#i even got a statement saying my appeal was approved!!

[sugucidal]

oo and there you have it. its official. all my works for the neighbor toji fic have been slapped with a label 🩷

[toomuchracket]

if you're too shy, part 2 (office nerd!matty x reader fluff)

remember those gigs you and matty got scheduled to cover in part 1? yeah. this is them. enjoy <3

“hey.”

matty's curls bounce as he looks up at you quickly. a mild sense of guilt gnaws at your ribs when you realise you've spooked him, but it dissipates when he smiles, visibly relaxing when he realises it's you breaking him from his concentration. “oh, hi. you alright?”

you nod, gesturing to the vacant desk next to his. “am i ok to sit here?”

“yeah, of course. no need to ask. here, let me,” matty slides his notebook out of your way; as you lay your laptop down and sit, you can see him biting back a beam from the corner of your eye, and your heart flutters. “was there anything you needed, or…? not that there has to be, you know,” he sits up straight, apology settling itself on that gorgeous face of his. “i didn't mean it like that, i just meant-”

“no, i know, matty,” you smile softly. “there is, incidentally, but also i just wanted to sit next to you.”

there he goes with the blushing again - honestly, you reckon you could make a fortune if you bottled and sold the colour of matty's cheeks when you fluster him. although, you suppose, maybe the colour is only appealing because of whose face it's on.

said face is grinning at you again. “well, feel free, anytime.”

“likewise.”

“i'll take you up on that,” matty's smile gets impossibly wider, before he catches himself and controls it a little. “so, what is it that you need from me?”

the sloppiest kiss known to man. “advice, actually,” you put your glasses on, preening internally at the way matty's breath catches in his throat as you do, and open spotify on your laptop. “where should i start with this band we're going to see twice this weekend?”

matty's face brightens even more - impossible, you'd have thought. “oh. well, do you know any of their stuff already?”

you shake your head. “very bad of me as a music journo, but no,” you smile cheekily. “this is my first time. need you to talk me through it.”

the way matty coughs and tries to pass it off as him clearing his throat at your words is delicious. to be fair to him, he recovers quickly, the only sign of him being flustered the way his cheeks periodically twitch into a smile and back down again. “alright, so… i think i’d probably start with their second album - can i?” at your approval, he slides your laptop closer to him and scrolls down the band’s spotify profile to find the album in question. “their first is good, yeah, but the second one is where they really start to define their musical identity…” he trails off, covering his mouth. 

you blink in concern, leaning into him. “you okay, matty?”

“yeah, i just,” he sighs, then giggles into his hand. it’s maybe the best thing you’ve ever heard. “i realised i was starting to sound a bit like patrick bateman.”

“oh my god,” you snort, covering your own mouth as you laugh. “christ, you were. was this band’s early work too new-wave for your tastes and all?”

“little bit. i think their undisputed masterpiece is album two - literally a personal statement about the band itself,” matty smiles, then winces. “that was embarrassing.”

you shrug. “nah, i like that film. and not just because i think christian bale’s fit in it.”

“i was gonna go as him for halloween this year, actually,” matty says, nonchalantly scrolling through spotify again. “would that be weird?”

fuck. matty in a suit? potentially covered in blood? you have to readjust the way you’re sitting at the mere thought. so, naturally - “i think you should do it.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you smile, matching matty’s. “i’d enjoy it, at least.”

“that’s all the convincing i need,” he smiles sweetly at you, then gestures to the laptop. “so, d’you wanna know a bit about their influences before you listen?”

“go on, then.”

“alright,” matty shuffles his chair closer to you; you sit up slightly straighter as goosebumps pass over your body, increasing tenfold when he looks directly into your eyes. from this close, his are warmer than you initially realised, and you have to work extremely hard to focus on what he's saying instead of drowning in them. “to be fair, you weren't totally far-off with the new-wave joke - their music is rooted in post-punk subculture, but more along the melodic, jangly-guitar, early eighties type. you know aztec camera, yeah? convinced i saw you wear a high land, hard rain shirt to work once.”

the butterflies nesting in your stomach flutter at his recollection. “yeah, that's right. same vibe as them?”

“kinda. similar to a lot of scottish and northern bands of that era. which is weird, considering they're all about thirty and from fucking newark.”

“i see,” you nod, smiling at the way matty's twirling one of his curls. “any springsteen influence, then? not to stereotype, but… eighties-inspired music by people from new jersey? seems like there could be connection.”

matty nods enthusiastically. “yeah, great question. i mean,” he puffs air through his lips quite adorably. “lyrically, yeah, and they have quite prominent sax parts in some of the songs that are quite e street band. but the inspiration seems to be mostly melodic post-punk. does that all make sense?”

you smile, leaning on your elbow. “yeah. you're very good at explaining things. i like that about you.”

“really?” matty blushes again. “sometimes i worry that i'm just talking shite, to be honest. i know i've got a tendency to ramble a bit, always have. it annoys people, i think.”

“not me. you're always talking about something interesting. makes me feel good to talk to you.”

he clutches his hands into sweater paws again, smiling. “same. you're a sweet one, i think. m'excited that we're working a bit closer now.”

“nobody else i'd do this with, matty,” you hold out your hand, and squeeze his when he lays it atop yours; a perfect fit, you note. “you're my favourite.”

he genuinely looks like he could cry, softly rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand and speaking even softer than that. “likewise, darling.”

for a second, you do nothing but beam at each other, still tentatively holding hands; it's only when your laptop pings with an incoming email that you break out of your reverie and apart. matty clears his throat. “would you like to know which order i recommend listening to the albums in?”

“please.”

he nods. “the second, then the most recent - which is the fifth, by the way. after that, i think i'd probably say… first, third, and fourth last. that one got a bit experimental, i doubt they'll play anything from it at either of the shows. d'you want me to just make a playlist of that order for you, while we're here?”

“oh, yes please,” you watch him do just that, a slight sense of longing settling itself in your bones when you think of a playlist so sorely him settled amidst all your favourite songs; actually, it gives you an idea. “i've got a final question for you, if that's okay, matty. well, technically two.”

“yeah?” he turns to look at you again, eyes disarmingly caring and focused on you.

“what's your absolute favourite song by the band? doesn't have to be the objectively best one, and you don't have to tell me why. m'just curious.”

matty smiles, the sun breaking through clouds. “that's easy,” he scrolls down the new playlist. “this one. that's my favourite.”

“alright,” you drag it to the top of the song list. “then that's the one i'll start with. and then i'll go onto the matty-approved listening order,” pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose, you turn to face him. “that sound alright?”

“mhmm,” matty nods vigorously again, wild hair bouncing all over the place; a curl falls over his eye, and he brushes it away before peering up at you through his enviously-long lashes. “meant what i said earlier, you know. i really do think you're incredibly sweet.”

“thank you,” you all but whisper, doing your best to cover your own blushing. “um - what was i saying?”

he smiles. “you had another question, i think?”

“right, yeah. um,” your throat goes dry with sudden nerves, and you try to swallow as inconspicuous as you can to make it better. twisting your fingers together, you look down at them as you speak. “i've still got a restaurant review to do this weekend, and i was wondering if you, like, wanted to go for dinner before saturday’s show? that italian, near camden road station? and you can say no, of course, no hard feelings, but,” you can feel your cheeks burning as you tentatively look up at him. “i'd just like to hang out with you a little bit longer this weekend. i like spending time with you.”

“oh,” matty breathes, blinking as if he can’t quite believe he isn’t dreaming - you hope that’s the reason, at least. he bites his lip, cheeks rosy as he looks up at you with a smile, and nods. “yeah, i’d love that. thank you.”

“thank you, for agreeing,” you exhale, nerves replaced by tingling excitement. “is half four too early? that would give us time to eat, and walk to the roundhouse before doors, yeah?”

“that works for me,” matty nods. he twirls his hair again. “d’you want to just meet at the restaurant? cos that’s the station i’d get off at, camden road. but i don’t mind meeting you off the tube, if you like.”

“no, no, it’s alright. i’ll just get you there - i’m not gonna make you brave the high street when you don’t need to,” you giggle. “especially on a saturday afternoon, christ.”

he huffs out a laugh, but his eyes are tender - so is his voice, when he replies. “alright. i’d do it for you, though, no complaints.”

you believe him. you aren’t sure if you’ve ever seen someone look so sweetly sincere, and it’s fucking your brain up. big-time.

still, you hold it together long enough to reply. “you’re cute, healy, even if i think you’re a bit mad for offering to walk through camden just to get me,” you giggle at the way his jaw drops at the compliment. “you can get me at angel on friday, though, if you fancy? makes sense, if you’re already walking down from highbury.”

“i’ll be there at six,” matty smiles. “i’m excited to hear what you think of the band, you know. i think you’ll like them.”

“well, if you do, then i’m sure i will. you’ve got good taste,” you gather up your laptop and stand, turning to matty with a flirty grin. “speaking of - i like that jumper. you look hot in red, matty. really hot. anyway,” you bite back a grin at the little gasp he lets out. “thanks for all your help, lovely.”

“anytime!” he calls after you when you turn to walk away, deliberately swinging your hips slightly more than usual - you’re convinced you hear a muffled “fuck” before he speaks properly. “and, um, thanks for, y’know, liking my jumper.”

you look over your shoulder and wink, happiness bubbling through your body when you notice matty shifting his gaze from your ass to your face so hastily it’s a wonder his neck didn’t snap. “friday at six, yeah? don’t be late.”

“i won’t!”

and he’s true to his word - when you come up the escalators at angel station at five minutes to six on friday, matty’s leaning against the wall opposite you. he grins, a big toothy eye-crinkling smile that has your heart doing backflips, and waves as you walk over to him. “hi! i like your jacket.”

“oh, thank you,” you self-consciously touch the fluffy collar. “have you been waiting long?”

“not really. ten minutes?”

“that’s not too bad. shall we?” you wander out into the chilly evening air, matty matching pace beside you. “you ever been to a show here before?”

“yeah. what a fucking weird venue,” matty steps closer to you to avoid being run over by a bike, and your heart flutters; you’re actually sad when he moves away. “i like it inside, but-”

“the fact it’s literally in the middle of a shopping centre is insane?”

“completely mental.”

“a really strange bit of urban planning,” you smile, turning to him as you wait at a set of traffic lights. “i listened to the playlist you made me, by the way. even learned some of the words.”

matty laughs. “you like them, then? that’s good. knew you would, though.”

you nod, fighting the urge to grab his hand as you cross the road. “played your favourite song about ten times on loop. i had no idea it was going to end up being a love song, by the way…”

“yeah, the title’s a bit misleading.”

“...but it really works. i can see why it’s your favourite,” you gently nudge your shoulder into his arm. “like i said the other day, you’ve got good taste.”

he looks down at the pavement, smiling, then at you. fuck, he’s so cute. “so do you, darling,” he says, voice so soft you can hardly hear it over the bustle around you. “i really like your outfit.”

the hour spent upending your entire wardrobe onto your bed to pick it out was absolutely worth it. “thank you. i figured, y’know, since i’m technically not working,” you smirk at him. “i’d make the effort for going out. tomorrow, though, when i’m on-shift? not a chance.”

“you’ll still look great, i reckon,” matty says, easy as breathing; ironically, the ease of his words practically stops your own breath. “and yeah, i s’pose you really aren’t working tonight. when was the last time you went to a gig just for fun?”

“it’s been a while,” you admit. “and i miss it, actually, getting to just experience new artists without having to analyse and critique them. that’s part of the reason i’m excited to be going tonight.”

“i get that,” matty nods as you turn into the venue entrance. “and what’s the other part?”

you grin. “the fact i’m going with you.”

once again, matty blushes. “if you keep throwing me off with compliments the whole night, i literally won’t get any work done. but thank you. m’glad you agreed to come with me tonight.”

