take the test he would outwardly say that he'd obviously be king, or if not, then Solider. But deep down, he wants to get poet, he wants the freedom and the creativity. It's bloody canonical that he wants to run away from his duties sometimes.

I have so many headcannons that Arthur, if given the chance, would have so many little and fun hobbies to indulge in, he would paint and draw, learn how to play the lute or lyre, have a passion of bird keeping, or write ridiculously soppy poetry.

Deep down he just wants to be free from the burdens of responsibility that he's been forced to have since a child. He wants to read the fairy tales he was never allowed to read as a kid. He wants to play hide and seek. Get caught doing silly things. Make mistakes.

But he couldn't, not as heir to the throne, not as Uther's son. Arthur was dealt with one of the worst hands in the entire series. If there wasn't the war against magic, if his father had never been a selfish prick, Arthur would have truly flourished and been a better person all around. But no, he was forced to grow up too young, see and understand death from the beginning, bear the responsibility of a kingdom he never asked for.

Arthur would get king and dream of being a poet.

[justmeinadaze]

Children of the Night Part 3 (Steddie X You)

A/N: Happy Friday the 13th <3

Warnings: Dom Daddy Vampire Eddie/Sub Human Steve (cam boys) X Sub Human Fem Reader, SMUT, rough smut (Vamp Eddies needs take over a bit), dirty talk, biting, mentions of blood and draining (duh vampire), aftercare of course, FLUFF they love each other :), ANGST, Protective Stevie always on alert, Reader has nightmares one involving Steve being beaten up and Eddie saving him and another dealing her childhood trauma (child abuse trigger involving mother), Eddie mentions his drunk dad, Both boys give her a run down of events in the show, I think that's all.

Word Count: 4185

Eddie felt it; every punch and kick that was being delivered to the man he loved amped him up more as he hunted for Steve.

“Dude, this isn’t fun if he doesn’t fight back.”

“Maybe fucking the freak made him soft.”

 His boyfriend’s anger mixed with his own before more pain followed. 

“Oh, I see. That’s your button isn’t it, Harrington? Don’t like people making fun of your freak?”

The scenery blurred around the metalhead as the feelings within him became almost too much.

“Fuck. Dude, did you hear that? I think someone might be—”

The boy’s screams echoed as Eddie tackled him, pinning him to the ground before snapping his neck. 

“Holy shit. What the fuck? M-Munson?”

The vampire growled, sprinting behind him, and taking ahold of his throat as his fangs dug into his flesh. As the boy’s blood spilled down his throat, Eddie felt some of his anger calm but a hunger he hadn’t even realized was there took over as he guided his victim to the floor and continued to drink till there was nothing left.

“Eddie?”

“Y/N, WAKE UP!”

Your body shot upright with a start as your panicked eyes met Steve’s who was hovering over you with cross as he pointed it Eddie who was now in the corner of their bedroom. 

“Wh-What happened?”

“You were having a nightmare.”

“No.”, the vampire growled. “She keeps accessing my memories. It’s not my fault I can fucking feel them. Jesus, this needs to stop.”

“Eddie, I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, honey. His blood just needs to run its course. What was it this time?”, Steve asked as he put the cross away and tenderly pet the back of your head.

“I think people were hurting you. Eddie was trying to find you to protect you. God, Steve, it was so strong, the anger and then…the hunger.”

“Explains why he just tried to bite you again.” His eyes met yours as you shifted you gaze. “I heard him growling in his sleep. He shot up like you did but his eyes were that black color.”

“You know I’m really glad we can all play fucking catch up but I’m still fucking hungry.”, Eddie snarled causing the other man to roll his eyes. 

“Let me get him a blood bag.”

The long-haired boy smirked as his black eyes scanned you over. 

“Why are you so fucking turned on right now?”

“I didn’t just feel the anger and hunger. You really love him don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You’d do anything to protect him?”

“Always. Same with you, little one.”

“D-Do you love me to, Eddie?”, you whisper. The vampires smirk stretches a bit more making your body shiver in pleasure at the sight. “Do you love me…Daddy?”

“Here. Drink this now and then tonight when we stream, you can take more from me.” The vampire immediately tears open the bag, chugging it back like a beer. “We may want to get you home, Y/N. We don’t want anything to seem out of the ordinary.”

“Arthur…”

“Eddie took care of him and cleaned your house. Do you feel comfortable going back?”

“Yeah, I just…I don’t want to leave you two.”

“How about I come with you? You can get some things including your phone and then I can bring you back here so you can moderate and be with us after.”

***

“Steve?” He answers with a small hm as he continued look at things around your room. “Why did those boys attack you that night you went missing?”

The man sighs as he turns around to face where you were sitting on your bed as he leans against your dresser. 

“Small town, small minded people. After Eddie died, those couple months after I was basically numb. I missed him so much Y/N, you have no idea. People would talk behind my back or make fun of me for caring about the ‘devil worshipping freak’. Usually, I can hold myself together but that day just hit me hard. I…I went to his trailer to drown myself in booze and just hide in those memories.”

“Those kids showed up saying they heard the ‘gay music’ and that wasn’t allowed in Hawkins. I tried to leave but that’s when they started hurting me.”

“Why didn’t you try to defend yourself?”

“How do you know I didn’t?”

“I heard one of the boys say that in Eddie’s memory.”

“Jesus. I didn’t realize he heard any of that. Um, honestly, honey… I kinda hoped they would kill me…so I could be with him…”

Rising from your place on the bed, you embraced him and he heavily exhaled as he did the same, resting his chin on your head. 

“When I saw him standing there, I thought I had died. I couldn’t believe he was alive.”

“What was that place he woke up from?”

“That’s a bit harder to explain. The best answer I can give you is another world like ours but darker, eviler. We…we went down there to save lives… Can we talk about this more later? I just…”

“No, no. I understand. I felt it when he woke up, not just what you were experiencing but he was so scared something happened to you when he woke up and everything was quiet. For a moment, he thought…you guys had lost…if that makes sense? But then he heard you talking and playing your song… he cares about you a lot.”

That made him smile before his index finger reached under your chin and tilted your head so you could meet his gaze. 

“We care about you a lot to. I meant what I said last night. Ever since we first spoke to you, I knew you were different. He always wanted to come find you and bring you to us. After everything that’s happened, I kind of wish I had let him.”

“I’m sorry for being so much trouble…”

“No! No, shit, that’s not what I meant. I just…if you had been with us you never would have gotten this black eye or shot. I hated seeing you in pain.”

“I liked having you take care of me though.”

His eyes scanned your face as his hand cupped your cheek and his thumb caressed your lips. 

“I liked having you take care of me to.”

“Steve.”, you moaned his name breathily making him smile above you. 

“I can’t wait for Daddy to have you. Trust me, it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced.”, he whispered. “He was phenomenal before but now…” Steve pauses, his grin growing when he sees you giggle through your teeth. “What are you laughing at, pretty girl?”

“I guess it’s his blood still but I can feel him. Because we’re turned on, he’s turned on and he’s stroking his cock right now.”

“You can feel that?”

“I’m assuming because I feel how I feel when an orgasm is building in my tummy, you know?”

“You feel like you’re gonna cum, honey? Maybe, I can help.”

Licking your lips, you watch as he slides two of his fingers into his mouth, coating them with his saliva as you unbutton your jeans. His palm glides effortlessly through the waistband of your panties and you groan as he pushes his digits into your entrance. 

“Fuck. I just stretched you open and you’re still so fucking tight.”

Knowing you were already close to edge, he pumped his fingers at a fast pace, curling them inside of you as he kissed your forehead. Your hand clung to his wrists as your eyes fluttered shut and your hips rolled against his movements.

“That’s it, baby. Use my fingers. Good girl.”, Steve hummed in your ear in a seductive tone that had you clenching. “Cum, honey. I got you.”

Moaning his name, you came with an intensity you had never felt before, your arms shooting out to wrap around him as you pressed your face into his chest.

“It’s ok, Y/N. You’re alright.”

Sliding his hand out of your pants, he blindly buttoned them as you continued to clutch him tightly. 

“Well, this is new for me.”, he chuckles. “I mean, normally I’m in this headspace and Eddie takes care of me.” When your eyes look up to meet his, he feels his cock strain against the denim of his jeans. The innocence that reflected back within them was part of what attracted the vampire to you. 

You knew nothing of their world they lived yet you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with them and be who they needed. In return, they kept you safe and looked after you. They cared about you. They…

“Do you love me to, Steve?”

His phone aggressively vibrating cut through the moment and he sighed as he flipped it open reading the text his boyfriend just sent. 

“You both need to get back here now. Daddy is hungry.”

############

When you guys got back to their place, Eddie had moved some of the cameras around so you could sit at their desk and work while also not being picked up accidently. 

“You know, if ever you want me to join you…”

“I know, sweetheart. I just want to have you first before other people get to see you.”

“Not like they can see too much with this grainy webcam.”, Steve states as he comes into the bedroom and throws off his shirt. 

“Aw. Do you want them to see you better, Stevie?”, Eddie teases as he tugs his boyfriend to the edge of the bed where he normally sits when they stream and wraps his arms around his chest. 

“It’s nice to be seen.” The man reaches for one of his boyfriend’s hands and playfully bites his palm making you smile as you watch them wondering if this was a little glimpse of what they were like before everything happened. 

The clock in the room beeps and they both get more serious as you bring the stream to life. Everything starts off normally as you moderate the chat in front of you. No nonsense today besides people inquiring about the new angle of the cameras. Your eyes start to flutter however when you feel your body begin to tingle like it had at your house. 

Turning to face them, nothing is unusual as their lips mingle together but you’re surprised when the vampire grips Steve’s shoulder and effortlessly moves him around till he’s lying on his stomach with his head facing the camera. No…not just facing the camera…facing you.

The vampire whispers something to him and the man’s brown eyes find yours as Eddie trails kiss down his back before roughly lifting his hips higher in the air. 

When his boyfriend’s tongue invades his entrance, Steve mewls as he bites his bottom lip. Your hands tremble with need as you slide your shorts and underwear down your legs. Making sure he has a good view, you open your legs for him, displaying your soaking cunt as you run your fingers through your slick.

“Fuck, baby. That’s it.”

Eddie crawled back up his body, sliding his own fingers between the boy’s cheeks causing Steve’s face to scrunch in pleasure. 

“Is she as tight as you are, sweetheart? Fuck. I can feel how turned on you both are. It drives me crazy.” Two sets of eyes watch you intensely as you slide your digits into you hole, trying to stifle any noise from leaving your lips as Eddie pulls out his own and runs the tip of his cock between Steve’s ass. “Jesus. Are you ready for me, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy. Please.”, he begged. 

Your moans mixed in with theirs as Eddie pushed into him, wrapping his arms around his chest as he laid flat on his back while he thrust his hips.

“That’s my good boy. I love you so much. This perfect ass was made for Daddy.”

Their fingers intertwined as yours thrust into your pussy at a faster pace. 

“I’m ready, honey. Mmm—take what you need.”

Eddie grunted as he nodded, tenderly kissing Steve’s neck before his mouth opened wider and his fangs dug into his skin. 

You felt it immediately. As soon as his blood touched his lips, that euphoria you felt drinking his own blood coursed through your veins. It was so strong, your body slid to the floor as you tried to ride your own fingers harder to satisfy the feeling to no avail. 

Your vision blurred as you watched the bed shake and listened to their moans as Steve practically screamed telling you he came. You waited for the second release but no sound followed.

The wind blew around you as the cameras beeped off, your body was abruptly lifted, and you were tossed next to Steve whose glassy half lidded eyes met yours. You barely had time to register what was happening as your legs your lifted around Eddie’s waist and his cock pushed inside you. 

“Eddie!”, you squealed as his hips thrust aggressively into yours hitting that spot inside of you that you couldn’t reach with your fingers. 

The vampire growled loudly, baring his fangs as black eyes stared menacingly into yours. 

“D-Daddy. I’m sorry. You…just feel so good. Please don’t stop.”

He growled again much lower than before as he continued to pump his cock into you with rough abandon. Eddie’s head fell within the nook of your neck and your fingers tangled in his hair as you held him to you. 

“You can—oh my god—you can take from me to, baby. Anything you need.”

“Ed—Eddie…wait…”, Steve tried to get his attention but the man was too far gone and when your head turned to face his he knew it. 

“It’s ok, Steve. I’m ok.” Your reached out to hold his hand as he limply scooted forward to kiss your lips. 

Your pussy clenched around him as Eddie’s teeth grazed your flesh, wincing when they punctured the skin. The fingers you had in his hair tightened as you felt the blood drain from your body. You had never felt anything as good as this before as your eyes rolled and the tingles within your body amplified to what felt like a burning degree. 

“Y-Yes, Daddy. Harder. Please!”

The bed once again began to shake as he did what you asked, rolling his hips aggressively into you as he abused your g-spot over and over. His large palm cupped your cheek as he held your head still, grunting and growling as your walls continued to suck him in. 

Your body trembled underneath his as you came harder than you ever had before, your face contorting in pain and pleasure when he released your throat and fucked you through your orgasm. Chasing his own high, he placed his forehead on yours as his hands tenderly petted your head. 

“Yes.”, he panted against your lips in a gruff tone. “Yes. I love you, princess.”

You tried to wrap your arms around him but you could barely move. All you were able to do was tilt your head so you could gently kiss him while he thrust into you till you felt him release his seed into your cunt. 

“I…I love you to, Eddie.”

Carefully sliding out of you, he quickly disappeared and returned with water, a wash rag, and a snack. 

“Steve?”

You rolled to your side, his fingers slightly twitching in your hand to tell you he was listening even though his eyes were closed. 

“I love you to.”

The boy smiled drunkenly as Eddie lifted you both up and leaned your backs against the headboard as he cleaned your bodies. 

“I love you to, pretty girl. Eddie loves you to even though he won’t admit it.”

“I literally just did, you dork.”

“Hey, hey. Don’t be mean.”, his boyfriend chastised with a smirk. 

“Here. You two eat this please.” You and Steve giggled like kids as you took the power bars from his hands and nibbled on the ends. “Shit. I think I’m going to have to give you two a bath because this rag isn’t going to do a damn thing. Do you think you both can walk?”

The human boy tries and immediately falls backwards, his head landing in your lap. As Eddie got up to help him, he paused as he watched you gently run your fingers through his hair as he continued to grin. The vampire sighed in pleasure at your action loving the little things you did to show that you cared. It had been so long since anyone had touched or even talked to them kindly and he loved even more that they were getting to experience things like this again through you. 

“Am I in the bathtub already?”

“Jesus, no Steven. You are weirdest inebriated person I have ever meant and you aren’t even drunk or high.” Eddie lifts him into his arms and carries him into the bathroom, leaning him against the wall. 

“I am high… on you.” The metalhead rolls his eyes as Steve pokes his nose, trying to hide the smile that wants to push through. He turns with the intention of coming to get you to find that you were already leaning against the other wall of the bathroom. 

“I could have carried you. Are you ok?”

“Yeah.”, you sigh as you gesture absently. “Not the first time I’ve had to move during blood loss and it probably won’t be the last.”

The vampire listened to you two talk as he got the bath ready. 

“Hey. The last time you were bleeding, you were flat on a table ma’am. No movement required.”

“Hm. Bled a few times growing up. M’mom is in jail remember?” Steve’s eyes became sad as he scanned your face. “Also boyfriends like John. Besides that night, had you ever gotten into a fight, Stevie?”

“Pfft, yeah a few. Once over a girl, another to protect some kids I was looking after…and then some Russian soldiers beat the shit out of me. That was fun.”

You looked at him with confusion as Eddie guided him into the water before coming to do the same with you. 

���Yeah, I know. It sounds far-fetched but he’s telling the truth. We started dating a little after that particular incident so yeah.”

Holding your arm, he helps you down and you exhale as you lean your back against Steve’s chest while Eddie sits on the edge of the tub to clean you both. 

“What about you?”, you ask. 

“Ah, no fights for me, princess. I mean, no fights with people. I tried fighting a hoard of bats but obviously that didn’t end well.”

“And your dad?”

“Um, yeah that never ended well either.” His eyes glazed over a bit as he focused on the task before him but paused when your hand touched his. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” 

Flashing you a soft smile, he cleared his throat as he rose to his feet. 

“Alright, I’m going to go change the sheets. Do you think you two can remain coherent till I come back.”

“Yes, DAD.”, Steve sassed making you giggle as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you tighter to him. 

################

You hide under your dinner table you used to have in your parent’s house when you were little. Your mother is screaming again as she searches for you. 

“Where the fuck are you, you ungrateful brat?! Do you really think you’re any better for them? Always causing problems! Trust me, babe, they’d be better off without you.”

You jump when you feel a palm touch your bicep. 

“Whoa. Sorry.”, Steve whispers. “I didn’t mean to scare you. What are we hiding from?”

You point towards the kitchen as your mother’s shadow passes along the tablecloth. 

“Hey, what did we say, baby girl? You’re safe with us.”, Eddie beamed as he pushed some of your hair back behind your ear. 

“But are you safe with me?”

Your eyes flew open as you clutched your chest. 

“You know, some people just sleep at night.”, Eddie teases as he fully sits up beside you. “Are you alright?” When you nodded, his palm gently reached up to pet your head. “What were you dreaming about? It felt…sad.”

“You don’t know already?”

“I mean, I know it wasn’t one of my memories because you’ve only been dreaming about things that happened after I changed. What I felt right now…I haven’t felt since I was a little kid and my dad would come home drunk.”

“I was dreaming about my mom. When I was kid I used to hide under the dining room table while her and my dad would fight. That’s where I was with you two and…”

“And what?”

“I’m not putting you two in danger am I? I just…with everything that happened and Steve’s fears of you two needing to run again—”

Eddie silenced you by placing his fingers on your lips, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, and bringing you down to lay with your head on his chest. He sighed before telling you his story of a girl named Chrissy who died violently in his trailer and a town that tried to hunt him down for it claiming he was a devil worshipping freak. He explained about an evil being named Vecna who was actually murdering these people and he, Steve, and some others went down to that scary world to stop him. 

Eddie told you about the bats he and his friend Dustin were meant to distract so Steve and his friends could get into a house to destroy this being. 

His tone became shakier as he talked about buying more time so they could succeed and the battle he faced when he didn’t run away. The feeling of the bats pinning him to the ground and tearing into his flesh.

“The last thing I thought about was Steve. It was like…a montage of our relationship. I just wanted to go back to how things used to be before the murders when we would lay in bed and talk about leaving our stupid town.”, he heavily exhales, kissing your palm as it reaches up to caress his face. 

“After I saved him, Steve told me we needed to run. That they still placed the blame on me even though they couldn’t find me. If they found out I wasn’t dead, bad things would happen. Y/N, after everything we’ve been through, these past two days have been nothing. I know that we’re all safe here but Steve always worried we may need to run again. He lost me once, he says… you’re not putting us in any kind of danger, sweetheart. If anything…now we’re putting you in danger.”

“I’m not afraid of you or things that come with you. I meant what I said. I love you both… I want to help and be there for you two anyway I can.” 

Eddie smiled as he kissed your forehead. 

“I wasn’t too rough with you was I?”

“No. The biting hurt at first but after…when you started draining me… fuck.”

His chest shook as he laughed making you smile as you held him tighter. 

“I guess because you still had my blood inside you, you felt what I feel when I’m fucking him.” Lightly but firmly, Eddie tugged your hair back, placing his lips on yours. “You both feel amazing.”

“How much of Eddie was there? You seemed kind of gone.”

“I was there, sweetheart. The vampire kind of took over a bit but, trust me, I was there.”

Rolling on to his side, he kept his arm under your head as his other hand came up to touch your cheek while his eyes ran along your face. 

“Next time, I’ll move a bit slower so I can really watch this beautiful face while my cock is stretching you open. Steve was right, you are tight but you took me so well.”

“Y-You felt good. No one’s ever been that deep before except…”

“Steve?” The vampire grins when you nod. “I know how you feel. The first time we were together, I swore I could feel him everywhere.”

“When did he start calling you Daddy?”

His thumb runs along your bottom lip as his now chocolate-colored irises continue to study you, watching as your chest rises and falls as you breathe nervously.

“A couple of months after we started dating, he said he had a fantasy. Steve always felt like he needed to be in control and just wanted to BE controlled in bed.” As you kiss the pad of his finger, he delicately placed it between your lips, his smile growing when your tongue ran along the flesh. “Is that what you need to, sweetheart? Do you need to be taken care of?”

When you nod your head again, he withdraws his thumb and leans over to passionately kiss your lips. Without releasing his hold on the back of your neck, he pulls away, and grazes his noses along yours, panting against your open mouth. 

“Can you say it, baby?”

“I need you to take care of me, Daddy.”