“i’m glad you asked,” you turn to him once you join the line to get in. “and you’ll get your work done, don’t worry. i promise to be good.”

for the most part, you actually succeed at that, and it’s largely due to how bloody good the band are. for all the venue is in a weird place, it really is a decent one - it’s so intimate that even you, who only started listening to the artists onstage this week, feel like a proper part of it. and, free of note-taking responsibilities, you can allow yourself to be made giddy by the coloured lights and loud melodies, to dance as best you can on the sticky floor, to sing along to the scraps of lyrics you recognise and join in the backing vocals with the rest of the crowd. that was always your favourite part of a concert, the moments where hundreds of voices just worked as one, identities dropping and merging to prioritise the music; it’s nice to be in it, for once, rather than doing your best to observe and capture and convey it in words. you leave that to matty, and mostly leave him be aside from the odd smile and laugh, always responded to warmly by him.

that is, until they play his favourite song, and the boy beside you becomes impossible to ignore.

the singer says something about this being the last song of the night, before beginning the now-familiar melody on his guitar. matty’s head snaps up at the first few notes, and his notebook snaps shut; you turn to him at the noise, smiling at the excitement on his face, even more radiant than usual under the pink lighting. he looks at you with a matching smile, curls bouncing as he nods along to the music, before turning back rapt towards the stage. you follow suit, soaking up the lyrics about wanting and yearning and falling fast for someone - hearing those words with that person beside you sends goosebumps shooting across your skin and sparks through your nervous system, the same kind of kinetic energy crackling in the space between you and matty. it’s so strong you have to uncross your arms, stretching your fingers out by your side. mortifyingly, they brush against the back of matty’s hand, and the sparks become shockwaves; not so much born out of fear, but of the same kind of longing the singer is musing about. he doesn’t seem to mind the contact, hand staying put despite it, and something in your brain just says fuck it and snaps.

tentatively, more so than you think you’ve ever been before, you loop your fingers around matty’s, and you hold his hand. and, quite honestly, nothing has ever felt quite so right as this. the shockwaves in your nervous system fade to a gentle hum, kinda like the reverb from the speakers, with only a tiny jolt when matty gently squeezes your hand in response.that’s how you stay for the rest of the song, hand-in-hand facing the stage, both of you - unbeknownst to the other - smiling contentedly and mouthing the lyrics to the song you relate to.

it lasts a sickeningly short amount of time, though - as soon as the song ends, you and matty are all but pulled apart by a group of kids running towards the stage, shouting about setlists and drumsticks and god knows what else. matty chuckles, walking backwards towards the exit so he can talk to you. "that was good.”

“yeah,” you agree, although you’re not sure what he’s specifically referring to. “liked it a lot.”

“me too.”

there’s comfortable silence as you weave your way out of the venue and onto the street. you turn to say a reluctant goodbye to matty, but he beats you to it. “i’ll walk you to the station.”

“are you sure? you’ve got a bit of a walk in the other direction, matty.”

he shrugs. “it’s a nice night. i don’t mind.”

“cool,” you do your best to keep from smiling at the thought of an extra five minutes with him. “thank you.”

“s'alright,” matty smiles, leading the way down the street. “i've had a lot of fun tonight.”

“yeah, same here. they're really good!”

“aren't they? i'm excited to see their set tomorrow, see how it compares,” he hums happily. “i think this is gonna turn out to be a really good article, you know.”

“so do i,” you beam at him. “and i must say, i'm enjoying the process for this one much more than i have in a while.”

he giggles, and you have to fight the urge to hold his hand again. “well, if you think about it,” matty rubs his thumb over his bottom lip quite attractively. “it makes a lot more sense for us to do gig reviews together. music is something to be shared, after all, and live music especially, and so are our reviews - we probably get a better sense of it all if we're not by ourselves, don't you think?”

you don't even bother trying to hide how enamoured you are when you look at him. “i love the way your brain works, matty.”

“oh, shush,” he clutches the sleeves of his jacket over his hands, but beams anyway; it drops from his face when he notices the tube station sign up ahead. “well, i suppose this is where i leave you.”

the melancholia in his voice makes your heart sink. “yeah, i guess,” you sigh. “but not for long, though.”

“true,” matty's face brightens, and he reaches to take your hand and squeeze it gently. “thanks for coming, darling. i had a lot of fun.”

“thank you for having me,” you squeeze his hand in return, smiling at the way he looks down at your connected fingers in wonder. “text me when you get home?”

“of course. you too, please.”

“i will,” you let go of matty, pausing before you turn to walk away; quicker than your brain can convince you otherwise, you lean up to press a kiss to his soft cheek, before winking at his dazed expression and turning towards the station. “see you tomorrow, lovely.”

“bye,” comes the soft, delayed reply. you turn back to wave once you reach the escalator, then smile giddily to yourself the whole way home.

in fact, you don't think you stop smiling giddily for the rest of the night, or the next day; just the knowledge that you're going to see matty again keeps you in a state of sunniness, has you dancing around the flat and serenading your dog, who just looks at you like you're insane. a tiny part of your brain agrees with her, but how can you be expected to help it? you haven't been this excited to go on a date with someone in a long, long time.

well, it's not a date, officially. but walking into a dimly-lit italian restaurant with matty in tow, him taking your jacket and pulling your chair out for you like a perfect gentleman? it fucking feels like it. you wish it was.

even more so when he takes his own jacket off, revealing A) a short-sleeved shirt in the same colour of red you told him he looked hot in the other day, worn slightly open over a white tank; B) almost-unbelievably muscular arms; C) tattoos littered up said arms, and one on his chest just peeking out suggestively.

jesus fucking christ.

you can’t help but stare at matty, mouth agape, as he sits down. he giggles nervously when he notices. “what?”

the words leave your mouth before you can even think about stopping them. “matty… do you know how hot you are?”

he does the adorable blinking thing again. “you think i’m hot? me?”

“um, yeah, i have eyes,” you giggle, cheeks burning. keep it together, you stupid slut. “i didn’t know you had all those tattoos, actually. why don’t you show them off more?”

matty shrugs. “sometimes, people think if you have lots of tattoos, you’re like, i don’t know… scary, or unapproachable,” he opens the drinks menu. “that’s not the impression i wanna give off, you know? especially at work. like, you know me, i’m quite soft and quiet. i just think the tattoos look sick.”

god, you want to eat him alive.

“i understand,” you nod, leaning on your elbows. “and i also think they look sick. kinda sexy, i’d say, to be honest. anyway,” you bite back a smirk at matty’s flustered expression. “what sort of drink are you in the mood for?”

“oh, well… i don’t know, actually,” matty scans the menu, then meets your eyes. “i’m new to this sort of reviewing. what do you usually do first? talk me through it,” he must mistake your wide eyes after his last statement for horror, instead of slight arousal. “please.”

“okay. can i see the menu, please? right, fab, thanks,” you hold it open so you can both see the drinks list. “shit, this is extensive… reasonably priced, would you say?”

“for this part of london? yeah.”

“i agree. right,” you look at him, and the concentration with which he looks back almost throws you off. “because we haven’t picked out food and don’t know about flavour palettes yet, i’d avoid wine for the time being. anything too flavoured, actually - i reckon our best bets are either some sort of fairly neutral cocktail, or a spirit and clear mixer. you know, vodka soda, a g&t, that kind of thing.”

matty nods. “makes sense.”

“yeah. the exception to all of that, in my opinion, is champagne,” you smile. “but if i start drinking it, i won’t want to stop, and if i kick the arse out of this meal on the work credit card then marianne will kick mine, so…”

he laughs, and the warmth of it goes straight to your stomach. “classy girl,” he smiles, laughing even harder when you make a face. “well, i think you are. and,” he points at the menu. “i also think we should have negronis.”

“nice. alright, let’s move on to food,” you open another menu. “oh, thank god we came here so early - this decision might take me a while. sorry.”

matty smiles, the tenderness in his eyes only exacerbated by the flickering candlelight. “that’s alright, darling. we’ll take all the time you need. well,” he winces. “maybe keep it within the two and a half hours we’ve got until we need to leave for the gig. although i s’pose we could stay here another fifteen minutes if we got a taxi.”

you wave insouciantly. “we’ll be on time. and you’ll have fun, too. promise.”

“oh, i don’t doubt that.”

and you really do have fun, despite having to constantly remind yourself that you’re not on a date and are in fact at work. the two negronis you each have over the course of the meal continue to coax matty out of his shell - and thus, get you to fall even harder for him than you already have, which to be honest you didn’t think was possible after seeing his tattoos - to the point where he’s affectionately taking the piss out of you for stealing forkfuls of his dinner “for journalistic purposes”. but, all in all, he’s completely fascinated by the process of forming your review, taking interest in the subtleties of what makes somewhere good versus great, and marvelling at the breadth of your culinary knowledge (which you’re actually very proud of, being self-taught and all); he’s still raving about it as you walk - with plenty of time to spare, mind you - along chalk farm road towards the roundhouse. “i actually don’t know what i’m more impressed with, you or the food. genuinely. you’re incredible. and to think i was going to make you soup!”

you frown. “past tense? why?”

“you know too much about food. i won’t be able to impress you.”

“matty,” you turn to look at him, wide-eyed and crestfallen. “that’s not true at all!”

he scoffs, but not harshly. “come on, babe,” the nickname does something funny to your stomach. “i’m not upset about it, just thinking realistically. how is my nana’s carrot and coriander recipe gonna stack up against michelin-starred minestrone, or whatever? not at all, that’s how. and that’s alright!”

“matty. matty - alright, fine,” you clear your throat, stopping and standing with your hands on your hips. “matthew. listen to me, and listen good, yeah? right,” when he nods, blinking those pretty eyes, you continue. “soup is a whole different thing - in fact, all domestic cooking is, especially if you’re making something for someone you care about. i don’t want to be impressed by the technique, i want to be nourished. cared for. dare i say, healed. and, in that regard, i have no doubt that your nana’s recipe would fucking decimate any posh restaurant soup. alright?”

he nods, shyly peeking through his eyelashes. “alright.”

“thank you.”

the walk continues, silent for a few minutes until matty talks again. “you know,” he says, smile audible in his voice. “i didn’t think i’d find being lectured about soup sexy. and yet…”

“oh my god, stop it,” you giggle, although you’re simultaneously fighting the urge to skip along the path and secretly filing that piece of matty information away in your mind. just in case. “thanks, though.”

he shrugs, smirking. you’re into it. “just telling the truth. it’s my job, after all.”

“and here i thought you were flirting with me,” you smirk back. “shame,” you wink, speeding up slightly towards the venue; you drop into serious mode when you see several different door queues. “shit. where do we go, with the press passes?”

matty hums, looking around. suddenly, he takes your hand, gently leading you to a side door; you’re quite content with this, a sort-of fuzzy feeling overcoming you, so much so that you barely register him talking. “here we are. you ready, darling?”

you nod happily at him. “round two. let’s go.”

the night, at first, progresses a lot like the previous one - you spend the opening set dancing, singing along to the songs you know pretty well by now, leaning in to talk to matty about any discrepancies you see in performance between both nights while he diligently takes notes. when they close with his favourite song, again, you’re slightly dismayed that he continues to write, and you can’t repeat the hand-holding; pretty much as soon as you’ve thought that, though, matty leans into you to rest his head on yours and sing along to the lyrics, and the room seems to get brighter. out of both desire and necessity (you know how clumsy he is), you wrap an arm around matty’s waist, and you swear you can hear him smile. it’s warm, sweet, intimate without being weird, and you really don’t want to let go of him. ever.

eventually, once the song ends and the house lights come up in the break between sets, you do, pulling your notebook from your jacket pocket with a sigh. matty straightens up, stretches with a groan that should not be as attractive as it was to you, and smiles. “pasta tiredness hitting you too?”

“little bit,” you wince. “maybe dinner then dancing was a bad idea.”

he shakes his head. “nah. it’s been fun. i’ve really enjoyed it.”

“i’m glad to hear that,” you smile at him. “wouldn’t mind making a habit of it, actually.”

“really?” matty beams. “neither would i. maybe we can pitch it to marianne as an actual segment. like, restaurant pairings with gigs, potentially highlight local places near the venues we go to. yeah?”

it’s a fucking great idea. he goes all bashful when you tell him as much. “cool. we can maybe see her about it on monday, if she’s in.”

you nod. “of course. come and find me on monday morning, and we can come up with a proper pitch while we get this piece done, alright?”

“‘course,” matty nods, smiling when the lights drop and the audience scream. “right, i’ll leave you to your notes.”

“cheers,” you reply, reluctantly turning towards the stage. it isn’t that the gig is bad, at all - as you wrote in your notes, the band are talented, charismatic, well-rehearsed. it’s just extremely difficult to focus on them and your notebook when you have the boy of your dreams beside you, close enough to touch and kiss and dance with, singing along happily and doing a dorky little two-step that makes his hair bounce quite beautifully. every so often, the urge to turn and smile at him becomes too much to resist, and matty goes visibly - adorably - pink under the stark white lighting every single time he makes eye contact with you.

by the time the gig ends, you’re dead certain: you are down so incredibly deeply bad for matty healy, and you need to tell him as soon as possible.

as it turns out, the opportunity for that happens extremely quickly once you’re both out of the venue, talking and laughing and dissecting the show even further than you did in your respective notebooks as you leave, and it’s so romance-media smooth that you genuinely think a higher power might be involved. perhaps an apology from the universe by having a group of teenagers push you and matty apart at yesterday’s gig, this time a group of them push you closer together, bolting past you and screaming about catching the bus home - matty tugs you into him to stop you being completely bowled over, and turns so the two of you are right next to the building instead of in the firing line out in the open. his hands are warm against your waist and lower back, and so is his neck under your clasped hands; you have no recollection of putting them there, but you sure as shit aren’t going to move them anytime soon. if you did that, you’d further the distance between you, and why on earth would you want to do that, when you’re so close you can’t tell whose breath cloud is whose and the little flecks of gold in his dark eyes are visible to you for the first time?

no. you’ll stay as you are, thank you very much.

“you know that thing we were going to pitch to marianne at work on monday?” you whisper, heart pounding as you notice matty’s eyes flick to your lips. “the thing we want to make a habit of?”

“yeah,” matty breathes, the words so close to your lips you can practically taste them. “what about it?”

your lips part, and you take a shaky breath before you reply. “well, the thing is,” you bite your lip, and his pupils dilate. “i don’t think i want it to be a work thing, matty.”

a beat passes before he responds. “neither do i.”

thank fuck.

your eyes close in contentment. “matty?”

“yeah, darling?”

you reopen them, looking up at him - for the probably millionth time in two days, you don’t bother trying to hide the feeling in your gaze. “kiss me.”

that gorgeous face above yours cracks into a smile. “alright.”

and he does.

it’s exactly how you imagined he would be - a little bit sloppy, tentative with tongue, but so eager and giggly and just so caring that it doesn’t matter. on instinct, your hand roots itself in matty’s curls, and the little whine he lets out is probably enough to fuel your bedtime fantasies for a fortnight by itself. you smile into him, tracing your tongue around his lips before sucking on the bottom one and releasing it slowly. your head is spinning, from matty more than lack of oxygen, and you honestly don’t think you’ve ever been happier post-kiss in your life.

there’s a happy silence for a minute, save the two of you gasping for breath, broken by matty kissing you quickly again and grinning. “hi. and, also, wow.”

“indeed,” you beam up at him, gently twisting those pretty curls around your fingers. “you might’ve figured it out by now, but… i like you, in a more-than-platonic sense.”

“the kiss gave it away, yeah,” he giggles breathily. “i take it there’s no policy at work about making out with your colleagues? or, y’know, taking them out on actual, unrelated-to-work dates?”

“no such thing.”

matty smiles, pulling you in for another kiss. “well, thank christ for that.”

[violetstar-arts]

Perfect

Chell looks for Wheatley after he hides himself somewhere deep inside Aperture. A follow-up to @shrimperini ’s “Aperture Ball” comic.

***

Chell wasn’t one to get flustered easily.

She’d had her fair share of admirers throughout the years, almost all of which were swiftly rejected. Sometimes violently. It was deserved, most of the time. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she wasn’t all that interested in dating and would rather stay single for the rest of her life if she could.

…But then, there was him.

Something about that bundle of nerves that resembled a regular man was inexplicably…appealing to her. The way he stumbled over all of his words. The way he couldn't stop fidgeting with his fingers. His eyes, darting around in every direction besides the person he was holding a conversation with. His smile, stretching a bit too wide, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not to find some random statement that was made funny…

Sure, it was a little awkward. But it was unequivocally genuine. As much as he tried to hide and deny it, anyone with a functioning pair of eyes could see that he wore his heart on his sleeve. Something that Aperture was sorely lacking.

She respected that. Admired it, even. It wasn’t as easy for her to do the same.

It surprised her even more then, when she openly asked him to kiss her on that dancefloor.

Naturally, he dropped her. She was too dazed at that moment to assure him that it was alright, that she wasn’t mad, that they could start over. The next thing she knew, she was sitting in a chair with an ice pack pressed against the back of her head and several people fussing over her. Somewhere in the midst of it all, Wheatley had disappeared. Likely out of embarrassment.

“That dumbass… I don’t know what she sees in him…”

Chell immediately recognized that southern twang as belonging to Rick. She opened her eyes, glancing over at him. His scowl was immediately replaced by a big smile.

“Oh! Hey there, little lady. You feelin’ alright?”

Chell nodded. She heard the teal-eyed woman that helped with her outfit earlier clear her throat.

“Told you so.”

“Indeed,” Chell heard Craig chime in. “She only suffered a mild concussion. There was no need for your outburst towards our fellow coworker earlier.”

Fellow coworker…? Chell gave Rick a questioning look. He rubbed the back of his neck, appearing nervous. Even Craig and the woman seemed to be at a loss for words.

“If no one’s going to say it, I will.” Calvin approached Chell with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“Rick got into a fight with Wheatley.”

Chell’s initially shocked expression was quickly replaced by anger. She crossed her arms, glaring at Rick. The tall man seemed to shrink a little under her scrutinizing gaze.

“Listen, Calvin’s wordin’ it all wrong! Nothin’ got physical! It was just a verbal fight. An argument. Didn’t lay a hand on him. Hell, I’d lose my job if I’d gone and done that. You know me, I’m s’posed to keep the peace inside this building!”

“With the verbal lashing you gave him, you might as well have laid hands on him…” Craig muttered.

Rick gritted his teeth, eyeing Craig dangerously.

“Watch it, four eyes.”

Craig’s eyebrow raised. “That was weak. If only you’d offered Wheatley the same courtesy.”

“Why you–!” Rick took a step towards Craig. He was unexpectedly blocked by Chell, who’d finally stood up and was pressing her hand against his chest. She shoved him back slightly.

“Where is he.”

Rick sighed, pulling his hat down over his eyes. He shrugged.

“Hell if I know. Halfway through our…little disagreement, he got a call from his folks. Seemed to forget about everything else in an instant. He said some nonsense like ‘ohh terribly sorry mate, i-if it isn’t too much trouble, if it isn’t an inconvenience, look after her please, I-I have to take this, t-terribly important!’ and ran off before I could get another word in.”

Chell narrowed her eyes. Rick could immediately tell that she did not approve of that mockery at all. He coughed awkwardly.

“Anyways, I think I saw him headin’ towards that staircase over there.” He pointed to the left. “Leads to some of the restricted areas–behind the scenes of the test chambers, if you will. I reckon I can turn a blind eye to you snoopin’ around there, as a way to…atone for this misunderstandin’...?”

Chell’s hard gaze softened. She patted him on the shoulder.

“Thank you. But we will be talking about this later. You owe him an apology.”

Rick tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, sweat trickling down the side of his face as her fingernails dug into his shoulder.

“…Right.”

***

Chell made her way down the long staircase that Rick had pointed out to her. Immediately she took notice of the hollow echo her footsteps would make as she headed further down. Eventually, the wall beside her ended, revealing the inner mechanisms of Aperture that spread miles beyond her line of vision. She recognized the enormous, long tubes that connected to the test chambers, sucking items in or spitting them out. They seemed just as endless as the rest of the building, spiraling out in random directions. She never realized just how many of them contained testing cubes until now. She could also see a concerning amount of broken testing materials and shrapnel within some of them. Hopefully, none of those tubes connected directly to a testing chamber. She shuddered at the idea of a test subject standing under a tube, expecting to grab a cube with their portal gun…only to be crushed and shredded by piles of metallic debris.

She reached the bottom of the staircase, coming across a long metal hallway that led to a shut door on the opposite end. A few feet away from the door, she noticed that familiar light blonde hair, sticking out like a sore thumb under the drab, dull, and mechanical colors of Aperture.

Wheatley’s head and arms were resting on the metal railing, his legs dangling off the edge of the bottomless pit below. He was staring off into the distance, his expression unreadable. He didn't seem to notice her until the sound of her clicking heels was inches away. His body jerked forward and he let out a faint wheeze as his chest slammed into the railing. He clearly hadn't been expecting anyone to come down here looking for him.

“Chell?!? What are you–how did you–who let you–”

“Rick told me,” she interjected.

“...Oh,” he replied flatly. Wheatley rubbed his arm.

“I'm guessing he also told you about our little spat?”

“Not everything. But I know about it.”

“I see.”

Chell sat down beside him. Carefully, she let her legs hang off of the balcony in a similar fashion. For a while, neither of them said anything. They simply observed the whirring machinery of Aperture continue its work autonomously, random lights flickering and flashing within the darkness like some sort of artificial moonless sky. It was almost beautiful…if you could ignore the acrid smell of oil, burning lasers, and heavily processed testing gels.

“...Chell?”

She turned her head towards Wheatley. He didn't look back, opting to stare blankly at the pit instead.

“Do you…ever wish you were someone else?”

Chell’s eyes widened. She remained silent, waiting to see what else he would say to her. Wheatley seemed to pick up on this and continued.

“J-just to be clear, I do NOT mean you should change. God, no. I could never. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

A faint blush tinted her cheeks. Her eyes closed, listening intently to every word.

“I just mean…well, it just seems like…perhaps everyone would be less cross with me all the bloody time if I was different, you know? Better somehow. Not constantly rambling or asking questions or talking before I think things through or mucking up everything I touch. If I was just less of a pain to Her, to my coworkers, to my f…brother…maybe then, things would be better. For me. For you. For everyone…”

Wheatley stole a glance at her. He could see that Chell was pursing her lips. Wheatley took that as a sign that she acknowledged what he was saying. And perhaps that she even agreed, to a certain extent. He smiled weakly.

“It’s alright. You don't have to say anything. I get it. I ruined that dance for you. So it's okay! It’s okay if you’re okay with everything I said. Because it's true, isn’t it…?” Wheatley’s voice quivered. “It has to be, otherwise you would’ve said something by no–”

“Wheatley. Stop.”

Wheatley jumped a little, surprised that she’d broken her silence. He finally looked at her directly. She looked so…sad. He swore he could see her tearing up as well, but wasn’t sure if it was just his eyes playing tricks on him.

“...You really think that of yourself?”

Wheatley bit his lip. “Not…precisely. But sort of.”

“Why?”

He sputtered momentarily. “Why? Wh–for the love of–for all the reasons I said, of course! I’m a mess! I genuinely don’t understand why you’ve put up with me for this long! No…no one else has. Not unless they’re obligated to…”

Chell’s head lowered.

“…You said it just now.”

“Wha–?”

“You already have the answer, Wheatley.”

Wheatley went silent for a minute, deep in thought.

“You mean you…like putting up with me…?”

“I’m not putting up with you.”

Chell’s head raised. He could see a certain spark in her eyes. The same one he always saw whenever she successfully solved a test. But there was something…different about it this time. As if she’d reached a different kind of epiphany. Whatever it was, he didn’t expect her next immediate action to be clutching his hands as tight as she could. Almost as if she feared that letting go…meant losing him forever.

His face turned a deep red and his eyes drifted downward, flustered by his own thoughts. He was reading way too deep into this…wasn’t he?

“Wheatley. Look at me.”

He did as she said with very little hesitation. God, her eyes were still mesmerizing. If you could get past the bland grayness and searing intensity of them, it truly was like looking into a kaleidoscope. Shapes and colors of all kinds seemed to reflect so easily off of them. Including his own reflection, which…didn’t seem so bad in her eyes, if he was honest. Warm. Cozy. Inviting. Those were the first thoughts that came to mind. He watched as Chell took a deep breath.

“You’re perfect. Just the way you are.”

Wheatley froze, feeling his heart skip a beat. He fought back the urge to burst into tears then and there, but he could still feel them coming on. He tried to mask it with a brief, uncertain chuckle.

“Chell…” His voice broke. He could already feel the tears streaming down his cheeks. Mission failed. He supposed it was for the best.

“You…you think you’re so clever, don’t you? Throwing my words right back at me…?”

She smiled back at him, shrugging.

“Not really. But it's the truth.”

It was Chell’s turn to be surprised as Wheatley suddenly rested his head on her shoulder. Within a few seconds, he started openly sobbing. Chell pulled him into a hug, letting him bury his face into her chest. She could feel it getting soaked in tears and potential snot, but it didn't matter. Not right now. Not ever.

After some time had passed, she could finally hear his gut-wrenching sobs begin to subside. She gently grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back. She needed him to be looking at her for this.