############

@chelebelletx @mandyjo8719 @bimbobaggins69

[fancyfeathers]

zainiscompletelydone333 asked a question

omg but imagine william's potential darling to be like agatha christie? a mystery writer whose mysteries are almost impossible to solve. whether or not they are as smart as the masterminds or detectives in her books, her stories do come close to confusing even sherlock or william a bit. if you've read her "and then there were none" SPOILERS its about a judge killing people for being evil and that is so william coded. anyways i'm straying far what I mean is william could be a quiet fan, and as the lord of crime, even replicate some of her stories as part of his crimes. watching his darling's face pale at the unknown criminal doing such a thing.....ASDKSHD an when he finally does officially meet her, he wonders if she'l ever base a character off him. a hero, or perhaps a villain?

For some reason this isn’t showing up in my tumblr inbox but thank god for my email cause this is a gem! Thank you @zainiscompletelydone333 for this!

Okay I love Agatha Christie, an actual icon! Fun fact she actually faked her own disappearance in 1926 and the police couldn’t find her for over a week and she just took a vacation to London after her husband threatened to leave her and she said fuck it and decided to treat herself. Then also Arthur Conan Doyle the author of Sherlock Holmes was hired to find her.

Anyway I am getting so off track but I love this lady so much so here we go!!!

But yes William would absolutely adore a darling like her. Imagine him first finding her works for the first time, perhaps one of his brothers or Sebastian or Fred was reading her work and just out of curiosity he picks up one of her books and is just immediately enthralled. Whenever he is not busy he is reading or even rereading one of her books and even begins to be teased by others for his slight addiction to her works.

Then when he and Sherlock is on the train investigating the murder that is when he gets an idea from both this and one of her books.

Weeks later an aristocrat who had been acting as a loan shark was found dead on a train in his compartment, stabbed a dozen times, his door locked from the inside, just like a murder from one of her most famous book…

But what William did not know is that she was on that same train…

And of course she found the body…

As William was making his way back to his seat to join his brothers, he hears a blood curdling scream and he simply chalks it up to someone finding the body. Then the panicked woman is brought to her seat by the staff and she looks a mess, pale faced, tears rolling down her face, hyperventilating, all things someone should be after seeing a dead body.

She is being asked questions when she finally calms down enough and William’s ears prick up as he hears words he never thought he would hear…

“Oh god… this is my fault…”

He turns his head to the booth next to him and sees her in absolute terror as she speaks to the train conductor.

She is right next to him…

She is terrified, horrified even…

And she is beautiful.

After everything from that incident had settled and she is off at home, trying to work on her next work for the life of her but being horrified by what she just witnessed…

Then more deaths come to surface all with the same pattern…

They are based on her books…

The author is absolutely horrified, she is loosing sleep, not eating as she should, and has rarely left her house in weeks…

Then she gets a knock on her door from a certain detective who was hired to look into one of the deaths, Sherlock Holmes. While he may like her books, he has noticed the pattern like she has and has one request for her…

“I want to help you to solve these cases. Who better to solve murders based on books better than the author herself?”

At first she refuses and dismisses him, but then when she is laying in bed that night she realizes he was right.

Her drawing room becomes a mess of her old notes that she had tucked away from when she wrote her book, copies of her her books with dozens bookmarks in them, newspaper clippings all around, and evidence she had Sherlock get access to with his connections that she doesn’t have.

After days of pure investigation and nights of no sleep she finally was able to figure out where the next murder will be, just by what books are left…

But that’s the thing…

There is not a single work of hers left that this murderer has not take inspiration from…

The only thing left is the author, and she can only assume that she is the next target. So without telling Sherlock, she packs up her bags and fakes her own disappearance, to fool both the police and the murderer.

She spends so much time in the shadows, watching and waiting to see who looks into her disappearance, seeing how people react to it, but nothing, not a thing…

It frustrates her even further…

Then she finally decides to return home, feeling like a failure. Her house if just how she left it, even the papers in the drawing room that look like the work of a madman that she will have to clean up after her failure so she can go back to what she is good at, fictional murders not really ones…

No she can’t do that, that would only give the murderer ideas…

So she quits.

No one hears from her for months as she nods herself taking up a librarian position at a local library, at least she is doing something with her literature. She says goodbye to Mr. Holmes and tucks away all her old books and works in progress that will never be finished on the shelves to collect dust for the rest of her life.

At her time working there she gets a frequent visitor at the library, a Mr. William James Moriarty. He had a fascination with murder mystery novels and the two form a quick friendship over their shared love of them. Everything feels like a new start, a clean slate but then he had to ask…

“Will you ever write again?”

That question has her heart hurt because she adores writing, but to sacrifice lives just for what she enjoys, she would never. She shuts down his question quickly and excuses herself, but then avoids the scarlet eyed man as to not be asked that question again.

But as she is laying in bed one night…

She hears the sound of footsteps in her study downstairs…

She feels her heart stop…

She closes her eyes and prays whoever is there will just go away, but they do not. So she musters whatever courage she has left and slips out of bed to see who is there in her study that has been collecting dust for almost a year…

And she approaches the closed door she realizes whoever is behind them must be the person behind the murders that gave plagued her and-

“William?”

The pangs of shock she feels in her chest when she sees the face of William Jane Moriarty looking through her unfinished works that she shelved away what felt like years ago. She must have looked like a deer in headlights as the Lord of Crime looking up at her with a smile, his red eyes staring into her soul…

She is terrified, horrified even…

And she is beautiful.

“Your unfinished work, will it have an ending? Or perhaps will we have to write one ourselves? What do you think, darling?”

The weeks go by and the next time the author is seen in public again she has an engagement ring on her finger and the announcement is being made about their upcoming wedding. The talk of the aristocracy says that she finally has a husband who is willing to deal with her crazied ideas that ended up killing so many people, not knowing that she is on the arm of the man who killed them…

Just for her.

(I could kinda imagine it ending up as a situation like the book Misery by Stephen King where he has her finish her work even if she doesn’t want to, but what differs is that while he doesn’t necessarily keep her locked up physically he does mentally. Sure go run off, he isn’t going to stop his darling, but just watch the bodies stack up pin ways she imagined, he is using her own mind against her which is the most terrifying of prisons. Then soon fear turns into dependency, she becomes terrified of him leaving her because now she has no where else to go but him so he has no need to hide her away when she clings to his arm like a terrified and wounded animal.)

[historia-vitae-magistras]

How do the rest of the fam react when Matthew basically loses it after the whole nedcan breakup-kiku drama? I know you wrote a oneshot where Alfred gives him a puppy which was super cute! But I wonder if it freaks them all out because Matthew doesn’t usually draw attention to his suffering??

Ooooh, good question, thank you. So I've gone over like 15 different iterations of the windmill expanded universe, and I'm just using this ask as a brain dump now so buckle in folks, this got long. But the way it happened, without anyone falling out of love so much as priorities shifting and readjusting as time passes. That created a situation where no one's at fault, its not like anyone's committing adultery, but differences in age, experience, and psychology made the fallout very uneven.

So as a Pacific Nation, Zee saw it coming a thousand miles away. Mai's schedule was opening up, and there was chatter amongst the East Asian democracies from the late 80s onwards that, oh, that pointy tulip-headed fucker is in our airports a lot. Kiku has dairy in the kitchen a lot more than he used to. There's yet another new statue to some Dutch fuck in a square in Tokyo. He and Mai aren't meeting up as nearly as much as they used to. So she's sitting on Jack's back deck drinking a beer, going, "Fuck, mate, Mattie's going to be even more depressed than usual." And even Jack, who typically pays far less attention to politics, much less any other anglo's sex life, is wrangling a gator out from under the floorboards and nodding sagely in agreement because even he's fucking noticed.

But then three, four, and five years pass, and things have yet to explode. Matt is so consumed with depression and internal problems that he doesn't realize how much Jan's withdrawn until it's too late, and the not-breakup. He never fell out of love, but when it comes to where Jan wants to spend his time, it's not with Matt. And at some point, that discussion happens, and Matt's absolutely blindsided. The boy who saw Francis and then Alfred leaving him coming a thousand miles away and adjusted halfway decently because he had time to prepare is just bashed over the head with the new status quo. And he doesn't know why. Jan has never sat down and discussed what he did in the far east. Everything Matt knows, he knows second-hand, in the abstract.

So he's showing up at Arthur's in a state even his father is like, "oooh shit" and Matt just kind of lays down and doesn't get back up. Arthur doesn't know what to do with him except bring him a cup of tea and give him an awkward pat. They have a very difficult conversation about Jan and Kiku that's absolutely humiliating for Matt because how could he not know these things? But yeah, Matt just kind of goes down like a dead log and lays there cuddling the cat until he's practically growing mushrooms. Profoundly unwell. Arthur can't do shit to fix it, so he goes and collects Matt's things from Jan like he's restocking the British Museum because he has to fucking something. He gets... rather protective of Matt. He throws out Francis when he starts making pithy comments about how Frenchman doesn't take this sort of thing lying down; they take it on all fours making vigorous love to a third party.

Alfred shows up when he looks for Matt to fix his headspace again and can't find him. He and Arthur got into it because they always get into it at least a little bit, and they're suddenly silent because they realize Matt's just gotten up, hefted the cat under one arm and left the room and gone to lie down in his actual bedroom rather than intervene. And he always intervenes. His prime biological directive is to keep the peace, and he just says fuck it, you're loud; I'm going to go be depressed in another room. Alfred has a blue screen of death. He doesn't understand why Kiku fucking Jan would make any difference; he has his harem of part-time partners. He doesn't know what to fucking do. The head shrinking and emotional support is Matt's fucking job. He gives Matt a solid pat on the shoulder and tells Matt, "I love you, dude, feel better." And fucks off back to North America.

Not long after that, Matt's deep-seated embarrassment about his existence overrides the depresso long enough to eat a solid meal and book himself a flight home. But he's not back for even a month before he's lost his fucking marbles and gone feral in the woods again. And it's not a good time of the year for it. Alfred ends up picking him up from a rural ER somewhere and doesn't know what the fuck to do with a baby brother who can't get his shit together, so he shovels some anti-worm meds and a rabies shot into Matt and puts him back on a plane to England. Calling up their father like "Jan and he were your idea. You broke it; you fix it!"

Arthur does what he hates most in the world and calls Alasdair. He'd rather call in an air strike on his house than call Alasdair for help, but father's favourite knife is fucking broken, and he can't fix it, and if anyone might be able to, it's Alasdair. And lord, even if he can't do much, he does get Matt on Vitamin D and an antidepressant. And he and Arthur practically force Matt out of bed and make him start going for walks and eating more than twice a week. It's all kicked in enough that when Jan sends him some vaguely guilty tulips, Matt hurls the entire thing against the wall, and starts swearing and screaming and throwing shit; Arthur breathes a sigh of relief and starts in Jan, too because oh thank god, Matt's finally releasing an emotion! He gets better pretty rapidly after that because the pressure eases up.

And then when he finally goes home, Alfred impulse purchases the pupper.

[fumblingmusings]

what do you think/like about (romantic) usuk in historical hetalia? how do you see their dynamics? im curious

I like how they can be one of those relationships where its hard to define what they are to each other, because they have been so much at varying points. They are everything. You know? You know.

Oh look. This turned into a bit of an essay. USUK let's go.

They are genuinely one of my favourite ships and have been for like 15 years at this point. I'm a sucker for them being soft on each other. You know when a fic allows Arthur to say 'my love' or 'my darling'? Or Alfred dropping a 'sweetheart?'

You can find me on the floor like

It's the way in which they grow from 'you never fucking understood me' to 'you know me better than most anyone' and what they see and understand is in equal parts gorgeous and horrifying, and yet they still pick the other.

The fact that getting there for the two of them took a lot of hard work too! It took rivers of blood and trenches of soldiers and burning of cities and the promise of 'no-one can hurt you without also hurting me'. The willingness to end isolationism for the other.

The way the past for both of them holds nearly nothing but grief, and despite this, they still think their futures are entirely entangled and genuinely believe it to be the right course of action. The formation of an unconditional affection from what was - for Alfred - a series of targets he never had a chance of hitting and - for Arthur - the projection of a love which never truly existed in the first place because they just did not understand each other.

Arthur maybe puts in more work than Alfred in the early years, but its his fault their relationship is in tatters to begin with, so...

Personally, and this leans into what I think canon tries to show, is they go through the following stages :

Arthur is a teenager pretending to be an adult to big himself up as this big powerful nation but at the end of the day he is pretty much still a child himself. He completely fails to connect and understand Alfred to the cost of any warmth the two may have had for each other.

Alfred tries once to salvage something from the ashes, but is blocked by Matthew (I don't blame Matthew for doing so, Alfred was barging in unannounced to his house and Mattie was trying to do right by a sick Arthur) and thus Alfred resolves not to try again. Their relationship thereafter is purely economic and formal, and as Arthur retreats into isolationism, Alfred goes West, and they do not think about each other. They don't see each other for a long time. That wound festers and weeps, becoming infected at the back of their minds.

Arthur thinks, lying to himself that, 'I never loved him. Not once,' and focuses his attention elsewhere. Alfred knows he made the right choice and that expecting anything from Arthur is just an exercise in disappointment.

When the 19th century begins to end, and Arthur is realising that A) his power is fading as much as America's is rising B) he has no pals to soften the fall and C) he is lonely. Him being rejected by Germany and then his response to that is to ask Alfred is interesting to me. He's angling it from the perspective of 'who are the nations that I deem as my equal' at this point, but that shows how Alfred has risen in his estimations, even passively. He immediately recognises that Alfred is lonely, too. They mirror each other, except Arthur is initially far more willing to be emotionally vulnerable. Almost running opposite to what you would expect, but Arthur is an emotionally vulnerable character. He always has been. Especially with Alfred.

But Alfred, as we know, shoots him down rather harshly (for a whale... jokingly. i think). It's the way that Arthur continuously trusts Alfred with those moments of emotional vulnerability even though the man is far more likely to laugh in his face about it.

I flip flop on when they genuinely truly start to reconcile. Maybe in the trenches, the muddy foundations are laid. They are still cautious around each other, but maybe Alfred breaks, just for a moment, and Arthur is privileged enough to be allowed to watch (but not to comfort). Maybe in the 20s, when they are both very drunk, they admit that what they were to each other was not real necessarily and the regret of such a realisation. Was it really just a label they assigned to pretend they weren't crippingly lonely even in the other's presence? But they go no further than that. They don't voice out loud that that moment felt more real and genuine than a thousand new suits or toys or dance lessons or taxes. They're not quite there yet.

Then honestly Lying in that Sound, Tonight does such an impeccable job of writing the two coming (not saying you have to read a 100,000 word fic to understand why I love them but it don't hurt) together that I really cannot see it any other way at this point - the argument where Arthur has to point out it's Alfred who is stuck on the past, not Arthur. Arthur, meanwhile, is very much struggling to see a future worth living for at that point and really isn't worried about what they were two hundred years ago.

Arthur, who at some points is struggling to remember why he is even fighting because he is so goshdang tired. And Alfred is young, and strong, and bright, and I think Arthur maybe still has rose tinted glasses on when it comes to Alfred and sees him as 'better' than old Europe in many ways. I mean he'll scoff at whatever spiel Alfred regurgitates about being the hero but... well he is Arthur's. Just a bit.

I think though by the 70s those glasses well and truly crack. He sees that Alfred can be ambitious for the sake of ambition, can be cruel for the sake of being cruel, etc. etc. Like Alfred is just a man. A bright, beautiful, spiteful, self absorbed, joyful, kind man. And Arthur is always just a little in awe of him. I think for Alfred, Arthur represents quiet, steady, cautious and un-conditionality, all of which are things he lacks or craves. Arthur is not some great towering giant (you used to be so big). He's just... tired damp little Arthur.

So yeah. I like that there's no masking around each other. They have learned through experience exactly who the other is, whilst still believing that the better version of the other is their true self. They have genuinely seen the other at their absolute worst and most monstrous, and decided I still want you and I am not afraid and... I just like it.

Yeah.

Also they're cute and when I got reminded of the sexy carnival outfit strip I took psychic damage.Unhinged behaviour from the two of them.

[badsalmonella]

pls post your thoughts on camelot!

Hihihi!!! Sorry this has been sitting in my ask for a bit I've been trying to find the time and energy to put down my thoughts!

The general overview is, I think I definitely see the faults people had with it, I think the book is hard to fix and even with the changes there are certain beats they HAVE to hit because of the music, but I also think it has so many gems and this show is so well acted like I find the good far out weighs the bad for me. It's just really engaging grand theater to meee it can be so silly and fun but also really hit with these very earnest moments 🥺, also considering all the drama and tragedy it is surprISINGLY HILARIOUS!! I was giggling so much in act 1. Like RIP to the person sitting next to me who had to see me grip my face and GASP every time something wild happened lmaooo. GOD JUST AHHHHHH SOME OF THOSE MOMENTS WENT SO HARD!!!! Here I'll try my best to narrow some down jk I did a horrible job at narrowing down

- AH that imagery of the single tree in the snow at the very top of the show. Lovely.

-the entire scene with the wedding gone wrong is just soo good and like a mini show on its own with its own little arc. I was so charmed by Phillipa and Andrew's chemistry fr fr so good! I could probably fill a whole post with just moments from this bit!

-When Guinevere is below the right side of the stage (I was sitting to the left)and when she hears the knights refer to him as King her head just slooooooooowly pops into view like 👁️👁️

-Genny: WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME YOU WERE KING?!?!?

Arthur: after I sang abt the weather.

-King Arthur post Merlin death 🥺🥺🥺🥺😭

-ok but the little orchestra nod to Follow Me during Merlin's death. Thank you. They did that for me. It's not much but I appreciate it.

-"I gotta pace to think. I gotta be doing something. Merlin told me something but I got distracted and forgot" bestie you can fit SO much ADHD IN THIS KING.

- C'est Moi entrance was a slay

. 10/10 would let that armor burn my retinas again 👌🏼

-"I deserve. Your harshest. punISHHHHHHHMEEEEEEENNNTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!"

Lancelot, bestie there is something so wrong with you I'm obsessed.

- Genny (To Lance): ...And do you think you've perfected your soul??

- The Lusty Month of May, also a SLAY she is SO hot! I'm sorry but Guinevere is at her most wild and unhinged she is doing shit that had me going BANANAS when she puts on that pink dress, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

-after Lusty Month of May the knights were chatting but I became deeeeeply focused on ensemble member Matias trying trying to balance a mug on his forehead. At first one person was watching, then two, then eventually Guinevere joined in. Like gjdhks I kept giggling.

Arthur(also to Lance): pleasesayno 👀👀👀👀👀👀

-TAKE ME TO THE FAIR. WAS SO FUCKING FUN. I WAS DOING EVIL GOOFY LITTLE GIGGLES THE WHOLE TIME. GENNY IS THE ONLY ONE ALLOWED TO BULLY LANCELOT ON THIS BLOG. AND THAT'S BECAUSE I THINK THIS IS A DEEPLY FUCKED UP FORM OF FOREPLAY FOR HER.

-Genny: ~SIIIIIRRRRRR LIIIIIONNNEELLLLL~~~ 😏😏😩😩😩💦💦💦

Lionel: Ma'am. 😐

Genny: u g h 🙄

-I COULD MAKE A WHOLE POST ABT THIS ONE TOO LIKE SOSOSOSO FUNNY.

-Guinevere kept having mini moments of chemistry with like the ensemble member played by Holly Gould, and like I THOUGHT MAYBE I WAS CRAZY, but at the end of act 1 my friend also turned to me and was like "yo what is GOING ONNNN with those two??? 👀👀👀👀" Gjhdskgsbsvs a bi icon. 🩷💜💙

- ANYWAYS Not Pelly AND Genny rooting for the Lancelot downfall!!! Gjsgdgdgs

-ok but the moment when Lance finds the pages that Genny specifically drafted....bestie you could see the proposition baking in HIS brain.

-"So weird Genny when you don't like most people you're still civil with them what's going on hereee???" 👀👀👀 What IS going on here???

- Arthur: Will you stop this?

Genny: If the King commands it....

👁️👁️🔥🔥 oK. THEY WERE INSANE FOR THAT ONE. NOT THE LOOK THEY SHOT EACH OTHER. anyways bully them both. I support it.

- THE SWORD FIGHTING WAS LIKE ACTUALLY SO GOOD OMG. WE LOVE FIGHT CHOREO

- okokokok but when one of the knights pushed down Lancelot's squire and he shot that knight the DEADLIEST GLARE and tHEN HE PUSHED THE KNIGHT DOWN AT THE END OF THEIR FIGHT. 🔥👌🏼🤌🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 letSSSSS GOOOOO!!!

-WHEN KING ARTHUR GOT INTO THE FIGHT AND TWIRLED OUT TWO SWORDS HALF WAY THROUGH?!?!!!!! AND THEN LANCE LIKE STRAIGHT UP ON STAGE CAUGHT HIS SECOND SWORD??? BEING TOSSEDDDD OVER TO HIM??!!!!!! LIKE I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH HOW COOL THIS WAS???????