“Wheatley. Do you remember what you told me while we were dancing?”

Wheatley sniffed, wiping off his tear-stricken face with one of his sleeves. Evidently, he didn't seem to care about the state of his outfit either.

“When I…said you were radiant? Dropdead gorgeous?”

“And?”

Wheatley’s face was starting to turn red again.

“That I…meant it?”

“That’s right.”

Chell leaned in a little closer. His face was officially the color of a tomato.

“When I asked you to kiss me…I meant that too.”

There was a pregnant pause, in which nothing happened. Before they knew it, they had already locked lips with each other.

Anyone who asked after that day would never get a straight answer as to who initiated the kiss. The leading theory was that it was Chell. Being the bold one, it made perfect sense. There were, however, three dissenting voices: Rick, Craig, and Calvin, who apparently caught the pair right as they were about to kiss.

“I tell ya, it was the craziest shit I’d ever seen!” Rick would say every single time.

“Chell was just standin’ there, right? Just bored out of her mind, waitin’ for that idiot to make a move on her for once. All of a sudden, he gets this look in his eye. That look all men get when they finally get the ultimate prize: the heart of a lady. He’s got this shit-eatin’ grin forming on his mouth then pow! He takes the leap! Just plants a big one on her lips ‘fore she starts gettin’ second thoughts about givin’ this loser a chance! Think he even started givin’ her tongue at some point….anyway, if I’m perfectly honest, he became a Real Man that day. He was no longer a joke. He earned my respect at long last. Brought a tear to my eye.”

They were not, in fact, standing. Rick’s testimony continues to be a questionable one with all of its conflicting information and “colorful” language. It remains unclear how much of it is actually the truth.

In addition, whenever he is questioned further, he almost always replies with “It should’ve been me.”

Craig, on the other hand, always seems to answer the question of the kiss in riddles.

“Here’s a fact for you: female Black Widows will kill and eat the males of their species on occasion.”

It's never a real answer the first time, so one must always try again.

“A vast majority of bird species will have males with an extremely vibrant and colorful plumage.”

The third time is usually the charm.

“You may refer to facts one and two for your answer.”

‘Better luck next time’ is a phrase you will have to get comfortable with when speaking with Craig.

And then there is Calvin, who gives the most insightful and passionate answers about what it means to love…in the form of space metaphors.

“You ever thought about the cyclical nature of Earth and all the other planets’ many revolutions around our solar system? Take the relationship between the Earth and our moon, for example. The moon orbits us, so no matter what part of it we can or can’t see, we will be able to see the entirety of it at some point. The Earth and moon will always be together, so long as that gravitational force remains. Awesome, right?”

See? A wonderful response. But ultimately useless.

We may never know the answer of who kissed who first. But does it really matter? At the end of the day, all that does matter is that Chell and Wheatley are happy. Together.

[what-if-queen-camilla]

Chapter 32

1st December 1995 - part 2

"After further testing has been undertaken and professionally evaluated in accordance with the latest and newest scientific research, His Royal Highness The Prince of Wales cannot be excluded as and is therefore considered the biological father of Ms Theodora Elizabeth Anne Parker Bowles, born on 4th August 1987. This may not affect the line of succession in any way.", the official announcement from Buckingham Palace read and, somehow, Camilla felt dehumanised, not only on her own, but also on her daughter's behalf. It sounded like a random scientific discovery, completely disregarding the fact that all of this was about an innocent, eight-year-old child who's world had been turned upside down within the blink of an eye only just about a week ago.

"Don't worry, darling, that's just the official announcement.", Charles had tried to prepare her on the phone earlier that morning. "My statement will follow about five minutes later and Granny tells me she's got something to say as well…"

And, this time, the heir to the throne did, indeed, release a statement, breaking with all old traditions and values of "never complain, never explain", completely u-turning his attitude compared to the interview he had given one-and-half years ago, freely and proudly stating:

"I am delighted to officially acknowledge Ms Theodora as my daughter, happily taking on all rights and obligations that paternity brings about. Mrs Camilla Parker Bowles, Ms Theodora's mother, and I, have been knowing each other for over twenty years and she has been my best friend for almost two decades; she has always been the one person who understands, supports and encourages me when nobody else does; and, eventually, after both our marriages to other people had already broken down irrevocably, we realised that we were more than just friends, we fell in love and became a couple and our wonderful, sweet, little daughter is the most beautiful product of the greatest love of my life.

I know that not everybody in this country will approve of this, I am well aware that these revelation will undoubtedly cause controversy - but today I'm not only speaking to you as the future monarch of a country that needs to be guided into the 21st century - today I'm also speaking to you as a father, who loves all of his three wonderful children equally, as a man who just wants to be with the woman he loves - the one woman who's been my strength and stay through some really tough times, who's suffered all different sorts of scrutiny, judgement and humiliation - though the majority of you have never even met her. So, today, I'm kindly asking you - the people of the countries I have always loved so much and of which I - God willing - one day shall have the great honour to be King: have compassion. Together, let us follow the holy commandment of forgiveness, let us 'charity' be more than just a fine word; together, let us create a society in which nobody has to be afraid or feel ashamed or excluded because of whom they love.

As announced by the Palace Office earlier, this will not affect the line of succession in any way. But it will affect my life and those of the people I love, including all of you, but I trust that, together, we can find a way to cope with these things as best as possible, not only for my and my family’s own sake, but for everybody in our society who already is, or might one day find themselves in a similar situation. It might not be ideal, it's not what anyone ever would initially plan or wish for, but it's what happens, in the United Kingdom, across the Commonwealth and, eventually, the whole world. Last but not least, I'd once more like to appeal to your sympathy; sympathy for my three children, their respective mothers, and my partner's children from her first marriage. Be compassionate, be kind. Don't blame them. None of this is any of their fault. I can only hope this will not affect your trust in me and my connection to all of you across our beloved Commonwealth."

He closed his statement with "Your always loyal servant Charles"; he had recorded it himself, his soft, vulnerable voice only further underlining the pain he was feeling on behalf of everybody involved, and listening to him caused Camilla more than just a few tears: it had been broadcasted on the BBC, followed by "Everybody hurts" from R.E.M., (obviously, in order to create the most dramatic atmosphere imaginable), before the moderators started analysing it all "exclusively" in an "exclusive" special, where people from across the country were invited to join via telephone and share their thoughts and opinions; and to her very surprise, apart from a handful of negative comments, the majority of reactions were actually… positive. "I think it's a good move of him to be honest!", one person said, and another one agreed: "He's been very brave and we should appreciate that". Someone else added: "I've never heard him talking so passionately about anything or anyone. It must be real love, and who in their right mind could ever be against that?" And, eventually, before they closed the programme with Phil Collins' "Against all odds", somebody else concluded: "I think he'll be a good King! Just what our country needs." Camilla had been following it all on her own in the guest room at Annabel and Simon's house she was currently living in, only just accompanied by a Gin and Tonic and a few cigarettes to prevent herself from losing it completely; she couldn't deny that it'd done something to her, that she was touched, beyond moved, if she was honest, that she'd never loved him more and wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms, hold him tight and kiss him as if there was no tomorrow…

As if on command, somebody knocked on the door at that very moment. "Yes?", she asked, rushing over to open it. "Milla, here's… a visitor for you…", Annabel explained and, before she could've added something, the door flung open and Camilla was in Charles' arms. "Oh my God, darling!", she sobbed, almost forcefully pressing against him. "That was brilliant. You were brilliant!", she praised him with a teary voice, between desperate kisses and heartbreaking sobbing. "I love you, darling.", she whispered into his ear, a mixture of pride, adoration and lust in her voice. “I love you, too, darling,” Charles replied, his eyes full of love for Camilla. He could easily get lost in her bright blue eyes and her wonderful face, framed by her cheeky blonde curls. It had been quite some time since he’d last seen her so unbothered, almost happy and cheerful. Maybe, after a long, dark winter there’d finally be a wonderful spring and a warming summer for them, filled with sunshine and bees and happiness. Maybe, after all they’d gone through, their time was finally about to come. They both were surely hoping so.

[sevilemar]

I got a really long ask from a nonny, and I hope it's OK that I turned it into a post to make it easier to answer.

Hello? Can I ask for a shc vibe check maybe?

You can always ask 😉. Let's see how we fare, shall we?

I think I currently realised I don't actually care about things. I have pets, and I think hurting another alive being for your sake or just pleasure is wrong, but I don't exactly want to or care to change my lifestyle for it, it had to be a conscious choice every day, every time while shopping for groceries.

Life is a lot more complicated than beliefs, and we are all negotiating these boundaries every day, in one way or another.

Also I did want to appeal to people preaching this or that thing, not that those were ever bad, it just never were mine, and those people were never around me here and now.

This has a loyalist flavour to it, basing your beliefs on the people you want to appeal to, and realising you're not much into it once they are not around anymore. Can't tell if it's snakey or badgery. Depends on if you mean groups or individual people.

What are these so called values or opinions worth if you don't see any change around you, if you're in a circle doing the same over and over again, while still having to drop even those little personal actions if the moment calls for it.

This, on the other hand, is a classic idealist crisis, I think.

I'm a follower, you know. Just get me someone to follow or protect and I'll be good.

Either a reaction secondary or a loyalist statement, if you ask me. Which you have, of course 😉 (Also, speaking from experience, not always true, even if you do think so. But that's about me, not you).

I was working today and was disgusted by myself, knowing in my heart that if something would happen, and workplace community had problems with my family members working there, if my family member would be in the wrong, I wouldn't want to stand by them by default. I would only do that with a bit of figuring out. I really wouldn't want to strand against the community for them, especially if they're on the wrong side.

The thing is, this looks like a snake's guilt when they prioritise something badgery (approval of a community) or idealistic (going with what is right vs. with their people). But there are a couple of things this can also be, depending how you look at it. First question I'd ask is where does the guilt come from? Who told you that you stand by family no matter what? Second question I'd ask is if you are a snake, would you actually consider your family members your people? Just because they're family and you live together does not automatically make them your people. You, and you alone choose who your people are, snake or no snake. And fuck anyone or anything who tells you differently.

I know they know it secretly, I also know this isn't the right choice and I should stand by them. I feel bad for both of these things,

Again, where is this belief coming from? Because this especially sounds to me like there is considerable outside pressure on you to stand by your family, and I think you need to figure out if that is something you actually agree with or not. It's OK if the answer is no, and it's also OK if the answer is yes. There is no right or wrong here, only right for you in the situation you are currently in.

having countless fights over not saying what they want or not doing something,

Sensing more outside pressure, and maybe a little bit of a lion secondary? Or those pesky 'trying to figure shit out while my hormones are going haywire and the world has gone crazy' years that don't necessarily have to do with age.

but also craving that fuck it, this is mine, you can take a walk by the River Styx for all I care snake thing. I feel really bad for being afloat and not grounded by this very thing.

Caring about things, trying to figure them out can be really fucking frustrating and exhausting. Still beats running into the same wall over and over again because you don't (or can't) even try to see what the actual problem is, in my opinion. Barely.

But I also wonder is it just them? Is it just them who thinks I have to have them as my person, and pokes me for not? I have reasons you know.

Ah, so you do ask yourself one of my question already. Awesome👍.

But probably not, I would chop heads off if they would be in the right side of the conflict to be honest, and that's not a snake answer in this context.

Has an idealistic vibe to it, yeah.

I know I burned really hard when covid hit. At that time everything in my life pointed that nothing is going to change, whatever I do it doesn't matter, I won't break out of this, I'm not that kind of person, not equipped enough. This creates a never ending cycle. This seems more secondary related,

Yes, this is secondary stuff. And burned secondary at that.

and I did drop a lot of actions I was doing for those so called values I was holding on to. I completely stopped being vegan when I made a choice to leave my so called friend and the group we were a part of after some nasty stuff. It was more important to have a nice meal when my heart was broken.

This vibes loyalist, and with the easy and accepted self care more snake than badger.

I know that saying I got convinced personaly that I will never find someone who'd choose me, love and appreciate me and the only person who really cares about me won't be there forever would be a loyalist burning thing,

Nope, I'd call this a human burning thing. Everyone can experience it, but it's idealists who will find at least some kind of solace in their ideals.

while the first one's probably kind of an idealist,

I'd say it's more burned secondary.

while these both got spread in my system and coexist intertwined, the first one hits deeper.