-Arthur(whispering desperately in Lancelot's ear mid fight) : HEY NO HARD FEELINGS THIS IS JUST FOR MORALE

Fhhdjshdjsh

- ARTHUR STOPPING THE FIGHT TO ASK LANCELOT ABOUT BAGUETTES ?!??? THEY ARE LITERALLYYYY MY BLORBOOOSSS!!!!

-KING ARTHUR GETS KNOCKED OUT CUZ HE SAW HIS FAVOURITE BIRD AND GOT DISTRACTED. I AM NOT JOKING.

-anyways scene where he gets "resurrected" was the moment. It was amazing. Everything was silent. The spotlight was ON. I LOVED IT.

- RIP that Lance Genny gaze tho 💀💀💀 RIGHT in front of Arthur's salad.

- Lancelot: this might be our only moment alone together I have to tell you---

Genny: DON'T.

OoOooOOoOOOoO the way I am RIPPING OUT MY SEAT CUSHION.

-Before I Gaze At You Again, my beloved. My underrated moment 💖💖

-WHEN KING ARTHUR TURNED HIS BACK TO THE AUDIENCE. AND DRAMATICALLY THREW HIS CAPE ON THE THRONE. THEN SAID "propositionnn....." THE WAY I WENT DEAD SILENT. THE WAY I HELD MY BREATH. HE WAS LIKE I AM OOOVERRRRRE THIS LOVE TRIANGLE SHIT. HE DID NOTTTT COME TO PLAY. WHERE THE F U C K WAS ANDREW BURNAP'S TONY NOM????

-Anyways hot girls know the Act 1 monologue is fire. It's MY Coachella. Zero regrets for screaming and clapping for that one.

- OK NOT ACT 2 OPENING WITH LANCELOT SINGING IN FRENCH AND GUINEVERE BEING SOOOOO OVER IT.

-Anyways If Ever I Would Leave You immaculate. Amazing. Spectacular. The best. Wow. Shout out to that woman in front of me who turned to her family and whispered " I know this one...."

-THE ALMOST HAND TOUCH oWuGh . 😩

- *Dramatic Mordred reveal*"I GUESS THE CHAINS OF WEDLOCK ARE SO HEAVY YOU NEED THREE PEOPLE TO CARRY IT" if it were up to me....that would be an applause moment.

- WHAT DO THE SIMPLE FOLK DO WHST DO THE SIMPLE FOLK DO OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MYGOD.

-first of all leading with calling Henny your business partner ARTHUR BUDDY WHAT ARE YOU ACTUALLY DOING?????

-Andrew Burnap literally RAMPED UP the teary eyes when he told Genny like "I know you get sad. Don't you ever want someone to talk to???" HE CHOSE VIOLENCE. ON ME.

-AND LIKE I WAS ON THE SIDE I HAD PERFECT VIEW OF PHILLIPA'S FACE. IT WAS SOSOSOSOSO HEART BREAKING

-AND LIKE THEY WEREN'T EVEN LOOKING AT EACH OFHER!!!!! THEY COULDN'T EVEN SEE HOW EMOTIONAL THEY BOTH GOT IN THAT MOMENT!!!!!! I AM SHOOTING MYSELF INTO SPACE. MOMENTS LIKE THIS ARE WHY I LIIIIIIIIVE FOR SHOW IN THE VIV BEAUMONT LIKE OH MY GOOOODDDD. THE LOVE IS THERE!!!!! THEY JUST CAN'T SEEEEE IT!!!!!!!!!!

-anyways their dance was so sweet. So playful. So lovely.

-When I heard his "Genny..." On the album I thought he was tired. Like "genny...plz no more verses of this song... 😮‍💨" BUT I WAS WRONG! THE FULL CONTEXT IS HIM JUST OPENLY HAVING A MOMENT OF PURE LOVE AND ENDEARMENT FOR GENNY. I'M

-MORDRED . WAITING IN THE BACK. FOR THINGS TO START GOING WELL ....BUT NOT TOO WELL BEFORE REVEALING THAT ARTHUR FINALLY GOT A LETTER FROM MORGAN LE FAY!!!!!!

-aND THEN DROPPING THAT LANCELOT IS GUARDING THE QUEEN THAT NIGHT!!!!!!!!!!

-OWUGHGOWUGHEOUWGEOWUGEGW NOT ARTHUR'S LONG PAUSE THEN "Ok......oK. OK. ok. This is fine. " Gjjdhdjshshsj

- FIE ON GOODNESS. WOW. WAS NOT EXPECTING THIS TO BE THE STAGING STAND OUT MOMENT BUT GODDAMN. IT'S AMAZING HOW THEY BUILD ON TENSION AND INTERWEAVE ALL THOSE SCENES. IT'S ALL HAPPENING IN THIS SCENE.

-The scene with Lance and Genny. Oh. MY LORD. The confession and moment where he finally admits he can't surpass being a human man. How that is the moment that I think Guinevere like is really really like "ohhh we about to do something stuff tonight" HE WAS GOING TO LEAVE after his shift gjdhhsh BUT THEN STARTED WHIPPING OUT THE FRNECH LOVE CONFESSIONS LIKE??!?!!!!! HE WAS INSANE FOR THAT ONE!!! LITERALLY. WHERE WAS THAT WHORE BEHAVIOR IN THE BIBLE???? "I SERVE GOD AND KING ARTHUR FIRST 😔" AND THEN HE PULLED THAT MOVE!!!! 🥴🥴🥴 I'M YELLING

-even though I like knew that was gonna happen. Like WHY DID THEIR KISS MAKE ME GASP?! Gjhdjshs THEY DID IT!!! THEY HAD SO MUCH TENSION. A R G H . anyways............. I'm gonna be respectful and not comment on the ressst of that scene 👀

- SCOTLAND. 🔥

-Anyways Morgan's scene is SO brief but like DAMN. She makes an impression. She is sO COOL. I'd actually kill for a cool fanfic about her and past with Arthur. When she said something about 'I can't wait for them to make all these scientific discoveries but like things won't change with humanity and I'd like to see your face when you make that realization ' (I'm so sososo so sorry that was AWFUL paraphrasing but like IT SLAMMED. AND AGAIN. ARTHUR WAS FACING OUR SIDE OF THE STAGE. HIS EXPRESSION. OHHHH BABYYYY)

-I LOVED YOU ONCE IN SILENCE WAS SUUUCHHHHHH A SCENE OH MY GOD. AND LIKE THEY CUT THE SONG SHORT???? WHY THE SCENE WAS SOSOSOSOS GOOD????

-Poor Lancelot tho. Rejected after it all. Like truly. Bestie. I'm sorry. This narrative hates you. Maybe you'll get nice things in my fanfiction 😔 his FAAAACEEE!!!!

-ANYWAYS WE NEEEED TO TALK ABOUT HOW LANCELOT DU LAC SLAPPED THE SHIT OUT OF MORDRED. LIKE TRULY LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR'D THAT CHILD WITH A BACKHAND. I GAGGED. IT WAS SOSOSOSO FUNNY I'M SORRY.

-Im not going to lie if there is one bad thing I will say, it is that I am SO disappointed with how Guenevere was staged. Like There is SO much going on in that song, but not much going on onstage. And with how well they did Fie On Goodness like I was low key gooped with how weak the staging for Guenevere was sorry.

-Anyways when Pelly says "I know I'm an old man and I know I'm ridiculous" like I 🥺🥺🥺🥺"BUT IT'S GENNY" like then he folded over and started crying like oh my god 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺noooooo

- if you made it this far congratz there's still so much more because oh my god that last scene

- The deep sadness that just hangs over these scenes oh my goD.

- The the the the the the 🥺🥺🥺 the way Lancelot and Arthur have to bitterly come to terms that they are now warring enemies and they can't guarantee either's protection, and they know they'll have to kill each other's men like 💔

- NOT GENNY'S HORNY ASS GETTING SENT TO A CONVENT. SHE ONLY we can only hope GOT ONE CHANCE TO CUM AFTER ALL THAT??!?!!!! YOU CAN'T MAKE HER A NUN!!! NOOOOOOO!!!

-Anyways THE I ALWAYS LOVED YOU SCENE COMES WITH TOO MANY BANGER QUOTES I DON'T THINK I CAN GET THEM ALL.

Arthur: For what it's worth I've always loved you

Genny: 😤 FOR. WHAT. IT'S. WORTH????

(Valid girl)

-But then.... I loved you too when you sang that sssssssstupid song about the weather 🥺🥺🥺🥺💔💔💔💖💖💖

-THE HUG. THAT HUG WAS SO HEART BREAKING. THAT WAS A GOOD FUCKINGGF HUG.

-not YOU NEED TO LEAVE I CAN'T LET LANCE SAVE YOU TWICE. 🥺

-AND THEN RUNNING IN FOR THAT FINAL KISS THANK FUCKING GODDDDD!!!!!!

-But then Arthur sitting in defeat with his sad floppy bangs after :((( THEN LIGHTING UP WHEN THE KID MENTIONS THE ROUND TABLE OH 🥺💖

-GREAT FUCKING SHOW. I LOVE IT THROUGH IT ALL. IT WAS BI4BI4BI. HIT THE SHOWERS BESTIESSSS!!!!

[evita-shelby]

Between the Shadow and the Soul

Chapter 13

Tw: slight description of gore, mentions of a hate crime

“You know gypsies don’t actually come from Egypt, Mr. Solomons, white Europeans assumed they were and suddenly everyone forgot that the Roma people, are actually from some part in India and called them gypsies instead of Romani.”

The stench was strong enough to make Eva want to retch, bit she forces the bile back down her throat. Can't project strength when vomiting in front of your enemies.

“I’m afraid you’re late to the party, Mrs. Shelby.” Alfie Solomons ate his matzah and acted as if the blood, brain matter and other garbage around him was not something out of a horror novel. Eva had seen worse, growing up under a dictatorship meant seeing the law kill its own people quite often.

In 1907, Diaz sent an army to end a riot in the biggest factory in Veracruz, it had awakened this thirst for justified violence, but what could a girl of eleven do? By the time she was eighteen and three months she drove a knife through a man’s head until it came out the other way. After that she began sleeping with a knife under her pillow.

“A shame, I’ve been to a Passover Seder once and I have been dying to see how it compares to the one I attended in Mexico City. Although, Doctor Pereira’s Seder was quite something, despite that we were all arrested for treason right after.” that was a lie, but it wasn’t like Solomons could contact Isaac and Jael Pereira to see if it was true. Both had died when some Catholic cunts burned their house.

“All your little stories end up with you being arrested, don’t they?” he jokes and Eva wants to hit him. It’s his fault everything fell apart. Sabini killed their men at the Eden and got away from the police, Arthur and chunk of the survivors here were in prison for the murder of Billy Kitchen, and Eva knows Campbell is after Michael for some fucking reason.

All because Tommy wants to string along an heiress in her pretty horse ranch god knows how many hours away. Her husband may be a genius, but hilariously stupid when it comes to love. Had Eva not married him, Grace would've no doubt been Mrs. Shelby despite everything she did in 1919.

“The hard life of living in a dictatorship, Mr. Solomons. Imagine my surprise when I talked shit about the British government and no one showed up to publicly execute me!” Eva says with mock astonishment. “But enough about my colorful past, you broke our treaty, killed our ally, and framed my brother-in-law. And that is not something I forgive easily.”

“You’ve got some balls on you, Mrs. Shelby, makes me wonder if your gypsy husband knows what he married.” He says offering her half of his flat bread and she refuses. If she eats anything it will come back up.

“I am just here just to tell you, that Smith, Riley and Arambula will no longer transport your ‘bread’ and you will not be receiving any profit from the shipments to Halifax and New York.” Eva knew Solomons needed their ships more than they needed their business.

“Gonna make me regret it then, sweetheart? You have no one here to protect you, your little husband doesn’t even know you’re here, doesn’t he?” he taunts her. True she is utterly defenseless, but that was what made her so great at making people do what she needed them to do. Alfie may be batshit insane, but he was a lot smarter than he looks.

“He’ll betray you again, you know.” Eva looks at Alfie with something akin to pity. “Greed makes people forget things like morals and years of friendship if there is something to be gained.

Oh, and Chag Pesach Samech, Mr. Solomons.”

---

“He could’ve killed you.” Tommy lectures her incensed that she’d stupidly risk her life just to intimidate their enemies. His wife rolls her eyes like some teenager. Except fourteen-year-old Finn has the decency to look sorry.

Eva doesn’t. Eva didn’t regret doing what she did, in fact she looked proud of it.

One night and everything fell apart. Now all they have left untouched was Eva’s shipping company and who’s to say they will still have that by lunch.

They’d have to appease the Black Country boys, and Eva had already tried to explain it was Sabini and Solomons who’d killed Billy Kitchen, but as usual they didn’t believe her. Either way the treaty was off and they’d have to go back to relying on Eva’s readings to make sure their boats aren’t attacked.

She climbed on his lap, wanting to make him forget he was angry that she’d done something so risky. “Would’ve made things so much easier for May, wouldn’t it? If you were suddenly made a widower.”

Eva was a jealous woman, especially now that the baby made her self-control slip. She toys with the buttons on his vest before going to the ones on his trousers. She’d wind him up and leave him like that, just because he’d thought about another woman.

Nothing had happened with May, he briefly considered it, but in the end he couldn’t. Although that didn’t stop his all-knowing wife from being furious the moment he walked into the house.

“You went with no one else but a driver, Evie, he could have killed you and I would have burned Camden Town in revenge.” Tommy would have done worse than that if someone dared to hurt Eva, Solomons looked like a tough fucker, but that has never stopped him before.

“Solomons wouldn’t have killed me, he’s batshit insane, but I knew what I was doing. What I didn’t see was that Campbell would have Moss of all people arrest Michael for what happened to the Marquis. Would’ve had Sabini’s head on a platter for you, but instead you'll have to settle with his address and the list of all the policemen in his pocket.” His wife was seemingly born into this type of life. No other woman could ever come close to Eva. She was a perfect partner in more ways than one. “That merits a reward, doesn’t it, Tommy.”

“Like what, Evie?” He had planned for this to be a surprise, but Eva had likely already figured it out. Of course, they’d have to multitask and plan their next move, but it would be worth it.

“A weekend in London, just us. You’ve had plans made weeks ago when we went to the pictures, apparently.” she looks smug, like she always does when she finds out any surprise he has for her. Tommy had hoped her lack of visions lately would keep things a secret, too bad those things come as they please.

“Did you see it in the cards, love?” he asks his hands snaking up her pretty day dress. Two could play that game.

“No, with the exception of Solomons coming back to our side, and Campbell being murdered by Polly at the Derby, I haven't had no other visions.” Evie answers his unspoken question, leaving him to figure out how she discovered it. “I found out the normal way, surprisingly.”

Normal way, what she calls everything not gained through the second sight.

“Was it Wag or the maid who called you?” he asks her.

“Wag, who told Uncle Jack about being able to get tickets for him and Aunt Penny as well.” Her voice becomes unsteady as he gets where he wants, but she moves his hand away and stands up. Tommy knew what she’d do next, Eva always does that when she hasn’t quite forgiven him about whatever she’s angry about. Tomorrow night, he’ll make sure she forgets everything including her own name.

“I need to get my black dress back from the seamstress, can’t look shabby when you introduce me to Charlie Chaplin tomorrow night.”

---

How do you know Charlie Chaplain’s bodyguard, Tommy?” Eva asked him. She knew something, something that would tell him why her aunt and uncle were here too.

“He was a bookie in Birmingham before he went to Los Angeles. He is also Romani Gypsy as is Chaplin. Born at the Black Patch as well, but he hides it.” He explained and then asked, “How’s Wag related to you?”

“Nanna Ethel’s maiden name was Macdonald, according to Uncle Jack, Wag’s my fourth cousin.” she answers in a whisper. “Apparently, he was supposed to come to Nanna’s funeral last year, but there was a scheduling mix-up with Chaplin. Never met Wag though.”

“Wag, Mr. Chaplin, let me introduce you to my wife and Wag’s lovely cousin, Eva Shelby.” Tommy introduces her and Eva really hopes this time she won’t be forced to help hide a famous actor in a basement because they spoke against the government. Although that did earn her a beautiful ruby ring from a very thankful Mimi Derba.

---

Notes:

sike! no angst on this chapter!

so yeah, romani people actually come from a place in northern india and since white europeans are so bad at geography (Colombus thought the world was pear shaped and the Americas were indian because brown people were there) they assumed those brown people were egyptian, which is where the word (and slur) gypsy comes from.

mimi derba borin in 1893, Mexico City, was a mexican actress during the revolution, apprently she was so political that she had to be hidden in a basement when the government sent soldiers to arrest her for being outspoken. she went on to found Azteca Studios, Mexicos first film studio in 1917 where she became Mexico's first female director.

the riot in veracruz that Eva witnessed as a child did in fact happen. it was the Huelga de Rio Blanco/ the Strike of RIo Blanco, where two thousand workers of a textile factory went on strike, burnt a company store to the ground and Porfirio Diaz then ordered the military to kill them. 223 male workers were killed as were 12 female workers, but appratently there were more casualities ---enough to fill several railroad platforms that involved both adults and children. Diaz went on to throw a banquet to congratulate the army for suppressing the riot. Strangely you won't find that in the english page on wikipedia, which sounds vaguely biased against the strike since one of the companies involved was american and the other french and says that the likelyhood of there being more than 70 people dead at the incident, which sounds like something the mexican government would do: cover up a body count.

Also episode 5 takes place in March but then the Derby happens in June, until Grace showed up saying she was pregnant I had assumed not much time has passed lol

[slugtranslation-hypmic]

I know you've given some Japanese literature recs in the past but do you have any other books you recommend or maybe just personally enjoyed reading?They don't have to be only Japanese authors, really just anything you've enjoyed reading.

I answered a question about favorite books in the past and then took it down a few hours later in a fit of paranoia, haha. The terrifying ordeal of (one's favorite books) being known. But book recommendations or books one enjoys reading are a slightly different matter (lord knows I do NOT enjoy reading or recommend some of my favorite books), so I can give it a go.

Under a cut for length

The Once and Future King by T. H. White. My favorite book and one I will recommend to almost everyone. TOaFK is a collection of four smaller books (with a fifth "sequel", The Book of Merlin, that I think works best as a standalone, as most of the best bits have been retroactively added into the first book anyway) that retell the story of King Arthur from an anarchistic viewpoint as Arthur grows up and struggles to understand the causes of human suffering and warfare. Some portions of the books are beautifully witty and fun while other portions are deeply sentimental and heartbreaking. TOaFK humanizes these legendary, larger than life figures like no other adaptation of Arthur I've ever read before. Despite being very much written as response to WWII, it reads as a response to the human condition, no matter the age. It explains the answer to ending violence and also explains why this is fundamentally impossible in the same breath. A beautiful, brutal book. I am not blind to its faults (its treatment of the female characters, particularly Guinevere, is a bit lackluster, and there are some issues with anti-Scottish sentiments), but I love it to death and think it is very much worth your time.

Tangerine by Edward Bloor. This is a kid's book but one that I think holds up well even into adulthood. Following a visually handicapped boy as he moves to a new, primarily white suburb on the edge of a Black and Hispanic neighborhood and learns to navigate in his new life and new communities, this novel discusses the concepts of things hidden in plain sight that everyone refuses to see.

David Doesn't Get It by Vi Cao. This isn't a mainstream book at all - it's a bound collection of webcomics - but fuck it, I'm going to recommend it anyway. You can read it here on Webtoon as the author adds more comics from her backlog over time. DDGI is a diary/essay webcomic by the fictional character David Nguyen as he talks about his struggles to assimilate with the world, particularly in regards to asexuality, generational trauma and cycles of abuse, and family life as a Vietnamese-American. Along the way, his other family members and loved ones offer their own stories and experiences. I barely cry these days, but DDGI is one of the few things that makes me sob every time. Vi's writing and delivery are transcendentally good, and I'm incredibly grateful that I've been able to talk with her and have her writing as a part of my life. The first few comics can be a bit crass and feel a little outdated, but going in for the long haul is completely worth it imo.

The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky. I am a shameless Dostoevsky fan, and normally I'd recommend The Brothers Karamazov, but there is just... something so charming about The Idiot that I am going to stick it on this list instead. Idiot follows a naive, innocent to the point of foolishness man returning to Russia from a long stay in a Swiss sanatorium whereupon he ends up in a love triangle due to his own naive actions. A very interesting look at different flavors of love and how they intersect with pity. In terms of translations... I am not terribly fond of Pevear and Volokhonsky (which I mention because they're usually the easiest to find in bookstores)... although your preferences may certainly differ.

A Scanner Darkly by Philip K. Dick. This is pushing the definition of an enjoyable book slightly, but PKD produces some of the best interpretations of psychosis I've ever read (at least, they're similar enough to my experiences and thought processes that I find them compelling), and this is... one of the more straightforward ones, shall we say. Scanner focuses heavily on the concept of paranoia and being watched and does an amazingly accurate job of depicting the "braindead" states of drug-induced (or otherwise) psychosis.

Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman. I find Gaiman entertaining almost all of the time, but Anansi Boys is my favorite of his works. It's like if American Gods was funny. Taking place in the same universe as American Gods, actually, Anansi Boys follows two brothers Charlie and Spider as they attempt to deal with the death of their father, the trickster god Anansi, and their sudden reintroduction into each other's lives after an entire lifetime spent apart. Hilariously written.

Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. Heller is one of my favorite authors, but I wouldn't usually classify him as an enjoyable read. Catch-22 is, perhaps, an exception to that. Skirting around the reasons why I like it, which are a bit too personal for comfort, Catch-22 describes a ridiculous platoon of soldiers attempting to cope with the ridiculousness of warfare in a way that is generally humorous up until a string of deaths near the last third of the book.

The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro. God, I love Ishiguro's writing, and I feel like this novel is one of his strongest. It's certainly my favorite to read. Remains tracks an aging British butler on a trip through the English countryside (the scenery descriptions are heavenly) as he recounts the major moments of disappointment and pride in his career; however, readers soon discover he's a rather unreliable narrator and understand that there is a lot more regret below the surface than first appears. Ishiguro is very, very good at writing stories about nostalgic melancholy, failed men, and failed states that once thought themselves great. This one is, I think, the most narratively succinct of all of them.

Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones. Man, I love Diana Wynne Jones. I read tons of her stuff as a kid. I'm recommending this one not because it's a favorite, per se (I think I like her Chrestomanci series more), but because it's very well-known and is self-contained in a way many of her things aren't. HMC is quite different from the movie version, but if you liked the scenes of Sophie and Howl bitching at each other, then you will love this. It is a book entirely comprised of bitching. Howl has a car and drives like a fucking maniac. Howl is a wreck. So is Sophie, but in a completely different way. Calcifer is still great. Funny, lovely, lots of delightful background characters, nobody is a sexy anime boy but everyone has a good time.

Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell. The writing styles of this book... are a feast. This book is a delightful treat to read. It is a series of 6 slightly interconnected stories that nest within one another, held together by the common thread of a piece of music called The Cloud Atlas String Quartet and the reincarnated soul of a character in the previous story. Each story focuses on a different theme, in a different time period and location, and has a wildly different writing style. Some stories are action-focused while others are slower paced, but I genuinely enjoyed each one and can't recommend this enough.

Watchmen by Alan Moore. I am not a fan of superhero stories at all, so Watchmen, a deconstruction of the superhero genre, is one of the few I enjoy. Set in an America where superheroes were once real and have now been largely outlawed, Watchmen challenges the concepts of authority and heroes as several masked vigilantes rise again to respond to a mysterious threat and their own moral struggles.

The Discworld series by Terry Pratchett. Discworld is a loooong (40+) volume series that can be read in mostly any order, set in the fantasy land of Discworld where anything can happen, provided it is ridiculous. The first Discworld books poke fun at the fantasy genre in general which is... okay... but the series quickly turns into various social commentaries portrayed in such delightful and inspiring ways. I would say that this series is one written with a lot of anger and a lot of hope that our own ridiculous world can become somewhat of a better place if we all take our heads out of our own asses from time to time.

Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi. This graphic novel is a coming of age story set in the Iranian Revolution which serves as, imo, a very easily accessible introduction to a topic which shamefully isn't discussed much in my part of the world. Satrapi also talks about her experiences with the cultural divide between Iran and Europe during the 1980s and 1990s. I read this book fairly young (when i was 10 or so) and it has stuck with me ever since.

East of Eden by John Steinbeck. I fucking love EoE. This is a meta (in that the characters are aware of their own roles and discuss their roles within this framework) retelling of the Biblical stories of Adam and Eve and Cain and Abel set in a turn of the 20th century California Central Valley farming community. EoE discusses the concepts of free will, in particular the free will to do acts of good or acts of evil, and the nature of good/evil itself. Can't recommend this enough, regardless if people like Steinbeck's other works or not.

[oumaheroes]

All Tied Up

Word Count: 2479

Characters: England, France- FrUK

---

‘What the fuck are those?’

France sighed from where he was hanging up his clothes in his hotel wardrobe, ‘Good evening to you too. Why are you in my room, already, Arthur? I only arrived half an hour ago, couldn’t you let me exist without your presence for just a few moments more?’

He hadn’t heard him come in; France didn’t think he’d left the door to his hotel open. Although, England did have a bad habit of quietly entering places rather too well for his liking, ‘It’s bad enough that I will have to endure so much of you this week.’

‘Fuck off. I was hungry, so I came to see if you’d eaten.’

France turned back to his open suitcase for another shirt, ‘And?’

England frowned at him, ‘And?’

‘And,’ France prompted, slipping his favourite dress shirt onto a hanger. It was wrinkled; he hoped there was a decent iron here, ‘what were you going to do then?’

England huffed at him, as if, somehow, he France was being the difficult one, ‘And if you hadn’t, I was going to go with you.’

‘Could you not ask me to dinner like a normal person?’

England ignored him and nodded his head to the top of France’s temporary wardrobe, ‘Why have you got those?’

France followed his eyeline, stepping back when he couldn’t see anything. A few paces back and beside England he could see there, right at the back and on the top shelf of the wardrobe, were a pair of handcuffs.

‘Bit lewd for a week-long conference, init?’

France raised an eyebrow at him, ‘Do you really think I’d be that crass for those to be mine?’ England said nothing but his look became a lot more pointed. A beat of silence later and France shrugged, ‘Fine. But those ones are not.’

‘Of course.’

‘Why on earth would I lie about that.’

England shrugged, ‘Why do you do most of what you do? I never know.’

‘No, because you’re far too dim.’

‘Dim? Coming from the bellend who takes handcuffs to a NATO summit in Toronto.’

‘They’re not mine- what are you doing?’

England had moved around him and crossed the room towards the wardrobe and was now reaching up to the back to grab the handcuffs. France looked at them in his hands and then around his temporary room in distain, ‘I can’t stay here anymore, who knows what else they missed cleaning.’

France imagined that poor Canada was probably stressed enough as it was hosting this thing and likely didn’t need any additional work, but the idea of sleeping in a bed that might not have been changed was not something that appealed to him in the slightest. If the handcuffs were missed by the cleaners who knew what else they had failed to catch.

England tutted, ‘Don’t be such a baby.’

‘I hardly think me caring about my personal hygiene is me being a baby.’

‘You’ve slept in worse.’ England paused, ‘You’ve left worse.’

France opened his mouth to retort but England made an approving sound, opening the cuff wider, ‘These are pretty good quality, you know.’

France rolled his eyes, ‘Oh, and you would know.’ England turned them over and France sniffed, tucking his hair behind his ears, ‘Put those back, they’re probably filthy.’

‘No, I mean they look like they’re law enforcement rather than… well. Not.’

France stepped closer, ‘No look, they’re too flimsy.’ He pointed to the chain that connected the two cuffs, ‘and those are incredibly out of date- surely your police don’t still use these?’

England flushed, ‘Of course not! But I’ve seen a few of these about recently.’

‘Really? And how many decades ago was that? Twenty? Thirty?’

England waved a hand airily, ‘I don’t know, thereabouts maybe.’

‘You’re a fool.’

France made to take them from him but England pulled back sharply, ‘What are you doing?’

France blinked at his suspicious tone, ‘What are you doing? You’re not going to keep them, are you?’

‘No!’ England’s cheeks burned scarlet, ‘No of course not, but you reached for them so suddenly-‘

‘And what?’ France leant back and put a hand on his hip, ‘You thought I was attacking you?’

England scowled, ‘Well, it wouldn’t be the first time now, would it?’

‘Oh that is rich coming from you-‘

‘What’s that supposed to mean!’

‘You know full well what that means- look, just give them here.’ France lunged forwards, hoping to tug them out of England’s hands but England jumped away reflexively. Maybe he’d judged the angle wrong, or maybe England had tripped him somehow- either way France fell too sharply onto him and England gave a surprised yelp.

Click.

They froze, France with both hands balled in England’s shirt to keep him upright. One of them now had a shiny, very solid looking, handcuff around it.

They both stared at it in silence.

England gave a choked laugh and tried to cover it as a cough, ‘Francis, I swear I-‘

‘You arsehole!’

France shoved himself off and England held up his hands placatingly, ‘I swear I didn’t do that on purpose.’

‘Oh of course you didn’t!’ France held out his handcuffed arm out on front of him and shook it at England aggressively, ‘Take this off! Take it off right now!’

‘Okay okay, calm the fuck down, Jesus Christ.’

‘Calm? Calm? You tell me to be calm? I just got off a nine-hour flight only to be handcuffed by you of all people half an hour after I get in my fucking hotel? And you’re telling me to be calm?’

England, who had gone back to the wardrobe to feel about the top shelf, let out a soft, ‘ah’.

France laughed and shook his head, ‘No. No no, no don’t tell me there’s no key. Don’t you damn well dare.’

England, now that the initial shock of the situation had worn off, was clearly trying to hide that he was enjoying France’s predicament, ‘there’s no key.’

France threw a clothing hanger at him.

----

Two hours later, and things were no better.

France, (reasonably, he thought), refused to leave the room until the handcuffs were off and refused to let England leave the room until he’d fixed the problem that he’d created. England could agree that yes, maybe he had some part to play in all of this, but really it was France’s fault for lunging at him so suddenly and only agreed to stay if they ordered dinner first.

So, aside from a break to eat, France angrily chewing through a delivered meal he’d demanded England pay for in stony silence, they spent the time pulling apart the room and crawling to places France would never admit to crawling just in case the key had managed to slip down into some long-forgotten corner.

They’d both turned everything inside and out, upturning all of the drawers and taking off all of the bedding, but no luck. The wardrobe itself was fixed to the wall with no holes a key could have slipped through, so eventually France had to admit defeat and concede that there was no key to be found.

England, to his credit, did try to hold it together commendably well and had only let a euphoric grin slip through twice, both times of which he’d covered by burying his face behind something and pretending to cough until he’d smothered his glee enough to reappear with a blank expression. However, any time his eyes were caught by the glinting mental hideously shackled around France’s wrist, the corners of his mouth would twitch in a way that made France want to immediately wound him with the nearest blunt object.

Sadly for France, England was his best chance at getting him out of the current situation and so committing assault upon him was not the best resolution to his current troubles.

‘You’re going to have to do it,’ France said eventually after he’d finished rechecking a drawer England had already searched, (one could never be entirely sure that England was taking this seriously- being an almighty annoyance to France was one of his favourite pastimes, after all, and France didn’t want to assume the glimmer of remorse he had seen was genuine.)

‘Do what?’

‘Oh, don’t play the fool; get me out.’

England made a derisive noise, ‘Oh yes, sorry, let me just pull the key out of my ar-‘

‘No,’ France tutted at him and shifted through his suitcase to find his toiletry bag, ‘You may pretend to Australia that you do not know how to pick locks but we both know that you do¸ and seeing as there is no key and I am stuck here I’m sure you can pretend to forget that lie for just the moment.’

England snorted and took a hairpin that France offered him, ‘You have been watching far too many Hollywood films.’

France put a hand on a hip, ‘Can you do it or not.’

England bristled, ‘Of course I can. But hairpins like this aren’t exactly the bes-‘

France interrupted him with a shake of the wrist, ‘Do you see this still attached to me? I really do not care. Get me out.’

Muttering very gruesome sounding things under his breath, England pushed France down to sit on the bed and crouched before him, positioning France’s wrist upturned on his knees.

France nudged him gently with his foot and raised his eyebrows suggestively, ‘You didn’t have to handcuff me to get me here, you know.’

England swatted him away and looked at him in disgust, ‘Don’t you start.’ He bent apart the hairpin and worked it into the lock, twisting it slightly, ‘I wouldn’t want to anyway, you smell like plane.’

‘Oh! Oh, darling do tell me why that is. Hmm? Is it because I haven’t had the chance to shower yet, because I was attacked before I had even finished unpacking?’ He ran his free hand through England’s hair, ‘Why is this so long? Have you not had it cut since I last did it?’

England squinted at the handcuff and didn’t look up, ‘No, I’ve been busy.’ He twisted the hairpin and it made a very hopeful clicking sound, but nothing happened and England went back to jiggling it ever so slightly into different positions, ‘You can do it whilst we’re here.’

France huffed, ‘And what makes you think I can?’

‘You always take scissors with you.’

‘No, I meant what makes you think that I will.’ He brushed England’s fringe back from his forehead, measuring out its length between his fingers, ‘Just because I-‘

They both jumped, startled, as the door to France’s room burst open unexpectedly to reveal America in the doorway, ‘Yo Francis, we’re all going out to- what the fuck are you doing?!’

England’s head popped up and suddenly France could see all too clearly how this scene looked to America’s eyes: France, a fist buried in England’s hair and England crouched on his knees in front of him, head bent close to his lap.

England locked eyes with him, an expression of shock on his face, before flicking to America framed and frozen in the doorway. He held up a hand placatingly, ‘No it’s okay, they’re just handcuffs!’

‘Oh God!’ America clapped a hand over his eyes, ‘No way man, I do not wanna see that! Jesus, what is wrong with the both of you? Have you heard of locking the door?’

‘No!’ England stood up suddenly. He didn’t let go of the handcuff and the movement jerked up France’s arm roughly, causing him to give a cry of pain. England dropped his arm in horror, ‘It’s really not what it looks like.’

‘Okay, sure dude, whatever,’ still with his hand over his eyes, America backed away out into the corridor, ‘I’ll let everyone know you can’t come because you’re both occupied.’

‘No!’ France and England both shouted in unison but it was no use, America slammed the door and they could hear him running down the corridor in the direction of the stairs.

France sighed through his nose, ‘Well, that went well.’

----

England did eventually spring France loose. After turning off his phone and forcing France to silence his own and not touch it (they kept beeping, America worked fast at spreading the news) he managed to work his way into the lock after chewing it into more of a sharp point and bending it into ridiculous angles.

‘There you go, they can’t have been official handcuffs,’ France rubbed his wrist, relishing the feeling of the metal being gone, and picked up the handcuffs to turn them over, ‘police handcuffs wouldn’t be that easy to pick.’

England snorted and brushed down his trousers, ‘Or, maybe I’m rather good at it.’

France did pretend to politely consider this for a second, ‘Or, your police have never had quality handcuffs, which really does make your government’s further reduction of their budget particularly sad. What will they use next, cable ties?’

England scowled, ‘Is that any way to talk to someone who just freed you from handcuffs?’

‘Yes, if that same person put me in them.’

England gave a bark of laughter, ‘I’m sure you’ve done something recently to deserve it.’

France hmm’d and stood up to join him, ‘I’m glad your alternate reality entertains you.’ He stepped up to England, grabbing his wrist and tugging him closer with one hand before bringing the other to rest on the small of his back.

‘What are you-‘

France swiftly kissed him silent, bringing his hand from England’s wrist to cup the nape of his neck and press his thumb gently into the bones. He felt England relax, the tension from his shoulders loosening as he gave into it and France let him have the moment unspoilt for a while. Then, before England could react, with the other hand France pulled him closer, pressing them closer together, before removing it suddenly.

Click.

With a noise of outrage, England bit him, hard, on the lip and France pulled away with a grin as England furiously brought his hand up to reveal a shiny new bracelet.

France laughed, stepping back quickly lest he hit him, ‘There, now I know you have done something recently to deserve that.’

England recovered the distance, hands clenched at his sides, ‘Yes, but mine was a fucking accident!’

France shrugged lightly, ‘Well, it’s a good thing you’re rather good at breaking out of them, isn’t it?’

England pressed his lips together so tightly they went white and France smirked at him, ‘I’m going to have a shower, you entertain yourself there for a moment with that and then we can go out for a drink.’

England sat down with a huff and picked up the now very abused hairpin, ‘You’re paying.’

‘Maybe.’

‘And we’re avoiding the place everyone else is going to.’

‘Oh certainly.’

----

AN:

I was going to write something soft and sweet, or something more serious with a bit of detail, but this came out instead. I’m not mad about it, but I do wish I were able to stick to some sort of plan.

It made me chuckle writing it, so I hope you all enjoy!

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 22

Ichigo may have had a bit of a weird relationship with his father, but at least he had one.

Sure, Isshin Kurosaki could be a pain, and he attacked Ichigo out of the blue, and he was obnoxious. Who the hell kept life sized posters of their dead wives plastered on the walls and talked to them?

But again. Ichigo had a relationship with him. Isshin tried. He made sure his kids had food on the table, a roof over their heads, and he patched up their scrapes and bruises, even if he did tell Ichigo to tough it out when he was banged up after karate class or a fight after school.

Ichigo would never have a normal relationship with him. It was partially his own fault. Ichigo was standoffish and independent, he didn’t let people take care of him. It was his job to take care of his family, and Isshin agreed with that much. Ichigo had to guard and guide his sisters.

Despite all of Isshin’s faults, he acknowledged his son.

Ichigo knew the servant who appeared out of the demonic fog without even needing to be told. She and Mordred looked almost identical.  

Mash, naturally, started freaking the fuck out.

“That is- King Arthur! Like the one we met in Fuyuki, only different. This time she has a spear, not a sword. I can feel her animosity. A blind rage, she is more berserker than king. Is she under the the control of a summoning spell?”

Mash didn’t step back. She didn’t panic. But her teeth were gritted and her eyes were wide.

Mordred’s mouth thinned into a line.

“Even if she wasn't, this is King Arthur, ready to slay her foes,” he said grimly. “No reason will reach her now.”

Mordreds grip on his sword tightened to the point that Ichigo could hear the leather of his gauntlet creak.

“Why... Why are you appearing now? If you're here to save, Londinum, why did you not appear before?! No. Maybe its something else. Are you here to kill me? Would it make you angry, if I were the one to save your beloved country? Do you hate me that much? Is that why you wield the spear that killed me?!”

Ichigo sucked in through his teeth. He knew the story. Of course he did. But to hear the raw grief in Mordred’s voice? Was another thing.

“...Fine then, if it's a fight you want I'll give it to you. I'll rebel as many times as I have to! Ichigo, Mash! If you want to run now, so be it.”

Ichigo scoffed and stepped up to lay his hand on Mordred’s shoulder. They had already fought one incredibly powerful servant. They were all exhausted.

But they couldn't rest yet. They had to defeat the King of Knights. They had to retrieve the Holy Grail.

How many times were they going to have to fight Arthur?

“Don’t say stupid things,” Ichigo chided. “We aren’t going anywhere. Mash, get ready. You’ll have to defend us, understand?”

Mash nodded, once.

“Understood! Let’s go, Mordred, Master!”

*

“Ichigo.”

Ichigo opened his eyes slowly. He expected to find the meadow at the edge of the world. He expected to be struck with the familiar scent of blooming flowers.

Instead he found himself sideways on a building, the one that existed within his soul.

He sat up closely to looked around.

He found Nieve and Tensa standing not far from them. Neither of them were looking at him. They were staring off in the distance, their brows furrowed.

“Can't you hear, Ichigo?” Tensa asked, his voice far away. Ichigo stood up and went to stand between them. He touched both of their shoulders and strained to hear whatever it was that had their attention. His hair stood on end.

“Don’t you hear it, King?”

“Can't you hear, Ichigo?” Tensa asked again.

“I hear your voice,” he offered. “And his.”  

“No, not my voice. Not his.”

“I don't hear anything. What are you talking about?” Something very, very weird was happening here. Ichigo didn’t like it.

Tensa and Nieve finally looked at him. Nieve was scowling and Tensa looked troubled.

“Then forget it.”

Ichigo bristled. “No, I won't.”

Tensa tilted his head to him. His eyes were wide and still far away. Something very, very bad was happening here. Ichigo grabbed his arm.

“Tensa! Hey... We said no more secrets.”

Tensa shook his head. He was starting to come out of whatever had been holding onto him.

“It's not a secret. It's only something that I can't place. Nieve, perhaps you should go deeper?”

“Huh?” Nieve blinked at him and shook metaphorical cobwebs off of himself. “No way. King needs me where he can use me.”

“Tensa,” Ichigo said with a frown. “What’s wrong? Can’t you be more specific?”

“...It’s something on the wind. I can’t place it. Something dangerous is approaching us.”

“I’m the instincts around here,” Nieve grumbled. “And if something dangerous is coming for King we’ll just fight it.”

“No. Not for Ichigo. For us, you and I.”

Nieve stiffened. Ichigo pressed his lips into a thin line.

“You wanna use Nieve as a trump card?”

“Yes. I think that would be best.”

“Why shoudln’t you be the one who goes in deeper? You’re the one who’s not a real Zanpakutou!”

Tensa look irritated. “Yes, but as much as it pains me to admit it you have more direct power than I do.”

Nieve paused.

“Did you just say I’m stronger?”

Tensa glowered at him.

“No. Our abilities are just useful in different situa-”

“You admitted I’m stronger!” Nieve laughed aloud, grinning. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. I’ll go deeper and wait for a while. But ya owe me, Tensa.”