Maybe looking into figuring out/unburning your secondary might be worthwhile?

I do want nice stuff, nice life, I do want to learn languages, meet interesting people, have opportunities, have a fast paced life, something exciting, you know. 10, 20 years from now people will find out about Critical role or Calamity for the first time, can you imagine that? The creators made a mark and their words mattered, they had someone to listen to them, then and for some time in the future, while I'm just checking my puppy doesn't eat toy filling, which impacts their life positively and matters, but does it, really? I'm going to do that again tomorrow, as I did yesterday, and so on.

I've heard this a few times from my idealist friends, this desire to have a good life, and have it mean something in the greater scheme of things.

I guess I sound like a burned lion with some kind of burned secondary, not having a calling or what to care about,

Yeah, I'd say idealist living in a loyalist environment and having adopted a lot of their beliefs you are now questioning. And from all the grief and frustration it's causing you, I'd say you are grappling with your gut feeling about what's right and wrong, which would make you a lion, yes.

I'm getting burned secondary vibes, but I'm not so sure about burned primary. I think even lions can question and change their right and wrong without burning? Or maybe not, I honestly don't know.

I'm just checking in, cause I hate that so much and I wish I would be wrong haha.

You do realise that this is some seriously negative self-talk, right? I'm just checking, because sometimes people do not realise when they put themselves down like this, especially when accompanied with a laugh.

If I were you, I'd ask myself where this bias against lions comes from. Is it just the frustration that snakes have it so much easier, being able to trust their gut without the constant struggle? Or is it something else that makes it not OK for you to be a (burned) lion?

Don't worry about the puppy btw, I'm keeping a close eye.

I'm not worried about the puppy, I'm more worried about you, nonny. You're going through a painful process, and it doesn't sound like you have much support around you. I am a stranger on the internet, and shc is just a funny little system that sometimes let's us see important things about ourselves. Whatever support we can offer, you are welcome to it, nonny. Just promise me you'll be as kind to yourself as you can, OK?

[infernalodie]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐚 𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 || 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐚

“𝘐'𝘮 𝘧𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯' 𝘐'𝘮 𝘧𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯' 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯' 𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯“

Inspo: Two Feet - Love Is a Bitch

Pairing: Samantha x Black!Male!reader

Summary: Those texts and calls came at random. But they were how you made your money and how you found slivers of happiness.

Warnings: Large age gap, heavy smut, slapping, scratching, praise kink, and a decent amount of angst at the end with a splash of fluff.

Words 2655

DNI IF YOU’RE YOUNGER THAN 18!

Waiting for her call got you out of bed.

Waiting for her call was what kept you sane.

Waiting for her call was an escape from reality.

You wouldn’t say you were an obsessive man. In fact, you wouldn’t even consider it anything besides lust. But Samantha, she had a hold on you that all the older women have ever had. And that meant something considering the line of work you had with a bar owner in the heart of Highland. Your entire job was to be paid to give pleasure to women who couldn’t obtain it from their husbands. That was your life, and Samantha had managed to have you addicted to her scent, taste, and touch.

But the long breaks from her were for good reason. Simply put; she was a married woman with a child. A responsible woman who had all the money in the world to get what she wanted. And it may have been that power that made it all the more appealing for you. Because if she wanted you, she just had to call and you would come running. But the breaks helped fend off the incessant thoughts of wanting to stay longer. At the end of the day, she paid you and she was a client of your business. It would never evolve further, so you couldn’t get caught up in the emotions that you felt for the woman.

Tonight was one of those nights. You were getting your suit on in your room, adjusting any imperfections from the perspective of your reflection in the mirror. Your fingers twitched in anticipation of what was to come and be humbly gifted to you on a silver platter. Although it was your job to give pleasure to the women, you sure as hell believed Samantha wanted to make your rendezvous just as nice for you as it was for her.

A knock at the door alerted you, humming out in approval to enter. Gia’s head popped through the partially opened door and frowned at the sight of your outfit. “Where the hell are you going for you needing to be dressed up?” She inquired, faint amusement in her tone.

“I…” You did the top button of your shirt. “Am going on a date, sweet sister.”

“Bullshit.” Rue’s voice jumped in, her head above Gia’s as she stared at you, unconvinced by your statement. “You haven’t dated since you graduated and that was 2 years ago.”

A soft chuckle fell from your lips as you grabbed the Aston Martin DB8 Convertible keys your boss had given you in the morning and opened your door and moved back your siblings. “Well, you don’t know much about what goes on in my life, Rue,” you answered, feeling the pair following. “I am 19 years old and I need to get myself situated with someone sooner or later. Doesn’t mean you gotta know the specifics.”

Entering the kitchen, your mother was finishing up supper. “What is this I am hearing about a date?” She inquired, lips etched into a smirk as you kissed her temple.

“Y/n is going on a date with a catfish,” Rue said, making Gia begin to giggle in amusement.

“You better shut your mouth-” You grinned, grabbing your litter sister and beginning to tickle her.

Leslie watched with a smile as you picked your sister up from the waist as she screamed for mercy, laughter falling from her lips. “Alright, alright. Y/n, go on your date,” she defused with a laugh. “Your food will be in the fridge when you get back, sweetheart.”

She kissed your cheek as you gave her a hug. “Love you, mama.”

Parting from her, you pointed your finger at your two sisters as you backed away. “Watch your back, assholes,” you warned jokingly.

“Hope you have a great date with Terry from the arcade downtown!” Gia exclaimed back before you exited the house.

In some way, you did hate lying to them. They thought you worked at the bar as a bartender. Now, it wasn’t a complete lie because that is what your front was. But when you got a call from Darius, your boss, you knew you had to drop the act you had back at home or at the bar. Becoming a whole new person that seemed to fit what older women wanted from you.

If you did end up telling them, you were sure your sisters might just tell you to get your money. But your mother, that might be a whole different story. The last thing you needed was your mother to go knocking on any women’s doors and beating the shit out of them because you give them a night of relief. That case might not go so well in your mother’s favour.

So, you were going to do everything in your power to keep it all as hidden as possible. It was bad enough Maddy had spotted you at Samantha’s house whilst she watched Samantha’s kid. One person was already too much, but you trusted Maddy enough with this secret business you conducted to earn quite a hefty amount of cash per week.

You shook your head, washing away the thoughts as you continued to drive up the hills. Sunset breached through the many trees lining the side of the road, hitting your dark skin. And soon, you arrived at the gate. Putting the car in park, you hopped out and walked to the intercom and buzzed it.

Standing there for a few moments, you adjusted your suit, about to button it up until you heard her voice.

“No point making it harder for me to get you undressed, baby.”

God, Samantha was going to be the death of you. Your lips formed a smirk, taking a step back and looking up at the camera focused solely on you. “Can’t do that if you got me stuck out here like a lost puppy, sweetheart.”

“Come on in.” The gate unlocked, opening slowly. “But don’t keep me waiting.”

“Wouldn’t want to in a million years,” you muttered, lips permanently etched into a grin as you walked around the vehicle and got inside, continuing the short stretch up to the house.

When you did arrive, you spotted no cars in the driveway. Easing your anxiety just a bit knowing that her husband wasn’t going to be home, nor her child, hopefully. Parking the car, you hopped out and made your way to the front door. Knowing the entire procedure and what to do.

Entering, you slowly closed the door behind you, kicking your dress shoes off and walking further inside. The sunlight bounced beautifully off the large pool in the backyard and the clean floors. Her house was something you would never be able to get over. From where it was built, it was near a cliffside looking down upon Highland. A beautiful view at night that you had missed for the past few weeks since you’d last been in the house.

As you stepped farther in, you slowly unbuttoned your cuffs. Already feeling eager to get the show on the road and spend as much time as you could with the woman. Hoping that you weren’t on a bottleneck schedule with her.

But you got to unbuttoning your shirt when heard the faint pads of feet coming down the stairs. Turning, you saw Samantha in a silk black robe with what seemed to be nothing under it. Her eyes were heavy, a need found within them, as they stayed focused on you.

“It’s been a long time,” she pointed out. “I hoped you hadn’t forgotten about me.”

The corner of your lips tilted upward into a half smile as you turned to her. “I was beginning to think the same thing,” you commented, thankful to hear her soft laugh as she finally made it down the steps to you.

Her hands carefully placed themselves against your chest. You glanced down for a moment before meeting her gaze once again. Able to see the pure lust that darkened those beautiful eyes of hers. Also able to be seen were her genuine feelings of love. One that shouldn’t be found in women seeking only a source of pleasure. But you reciprocated them, and she knew it.

“I missed you.” Her confession was almost a secret, a truth that she felt almost embarrassed admitting. But all the times you’d been here with her, either for a drink or for sex, she had felt free. Unable to feel the chains of her family holding her back with you becoming her safe haven.

Your lips quirked up into a grin, raising your hand and brushing the back of it over her delicate features. Samantha let out a gentle sigh, eyes flickering shut as she leaned into your touch. Her hands just barely tensing up a gentle amount of your shirt. “I missed you too,” you admitted shamelessly, hand cupping her jaw gently.

Her eyes finally met yours, breaths coming out in shaky exhales. Especially when your thumb brushed over her bottom lip, teasingly pushing past where she tried to chase the digit. But always being denied as you smiled in amusement.

But then something switched in her nature, returning to her former needy self. One that wasn’t afraid to get rough with you. So, when she slapped you, it was a surprise. You growled, soaking up the sting across your cheek and remembering all the older wounds she had inflicted upon your body. All of it only adds to the build-up of some of the best nights of your life. When you looked back down at her, you were met with her lips etched into a large smirk. “Show me what you got.”

That simple challenge had been enough to ignite a fire in you that you hadn’t felt in two weeks. And there was no way you were planning on controlling it.

“Y/n, don’t stop, please.” You held Samantha’s hips as you pounded in her. The satin sheets of her bed were drenched in her arousal. She couldn’t keep track of how many times you had gifted her her climax, but it sure was enough to make the blankets soaked.

Tilting your head, you watched the woman below wither. Breasts bouncing with each pound of your hips against hers. Arms above her head with her hands grabbing handfuls of the sheets in hopes to keep her grounded. But her body was covered in bruises, ones by your doing. Hoping she wasn’t planning on having sex with her husband because this would be the last night you spent with her.

Slamming into her hips one last time, you groaned as you carefully leaned down. Your arms trapped Samantha as she opened her half-lidded eyes and came face to face with you. There was a mere moment where you held her gaze, but it was only for a moment before you rocked your hips forward. Your cock reached a completely new spot inside her that ripped a cry from her lungs.

You didn’t look away from her expression, wanting to take hold of each and store it in your mind as a reminder of why you came here. Sweat glistened off your caramel skin as you leaned down and kissed Samantha’s neck. Sucking at the flesh needily and letting your teeth grace her pulse point. The action caused her hands to shoot out and hold you there. Another reaches under your left arm and towards your back. Nails digging deep, eliciting a muffled groan.

“Your amazing, Y/n,” Samantha moaned breathlessly. Her eyes shut as her lips formed a smile, allowing herself to swim in the pleasure you were giving her. “So fucking good for me, baby.”

Pulling away, you held yourself up with one arm. The other cupping her cheek, your thumb brushing over her cheek softly. “Open your eyes for me, sweetheart.”

Upon the command, Samantha obeyed and met your electric gaze. “I love you,” you breathed, hips picking up the pace with urgency. The action alone does enough to make Samantha let out a choked cry, arms wrapping around your sides with her legs wrapping around your waist. Giving gentle tugs, making you come closer.

The knot in her stomach had built far quicker than she’d liked to admit. But then again, this was just the effect you had on her. You could slowly build her up before propelling her to a high she never thought possible.

With your hand leaving her cheek, you reach down beneath her and begin to rub her clit. That sent Samantha into a spiral as she gasped, eyes clamping shut with her back arching off the bed. “O-Oh- Fuck, yes!” She cried, legs tensing around your waist.

Her walls smothered your cock beautifully, making you groan as you felt your own high quickly approach. Your fingers worked faster against her clit with your hips slamming into hers. And when you did cum, it felt like the entire world burst into colours. Unable to help your eyes from rolling back as your hips bucked forward with grunts falling from your lips.

It took a few moments, silence falling over the room beside the pants that fell from your guys’ lips. Samantha’s legs twitched from the aftershocks of her orgasm as you closed your eyes, feeling beads of sweat run down your forehead. Soon enough, you managed to pull away from the woman, tying the condom off and tossing it in the garbage bin.

Settling on the edge of the bed, you began to slip your boxers on. But once you got them on, you felt the bed shift behind you. Samantha leaned her naked front against your back, head resting on your shoulder as her arms curled around your sides.

There was a comfortable silence between the two of you. Not often did you ever feel comfortable with such silence when you were with other women. But Samantha had switched up a lot of your system or changed your expectations. And it hurt that you only felt this comfortable ever so often whenever she gave you the call.

Samantha placed her lips against your shoulder, her warm breaths gently brushing across your skin. “I don’t want you to go.”

You bit down on your bottom lip, hand coming up to grab one of hers and softly squeeze. Looking over your shoulder at the woman with a sad smile. “You pay me to leave.”

She pursed her lips, blinking rapidly as she leaned forward and kissed your cheek. “Under the pot downstairs on the island is where your money is,” she stated. “There’s a little extra as thanks for coming in the first place.”

When Samantha parted from your figure, you lost the cherished warmth of her figure. Wishing you could stay here with her forever. But you knew that this was the closest you would ever get to her. Or to heaven. Because realistically, she was what made your job all worth it. Fuck all the money, suits, and cars. She is what made the risk and thrill worth it.

Looking forward into open space, you pursed your lips and swallowed the lump in your throat. Sniffling as you stood up and got dressed quickly. Feeling Samantha’s eyes focused on you from the bed where she watched you grab your keys and phone from the bedside table. Sparing her one last glance, you didn’t smile at her. Simply showing the dread filling your bones knowing that you weren’t going to get to see her anytime soon. And her saddened expression showed she felt the same.

About to exit the room, her voice alerted you. “I love you too.”

You stopped short, shock filling your senses for a moment before you realized her words. Lips formed a large grin as you glanced over at her, seeing her adoring your goofy grin. “I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.”

[libertybri]

✨💕Bloop~✨💕

✨💕So I'll try to be quick!✨💕

✨💕How would fallout new vegas (Romanced)companions react to their s/o drawing sweet nicknames on their arm?✨💕

✨💕And when they ask their s/o what are they doing their s/o is like “i want everyone to know you're mine~”✨💕

✨💕Sorry if this has been already requested! I thought it was a cute idea! ^^✨💕

✨💕Thanks for you're time! Hope you're well!~✨💕

✨💕-𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁✨💕

I’m so glad my first new vegas request came from you!! Yay!

Arcade

“Uh huh… well you know it goes both ways, right?” His smug statement causes a pen to go flying at his face and Six promptly setting their arm in his lap, claiming they could take turns. “Oh. Uh, I don’t even know what to write–“ He takes a peek at Six’s doodles on his arm to get an idea, but settles with just his name. “Don’t think this means I want us to get each other’s names tatted across our arms… because it doesn’t.”

Benny

“Aw, c’mon! Don’t mark up the Ben-Man, baby. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, ya dig?” He at first wants to push Six away, but after disappointing them, he feels bad enough to roll up his sleeve and let them continue. “The things I do for you, doll. Don’t suppose you want me to wear my sleeve up the whole day, too?” Though his words are sarcastic, he knows he never should have spoken them if he didn’t want Six to make them a reality.

Boone

He silently watches Six after they give their reasoning for writing all over him. They continue to write sweet nicknames they call him and even little heart doodles that cause the corners of his lips to lift only slightly into the faintest smile you could only see if you were looking directly at him.

Cass

“Real cute, Six.” She chuckles, “Now give me that pen! Time to make my mark on you.” She doesn’t wait for Six to hand over the writing tool before snatching it out of their hand herself and pulling them towards her. She writes all kinds of naughty nicknames and small proclamations of love over Six’s arm, along with big bold letters that spell out her name.

The King

“Well babydoll, you know the King wears his sleeves down. I, uh, I could make an exception though, if that were to make you happy.” The smile on his lover’s face was just enough for him to agree to anything that pleased them, even if it meant wearing his sleeves up for the day. He didn’t mind so much, especially if he got to make his mark on Six as well.

Raul

“I don’t think many others will be paying attention to this skin, hermoso/a.” He warns them of potential time wasted, but notes as they continue marking away at his arm. He admires them silently until they were satisfied enough to quit and look up at him. “Looks great! Your turn now, chico/a.” He wouldn’t be completely serious with this until Six hands him the pen and stretches out their arm for him. To which he will then just sign his name in beautiful cursive among their arm.

Swank

“Want everyone to know I’m yours, kitten? Have it your way.” His tone comes off teasing, but he is more than enthralled with Six’s game. After they finish marking up his arm with sweet nicknames, their own name, and doodles, he rolls his sleeves up and gets back to work, proudly showing off the penmanship while working front of the Tops. He doesn’t even mind the weird glances he gets, he was a proud man.

Veronica

“Oh sweetie, I never took you for the artsy type! My mistake then.” She happily stretches her arm out as Six continues on, her simply admiring their work as they go. Once they are pleased enough to stop, they turn to her for approval and she can’t help the big grin that forms on her face. “It reflects you, lover. It’s really cute.”

Vulpes Inculta

“I cannot say this… appeals to me, little courier. I suppose if only the two of us shall see it, then there is no problem.” He is content on making sure the pen-work on his arm is never seen to the public, especially Caesar, despite Six telling him their reasoning.

[babyjamiebarnes]

Build-A-Bear

Part Four

Featuring: Bucky x Stark!reader, dad!Tony, Peter Parker, Steve Rogers, various characters in other chapters

Warnings: language, making out

Chapter Summary: You go on a short trip to Massachusetts to see Peter, Bucky takes you on a second date, someone gets caught doing something they shouldn’t.

Author’s Note: This was going to be a filler but it has a decent amount of necessary plot and progression. The next part will have a time jump so I don’t have to include a bunch of filler chapters, blehk. Let me know if you see my Avatar: The Last Airbender reference in here! And as always, you’re welcome to send me a coffee!

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

Tags: @kennedywxlsh @ursmolbunny @devilswaldorf

By the time Monday rolled around, you were thankful Bucky had training in the morning or you would’ve never gone to sleep. Most of the deeper subjects had been touched on when you were together on Saturday, so Sunday was just texting more playful banter and fun facts you hadn’t learned during your lab hangouts, but you two still talked until your phone was propped up on your pillow waiting for another message while you drifted in and out of sleep.

Bucky had sent you a sweet “good morning, doll” text for you to wake up to, but you didn’t talk much before you had to head to work and he had to work out with Steve. That’s the downside to waking up with just enough time to get ready. Not much wiggle room for distractions, no matter how delicious.

You had barely settled in to your workspace, specs for Sam’s wings pulled up in front of you, when you had a request for a FaceTime call from Peter, of all people. You hadn’t seen him in a few weeks since he went back to campus, but he was set to come back soon for a weekend.

“Hey Peter, what’s up?” you answered.

“Hey [Y/N]! I, uh, I kind of have a big favor to ask,” he said with a forced chuckle.

“Oh… okay? What’s going on?”

“Well, you remember that project you wanted my help on?” You nodded. “Well I talked to my professor about it and he said I can use it as my final project for this semester as long as you come to the proposal and document what you did on it so I don’t take credit for any of your work. If you don’t want to, that’s totally fine! I can probably work on another project, I just don’t want to put your project off and make you wait for me to finish my part —“

“Peter!” you shouted, cutting off his rambling with a laugh. “I think that sounds great. It’ll be nice for you to kill two birds with one stone. When would I need to be there?”

“Uhh,” he started with another forced laugh. “My proposal is Wednesday.”

You stared at the screen, motionless at his response. “Wednesday. Like, two days from now, Wednesday?” Peter nodded. You could practically see him sweating through the phone, worrying about whether or not he should’ve asked his professor sooner or just completely avoided the subject entirely. But you knew he probably didn’t have much heads-up and considered using your project a little late in the game. “It’s a good thing I like you, kid. Let me double check with the boss but I’m sure that’ll be fine.”

“Yes! You’re the best!” Peter cheered.

“I’ll text you when my flight leaves because there’s no way I’m driving ten hours.”

You and Peter briefly went over how things would work, from what you should wear to whether you’d be getting a hotel room or bunking on his futon. While you were talking, you emailed your dad about the trip and got a quick approval. Tony liked Peter, and you understood why. He reminded you of your father if your dad had a stutter instead of an ego.

Mid-afternoon, when you took your second 20-minute break of the day just to let your brain relax, there was a soft tap on the door of your lab before Bucky poked his head in. He stepped in and looked around the whole room frantically before he noticed you curled up under a blanket on the giant bean bag chair you shoved into the corner once Peter left. You liked being able to take your breaks in the quiet of the lab so your brain could actually shut down for a few minutes.

“Oh, hey,” Bucky said with a smile.

“Hey Buck,” you replied, mirroring his smile. “How’s your day?”

“Pretty good,” he said with a sigh. “Just bored so I thought I’d see what you were up to.”

“Just taking a break,” you shrugged. “But you’re more than welcome to sit with me while I work. I won’t interact much because I lose focus easily but you can hang out.”

“As appealing as that is,” he started as he walked closer to you in your bean bag chair, “I know I’d start asking questions and I don’t want to distract you.”

You stood from your spot as he got closer and smirked up at him. “You are pretty distracting.” He stopped when he was toe-to-toe with you. “It’s a good thing my breaks are made for distraction.”

He smiled down at you as his warm hand curled around the back of your neck and pulled you into him for a kiss, your own hands looping through his belt and pulling his body closer to yours.

You practically melted into him, feeling as if you couldn’t get closer no matter how hard you tried. Even him slipping his thigh between your legs didn’t feel close enough. Then the weight of his metal hand fell to your waist as his tongue entered your mouth. It was all reminiscent of your first kiss just a couple days before.

Except outside your apartment, you didn’t have to worry about getting caught.

“Hey [Y/N], have you—“ You and Bucky quickly pulled apart at the sound of a new voice coming from the doorway and you immediately started to panic.

“—seen Bucky,” Steve ended with a sigh. The door quietly clicked shut behind him as he stepped in. “So you two…?”

“Have been on a date,” you said, walking toward Steve with your hands held out. “Steve, please don’t tell anyone, especially Tony.”

“You kind of owe me one, punk,” Bucky said as he walked closer, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I never ratted you out for lying on, what, five different enlistment papers?”

Steve huffed at this, clearly stuck between following the rules or letting others break rules that were much more harmless than his past rule breaking.

“You know this is gonna come out eventually, right? You won’t be able to hide this — and whatever this becomes — forever,” Steve warned.

“We know,” you said solemnly, “but it’s nice to just have this for now, you know?” You looked over at Bucky, who was leaning against the lab table looking back at you, his lips quirked in a small smile.

“Just… be careful,” Steve said as he started to leave. “If you don’t lock the door, at least ask Friday to alert you if someone is coming this way.”

“You know, I don’t care what people say about you, Steve. You’re pretty smart.” Steve initially smiled but then let out a short ‘hey!’ as you pushed him the rest of the way out.

“That was close,” you said, turning back to Bucky.

“But at least we have a pretty influential Avenger on our side, if we ever get outed,” Bucky said. Too bad he didn’t know the approval of everyone on earth would mean nothing to your dad — and both of your boss.

“Well, that little debacle kind of wasted the rest of my break,” you pouted, stepping up to Bucky.

“Can I take you out again?”

“I’d like that a lot,” you smiled. “Oh! I’m leaving for Massachusetts tomorrow and coming back on Thursday and have my family thing on Friday so will Saturday work?”

“Massachusetts?” Bucky asked, clearly missing the rest of your statement.

“Yeah, I’m helping Peter with a project so his prof wants me to be there to answer questions while he proposes his project. It’ll just be Wednesday, but Tony let me have tomorrow and Thursday off for travel so I’m taking my time.”

“That sounds…” Bucky started. “Uhh… I gotta be honest, that sounds unbearably boring,” he laughed, making you giggle with him. “But good luck to you and Peter. I’ll see you Saturday?”

•

The trip to Massachusetts was short but boring, and you were relieved to see Peter’s car when you stepped outside. Your hotel was right down the road from his dorm, so you dropped your stuff off before heading to his room to go over the proposal.

Even though you had only spent a few weeks working with Peter, he had grown to be like a brother to you. Spending so much time every day with no one else to talk to can really help people bond. Your dad’s adoration for the kid definitely helped, too. You wouldn’t be surprised if your dad eventually brought Peter along to family dinner.