Tensa rolled his eyes at Nieve, who laughed and slowly sunk through the windows of one of the buildings.

Ichigo shook his head at the pair. He wasn’t quite as worried as he should have been. Whatever came, they would deal with it. After all, it wasn’t like they were alone.

* *

Ichigo was starting to feel hollow in his bones. He’s used too much Mana fighting Tesla and then Artoria, yet another distorted version of her. How many different ‘King Arthur’s were there?

He was leaning on a shattered stone when cold washed over him. His head snapped upwards. A ghost, a blond man dressed in black, had been watching their fight and he’d followed them back into the bowels of Babages’ engine. Now he watched the conglomeration of fighters skulk through the remnants.

Romani’s voice came through Ichigo’s watch suddenly. Loud and worried. Something was coming. Again. Something big.

Mash broke into shivers next to Ichigo, her violet eyes huge. She looked terrified.

“The space is opening! Something is coming through!”

Ichigo squinted at the shadow that formed. The power that rolled off of him in waves threatened to crush Ichigo to the ground.

“Demon Marshal Gilles de Rais. Imperial Founder Romulus. Hero Spy Jason. And Divine Scholar Nikola Tesla. I thought they would be somewhat useful,” he said slowly. “But they spoiled my fun as they couldn't even clean house. Stupidity. Such stupidity. Humans really do degrade with the passage of time.”

Romani was still yelling. SHEBA was destabalizing, he was losing communications. Ichigo barely heard him over the low thrum of this monsters voice and his own heart beating a drum in his ears.

He walked towards them, one step at a time. The servants around Ichigo drew closer. From young casters to near-goddesses, from heroes to villains, they closed ranks.

“What is this insane magical energy?” Mordred bared his teeth. “It's a hell of a lot bigger than a dragon. It's like-”

“One of the demons or angels in the ancient stories. No, perhaps even greater. I was not born a mage, but as a petty Caster I can understand,” even Shakespeare wasn’t making light of it. “This magical energy is infinite. This domination crushes its surroundings merely by existing. Truly, truly a created being worthy of being called God! No, perhaps it is even God itself! Am I wrong, my friend Andersen? I think it's time for us to be going!”

Maybe they should have run. But Ichigo’s legs wouldn’t let him. If they ran now what would happen? This was-

The ‘god’ looked over them. His gaze stopped on Ichigo’s wrist, where Romani’s voice was still coming through frantically.

“I see. Like me, only your voice reaches them. Chaldea is isolated from the temporal axis, and so it's become a base that no one can find. My eyes see everything—and all possible futures, but even they have trouble perceiving Chaldea. That's why you survive. Pathetically, shamelessly, and uselessly. Intolerant of a history of destruction already decided, a pitiful boat still adrift in the sea of void. That is what you are, Chaldea, and what you are, Ichigo. A stain upon the scorched ashes of human history. The name of the only fools left who would defy my deeds.”

“So you’re him. The ‘King’ that Lev talked about.” Ichigo met Solomons gaze head on.

“I am the final destination you seek. The one who commands the 72 Demon Gods. The one who will destroy humanity from his throne. My name is Solomon. Among the Heroic Spirits, I stand above them all as one of the Grand Seven.”

Grand ?

“No… Is it really Solomon? But… But that's impossible.”

Ichigo couldn't look at his watch while Romani freaked out.

“I am a Heroic Spirit, and also a living being. Thus, no Master commands me. I started this matter of my own will. In order to eliminate all you humans- Trash who's continuing along its foolish history. You are the sole and greatest waste of this universe.”

Ichigo bristled furiously. His anger beat back his fear. “Fuck off! You can't destroy the world!”

Solomon smiled patronizingly at him. “I can. I have the means, the will, and the reality. Your eras have been swept away already, by my 72 Demon Gods that cross over time, and through them and my third nobel phantasm I will burn away humanity with the strength of a million holy swords. If you could barely hold yourself up against King Arthur, what chance do you have again me?”

He spread his hand grandly and four demon gods formed behind him.

It was only bitterness and stubborness that kept Ichigo standing. He lifted his hand. He was down to just one command seal, and his mystic codes were still recharging. Fuck. They were all exhausted, and Ichigo barely had the capacity to sustain them. How much Mana could he draw from the dying world before his body broke down?

They fell one by one, and Ichigo was helpless to do more than watch. Kintoki, Tamamo, and Shakespeare. Anderson.

They barely remained at the end. Mordred spit fury at him.

“Is this it? You must be scared, since Ichigo already took four grails from you!”

Solomon scoffed at him.

“Are you the greatest fool in history? I've lost four Grails? No. It will only matter if I lose them all. One Grail, or six, it makes no difference to me. Ichigo is no threat. It's time for me to go. I wasted more time than I thought.”

“Huh!? You're leaving? Why did you even come here!?”

“It was nothing more than a whim. Why? Sometimes after finishing a book, you go to the bathroom before picking up the next, right? That's all this was.”

“What? You're saying you came to piss on us!?”

Solomon threw his head back and laughed.

“That's right! That's exactly right! But you're worth less than piss! I don't care about you. I could kill you here, or not, and not care at all. Do you understand? I'm not letting you go. You weren't worth looking at in the first place. But, I suppose if you can remove all seven Singularities then I will consider you a matter I must deal with.”

Ichigo stormed towards him, ignoring everyone around him. Mash had to grab him around his middle to keep him from grabbing Solomon by his stupid fucking poldrons.

“Fuck you! You think this fun? I’m not letting you kill everyone!”

Solomon’s face twisted into a demonic mask and he laughed even harder.

“Of course! It's the greatest fun in the world! If it wasn't fun, would I take my time killing each one of you? I'm having fun. Your deaths make me happy. Your end pleases me. Your final gasps bring me more joy than anything! And this is the greatest salvation you could find. Because only I alone can make good use of every single human being!”

“And you!” He motioned towards Ichigo. The force of just his waving hand nearly knocked Ichigo to the ground.

“What have you done for the last 2,000 years? You've continuously died, and continuously done nothing. You are sentient creatures who failed to conquer death. And yet you retain your fear of it? If you cannot conquer death, you should have abandoned your fear of it. If you understand death to be a shameful, terrifying thing, then you should throw away your sentience! It's pathetic. Simply pathetic. You're no different either, Master of Chaldea.”

Ichigo startled. Solomon had been talking to Mash? Why would she be afraid? Death, sure, but-

“Why do you fight? Knowing your life will end. Knowing it has ended.Why do you cling to life, when you know that your future holds no salvation? You are so young, human. Ichigo.  Humanity's Final Master. This is my one warning to you. Know that giving up on everything here is the easiest way for you to live. Burn, and leave not even ash. That is your future.”

He vanished in a flash of white light while Ichigo roared after him in fury.

Mash had to drag him back to the street. The blond ghost trailed after them. He was gripping a sword like his after-life depended on it. Ichigo had never seen a dead man look shell shocked.

Even Mordred was pale and withdrawn.

“I haven't been this down since my Father's spear-”Mordred grimaced. “No, never mind. Never mind.”

“ Honestly, I wanted to go with you guys… But I'm at my limit, as you can see,” he motioned to himself. He was steadily dissolving into golden light. “With the Singularity gone, there's no place for me. I was summoned here by the Grail's fog. Without a Master, I have to disappear. “

“I hate to say it, but he's right. We can't fight unless we're summoned. That's the limit of a Heroic Spirit, and a Servant. In every era, the ones who build things...are always people living on the cutting edge of the future.”

“Mordred,” Ichigo reached out and grabbed his hand. “Wait.”

Mordred shot him a crooked smile. “You're going to get there, Ichigo. You'll reach the place we can't go. You'll cross over the seven Grails and reach the end of time. And then you'll corner that bastard Grand Caster. It's something only you can do. I’ll help you if I can.”

Mordred vanished in a shower of sparks. Ichigo’s hand closed on air.

The familiar pull of a rayshift tugged at Ichigo’s spine. He hissed. He’d wanted to say goodbye to Jekkyl, at least.  

Ichigo opened his eyes in his own body. The fourth singularity was over. It still felt like they’d lost.

* * *

Somehow, things always came back to the river.

Ichigo shot across the rooftops. He could feel the shift in the air that signalled an opening between worlds, and more he could feel a familiar person coming through it.

He skidded into the grass just in time to catch Rukia when she fell through the light.

“Rukia!” He held her carefully. Blood was seeping out of a wound on her shoulder. “Shit.”

He had barely laid her in the grass when the familiar light of a senkaimon flashed. Frost crawled across the grass and stretched towards him. It steamed into the warm night air.

A familiar woman came through. She was pale, dressed in a formal kimono with her silver blue hair pulled partially away. Ichigo knew her.

“This reitsu. She's no hollow”. She was familiar, too.

“Who are you?!”

She waved her hand and ice shot at him in a sudden wave. Ichigo understood suddenly. He snatched Rukia back into his arms and lunged out of the way.

The woman drew a pale white sword.

“Hand her over.” The voice was smooth and soft. Ichigo had heard it before.

“What?” Rukia groaned softly. The blood from her shoulder wound spread out. “I don't know what's going on, but that's not happening.”

“I see. So you're the substitute. Some no mai. Tsukishiro!”

Ichigo barely dodged the pillar of ice, and the wave that followed after. IT felt wrong, but he wasn’t about to roll over and let her stab him. He attacked swiftly, swinging zangetsu at her. It cut through and shattered an ice sculpture of her.

Could Rukia do that?

This was her zanpakutou, after all.

If that was the case, why didn’t she recognize Ichigo?

Just as quickly as she’d come, as abruptly as their fight began, she vanished back through the senkaimon.

Ichigo stood still, watching her go.

“Rider,” he said. Lightning flashed and Achilles appeared before him with his chariot. “Let’s get her to Urahara. He can patch her up, and we’ll see what’s happening. Are Medusa and Cu still with the Visord?”

The three had slowly started to hang out with people other than Ichigo. Mostly his friends and family. Medusa in particular had been stalking his sisters.

“Yep. They’ll meet us there, I’m sure.”

Achilles helped him load Rukia into the chariot, and the three of them took off into the sky. Ichigo held Rukia carefully to his chest. He fed his reitsu into her, hoping to at least keep her stable. He’d barely started his lessons with Unohana when he’d had to return to Karakura.

He was reluctant to hand her over, but when they landed he let Urahara and Tessai take her inside to be treated.

Orihime was still in the seireitei.

Ichigo sat in one of the small rooms in the shop back room. The two kids were sleeping this late, so he’d helped himself to green tea. Achilles, and later Medusa, Cu and Shinji of all people, joined him before Urahara did the same. He left the sliding door open so they could see Rukia sleeping from where they sat.

“Since when can Zanpakutou manifest themselves outside of a shinigami?” Ichigo asked. Urahara seemed to know everything. Yet, now he shook his head. Shiniji looked troubled.

“I don’t know. Yoruichi is checking things out in the seireitei. The rest of us can't enter, and even if we could it would be dangerous with our zanpakutou. All of us were captains at one point or another…”

Shifting cloth made Ichigo looked to where Rukia had tilted her head towards them. She was exhausted, but awake.

“It was a nightmare.”

She recounted the tale of Muramasa, a zanpakutou who sought to free Zanpaktou from their shinigami. He turned their own power against them. Only Orihime could really fight back. everyone else had lost their abiltiies outside of kido.

“Is everyone alright?” Ichigo asked the doorway. Yoruichi appeared half a second later. She huffed at him. He’d discovered she hated it when he caught her trying to sneak up on him.

“Everyone was okay. There were low casualties at least. It was mostly property destruction, and smaller injuries. The worst of it was squad one. But the medic center made it through. Soi Fon and the rest of the stealth force went after them. The Head Captain is also missing. Kyoraku has taken the reigns for now,” she tilted her head towards Ichigo. “Has anything changed with your zanpakutou?”

Ichigo frowned. “Sort of. They were acting strangely the other day, but nothing like this.:”

“ So the enemies power can't reach us here,” Urahara surmised. “At least not for the time being.”

“When dawn breaks, I'll go back,” Yoruichi decided. “Little Byakuya is the only captain still missing. But he's a strong person. I wouldn't worry too much,” she added when Rukia looked panicked.

“Byakuya won't die,” Ichigo added. He shot Rukia a smile. “He's too damn stubborn. He's like you that way.”

Rukia was apparently strong enough to hit Ichigo in the face with a pillow.  

* * * *

Yuzu peered through the window into the training room inside the hospital. It was too big to fit inside the building, but she was getting used to weird things these days.

Laying the middle of it was Uryu, one of Ichigo’s friends and Ryuken’s son.

“Is he going to be okay?” she asked, peering up at Ryuken.

“He’ll be fine,” he said with certainty. “It’s important to his training. He’s determined to put himself in danger. I can’t let him do that without being able to defend himself. Your brother is an awful influence.”

Yuzu smiled sweets up at him. “Yeah, he definitely is.”

“You should really leave these things to them,” Ryuken said for the millionth time.

Yuzu ignored him, and took out her glasses.

Ryuken had made them for her. They had the faintest blue tinge to them, and when she put them on she could finally see things clearly. Before if she saw anything it would be blurry, like heat on cement in the summer, but with the glasses on it was clear as day.

They entered the training room and Ryuken took her past the passed out Uryu to a shooting range on the opposite end. The cross hanging from Yuzu’s wrist pulsed faintly. The room felt like it was full of energy.

It was that same energy that Yuzu pulled into her hand. It took her long minutes, and it had taken her weeks to get this far. She pulled strand by strand of power into her palm and let it stretch slowly into the shape of small, compact crossbow.

She couldn’t place the expression on Ryuken’s face.

“You don’t need to aim,” he told her quietly. “It’s just like pointing. Your body will know what to do. Just focus on where you want to hit and shoot.”

Yuzu nodded. The pale blue light of her crossbow flickered brighter, nearly white, and she stared hard at the ring hung on a wall.

She shot and clipped the outside edge.

Ryuken nodded beside her. His arms crossed over his chest.

“Again.”

She obeyed.  

* * * * *

Ichigo stood beside Yoruichi in the wide field in the seireitei. Behind them the senkaimon clicked shut.

“We should go sou- what are you doing?” Yoruichi looked down at Ichigo, who was crouched on the ground and drawing intently. The array was both familiar and foreign. He’d had to make a lot of adjustments to it to get it work like this.

From inside his sleeve he pulled out a serpents eye pendant. The feeling of running water came across his palm and he lay the pendant in the middle of the array. It flickered faintly with violet light.

“I had to promise the others I’d bring them along this time. If we don’t do it this way as soon as they enter the afterlife they’ll get dragged back to the Throne of Heroes. So we’re kind of improvising now,” he admitted. “We set up an anchor point back in Karakura that would link them to me with the pendant. A serpents eye. It’s a sort of mystic material.”

Ichigo pulled Zangetsu off his back and planted the blade in the ground. He pressed his palm to the blade and let it cut through his skin. Red ran across the blade and flowed to the ground. The array lit up, blue and red.

“Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation. Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill. Repeat five times and after each is filled, destroy it,” The blue light turned red and lashed upwards. Yoruichi watched him with wide, golden eyes.  

“I shall become all the goodness of the heaven’s. I shall embody all evils of hell. My will creates your body, and your sword cleaves my destiny. If you obey this will and reason, heed my call! Let shut the four cardinal gates and open the three-forked road winding to the Root. Appear now, thou Guardian of the Scales.”  

The light crawled higher and higher until it made the silhouette of three people. It flashed once, brilliant enough Ichigo had to close his eyes.

When he opened them again, Achilles, Medusa, and Cu stood in front of him.

Ichigo grinned slowly.  

It worked.

The three peered around them curiously.

“So this is it?” Medusa asked, turning around in a slow circle.

“I was expecting more river's,” Achilles admitted. Cu snorted at him.

“This is it,” Ichigo cracked his neck from side to side. “It’s time to get to work.”

* * * * * * 

Some of you may notice that I’ve used both feminine and masculine pronouns for Mordred at this point. I also know. My personal headcanon is that Mordred is gender fluid

[yeenybeanies]

41. “I’m... I’m stuck.”

With Arthur and Devin, perhaps?

send prompts!!

41. “ i’m... i’m stuck. ”

red dead redemption | arthur morgan & devin clarke ( oc ) 

1,381 words

strong language, animal & human death warnings

thanks for sending!!

Fuck.

Fuck! 

Devin jolts awake with a gasp. Everything is blurry and disorienting. They try to stand, but they find themself stumbling, struggling to maintain their balance, and ultimately falling back to their knees.

What happened? Try to remember! they tell themself. 

They were riding with Arthur . . . someone shot at him . . . he shot back . . .–––

“ A-Arthur . . .! ”  they manage to croak, voice hoarse. Still bleary-eyed, Devin tries again to stand and look around. As their vision clears, they focus in on a grey mound––a collapsed horse! Arthur’s horse! Its side rises and falls with each labored breath. Blood oozes from a nasty wound in its ribs.

It’s coming back to them now. There were three bandits. Arthur shot all three of them with deadly speed and accuracy, but not before one of them managed to unload a round into the horse. It fell. Devin was thrown . . ..

“ Arthur! ” they call again.

“ ‘m here, ”  comes the response. A hand rises into view from the other side of the horse, waving weakly. Despite their lingering dizziness, Devin stumbles their way towards the fallen beast. They round its head, its heavy breath rustling their hair and clothes, and find Arthur lying on the ground. He’s alive! The thrill brings them a high unlike any other––only for it to come crashing back down with a terrible realization: Arthur is pinned under his dying horse’s body.

Devin rushes over to the man and plants their hands to his nose. His face is caked with sweat and dirt and a bit of blood.  “ Arthur–– ”  they shake him as best they can,  “ ––are you okay? Talk to me, big man. ” 

The rousing puts a grimace on the man’s features. Behind them, Devin hears his arm moving, his hand approaching. Calloused fingertips brush their shoulders.

“ ‘m alive, ”  he offers with a strained voice. When he does manage to open his eyes, he has to cross them to try and look at Devin.  “ You hurt? Back up a little so I––hnn––I can see ya. ” 

With some reluctance, Devin does as asked. They’re sore, and their head is pounding, but, save for a few cuts and bruises ( and a possible concussion ), they’re uninjured. Still, Arthur studies them for a long moment.

“ I’m fine, ”  they say, feeling a bit awkward and shaken.  " Can you get up? “ 

Arthur looks down at himself, his brows furrowed. It’s now that he realizes that his leg is caught underneath his collapsed horse. He plants his hands on the ground and makes an attempt to pull himself free, prompting a weak whine from the beast.

“ God . . . dammit . . .! ”  Arthur growls, then gives up his attempt and bows his head, panting.  “ . . . no, Miss Devin, I don’t think I can, ”  he says, sounding resigned.  “ I’m . . .I’m stuck. Stuck pretty good. ”

A heavy feeling of dread settles in Devin’s gut. They look from Arthur, to the horse, and then to the road. What the hell are they going to do? They can’t just leave him here. He could die! What an undignified death, trapped under a horse.

“ Wait here, ” Devin says. They rush off towards one of the dead bandits.

“ I don’t have much choi––hey, hold on now––– ”  his snarky retort dies with his own worry at seeing the borrower run out of view. Arthur pushes himself up to sit as best he can, trying to see where they went.  “ Miss Devin! Don’t go getting yourself into trouble now. ” 

They ignore his concern and approach the nearest body. The dead man stares blankly up at the sky, the inside of his chest exposed and still oozing. It’s a nasty sight, but Devin doesn’t dwell on it. They circle the body until they find his bag.

“ Devin? ”  Arthur calls. He sounds worried. It’s sweet that he cares, but Devin has found themself at odds with him when he gets overprotective. They roll their eyes and continue to ignore him. This time, they’re determined to save him. They slip into the bag and set out to find something––anything––that might help.

Nothing.

Frustrated, but not deterred, the borrower exits the bag and moves on to the next bandit.

“ Devin, please––– ” 

“ I’m fine, Arthur, ”  they snap.  “ Let me do this. ” 

The second bandit’s bag is a bit tougher to get into. Devin has to cut a hole into the leather so they can squeeze their way in, and cut a few more so they can see.

There!

After some rummaging around, they spot what they were looking for: horse reviver. With newfound determination, they haul the vial out of the bag and carry it over to the fallen horse. Its breathing is much weaker now, its eyes starting to glaze over. Devin isn’t sure if this will work, but they have to try. They affix the needle to the vial and with a strained grunt, jab it into the horse’s chest.

For a long moment, nothing happens.

Devin feels their heart drop. They feel their dread creeping up. What else can they do? They can’t lift the horse off of Arthur. They can’t return to camp and get help. Will they have to wait around here and hope that someone will come by to help? Should they travel the road and find help? Christ, what if someone snatches them up and doesn’t come to get Arthur. What if–––

The horse neighs, jolting Devin out of their thoughts. They jump out of the way as it starts to move. It’s slow, but it manages to roll itself upright, off of Arthur. It picks itself up off of the ground and stands on wobbly legs. Its breath is raspy, labored.