“So I have to do most of the work, but you’ll need to explain why we’re doing this and what you’ll be doing,” Peter said after reviewing his speech.

“Okay, I can manage that.”

Peter was quiet for a second before saying, “Do you… maybe wanna go over what you’ll say…?”

“Oh, sure! Sorry, public speaking is a big thing in my family so I just figured I’d wing it.”

“Please don’t,” Peter said quietly, his eyes going wide right as the words left his mouth. “I don’t mean that in a bad way! I just mean, this proposal is important to me so I want it to go as smoothly and well-planned as possible.”

“Okay, you be your professor.”

Peter cleared his throat and said, “Miss [Y/L/N], what prompted you to start this project with Mr. Parker? And what role will you play in its growth?”

“Well, Dr. Kramer, I recently received a promotion within Stark Industries to work with the Avengers on their weaponry. This work included the vibranium arm on the Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes. One thing I noticed early on was the lack of sensory receptors within the arm. That observation, along with a similar request from Mr, Barnes, prompted me to look into ways to change this. Mr. Parker has an internship with Mr. Stark so, considering our different areas of study, I sought out his help. With my knowledge and expertise on the mechanical side of things, Mr. Parker will primarily be working on the more biological side of things. Once he finds a way to connect new receptors to the spinal column through the current nerve channels, I’ll be able to create millions of micro-receptors that will need to essentially be surgically embedded in the vibranium. I already have the blueprints for this process; I’m more than willing to share those documents with you, though it is confidential and I would need you to sign an NDA for safety reasons.”

Peter stood in the middle of his room, speechless.

“I told you it runs in my family,” you laughed. “Now pick your jaw up off the floor. I’m hungry.”

The next day, Peter and you breezed through the proposal. Peter didn’t even stutter during his speech! But his classmates did bombard you with questions that the professor quickly shut down. You and Peter spent the rest of the day catching up. He introduced you to his girlfriend Michelle and his friends Ned and Flash. By the time you got back to your hotel that night, you were exhausted — and thankful for an afternoon flight.

The next morning, you got breakfast with Peter before his class and finished packing to fly back to New York. You were once again grateful for an afternoon flight because by the time you got back, you didn’t have time to get back to work. So you took the evening off and treated yourself to a bath, some wine, and your favorite Netflix series — and texting Bucky, of course.

Family dinner that week was much easier than the previous week. Your dad mainly asked about your project with Peter, only briefly touching on Bucky’s involvement. At least until your phone buzzed on the table. It was a rule that phones stay face-up on the table at dinner and any messages get read aloud. So when you saw “James 🐻” pop up, heat rushed to your face. You managed to snatch your phone before your dad could, but you still had to read it out loud to the table.

“Uh,” you nervously cleared your throat. “So, James said ‘I have an idea for our date tomorrow, but I would need full reign over your kitchen for a while.’” You sent the table a tight-lipped smile as you locked your phone and set it down again, waiting for someone to say something.

“You’re going out with this James again?” your dad asked.

“Yes,” you said plainly. “I like him, dad. A lot.”

“And you’re already inviting him over?”

“Dad, stop. I’m a grown woman; I can make my own decisions.”

“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m just saying… well, don’t you want to get to know him better first? Make sure he doesn’t want to wear your skin?”

“Ew, shut up,” you laughed. “I’ve done plenty of research into him; he’s a good guy.” Your dad still looked skeptical, so you pulled out your puppy dog eyes. “Please trust me on this.”

Tony huffed and shook his head. “Okay, fine. He’s a good guy. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. And don’t do anything I would do either.” You rolled your eyes at him but managed to divert the conversation by asking Happy and Pepper what Tony’s limit really meant.

•

The next day at 3:30 on the dot, you got a call to your house phone by the front door. It was unusual, especially since you hadn’t ordered any food. The doorman usually brought food up, but called if they were working alone. And you knew they weren’t working alone, considering how early it was. Still in your sweats and a t-shirt since Bucky wasn’t coming over until 4, you answered the phone with a simple “hey.”

“Hello Miss [Y/L/N],” you recognized the doorman Matt’s voice, “there’s a James at the front door for you?”

“Oh, okay, shit,” you said, whispering the last word to yourself. “Go ahead and send him up.”

“Would you like to grant him regular access to your residence?” Matt was always so formal, probably because you pushed for your dad to hire him and he knew he had to keep this gig. His background check showed he came from a low-income family and really wanted to turn that around. He knew he owed you and because of that, he was always grateful and sweet.

“Yes please. Thanks, Matt!”

With that, you hung up and sprinted to your room, knowing Bucky only had a 20 second elevator ride before he got to the sixth floor. Unfortunately for you, you didn’t have time to scramble for new clothes before there was a knock at your door. You grumbled as you ran back to the front door and greeted Bucky.

“Hi,” you said, half out of breath from your scurrying.

“Hey,” he smiled back. “I’m glad we chose the same style today.”

You gave him an admittedly generous once-over and realized his gray sweats and black tee matched yours, though your shirt did have an NYU logo on it.

“Oh thank god,” you nearly cackled. “I was panicking because I thought I should dress nice but you were early so I didn’t have time but I didn’t want to get ready too early so I wasn’t —“

“Hey [Y/N]?” Bucky interrupted. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, shit, yeah.” You stepped aside and let him kick his shoes off in the entryway. That’s when you noticed all the grocery bags in his hands. “Uhh, whatcha got there?”

“I said I’d need your kitchen, right?” he smiled, sending a wink your way as he started setting up. “I’m gonna cook you some authentic Romanian dishes ma used to make back in the ‘30s.”

“Ohh, sounds yummy. Can I help?”

“If you want to eat any of it, you better help,” Bucky joked.

“Let me grab a couple aprons so our fancy attire doesn’t get dirty.” In the hallway closet, you had about a dozen aprons Happy got for you. You said you needed some aprons once and suddenly you were getting new aprons for every gift-giving holiday. You appreciated it, though. Every time Happy saw an apron he thought you’d like, he bought it. And you, in return, bought him every oven mitt you thought he would like after he accidentally burned his hand making green bean casserole one year for Thanksgiving.

You grabbed the “Queen of the Cat-chen” apron covered in cats for yourself and for Bucky, the “I’ll feed all you fuckers” apron your dad thought was hilarious on your last birthday.

“Sorry I don’t have any matching chef hats,” you joked as you handed Bucky his apron.

For the next three hours, you followed all Bucky’s instructions and watched as he did his part of the work, chatting while things cooked and finally relaxing once everything was plated. You each had a decent amount of food debris on your aprons, making you thankful you both wore them. You led Bucky into the living room where you sat on the floor between your couch and the coffee table.

“You know the couch is made for sitting, right?” Bucky asked as he slowly sat behind you, one leg on either side of your body.

“Yeah, but it’s more fun to sit on the floor, especially when I’m eating.” You turned your head to face him as you continued, “I get too sleepy if I’m on the couch too long.”

He chuckled at your confession but didn’t argue. You both ate in comfortable silence, the only sound coming from the hum of traffic six floors down and the TV quietly playing a crackling fire YouTube video.

“Can you finish this for me?” you asked as Bucky set his empty plate on the coffee table.

“I’m full, doll.”

“Bucky, please? I can’t finish it,” you whines, pouting up at him.

“Then just put it away with the leftovers and eat it later,” he shrugged.

“But I’m so bad at eating leftovers,” you groaned.

“Then I’ll put it away and eat the leftovers,” he conceded. He snatched the plate from you and headed to your kitchen to pack it all away.

By the time he made it back, you were snuggled under a blanket on the couch with “What’s Your Number?” pulled up on the TV.

“I hope you’re okay with watching my favorite movie,” you smiled, making sure to flutter your eyelashes extra hard so he couldn’t say no.

“I haven’t seen this one yet so sure,” he said with a shrug.

He yanked the blanket off your body and unfolded it so he could bring you under his right arm and cover both of you with the thick fabric. Ever since Monday in the lab, he’s been more affectionate. He stopped by on Friday and kissed you at least half a dozen times before he left, then earlier while you were cooking, it was like he had to hold your hips every time he watched over your shoulder, and he chose to end the night holding you into his side and… oh, you were a goner once his fingers started lightly tracing shapes on your bare arm.

And he had to have known you were weak, if the way he angled his body toward you was any indication. You loved the movie you had picked out and really did want to watch it… but when you looked up at Bucky and saw his gaze meet yours, you knew the movie was going to be long forgotten.

His lips pressed to yours firmly, like he wanted to make sure you remembered what he felt like. You quickly let things escalate by gripping his hair and pulling him with you and you laid back on the couch. Your legs fell open as he slid right between them, his left arm propped on the cushion to keep himself from crushing you and his right slipping under your shirt to hold your waist. When his tongue passed your lips, you couldn’t help but whimper at the feeling of him taking control. His hand never moved past your waist, just occasionally squeezing as he pressed his body against yours.

The rest of the night was spent alternating between making out, talking while you were chest to chest on the couch, and making out some more until you fell asleep against his chest.

•

The next morning, you woke up to the blaring sound of a ringtone... that wasn’t your ringtone. And you were on your couch? The sleepy haze quickly wore off when you felt Bucky’s body shift behind you to reach over and grab his phone.

“What?” he answered grumpily, though your body’s initial reaction was to how deep and gravelly his voice was in the morning. Fuck.

With how close you two were and how quiet it was with the TV off, you managed to barely make out what was being said on the other end of the line.

“Where are you?” It was Steve. “You were supposed to be at the group breakfast this morning but you weren’t in your room so I told Tony you weren’t feeling well.”

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky groaned. Now that sound sent all your senses into overdrive. “I fell asleep at [Y/N]’s last night.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured,” Steve replied, clearly exasperated. “Look, just stop by a convenience store and grab some medicine so when you get back, no one questions it. You snuck out when no one saw, that’s the story.”

“Thanks, man. I’ll head out soon.” Once they hung up, you rolled over on the couch to face Bucky.

“Good morning,” you said with a sleepy grin.

“Good morning,” he replied, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to your lips. “I’m sure you heard but I’ve gotta head out before Tony gets suspicious.”

“Okay. Text me when you get back?”

Bucky stood from the couch, and you followed suit behind him as he put his sneakers and jacket on.

“I’ll text you on my whole trip back,” he smiled. “Looks like you might have to bring those leftovers with you tomorrow. I don’t know that I can sneak them back today.”

You practically skipped to join him at the door, your hands going to rest on his chest before he could leave.

“Should we just designate Saturdays as our date nights?” you asked.

“Who said you get another date?” Bucky joked back.

“Excuse me?” you gasped in mock offense. “Next time I get to choose what we do and I’m not letting you take that away from me.”

Bucky chuckled at your little outburst but pressed another kiss to your lips as a peace offering.

“Next Saturday, your pick,” he smirked.

“It’s a date.”

[that-bi-bitch-writes]

A Cursed Reality-JJK x M!Reader (Ch.2)

Question: Do you guys prefer longer chapters or shorter chapters? I’ve been making an effort to write longer chapters but if you hate reading them I’ll write them less.

Warnings: fluff, comparison of Inumaki’s speech to a disability/handicap, cursing. Dislike of Maki (Not me. wrong bitch. I love her)

Previous || Next

Chapter Two:

[Name] actively dislikes hanging out with the second years. Not that they’re bad people in any way, it’s just he’s anxious and awkward, and even after spending a year familiarizing himself with the school and the people in it, there’s like a small group of people he would invite to his birthday party.

That and he just doesn’t care for Maki Zen’in. And it is most definitely mutual. To him, she’s just pretty. She also won’t die in a battle between her and a curse below first grade. But that’s about the end of her appeal. Of course, Panda is fun to tease but he typically plays the peacemaker between the second years. [Name] would rather not care about people in peace.

There’s no dramatic reason to it all, it’s just [Name] didn’t really come to Jujutsu Tech by choice so he hadn’t intended on making friends. He obviously failed considering he befriended Inumaki within his first day and they have some homoromantic vibes going on in their friendship.

That’s not to say you can’t platonic cuddle with your best friend but when you longingly gaze into each other’s eyes and he’s the only friend you’ve made besides an annoyingly hyper 30-year-old because no one else understands you like he does… And it kind of goes both ways considering you’re the only person he trusts himself enough to have a full-on conversation with.

Yeah, it’s not looking very good for the argument that they’re not gay. They’re not though. At least not now.  

“[Name]”

“Yeah toge?”