But Arthur––Arthur is free. The man scoots away from the horse and pushes himself up to his knees. He too is a bit shaky, his leg half asleep and sore from having a one-ton animal lying on it, but he’s up. That’s what matters.

Devin darts between the horse’s hooves towards Arthur, who brings his hands down for them. They practically leap to him and throw their arms around one of his thumbs. With a soft smile, Arthur brings them up to his chest.

“ What’d you do? ” the man asks.

“ Horse reviver, ”  they say.

“ Well, Devin, I do reckon you may very well have just saved my life, ”  he says, his fingers curling lightly around their back.

The borrower doesn’t respond; they just lean their forehead to the pad of his thumb and focus on the fact that Arthur is okay. Or––well, they think he’s okay.  “ Can you stand now? ” 

“ I think so. Hold on. ”  He gathers Devin in one hand and uses the other to push himself up. His leg still hurts, but it isn’t broken, miraculously. He stands up tall, sore, but largely uninjured. His smile only widens.

Any happiness is disrupted, though, with a heavy thud and a dying cry. Arthur’s horse collapses once more into a pool of its own blood.

“ Aw shit, ”  Arthur says with a grimace. He limps closer to the animal and looks over its injuries.

“ You should probably put it down, ”  Devin says, peeking over Arthur’s fingers.  “ It’s not going to make it. ”

Arthur presses his lips together. He takes a knee next to the horse’s head and gently rubs along its neck. It makes a soft, pained noise.  “ Alright, fella. ‘m sorry this happened to you, but it’s gonna be alright. ”  It pains him to have to do this, but he’d rather put the animal out of its misery than leave it to suffer. He stands and pulls one of his pistols from his holster, takes aim, and puts a bullet right into the horse’s skull, just behind the eye.

“ I’m sorry, Arthur . . .. ”  Devin says after a moment of silence. They look up at him, big brown eyes filled with remorse.

“ Me too. But it ain’t your fault. “  He rubs his thumb to their shoulder. He brings his hand to his shoulder where they take their normal post, holding onto his scarf.  “ He was a good horse. I’m gonna miss him. But we’ll see if we can’t catch one of these dead feller’s horses ‘n get home. ” 

“ Please, ”  Devin says with a sigh.  “ I’ve had enough of saving your ass for one day. ” 

Arthur chuckles.  “ Me too. I’ll try not to make a habit out of it. ”

“ I’d appreciate it. ”

[kushielsmercy]

An Oxenfurt Professor in King Arthur’s Court

In which modern Witcher Geralt and modern music professor Jaskier are thrown back in time, sentenced to death, pose as powerful warlocks, learn the importance of Freshman Astronomy 101, discover the origins of a 6th century Redanian poem, and legalize gay marriage in Camelot through the power of Geralt's magic cum. (Or, the Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court AU nobody asked for.)

Read on A03 (E, 4058 words)

***

This is undeniably, irrefutable, without a doubt, go ahead and write it into the annals of history because the facts speak for themselves – Geralt’s fault.

Jaskier submits to the court the following evidence:

Artifact 1: Telling Jaskier that he can “ absolutely under no circumstances” do something makes it physically impossible for Jaskier to resist doing exactly so.

Circumstantial Evidence: They’ve been friends since they were six, Geralt knows this.

Concluding Remarks: So when Geralt brought a very old, very shiny , rock home only to spend the next twenty minutes lecturing Jaskier about its “very powerful magic,” that he would be “taking to Yennefer tomorrow,” and how it was, “Not a toy. Seriously, Jaskier,”  he HAD to have known that he was all but begging Jaskier to touch.

Jaskier rests his case. Not his fault.

Now, the fact that Jaskier was touching Geralt too when he dragged his fingers against the rock, the Witcher distracted and boneless under him (this was cross-Jaskier’s-heart-not-on-purpose, nor Jaskier’s plan all along. Jaskier resents the insinuation that he would do anything so mundane as scheme), may admittedly be a little his fault.

But! Had Geralt not made Jaskier touch the stone in the first place it wouldn’t have mattered that he was buried to the hilt inside Jaskier when Jaskier reached out his fingers, brushing them ever so lightly against the stone that had been neatly stashed away on the shelf behind Geralt’s bed. Therefore, by transitive property, the fact that Geralt has been roped into this mess as well cannot in any way be blamed on Jaskier.

The court of Jaskier is adjourned.

Geralt has clearly forgotten everything they learned in 8th grade algebra because despite Jaskier’s watertight case the Witcher’s hands are twitching towards his swords. Or more accurately, where his swords would be. If he hadn’t been naked and still buried nine inches deep inside Jaskier.

Fucking mages. They’ll thrust enough chaos to shove someone(s) through space and..oh shit hopefully not time...on a lark but ask them to add just a little extra oomph to conjure up some new clothes and suddenly it’s all “Harnessing chaos is serious business, Jaskier,” “There are forces beyond your understanding, Jaskier,” “Geralt if your boyfriend sends me pictures of Italian lingerie with his  ‘suggested edits’ one more time I will be forced to ‘whip the little number up’ and strangle him with it.”

All mages sound a bit like Yennefer in Jaskier’s mind.

Luckily for Jaskier, Yennefer is not here and therefore does not hear the squawk that comes out of his mouth when he’s suddenly thrown off Geralt’s cock and shoved onto the forest ground.

Unluckily for Jaskier, Yennefer is not here and as such does not turn the circle of angry, pitchfork-brandishing, peasants surrounding them into a smoldering pile of dust.

...

............

.......................

Right. Peasants. There are literal peasants. So, the "and time” part of that whole “space and time” equation might be rather more technically correct than Jaskier was hoping.

In better news, Jaskier is suddenly certain that Geralt will save him from death by peasant just so he doesn’t miss the pleasure of killing Jaskier himself.

***

In an unexpected turn of events, King Arthur is not just a mythical figure begot from the longings of a downtrodden society dreaming of a mythic golden age. He does have a very large wart on his left temple, six fingers on his right hand, and only three wooden teeth – Jaskier has been firmly informed that this is quite the status symbol for a man of his age.

Jaskier, personally and with prejudice, doesn’t give a rat’s ass if his teeth were made from fucking diamonds, because the cunt gives them barely a glance before sentencing both Jaskier and Geralt to death for the crime of “conjuring dark magics by engaging in rituals of the most vile kind”, as if any cock, even Geralt’s satisfyingly girthy specimen, could be good enough to literally cause a beam of light to shoot up into the sky.

Jaskier didn’t plan on dying today, but he especially didn’t need a literal King to stoke Geralt’s already large ego right before he takes off their heads.

“Told you my cock would be the last you’d ever need,” Jaskier’s still quite tender ass. Geralt’s going to be insufferable in hell.

Continue reading on A03

Pleasantly, Jaskier doesn’t die today after all. Apparently that unseemly bit of business could wait until next week. According to the Bishop of Nottingham, both he and Geralt needed to rot in separate cells for a couple of days so that they may be “purified of unholy acts” before their skin touched the executioner's blade.

The King had also chopped off the hands of the peasants who had dragged them into court in the first place, just for good measure. Jaskier is struggling to dredge up any sympathy.

Geralt is muttering nonsense that sounds a lot like "your fault" and “how does he have multiple degrees but not one single brain cell” from the cell beside him, which is 1) Ridiculous. Geralt could have killed all of those peasants with his bare hands if he hadn’t over-corrected from killing too many humans to absolutely none of them and 2) Highly distracting – Jaskier needs to THINK.

Death, as Jaskier sees it, is an unacceptable outcome. They’ve done this oh so shitty song and dance before. Geralt doesn’t come home with bloody hands and clean swords anymore, daring the world to cull him like a monster too. Jaskier still dreams of fine white lines, but these days when he wakes up he generally knows where he is.

So yeah, Jaskier isn’t letting them die in some joke of an X-Files rerun.

...he’s just got to figure out how.

***

6 days later, 17 years of schooling, 3 advanced degrees, and Jaskier still has not one. fucking. clue. how to get them out of their cells – much less back to their time.

“Why couldn’t you do something practical, Julian? You could have been an engineer,” his mother’s voice has the audacity to echo in his head.

Geralt - the light of his life - is being utterly, infuriatingly, catastrophically, useless. He’s all but stopped responding to Jaskier’s increasingly less gentle prodding. Jaskier would be concerned that Geralt is slipping down inside himself again if he had time to be concerned about such niceties. But right now he’s a little busy with the looming threat of their heads slipping from their necks.

A key turns in a lock.

(He could gouge out the first guard’s eyes but he’d never get to the second’s in time...)

Shackles on sore wrists.

(If he throws himself at Geralt’s guards the Witcher might have time to escape...)

A long march.

(These stairs are so steep. Wouldn’t death on his own terms be preferable?)

Then they’re walking up onto a – oh for fuck’s sake – a goddamn stage.

Jaskier might be a professor by day, but he’s a performer at heart. As such, he cannot decide whether it is entirely insulting or entirely fitting that his execution is set to be the grand finale of what looks to be quite the soiree.

A memory:

Freshman Biology 101:

Detachment from events happening around oneself is a classic sign of shock.

To their left, a minstrel is singing.

That man to me seems equal to the gods,

the man who sits opposite you

and close by listens

to your sweet voice

and your enticing laughter-

that indeed has stirred up the heart in my breast.

For whenever I look at you even briefly

I can no longer say a single thing,

Despite everything, Jaskier grins. He knows this one. 6th century, classic Redanian style, one of the first examples of lyrical poetry. Only two surviving copies of the original text survive – both featured prominently in Jaskier’s dissertation.

Ever helpless in the face of beauty, Jaskier starts to sing.

but my tongue is frozen in silence;

instantly a delicate flame runs beneath my skin;

with my eyes I see nothing;

my ears make a whirring noise.

A cold sweat covers me,

trembling seizes my body,

and I am greener than grass.

Lacking but little of death do I seem.

He starts off quietly, his words but a whisper on the wind. But as the melody grows stronger, so too does his voice. If he, Julian Alfred Pancratz, is to die today, it will not be quietly. He will not betray himself that way. He projects until his voice is louder than the minstrel’s, and even adds in some flashy counterpoint for variety even though it hasn’t technically been invented yet.

Turns out it’s hard to be concerned about butterfly effects at your own funeral.

Jaskier closes his eyes and feels the sun warm his brow. He revels in Geralt breathing slowly beside him – he’s always been beside him – and lets his voice soar.

After a time, he’s not sure how long, Jaskier’s ear catches that something has changed. Without meaning to, he's slipped from harmony to the leading voice, he’s adjusted to his accompaniment dropping out without consciously adjusting at all.

Well, he was first in his class. His continued excellence shouldn’t be a surprise.

He opens his eyes to find the minstrel is staring at him, aghast. The minstrel raises a shaky finger in Jaskier’s direction.

“That’s, that’s impossible,” he cries.

God’s hairy ballsack, what could these absolute simpletons possibly think Jaskier should be blamed for now?

“You – you can’t know those words,” the crowd falls silent at the minstrel’s cry, "no one knows those words. That tune. I only finished it but a fortnight ago, I’ve been hoarding it away for a joyous occasion such as this!”

Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary:

Joy (noun)ˈjȯi

Definition of joy

1a : the emotion evoked by well-being, success, or good fortune or by the prospect of possessing what one desires : delight

1b : the expression or exhibition of such emotion : gaiety

Joyous. The minstrel was saving it for a joyous occasion. Like a public execution. For Christ's sake, if Jaskier had any intention of staying in this shithole his first order of business would be opening up public schools to teach these fools to read.

Current doubts about his audience’s ability to appreciate the nuances of his performance aside, Jaskier sees a sliver of opportunity. And he could not bear to set foot in a theater again if he let a captive audience pass him by.

“Reading minds is the least of what I can do, silly child,” Jaskier says, ropes cutting into his still-bound wrists as he tries to finish off his words with a flourish. “Did you truly think a week of solitude would be enough to wane my power? No, all that your king has done is anger me further.” Jaskier casts about for words, unsure where he is going. “It was the foolishness of your kind who corrupted the ritual, not I. The seed of man split into unfertile ground would have passed through me, turned into the power to nurture your crops and feed your babes. But in your haste and hatred you corrupted the ritual, you cut it off before it’s power could sew. And now,” Jaskier bared his teeth, “your wives will go barren and your babes will starve.”

Jaskier certainly has their attention now. Praise be to Thursday night improv. Geralt is looking at him like Jaskier has lost his mind but unless he’d like to offer up a better plan he can shove it.

The mood of the crowd has turned wary, but Jaskier knows that it will quickly swing back round to anger if he doesn’t find some way to back up his bluff now.

Right. In times like these, it’s best to ask oneself WWYD.

Against his better judgement, Jaskier stills, breathes, and looks up at the sun. He may not need his retinas soon - he wants to see it one last time. He wants to luxuriate in it’s warmth.  Because as much as he’s trying to pretend, he is not a certain black haired witch who can call upon powers unknown, and mildly scaring a crowd does little good if they’re still tied up at the end of it.

A memory, twice:

Freshman Astronomy 101:

First Contact: A solar eclipse begins when the Moon touches the Sun and takes its first tiny nibble out of the solar disk.

Jaskier would like to formally, in-writing, and with reparations take back everything bad he has ever said about the necessity of requiring liberal arts majors to take introductory astronomy. Most valuable class he has ever taken, that. And thank fuck for his ill-advised crush on Professor Marx that compelled him to show up even at 8am.

Deus ex machina, indeed.

“You have transgressed against the most sacred of acts, against light itself, and for that – I will take yours away,” Jaskier continues, feeling the ropes slip from his wrists, which, about time Geralt. Jaskier was starting to think he was going to have to take care of this escaping business all by himself.

Jaskier twirls around and grabs the base of the axe from the (really entirely too close for comfort, gods they were cutting it close) executioner’s block. He channels his ire from every single Sunday School story about Moses parting the red sea he’d ever been forced to sit through and crashes the axe down like a staff.

“May you know light no more!” Jaskier bellows into the transfixed crowd.

The moon, obligingly, chooses that moment to creep over the sun far enough that it it’s effect might be noticed by those not directly looking.

A mounting panic grows amongst the onlookers as the moon continues its crawl across the sun. Jaskier glances over at Geralt and finds him sizing up the guardsmen blocking their path, and while Jaskier is sympathetic to that plan, there is also an entire castle to get through after, which lowers their odds of escape considerably.  At some point the eclipse will end and Jaskier doesn’t want to find out what will happen when the crowd figures out he didn’t take away the sun.

The sky grows ever darker and Jaskier is about ready to concede to Geralt’s unspoken plan when the problem of “what next” is unexpectedly solved. King Arthur himself pushes past his guardsmen and walks onto the stage. His face sallow, he removes his crown with trembling hands and throws himself at Jaskier’s feet.

“I beg of you, oh mighty sorcerer. Do not do this thing! Forgive us, for we knew not what we did!”

“What you did, you mean,” Jaskier says, arching an eyebrow at the now openly weeping king.

“My folly is my own,” the King agrees, his face wrinkling with distaste at the admission. “Do not make my people suffer for my mistakes. Any boon that is within my power, I will grant. Surely it is not too late?”

Jaskier is not a nice person; he resents anyone's insinuation that he should be. Nice people are just like every other poor sucker on the planet – they're just lying to themselves about it. So Jaskier looks at the pathetic figure at his feet and considers, just for a moment, how lovely King Arthur would look slitting his own throat. Surely that would be within his power to grant.

He thinks of every person in the crowd, so ready to see them die just moments ago, forced into servitude at his beck and call.

He thinks of Geralt.

Geralt isn’t nice either, Jaskier would have gotten bored of him long ago if he was, but – the bastard is kind. And Jaskier thinks he’d be rather disappointed if Jaskier fell headfirst into blood lust at his very first taste of real power.

Jaskier thinks of morning coffee made with exactly one and a half shots of espresso, of the smell of leather and the taste of whisky. He thinks of Geralt in too big hand-me-downs punching the grade school bully who thought it’d be funny to make fun of the rich kid who couldn’t stop crying. Of Geralt climbing through his window, covered in blood and exhausted, because Jaskier’s parents had banned the orphaned drop-out from their house but Geralt knew Jaskier had been nervous about finals. Of Geralt by his side the last time Jaskier slammed the door on his father; Geralt’s warmth by his side later that night as they held each other close on a ratty old mattress on the floor.

He thinks of a small little box hidden amongst his socks.

Any boon within my power.

Fuck it all – Jaskier knows what he has to do. He sighs, taking a moment to mourn petty vengeance, then pulls himself taller, clenching the axe with one hand and reaching for Geralt with the other.

“Hear this, Camelot,” the crows stills as Jaskier’s voice rings out, “you have perverted a sacred act, and for that you deserve to pay. However,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “in my great mercy I will offer you this one chance to repent. You shall never again raise hand against a man who lies with a man, or a woman with woman, for they bear the seeds of this earth as surely as a mother bears her child. In this realm, they shall be allowed to live and love just as man and wife, and all shall remember that it was they who saved you on this day.”

There is a pause, the crowd tittering as they take in his decree. But the sun keeps disappearing inch by inch, which apparently is more compelling than bigotry. So –

“Anything, my lord,” the King says, “it shall be so.”

“Yes. It shall be,” Jaskier nods decisively, “for you will not find me so merciful a second time. I shall blot out not just the sun, but also the moon, and the stars. I shall poison your waters and salt your fields. Do not seek to test me in this.”

“Camelot shall not, oh mighty one!” King Arthur says, motioning for all the crowd to prostrate themselves as well.

Jaskier grins at Geralt, swinging their intertwined hands up towards the sky, “Upon your solemn promise, I grant you – light!”

A memory, thrice:

Freshman Astronomy 101:

Professor Marx’s red trousers must have shrunk in the wash, because all Jaskier could think about was putting his head between those thighs and biting.

Somewhere in the background: “A solar eclipse will last for up to a half hour..”

Whatever else Marx is saying is lost to the outline of his cock.

The moon, less obligingly, continues to blot out the sun.

Shit.

Jaskier freezes, his hands still outstretched. Time sits suspended as the crowd waits with bated breath for him to summon powers unknown and bend the heavens themselves. Which he will , of course. In about...oh, twenty-six minutes or so.

A restless whisper rises up from the crowd as Jaskier continues to fail at bringing them light.

“Jaskier,” Geralt rumbles, tensing in his grip.

“I know, dear. I’m thinking,” Jaskier answers.

Geralt probably could cut through the guards this time, distracted as they were. But Geralt’s “Days Since I Last Killed A Human” count is getting rather high and Jaskier prefers not to make his wolf break that streak if there’s any other option.

The guardsmen start to shift, their hands inching towards the hilts of their swords. Jaskier needs to do something, or they need to run now.

“What is the meaning of this!?,” King Arthur cries, pushing himself up onto his knees. “Have you not the power to undo your own deed?”

“The ritual is not complete,” Jaskier hedges, lowering their hands, “your men stopped my companion before he could spill, letting my power flow into the stars, disrupting the natural order. The sun cannot return until the cycle is closed.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls from beside him.

Jaskier pushes on, unheeding, “So we will be leaving now, and once we are alone we will finish the ritual and restore the light. You have my solemn vow.”

The King gives him a long, assessing look before making a quick gesture with his hand, and that’s all it takes for Jaskier’s very carefully laid plan to go to shit. Before Jaskier can react, the guardsmen leap from their posts and surround them with steel (Geralt, of course, did have time to react, but even with two unconscious guardsmen...one sword vs. thirty are not odds in their favor).

“Your Majesty?”Jaskier raises an eyebrow in the King’s direction, trying to channel the aura of a man entirely unconcerned.

King Arthur pulls himself tall, and Jaskier supposes it does take a rather lot of balls to threaten a man you believe can literally control the sun. Maybe the legends aren't entirely hogswallop.

...He’s still a cunt.

“If your companion’s...completion...is so important to bringing back the sun,” King Arthur says, “then I must insist that the ritual take place here, so that we may confirm it done. I cannot trust your motives nor believe that you will not resist the act in petty vengeance.”

Jaskier hears Geralt make a choked-off noise that he’ll probably try to claim was distress, the fucking exhibitionist.

Well. Jaskier can’t say that sex at knife-point in front of hundreds of terrified peasants will make his top five most interesting fucks. Might crack the top ten though.

“A fair concession, your grace,” Jaskier says, because what the fuck else is there to do?

Jaskier doesn’t give Geralt time to complain before pulling him in and crushing their mouths together. He’s well aware this isn’t a good plan, but it was a hell of a lot better than getting killed or spending the next year soothing Geralt from his nightmares of slashing through men.

Geralt, predictably, tenses, which is a bullshit farce because Jaskier can feel how hard he is already. Jaskier really doesn’t have the energy for his dramatics right now so he plays dirty, yanking Geralt’s hair back hard and whispering in his ear “get on the ground pet, now.”

Geralt, predictably, drops hard, and Jaskier wastes no time getting them both out, slicking Geralt up with some oil he demands from one of the guards. Jaskier sinks down fast - too-fast - and he hisses at the burn, but doesn’t wait before he starts riding Geralt hard, mumbling a Gregorian chant for good effect.

Geralt’s cock rams his prostate with every thrust and fuck that’s good, that’s so good, that’s... rather too good, by the slow inch of the moon across the sun. Geralt’s abs start to tense in warning and Jaskier’s desperately slams a hand around his throat, leaning down to growl “don’t you dare fucking cum, not yet, you don’t get to cum yet.” Thank the gods that Geralt is particularly amenable to being bossed around in bed (on stage, semantics) because that seems to work, the Witcher taking deep breaths and clearly trying to slip as deep into meditation as possible while also deep inside Jaskier’s ass.

By the time the moon finally retreats the pleasure has turned to overstimulation and Jaskier has become fairly numb to stares of crowd (one really can get used to anything, it seems). Geralt, by contrast, seems to grow harder every time he opens his eyes to find himself still surrounded and at knifepoint – but that’s a kink best explored another day.

The sun, ever so slowly, reemerges, and the guards around them begin to lower their swords. Jaskier forces himself to look away from Geralt to watch the growing light, not willing to miss his cue.

Right as the moon slips past the last inch of the sun Jaskier bunches a first into Geralt’s hair and hisses, “Now, Geralt, do it now. Fill me up.”

Geralt, bless him, jerks as he obeys, cumming long and deep inside Jaskier. Jaskier lets himself follow Geralt over the edge, boneless with both his release and escape from imminent death.

As Jaskier pulls off Geralt’s cock, spend dripping down his thighs, he feels the rush of magic. There’s a single, in retrospect embarrassing, moment where he wonders if Geralt’s cum really does have previously undiscovered magical properties before he smells lilac and hears a familiar voice call out, “Must you two imbeciles make a scene everywhere you go?”

Looks like they’ll be getting back to their own time after all.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Interruptions

Summary: Ada’s twin sister takes a more active role in her brothers’ company. Yet that means she has frequent run-ins with Alfie Solomons who she is less than fond of.

Requested by @bangbap

            To be fair, Helen didn’t hate Alfie Solomons as much as she hated other people. There was a clear hierarchy of the men that her brother did business with. Alfie was somewhere around the middle. She found him arrogant, overbearing, and aloof with a bit of a god-complex mixed in. But she didn’t get to pick and choose who she worked with as a part of the Shelby Company Ltd.

            Helen didn’t feel like she owed her brothers anything but seeing as her twin, Ada, took no interest in the company, she felt as if she might as well help. She was very close with Polly and took comfort under her aunt’s wing, learning all she could.

            Still, there were days when she wished she had followed Ada’s route. Taking a salary and living nicely in London. One of those days was trekking all the way out to London, Camden Town more specifically.

            Her brothers were all too busy to bring paperwork to Alfie. While Arthur had some reservations about their younger sister going, the paperwork was important in upholding the fragile relationship between the Camden Jews and the Blinders. Besides, everything Helen learned was from either her brothers or Polly. She didn’t go down without a fight.

 ~~~~~~~~

            Ollie recognized the woman as she approached the bakery. “Morning, Miss Shelby.” He greeted politely although there was a hint of confusion on his face.

            “How are you, Ollie?” Helen took no issue with Alfie’s assistant. The young man seemed to do his best and had a personality very opposite of his boss.

            “I’m well…but we weren’t expecting you.” He admitted. There was nothing on Alfie’s agenda that had anything to do with the Shelbys.

            “Tommy confirmed with him over the phone that I would be coming out today.” She replied.

            “Right…I guess there was a mix-up.”

            “Well, this will only take a moment.” Helen smiled tightly and went to go through the double doors.

            Ollie looked a little panicked, following her close behind. “I should warn you not to trouble him. He’s in a mood.”

            “So am I. I’ve had to travel all the way to London to do my brothers’ dirty work. I’m not exactly in the best mood either.” She didn’t slow down, striding down the hall toward Alfie’s office.

            “It wouldn’t be wise-”

            “I’ve dealt with him before; I can handle it.” And that was that. There was no stopping her as she knocked on the door.

            “Fuck off!” Alfie’s angry voice came from the other side.

            “It’s Helen Shelby, I’ve got contracts that need signing.” She didn’t waver.   

            There was a pause before heavy footsteps crossed the office and the door flung open. “What part of fuck off do you not understand, love?” Alfie stood in the doorway with an intimidating stance.

            “What don’t you understand about these contracts need signing?” She retorted before slipping past him and making herself comfortable in his office. “You knew I was coming, oh hello Cyril, Tommy called you and confirmed. It’s not my fault, oh yes I see you Cyril that’s a good boy, that you can’t keep track of your appointments.”

            Alfie turned around bewildered that she had pushed her way in. The nerve of some people. “Love, I could shoot you right now, yeah, just on the account of you fucking trespassing into me office.”

            Helen dropped the stack of paper on his desk and sat down to pet Cyril. At least the dog was happy to see her. “Then you’d have more Shelbys trespassing, wouldn’t you?”

            Alfie grumbled obscenities under his breath. She’d called his bluff more than enough times. Both of them were highly aware that he would never bring her harm, but it was the only threat he had in his arsenal. No other threats worked on her. After a few months of their professional relationship, Alfie found that she was a mix of her brothers. That was the worst thing about her. She had the calm, stoic nature of Tommy but had the temper of Arthur when she so chose.       

            “You just have to sign a couple of papers and I’ll be gone.”

            “I may not sign them just on the fucking principle,” Alfie responded stubbornly.

            “Oh God, Alfie, please don’t act like a child.” Helen rolled her eyes.

            “I’m acting like a child? You’re the one who barged her way in here without a fucking care in the world.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll reschedule a day with your brother. Get out.”

            “I came all the way from Birmingham, I’m not leaving without a fucking signature.” She stood up to stare him down.

            “Well, you can think about your manners on your way back to that shithole.”

            She scoffed. “My manners?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Oh, for Christ-never mind. Fuck it.” She gathered the papers on the desk. “I’m not wasting my time with you. But you’re the one who will have to answer to Tommy.” She spat before storming out of the office.

            “Like I’m scared of your brother!” He yelled after her. The sound of her heels on the concrete floor faded away. There was no trace of her left. Alfie hated that he felt a pang of emptiness in her absence.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

            Tommy exchanged words with Alfie and a week later, Helen was sent back to Camden Town despite her protests.

            Ollie wasn’t at the door, so she let herself in. She passed the assistant on the way to Alfie’s office.

            “He’s expecting you.” He confirmed.

            “Oh, good. The man can finally remember something for once.” Helen replied sarcastically as she knocked on the door.

            “Come in.” At least it was a nicer reply than last time.

            Helen walked in. “Are you going to behave this time or am I going to have to go back empty-handed again?”

            Alfie leaned back in his desk chair, arms crossed, half-moon glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. “Depends.”

            “On what?”

            “On your attitude.”

            “You want me to grovel or something? May I remind you; you were the one who caused the fuss last time.”

            Alfie tutted his tongue and shook his head. “You’ve learned too much from your brothers.”

            “I’m not my brothers.” She decided to sit down instead of arguing on her feet. “They lack my charm.”

            He laughed and shook his head. “You Shelbys and your charm.” He leaned forward and lazily sorted through the paperwork she set down on his desk.

            “Oh, please just sign them. Don’t play around.”

            But each of his movements was deliberate. Slow and careful to increase their time together. Alfie couldn’t put his finger on why he liked Helen so much. After all, she had most of the Shelby qualities that drove him up the wall. Yet, he could tolerate her for hours. He enjoyed their banter and it didn’t hurt that he thought she was beautiful.

            Helen raised an eyebrow at him. “Well?”

            “Well, what?”

            “Do you need a pen? I’ve got one.”  She began to rummage through her purse.

            “Tell you what,” He tapped his knuckles against the desktop. “I’ll sign ‘em, but not here.”

            “Alf-”

            “Just hear me out, aye? There’s a place on Regent’s we can go to.”

            Helen paused and recollected herself. “I’m sorry. Alfie Solomons, are you asking me on a date?”

            He cleared his throat and shrugged. “S’pose it depends on if you want to call it that.”  

            “Well…” She subconsciously fixed her hair. “If my brothers found out they would kill you.”

            “They want to kill me for a lot of reasons, love. But I understand.”

            “Do you understand that our meeting at this place on Regent’s will be business?”

            Alfie narrowed his eyes. She had a small smirk on her lips. “Right…right, business. Business.” He nodded in affirmation. He understood.

            Helen couldn’t help but laugh softly. “All this time you’ve been giving me trouble.”

            “Well, you Shelbys are attracted to trouble. So, to keep you around…”

            “You stirred up trouble.” She never thought her second trip to Camden would result in such a way. And yet…it felt right. Maybe she’d been waiting all this time. Being a Shelby was thrilling in its own right. But sneaking around with Alfie Solomons? It felt like electricity coursing through her veins.

            “So?”

            “So, I’ll go to my sister’s home to get ready for our meeting. You can pick me up there.” She stood up and lingered by his desk.

            “Ada won’t tell your brothers?”

            “No, she won’t notice where I’ve gone.”

            Alfie nodded and stood up as well. “Erm, I’ll walk you out then.” He offered.

            But Helen stopped at the door and waited until he got close to her. Feeling that jolt of thrill, she kissed his cheek.

            He stopped in his tracks as if he’d completely frozen.

            She looked smugly at him. “That’s for making me come out here a second time, Solomons.” She murmured before going on her way.  

            “Fucking hell.” He grinned and watched her leave.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @biba3434 @kimmietea @enrapturedbythemoon @vampgirl1997 @tarafaithe @evelynshelby

PB Masterpost

[firstknightss]

GWAINCELOT ESSAY THREE???

[commentary voice] ah yes and this gwaincelot essay.... which turned into a fic was inspired by @nextstopparis and @little-ligi

GWAINE TEACHING LANCELOT HOW TO READ. and thats how they actually CONFESS.

imagine gwaine seeing lancelot trip up reading leon’s plan for the day, seeing him trying to understand it. and gwaines, hes a little in love. Hes. Hes a little hit with feelings for this Noble (tm) knight. So OF COURSE he CANT EMOTION and he tries to show his affection for lancelot without yknow being in ‘loVE’

he comes over with his swishy hair and bantery tone like “oooOhHh LANCELOT! Lancey! Hey! Hello! Can’t read leon’s goddamn awful handwriting huh?”

And Lancelots embarrassed and flushes red and gwaine thinks hes Fucked Up (and he really doesn’t want to fuck this up, this is the first time he’s actually felt emotions this deep for someone) and tries to fix it panickedly, like the Anxiety Clown He Is.

He keeps on saying sorry and apologising, and Lancelot, the EVER CALM KNIGHT GUY, goes “it’s fine, it’s okay. It’s nothing to do with you...” and then he hesitates. He HESITATES. “....it’s just that...” and then he BITES HIS LIP and gwaine thinks he might just faint there and then, “...i cant read.”

and now it hits him, gwaine, gwaine, who thought literacy was something trash and something he didn’t really need, realises how important it is. and so, yknow because hes kind of wrapped in those Emotions (tm), he pulls lancelot’s sleeve after practice, when they’re alone in the changing room. (and if lancelot wasn’t so tired and miserable, he would have easily seen gwaine BLUSH)

And he, shyly asks if lancelot wouldnt mind being tutored by him.

Now Lancelot is OVERJOYED, and he’s borderline CRYING because lancelot, poor old village boy lancelot who’d been kicked out of the knights of camelot, and had to become a MERCENARY and fight for masters who didn’t care for him, has NEVER HAD someone literally CARE about him so much. (Apart from Merlin. He loves merlin <3)

so now imagine lancelot waking up an hour early the next morning, and showing up into gwaine’s room. He knows gwaine literally doesnt sleep with a lock, so he just barges in, and starts shaking gwaine.

Now GWAINE sleeps like a Log (had so much shit going on irl, time to sleep it away) and when he opens his bleary eyes, seeing lancelot in one of his stupid v neck shirts over him, hes like “....h...helo??”

and lancelot’s all like. “We- werent YOU gonna give me reading lessons.” And gwaine nods, yawning (and in that moment lancelot thinks gwaine looks unimaginably cute, so cute that he wants to literally ruffle gwaine’s hair and run his hands through how silky and brown it is.)

THEN gwaine pulls on the dont care-ish mask, and makes his arms into a pillow under his head, as he leans against the wall behind his bed, in some kind of somewhat???flirty??? manner??? [i dont...i dont know what hes trying to do. On the other hand! Not does Lancelot :) ]

Lancelot, does not realise this is gwaine’s poor attempt at flirting - since he’s seen gwaine ACTUALLY flirting and this is like. Nothing. And its also poorly executed. Which is NOTHING like gwaine.

So he pulls gwaine’s arm, and half hauls him out of bed.

As gwaine’s head crashes into lancelot’s stomach, he can smell lancelot’s clothes. They smell of flowers, and cotton and everything so natural and gwaine, who literally smells of wine, and wood and Tavern. (And aftershave, or the 500AD equivalent)

[see here, see im trying to bring themes of dionysis okay. OkayyyyyyyyY. yours truly likes looking at greek mythology. And both these two complete dionysis]

Gwaine, in his sleepy stupor, nestles his head on Lancelot’s hip, who gives a sigh and stands there. One hand clutching gwaine’s, leaving the other free.....

....to rake through his soft, flowy brown hair. And twirl his fingers through its waves, and Gwaine cuddles in further.

And since Lancelot left the door open, Leon (the other bitch who wakes up at 4am to do idk nothing) sees them two...like that, illuminated by the SUNLIGHT behind them, and smiles a little.

And then he trips over the stairs, the moment is lost.

Gwaine and Lancelot pull away at the same time, and gwaine’s face turns back to “ha ha im a Jerk (tm)” and if he wasnt too busy trying to hide how flustered he was, he’d see Lancelot looking at him the way he used to look at GWEN.

They both blink and look at each other, understandingly, neither of them to speak of this again.

And then Gwaine drags himself out of bed, and Lancelot raises his eyebrows as he watches him (totally not checking him out) haul out a book from his cupboard.

Gwaine’s too sleepy for this, he keeps yawning and rubbing his eyes (looking like a cat, Lancelot notes) and Lancelot takes a deep breath, his eyes understanding.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“Lancelot, I love..” he bites his tongue, cursing his half asleep mind “..doing this, and love hanging out with you...I just cant stay up this early.”

Reading lessons, from now on, are at 1:30am-whenever Gwaine and Lancelot stop rambling about Odysseus and Circe and Telemachus

[i dont know any other ancient books apart from like. Ancient greek/Roman ones. So i guess. Its not historically accurate,,,,BUUIT this is a fanfic for a pair who had like no scenes together SO i think i can take some ✨creative liberties✨]

Lancelot has heard of the journey of Aneas from travelling bards, singing songs in his native old english. Gwaine’s eyes are quick at latin, and he learnt the flaws of Romulus and Remus in his pure latin. Gwaine’s a good teacher, and lancelot is a quick study, and it’s not long before they’re arguing over which Goddess caused the most harm in the Illiad.

Gwaine’s never met someone who he could reveal that he loved reading to, he loved doing.

Lancelot’s never met someone who he could tell he couldn’t read, and ask if they could teach him, love learning.

They make it work.

The other knights notice, of course they notice. Percival notices how Lancelot stumbles into the Gwaine’s room at night, bright eyed. Elyan notices Lancelot and Gwaine’s voices from Gwaine’s room opposite him; sometimes slow, Gwaine speaking slowly and Lancelot following; sometimes heated and passionate.

(They’re arguing. They’re arguing about how to pronounce Minerva)

Merlin finds the two, in the early hours of the morning - when the birds are figuring what song they sing today - on Gwaine’s bed.

Gwaine leaned against the bedframe, his trousered legs splayed over the sheets. Loosely braided, long brown hair fell over his closed eyelids, his mouth in a small smile.

And Merlin follows his arm draped over Lancelot, snuggled beside him, his head on his broad shoulder, every breath of wind pushing against curly black hair, making it almost /bounce/. His eyes are covered by the other man’s hair, and he looks...content. More content than Merlin has ever seen him.

He slips out as quietly as he came in, and smirks, hes gotta tell arthur they finally got their shit together oh GOD

Its no surprise to anyone but them, when Arthur pulls Lancelot out of training, and into his chambers.

“I’m glad you’ve found someone Lancelot.” He starts, his face geniune, his voice giving away hints of relief. (He thought he was never going to see his knight smile again after all the ordeals that had happened to him)

“Oh...” Lancelot’s heart sinks, “...how did you find out, Sire?”

Arthur blinks, taking in the change of mood in Lancelot, maybe it wasn’t anything important, maybe they were trying to keep it casual, hell they didnt want the king knowing.

“I- uh, I just noticed...” Goddamnit Merlin, and Goddamn his need to tell him everything he saw. (Merlin had advised him not to do this, as they sat on his bed after a long night. This was really his fault.)

Lancelot pales, and he places his hands down on the table beside him, palms slapping stone as he did so.

“Well, I guess I should tell you the whole truth then,” his voice is quiet, and Arthur steps closer, “Sire I am not of Noble birth, and was born in a village - as you know.”

Arthur nods, his arms crossed, but his Kingly Bravado fell away at the sight of his knight, and one of his closest friends, being this vulnerable.

“Yes I know, but what does this ha-“

“And we children in the village we-“ he falters, “-we were never taught to read.”

“Yes, no I understand, I-“ he pauses, Lancelot’s words hitting him a bit too late, this was about literacy?

This, this whole conversation was about literacy?

Not being gay?

Merlin was going to have a field day

“Sire?”

“I understand Lancelot, and is this why you feel a little out of place with the other knights?” He carries it on, with a smile, he has a few questions to ask merlin.

“Yes, and that’s why I asked Gwaine to tutor me from time to time, although, the sessions carry through late into the night, which may have been affecting my performance at practice. I’ll have you know that this is a temporary th-“

“It’s fine Lancelot,” Arthur places a hand on his shoulder, “You are still exceptional at practice,”

“Thank you Sire,” Lancelot twinkles.

✨

“Theyre, theyre not together?” Merlin cant stop laughing, tears streaming down his face, “theyre not TOGETHER?? oh my God arthur what did you DO”

They sit together on Arthur’s bed, drinking wine from stemless cups together, with Arthur recounting the events of the day; red faced.

“I mean, it was your idea Merlin.”

“I just saw them, and I assumed...I didnt...I didnt think youd ASK them.”

“What do you think I’d do then?? Let them be on their merry way.”

“Yes!”

✨

“Do you like me?” Gwaine asks, unexpectedly, one night, the moon vibrant against the loud sea.

“You’re...tolerable...” Lancelot says, a smile tugging at his lips, as the silver moonlight falls against his hair, a halo around him.

✨

The knights give them the look every morning, as the two of them stumbled out of the same room, more frequently than ever.

Sometimes Lancelot would throw on Gwaine’s shirt, when he’d crumpled his own beyond repair. Sometimes Gwaine would put some of Lancelot’s hair oil on, when his hair was frizzy.

They gave each other knowing looks when Gwaine and Lancelot started whispering and giggling like a bunch of schoolgirls.

✨

And then Stupid gwaine had to go get fucking stabbed, and their delicate dance was like trying to waltz through a minefield.

Lancelot clutches onto Gwaine’s arm as Merlin feels his forehead with shaking hands.

“He’s burning up.”

“Infection...?” Lancelot sounds broken, and nods, fumbling with his pack to find some bandages.

It was just a simple quest; a save the day, get the girl, do various harmless shenanigans type of quest.

He’d half expected Gwaine to get the girl, and he cant help but give out a half choked laugh. Gwaine had no idea what hit him when she turned out to be the evil one all along.

He tries to forget that Gwaine showed no interest in her, he tries to forget that Gwaine’s been less frequent at the Tavern, he tries to forget that he hasn’t seen Gwaine with anyone since months now.

Gwaine, his beautiful Gwaine was lying on his lap, hot red blood rushing from his side, staining his polished chainmail with dark, sticky blood.

He’s been out for nearly an hour now, and Lancelot remembers carrying him, through the entire forest, forgetting his sword and his helmet and just grabbing Gwaine and getting the shit out of there.

Gwaine’s lack of self preservation was really rubbing off on Lancelot nowadays.

Merlin watches as Lancelot holds back tears, his own eyes stinging. Gwaine can’t die like this, he can’t die like this....

“hælan beorn adl”

Merlin’s eyes flashed gold, and Lancelot could feel warmth coming back into the fingers he was grabbing.

He was coming back.

And then the weight of everything hits him.

He was in Fucking Love.

✨

“Hey.” Gwaine’s voice is rough from disuse, but Lancelot nearly sobs when he hears the voice.

“Don’t fucking do that to me again, amor meus.” He puts his head down on Gwaine’s chest; finding the hammering of his heart calming.

He shimmies onto Merlin’s bed, which Gwaine had been lying in for the past few days.

“Did you mean, ami meus?” Gwaine sounds tired, too tired to be awake.

“Huh? Did i say something else?” Lancelot decides to play dumb, a sparkle in his eyes,

“I thought I heard amor meus,” Gwaine pushes his nose into Lancelot’s hair, taking in the wonderful smell of coconut.

“Well then, at least your hearing’s okay, amor meus.”

Gwaine gulped, and was sure Lancelot could hear his loud swallow.

“Lancelot, I hope this isnt a big joke with me teachin you latin and all,” Gwaine’s voice is a little wobbly from the slee deprivation and the magic and the pain numbers, “because I’ll have you know that I really love you, and I cant go on like this any longer,”

“Its okay Gwaine, I learnt latin from the man I love, of course it’s not a joke.”

“The man you love? Who’s tha-“

Realisation hits him like a brick.

Oh.

Oh.

“Me?” His voice cracks, and Lancelot looks up, a smirk on his face.

“Of course dumbass.”

“Like I’m meant to know that,” Gwaine tries to keep his dont care-ish aura, but they both know he’s too exhausted to keep that up.

“mmm?”

Gwaine kisses him on the nose, and he wraps himself around him.

And thats how Merlin finds them later that day, eyes blinking as he stood there.

✨

“I’m glad you’ve found someone, Lancelot.” Arthur coughs.

“Is that what that whole talk was about???”

“Answer the question.” His words sound harsh, but he’s barely hiding a smile.

“I’m glad too, I’m Glad I found Gwaine too.” Lancelot blushes, turning to gwaine.

“Why are you asking anyway, Princess?”

“Oh just, making sure this time.”

[popunktomlinson]

this is everything i’ve read in the past month put into a list for the sole benefit of my short term memory. it’s a mess of pairings but mostly drarry and can be summed up as lots of enemies to lovers, excessive pining, and a splash of fake dating.

Drarry:

What Real Thing? - loveglowsinthedark (13k)

They don’t cuddle, they don’t talk about their relationship (or lack thereof) and they certainly never fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Aural Gratification - birdsofshore (11k)

Harry's not gay – he just likes listening to exciting stories about Aurors. It's not his fault that the narrator's voice is so smooth, so expressive... and really rather hot.

You open always (petal by petal) - birdsofshore (65k)

Harry’s not the kind of person who pays for sex. He really isn’t. Until he is.

Lumos - birdsofshore (41k)

Harry never expected to spend eighth year listening to Draco Malfoy wanking.

Heartlines - shiftylinguini (73k)

Harry never expected he’d end up chipping away at his virginity while wandless and bonded to Malfoy in Northern Europe.

He never expected that would turn out to be the least surprising thing to happen while out on their training expedition in the middle of nowhere, either.

The Sleeping Beauty Curse - who_la_hoop (153k)

When Draco Malfoy falls into a cursed sleep and can only be woken – at least, according to the Daily Prophet, that impeccable source of truth – by ‘true love’s kiss’, Harry Potter knows there’s no way on earth he’s the answer to this particular riddle. Is he . . .?

Strange Bedfellows - orphan_account, ravenclawsquill (31k)

When Harry encounters a frail and fidgety Draco Malfoy at the Ministry, he just knows something is wrong and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it.

A story about Deadly Nightshade, crippling insomnia, excellent wine … and finding what you need in the strangest of circumstances.

The Devil’s White Knight - orphan_account (65k)

When Harry wakes up in an alternate timeline--a timeline where Voldemort was defeated long before the first war--he discovers everything is different. His parents, his godfather, his friends--and him. Harry must deal with the consequences of who he would have been if he had been raised by his parents, and figure out where he stands with his casual hook up, Draco Malfoy.

Who Shagged Harry Potter? - faithwood (6k)

One beautiful sunny Sunday the Slytherins wake up after a raunchy night only to discover a very naked Harry Potter sleeping in their dormitory. Naturally, they ask themselves a logical question: Who the hell shagged him?

Draco Malfoy, It’s Your Lucky Day - faithwood (47k)

Even though he's unarmed, injured, lost in the Forbidden Forest, and facing a possible murder charge, Draco Malfoy gets lucky.

Love Comes Tumbling - taradiane (22k)

'Harry's thoughts were of how much he would have done differently with Malfoy over the years, and of Dumbledore's final words to the other boy . . . "It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now." Maybe, Harry wondered, he could find some mercy, too, and give Malfoy the second chance that Dumbledore had believed him worthy of.’

punch-drunk fingerprints - tamerofdarkstars (2k)

In a world where every touch of a soulmate leaves a temporary heat mark on bare skin, Draco Malfoy suddenly finds his life devolving into a massive cliche because the Boy Who Lived Twice has no idea how to respect the personal space bubble.

Muggle Technology and Heroism - TommyLane (90k)

Draco Malfoy wasn’t exactly the best roommate Harry’s ever had. The man tended to watch way too much James Bond and his obsession with muggle technology not only rivaled Arthur Weasley’s but more often than not ended with Harry trying to assure him that the appliances weren’t out to get him. Then there was the little fact that Harry was hopelessly in love with him while Draco remained completely unaware, bringing nameless men home night after night.

But Harry loved his life and was somewhat (as long as he doesn’t actually think about it) content enough in the way things were going. That is until Draco’s old boyfriend comes sweeping back into town – making Draco breakfast and fixing the remote control before Harry can and forcing him to realize that if he doesn’t do something soon, that he might lose the man he loves before he even gets a chance to ever actually have him.

Party of Two - fireflavored (13k)

Drinking, sex, and a total misreading of the concept of fuck buddies.

A Dented Old Street Sign - orphanghost (27k)

Draco knows they aren't the only students who will be completing their NEWTs this year, but they are the only ones whose home fireplaces were disconnected from the floo network by the ministry.

At least, Draco assumes as much until he sees the light falling out from the front door of one of the other rickety old houses in front of them and the three figures cast in its warm glow. For a moment they look like some sort of strange, many legged creature. An acromantula, or a particularly massive Blast-Ended Skrewt. Then Draco hears Pansy make a disgusted sound beside him and the light falls in a less blinding way, and Draco can see that it is actually Potter and the Weasel carrying a large couch between them, and Granger fluttering around them with her wand out, seeming concerned.

(The Piece) I was Missing All Along - lauren3210 (31k)

Draco and Harry have been flatmates and best friends for years, and Draco thinks life is just perfect that way. But when something comes along and threatens to take all that away, Draco has to decide what it is he really wants, and just how hard he's going to work to get it.

The Gentlewizard Club - Sophie_French (28k)

Draco wants what Draco wants. And if he has to snuggle up to Harry to get it, well, surely, Draco can handle that. Problem is, not sure Harry can.

Larry:

A Little Bit Like Fate - Galaxie (8k)

Louis stumbles upon a kiss-in protest for LGBTQ rights, and he meets Harry. They click. It feels a little bit like fate.

Go Nowhere Tonight - objectlesson (12k)

As always, the easy nonchalance with which he treats the rumors hurts, stabs Harry in the gut, twists the knife. Because it is hard for Harry; it’s hard to know people think they should be or are together because he wants that. Wants it so fucking badly, and it would be one thing if he could just silently quarantine that part of himself and pine secretly, but instead he’s faced with fictionalized accounts of his and Louis’s nonexistent love life and photoshopped pictures of them being coupley every time he’s on the internet. It is hard, and the fact that it supposedly isn’t for Louis functions as proof that it’s unrequited. “It’s gonna be a rude awakening for them,” he starts, gazing into his empty glass, “when we eventually come out but are dating other people. No one likes being half-right.”

Good Enough to Eat - objectlesson (7k)

“Okay. I just...fuck, I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” Harry whimpers, and he must be blushing because Louis can feel waves of heat coming off him, his embarrassment a hot, palpable thing. “So, like…I love rimming videos. Nothing makes me come harder,” he admits, covering his face with his hands so his voice comes out muffled and strangled.

You Drive Me Crazy (I Just Can’t Sleep) - objectlesson (18k)

The first time Louis ends up in Harry’s bed is a total accident.

Vinyl and Lace - objectlesson (8k)

Harry tries on a skirt in the X Factor dressing room as a joke. Louis doesn't think it's very funny.

Wolfstar: 

Let Us Be Silent, That We May Hear the Whispers of the Gods - gyzym (2k)

Remus Lupin doesn't want to hear it--not tomorrow and not yesterday, but certainly not right now.

Trobed:

Advanced Ambulatory Ichthyology - gyzym (49k)

Course provides advanced instruction in avoidance of the phenomenon commonly known as "jumping the shark." Prerequisites for this course include Introduction to Friendship, Contemporary Best Friendship, The Politics of Emotional Baggage and Cohabitation 207. Students may wish to simultaneously enroll in our sister course, Introduction to Non-Traditional Romance, but said enrollment is optional.

Introduction to Women’s Studies - ama (7k)

You know the story. They're best friends, they're inseparable, Abra has a rainbow collection of hijabs as extensive and impressive as her graphic t-shirt collection and is the hottest girl Tory's seen outside of a mirror--not that that means anything. Right?

[gothamslittlejester]

Sweet Comfort

This was written for my dear friend @ajokeformur-ray​ who deserves the world and all the Joker comfort it can bring <333 Thank you for checking up on me even after I fell off the earth, and for reminding me just how much I missed writing. I hope that in return this brings a smile to your face and reminds you just how loved and adored you are :)) (also I know I went SLIGHLTY over word count but oop)

Angst to Comfort. Reader goes into a depression spiel and begins to self isolate and shut down, trying to push Joker away as a result. He’s not having any of that.

Word Count: 2566

TW: Language, depression/depressive thoughts, but quickly followed by clown cuddles!

You just knew, from the very moment you opened your eyes that morning, that today would be nothing short of the exhausting, dreaded imprisonment that was your own depression. It was bleak, and dark, and pulled you in with heavy hands, like a blackhole designed for your own suffering. And suffering you were.

You closed your eyes again and prayed for sleep. The mere thought of getting up to pour some coffee seemed too complicated and tiring, so you didn’t even bother entertaining the idea. What was yesterday’s anxiety was now today’s misery, and you mentally slapped yourself for ignoring the signs. You had dismissed the intrusive thoughts that had whispered to you all week- surely they would go away alone, right?- but they had taken their time to catch up with you, and now you were facing the consequences. Bitterly, you wondered if you deserved it.

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but give your destructive subconsciousness some credit; it waited patiently to attack, taking its time in the back corners of your mind to let stress and insecurities seep into your bloodstream before the real pain sunk in. It wasn’t even cruel voices at this point- something you could pinpoint and fight against, something you could stop- it was just a thick, dark sea of emotions, and it pulled you in with serrated teeth.

It was the perfect poison, and you didn’t even know you were drinking it.

You had gotten so lost in your misery that you barely noticed the rustling sound coming from your left, barely felt clothed arms wrapping around your waist. Your silent suffering was immediately interrupted as Joker sleepily pulled you close, and although your masochistic thoughts still gripped into your flesh, Joker’s presence was unintentionally offering a distraction. Smokey breaths caressed your cheek, and you almost felt it- fuck, you wanted to feel it- but the sickness in your mind was ruthless and refused to give in so easily. Stray pieces of green hair tickled your neck as your lover nuzzled deeper into the embrace, still blissfully oblivious to the inner turmoil inside you.

A small part of you wanted to scream, to cry out for him, to beg him to pull you even closer until all you felt and thought and knew was his body, so you could heal, but your lips stubbornly remained shut. Instead, you silently prayed he would go back to sleep, so you could continue to suffer alone without dragging him into your own personal hell.

And maybe he would have gone back to sleep, like your demons wanted, if you had actually curled back into him like you always did and responded to his morning loving. But you didn’t, you didn’t move a muscle, and even in his hazy grogginess he could feel something was wrong.

His eyebrows creased together in confusion and tried again, nuzzling into your neck and leaving warm kisses to your cold skin. Joker knew you were awake from how you were breathing, so why weren’t you responding? He softly bit and nibbled at your throat, his fingers dancing along your torso as he wordlessly pleaded for a reaction.

He expected his little game to work, he knew how much you craved his attentive touch, yet you didn’t even offer a twitch in response. By now you would have scooched closer, interlaced your fingers in his hair, turned your head towards him, perhaps even giggled at the attention… but you continued to face the wall as if he didn’t even exist, and this set off several red flags in his brain.

He began to stir again, this time fully awake, and turned your body so you were facing him. You let him twist you around until your forehead was mere inches from his, but continued to hide behind the bulky comforter so he wouldn’t see the sadness that contorted your features. You tensed up, waiting for him to pull the blanket away, for the interrogation to begin… but neither came. You knew he was looking at you, studying you, and he most definitely could feel the despairing energy radiating from your body, yet he remained silent. His fingers continued to caress your stomach lovingly, quietly telling you he loved you, to open your eyes and tell him what was wrong, dammit, but you continued your isolation regardless.

Moments passed, and Joker began to feel his instinctive protectiveness take over. He had always been eerily observant when it came to you, and somewhere deep in his chaotic mind he came to the exact conclusion on what was wrong, minus the little details. He easily gathered you wanted to be left to suffer alone just from your body language, but he dismissed that thought entirely. You wished.

His arms once again wrapped around your body, this time more forcefully, and pulled your head against his chest.

“Tell me what’s wrong and how I can make it go away.” Despite the soft plea in his tired voice, you knew this wasn’t an offer, but a demand. Joker rarely demanded things from you, regardless of his dominating nature, but this was one of the few times he did, and you knew there was absolutely no room to argue.

The blackhole that was your depression continued to pull, its hands growing desperate, but now your clown was here, and Joker refused to let go. It was a tug of war, and you weren’t sure who was going to win. He pulled you deeper into his chest, the red fabric of his coat covering your vision and protecting you from the outside world. You idly wondered why he was wearing the blazer in bed and why he hadn’t taken it off last night, but the familiar scent of cigarettes, detergent and innocent blood brought you a small piece of comfort, as macabre as it was.

“I’m fine.” you said in a clipped voice, swallowing down the tremble in your throat. All you wanted to do was sink into your lover’s arms, let his words sooth you in a slumber and gently pick apart the demons that resided in your mind, but your depression wouldn’t allow it. The soundless voices egged you to isolate from him… to hide under the covers of your blanket and mourn your lost peace of mind… and you nearly did- how tempting sadness could be- if it wasn’t for how quick Joker had grown accustomed to your behavior.

The painted ends of his lips began to pull into a frown, his demeanor slowly changing into something more alarmed, and much, much more protective. His expression completely clouded over, and instinctively his arms began to tighten around your body almost painfully, protecting you from whatever was hurting his beloved soulmate.

“You know, I may be a clown but I’m not a fool”.

You furrowed your brows in silence, unable to come up with a good answer. You knew how perceptive he could be, and in complete honesty the last thing you wanted was to push him away, but dragging him into your pain felt selfish and wrong.  You silently begged him to leave, to let you wallow in your own misery and not bring him into the grief that was your mind, but Joker began gritting his teeth like he had heard exactly what you were thinking.

“Don’t hide from me. Never from me.” He began to cradle your head in his hands, his nose ghosting up and down your face as he breathed in your scent. It was comforting and dotting, an undeniable sign of love, yet simultaneously loud with the words “I’m not going anywhere, so start talking.”

“I don’t want to push you away,” You finally whispered, tears threatening to spill over. “I don’t want to hide from you, I want to tell you everything even though it hurts.”

“Then don’t hide. Tell me everything that’s bothering you, no matter how bad it is, please.”

He was growing more overprotective every second, feeling your pain and fear grip at his heart but unable to pinpoint the danger causing it. He just wanted to see you smile, to see you happy and strong, and he wasn’t relenting until he knew exactly what was preventing it. He knew the walls you had created to keep him out were seconds away from breaking so he urged you on, his fingers still clutching your head near his, desperate for you to let him in.

“Please,” he repeated once more, torment coating his voice, and he knew the second you started to tremble that he had succeeded.

“Arthur…” you whispered out in a heartbroken sob, finally letting the tears spill out and trickle onto his clothes. You began to shake as the sadness trapped in your soul finally escaped, too weak and tired to hold it in for any longer.

Immediately, Joker began to coo in your ear and pet your hair, wiping the tears away with chaste kisses and soft touches. His legs wrapped around yours and he pulled the blanket more snuggly around you, creating a cocoon just for the two of you. He rubbed slow circles on your temple in an attempt to prevent a headache that was certainly going to follow, nuzzling your head even closer- if possible- to his own.

“It hurts,” you sobbed, clutching at your chest as if it was somehow your heart’s fault for creating this misery in your head. “It hurts, Arthur, and I don’t know what to do…”

“I know,” He crooned, his red lips leaving wet smears with every kiss he placed on your cheeks. “Let it out, sweetheart, just let it out. Let your Joker take care of you today. Let me help you.”

And so you did. You cried and cried for what felt like hours, basking in Joker’s care and protective grip on your trembling body. Not once did he drop his hold on you or stop his possessive care, patiently letting you release all the depression and anxiety you had been hiding away, until there was nothing left but small sniffs and hiccups.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you this morning. I was so sad, and felt so alone… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t… I didn’t want to burden you with my stupid mental issues”. You admitted, tiredly listening to the beating of his heart.

He shushed you, shaking his head at the last part. There was nothing ‘stupid’ about you, especially not something that hurt you to this extent. You were never a burden to him, and it tormented him that your demons had placed that idea in your head for so long without him noticing.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered into your ear. Despite his reassuring words his voice quivered with anger, directed not at you but at the world and all the assholes that inhabited it. He knew you blamed yourself for your depressive states, but Joker didn’t believe you were the sole cause for a second. He speculated it was a lifetime of blaming yourself for family, fake friends, and other inconveniences, internalizing the blame instead of accusing those who were really responsible. It made his blood boil, and he bitterly wondered if he would start laughing uncontrollably at it all. How dare they show you so little mercy, leave you so empty and tortured and sad that you felt your only option was to close yourself off and suffer in silence? How dare these worthless, scummy, civilized people, break you like this? He had to physically bite his tongue to stop from voicing these thoughts aloud; you were still in a very vulnerable state and needed love and reassurance, not a furiously possessive bodyguard. He’d save that for another time. For now…

“Thank you for trusting me like this,” he muttered against your cheek after he had calmed himself down, and you nearly broke down a second time.

“Why are you thanking me?” You asked, because the thought of your clown loving you so much just didn’t make any sense to you right now. Not while the remnants of hatred and insecurity still lingered in your mind and body.

“Arthur, I should be thanking you, why-”

He shushed you promptly with a soft peck at your lips, letting his painted ones linger there for brief second so he could whisper a gentle “look at me”.

You shook your head stubbornly, ignoring his order, but Joker was having none of that. “Sweet thing,” he offered again, his voice absolutely heavy with concern but also intense with determination. “Look at me. Don’t make me ask you twice.”

He had a feeling the dominating nature of his tone might make you comply, and sure enough, your eyes shyly peeked up at him through wet lashes. His piercing eyes bore deep into your soul, captivating your entire existence so you couldn’t look away. It was the first time today that you had actually looked at him, and you were utterly devastated to find that his eyes were faintly puffy and unforgivably red, just like yours. Your eyes followed the trail of a single blue drop of paint that went down to his painted smile, but before you began crying all over again, he put a finger to your lips and shook his head. This isn’t about me.

“Thank you,” He praised, knowing you would finally listen to him and hear what he had to say. You were completely at his mercy, and mercy was exactly what you were getting.

“Your pain is my pain, and my pain is yours. If I… isolated myself away from you when I needed you the most, would you be ok with that?” It was a fair question. You shook your head no.

“Then how can you push me away for the same thing?”

You didn’t have an answer, but luckily for you, he had asked it rhetorically.

“All I want is for you to be happy… and safe… but also to… understand, that I would do absolutely everything for you. Your sadness is not a burden to me. Never think that.” His voice was hushed and serious, his eyes looking for any sign of disagreement. There was none.

“Do you understand?” He asked, desperately hoping you did. You nodded.

“Repeat it then.” He said, and although you felt it was childish, you didn’t have the energy to argue with him. Obediently, you complied to his request.

“You want me to be happy.” You mumbled shyly, and Joker gave you an encouraging kiss to your cheek, urging you to continue.

“You want me to be safe.” Another kiss, sloppier this time, and you felt a smile begin to tug at the corner of your lips.

“You would do anything for me, I am not a burden, and I should never think that.” Kiss, kiss, kiss.

“I understand.” You said finally, and Joker rewarded you by attacking your whole face with painted kisses, purposely avoiding your lips so he could hear the delightful sound of your surprised squeals and laughter. Finally after what seemed like forever, you felt all the sadness and stress of the morning melt away at last, and although a small part of you knew it would one day come back, for now it was nowhere to be found.

“I love you,” he cooed, and gave you a smile so sweet you couldn’t help but smile back.