“You look like you’ve got something on your mind” Inumaki responded. And although he had plenty of experience saying words, having a conversation without using safe words felt a little weird. It was an aspect of who he was now and [Name] being immune to the cursed speech wouldn’t erase the problems he had with talking and it didn’t make [Name] his savior or soulmate.

Luckily [Name] was both lonely and not a complete asshole because he had no problems adapting to the switch between Toge’s ‘onigiri glossary’. Learning it was actually a really fun experience because it turns out Inumaki did not have the exact translation of all his safe words. He would just say an ingredient and [Name] had to fill in the blanks. There was a lot of trial and error and a lot of [Name] smiling down at Inumaki’s concentrated face.

“I was just thinking.” [Name] broke the contemplative silence.

“Hmm”

“You know” [Name] started again “... They say it was believed people kept their souls in their throats” and as Inumaki gave a confused denial (“fish flakes”) [Name] was internally panicking on whether or not he should keep going with this specific train of thought or make a joke to deflect from the very real and emotional but corny statement he was about to utter.

“Ah fuck it. I want to exercise the curses in the world or at least enough to keep you safe so you don’t keep damaging your soul when you use your cursed technique”

“Sujiko”

[Name] looked at Inumaki. And as if breaking off pieces of his soul didn’t matter to him, Inumaki spoke, a short sentence that stunned [Name] into silence

“I love you”

If Gojo hadn’t come in, they might’ve kissed.

“[Name]-kun!!!”

Aaaand [Name]’s sentimental mood was gone. Don’t get him wrong, Gojo definitely would get an invite to [Name]’s birthday party, but the man was like 30 running around being overly cheerful and with that teasing nature he was definitely repressing some trauma. He also definitely had some of the worst timing

“What is it Gojo?”

“No sensei at the end? So mean!

“Fushiguro was sent out to find a cursed object but he’s been out all day with no calls back home or anything. Of course I plan on going to check on my beloved student, but I am busy for the next hour or so. Can you please check on him? For your favorite sensei?”

“My favorite sensei is actually Nanami and he’s not even a sensei but yeah I’ll check on the emo kid”

‘You’re pretty emo yourself dude’ Gojo thought to himself

“Ah Thank you [Name]-kun. You’re a lifesaver” Gojo called out behind him as he left to do whatever it is crazy white haired ‘old’ men do.

‘He’s/I’m totally not doing this for free’ both [Name] and Inumaki thought at the same time.

[Name] got up suddenly and started getting ready to leave paying no attention to Inumaki who watched him get ready with a casual interest. Before [Name] headed out, he turned to look at Inumaki with a serious and concentrated expression.

“Toge.”

“I love you”

“What the hell happened here?”

“....”

“Fushiguro-kun, if you please”

“Well I only know half of the story so it’s best if we hear it from Itadori”

All eyes whipped to the shirtless Yuji who had just gotten control of his body back from Sukuna, the apparent king of curses.

“I’d say it started when I went to school this morning but I think it started a little earlier for Fushiguro. Right Fushiguro?” Yuji asked

‘I swear I’m going to explode if someone doesn’t tell me the how we got this far I mean Fushiguro is bleeding from his head, this pink haired enthusiastic kid is possessed and I can’t tell if he’s too sweet to care or if he lost a few of his brain cells when he and the little emo first year wrecked this building’ [Name] thought to himself.

Clearing his throat he began “Well okay Fushiguro has a lot of really bad injuries so is it okay with you if he just quickly shares his part and then you take over?”

“Ohh Yeah that makes sense” Itadori awed and both he and [Name] turned their attention to poor Megumi who was bleeding from his forehead.

“Yesterday I was sent to retrieve a special grade cursed object and when I got there it was gone. Gojo sensei told me I couldn’t go home until it was recovered. The next day I stalked around the school and investigated when I saw Yuji for the first time.”

“Oh I remember that. It’s my turn to take over now. Uhh. I was in the occult club with my senpais Sasaki and Iguchi and we were asking the spirits about which animal the Student Council President was weaker than ( a fish) and then he burst in the room because he didn’t approve of our club-”

“Fast forward please” [Name] interrupted

“Fushiguro found me after my grandpa died and told me Iguchi and Sasaki were in danger because of the finger so I led him to the school where they said they were going to peel off the seal”

“And that’s why we’re here” [Name] surmised

“So what’s the situation”

“Gojo-sensei”/ “Old Man what are you doing here?” Megumi and [Name] called out

“I wasn’t gonna come but the higher ups got involved. I knew you’d all be fine though, I sent [Name] here to deal with it.”

“That’s true” Fushiguo mumbled

“I’m glad you all have faith in me” [Name] started “But that means I came here for absolutely nothing”

“... So did you find it?” Gojo asked

“Um sorry.... I ate it”

Gojo who didn’t hear the whole introduction and [Name] who didn’t quite get to the eating of the finger part in the story turned to Yuji in shock

“For real”

“For real”

“Haha you’re not kidding. They’re combined. How does your body feel?” Gojo asked Yuji

“Okay”

“Can you switch to Sukuna?”

“Sukuna?” Yuji asked

“The curse object you ate”

“Oh yeah. Probably”

“Ten seconds” gojo said “Take control again after ten seconds”

“I dunno about this”

“Don’t worry. I’m the strongest Jujutsu sorcerer”

Megumi looked to [Name] after hearing a curious “hmm” but [Name]’s face showed no anger or displeasure.

“Megumi hold onto this will ya” Gojo’s voice bled through Megumi’s thoughts of who would win between [Name] and Gojo. Give it a year or two and it might actually be [Name].

“What’s this?” Megumi asked

‘It better be a fucking weapon’ [Name] thought ‘Because if he sent me out because his important business was shopping he’s gonna regret it’

“Kikufuku Mochi” Gojo replied casually before feeling bloodlust leaking from [Name]. He’ll just have to make it up to the second year somehow

“Behind you” Fushiguro called out and [Name] sucked his teeth hoping Gojo would get hit at least once. He did not get his wish once

“I’ve got a student watching so..I hope you don’t mind if I show off a little bit” . And after that Gojo commenced kicking Sukuna’s ass. Sukuna tried to monologue a little as he sent out a powerful attack, but he missed Gojo on account of Gojo’s infinity dispelling the attack. By the time Sukuna realized Gojo was unharmed it was time for Yuji to switch back.

“Oh was everything okay?” Yuji asked as he came to his senses.

“Oh what a surprise” Gojo responded “You really can control it”

“Yeah, but he’s kind of annoying”

“It’s a miracle that’s the only side effect” Gojo said right before knocking Yuji out with one finger

“If he wakes up and isn't possessed, he might have potential as a vessel. Okay question for you two. What do I do with him?”

“Even if he is a potential vessel… He must be executed under jujutsu regulations…

“But I don’t want to let him die”

“Is that a personal opinion? Gojo asked

“Yes, a personal opinion. Please do something about it.

Gojo smiled and the two of them turned their attention towards [Name] who had been silent throughout the whole experience.

‘Besides being a little too excitable, he’s not bad. Like a puppy. I’d keep him as a pet.’ [Name] thought

“Don’t kill him” he said

“A precious student's request. And one from my favorite second year? Of course. Leave it to me!” Gojo said before lifting Yuji up.

[Name] still a little upset he was called away for nothing, raised his hand in front of his mouth so gojo couldn’t see what he was doing and whispered

“Fall over”

“Aak! [Name]-kunnn”

Fushiguro was shocked to see Gojo faceplant on the ground with Yuji on his shoulder. If the combination of Fushiguro’s wide eyed expression and the sight of Gojo in pain made [Name] giggle a little, he’d never admit it.

[jamespotterthefirst]

Gingerbread (Ethan x f!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 900 Warning: N/A Premise: The competition is on when they each help their patients make a gingerbread house. 

Author’s Note: Just a tiny bit of Christmas nothing fluff. 

“No offense, Doctor Ramsey, but this is trash.”

Ethan is slightly taken aback by the unrelenting honesty in the statement, particularly coming from an eight year-old. Dropping the handful of gumdrops with a clang against the plate, Ethan peers down at the young patient with unguarded approval. He allows a small smile, especially when young Jayden circles their creation, a very serious expression creasing his brow. 

“None taken,” Ethan reassures him. 

The gingerbread house they had been working on is pitiful, to say the least, and the term “house” is a generous one. In Ethan's opinion, the monstrosity looks more like a sugary pile oozing frosting than a residence. 

“This is never going to win us the contest,” Jayden observes quite gravely. Ethan almost laughs, the severity in the child's statement reminding him of himself when assessing a case and making a diagnosis. 

Their eyes simultaneously fall on the half-finished creation on the other table. Already it is looking far more appealing and stable than theirs. 

“Angie and the pretty doctor are going to win for sure.”

This time Ethan does chuckle softly at the mention of Lilac, referred to simply as “the pretty doctor.” He can't exactly blame the kid. Ethan himself had mentally referred to her in a similar way before he gripped her ID card and learned her name. 

Ethan glances from Lilac and Angie's beautiful gingerbread house to Jayden, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“I have an idea.”

Jayden picks up quickly because he grins widely, brown eyes glittering wickedly. 

“An awful idea?” 

“A wonderful, awful idea.”

Jayden can't help but laugh lightly at Ethan's reference. Even more amusing to the boy is the dramatic flair Ethan adds to every word, one he would never do for anyone else but his young patients. Then again, he would never decorate a gingerbread house with anyone else either. 

“Don't even think about it, Doctor Grinch,” Lilac announces as she enters the room, gently pushing a young girl in a wheelchair. 

“Yeah,” Angie adds, matching Lilac's accusatory tone. “Stink, stank, stunk!” 

Jayden laughs again and Ethan rolls his eyes, unable to contain the smile breaking across his face. Even more out of his control is the way his stomach flutters at the sight of his girlfriend, looking lovelier than usual in the midst of all the Christmas decorations adorning their surroundings. 

He wants nothing more than to kiss her, but with some effort, he reminds himself the gesture would be less than appropriate at a workplace and in front of two impressionable eight year-olds. She arches a coquettish brow at him, making it entirely too clear that she wants to kiss him senseless too. 

Instead, her eyes move to Ethan's gingerbread mess and she stifles a laugh. 

“Is that… medical tape? On your gingerbread house?” 

“I told you it was noticeable, Dr. Ramsey!” Jayden exclaims. 

Ethan assumes a faux challenging tone, crossing his arms and peering down at Lilac. “Got a better idea to fix the structural conundrum we encountered?” 

She mirrors his actions, except she looks far more adorable than he ever could. “Have you tried not being awful at making gingerbread houses?” 

Angie and Jayden both giggle. 

“That didn't cross my mind, no.”

“Well, take notes Dr. Ramsey. Angie and I are about to sweep the floor with you.”

“That so?” 

“Mhmm. We plan to thoroughly obliterate your gingerbread house.”

“What does that mean? Obliate?” Angie interjects innocently. 

“It means destroy.” Jayden's tone is helpful. 

His friend looks genuinely horrified. 

“I don't want to ruin their house,” Angie protests. “I want to help Jayden fix the tape problem.”

Lilac sighs in defeat but offers Angie a kind, proud smile nevertheless. “You're the sweetest, Angie. Jayden is lucky to have a friend like you.” She throws Ethan a smirk before adding, “Besides, Dr. Ramsey already made our job easier and obliterated that poor house on his own.”

Ethan takes full advantage of the fact the children are occupied with the gingerbread ruins of their house and wraps his arms around Lilac. 

“You're competitive today.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

She turns in his arms to face him, raising herself to press a chaste kiss on his jaw. “I, in turn, love this festive Ethan Ramsey.”

A poor attempt at wrinkling his nose follows her words, but with Lilac is his arms, smiling fondly at him, he finds it difficult to feel anything but elated. 

“For my patients.”

Lilac nods once, needing no further explanation. 

“I still like seeing you in the Christmas spirit.”

“Enjoy it because it won't last.”

“Liar.”

Ethan laughs. 

“Fine. Maybe it'll last until we get home.”

Her eyes light up in a way that makes his pulse accelerate. 

“So we can finally lift the Mariah Carrey and Michael Bublé ban?” 

A genuine grimace from Ethan this time. “We're never lifting that ban. You've proven you cannot be trusted.”

“You love my singing.”

Ethan loves everything about her, terrible singing and all. 

“I love you,” he amends, kissing her knuckles and eliciting his favorite winsome smile. 

“Doctor Ramsey,” Jayden interrupts. “Doctor Lahela said the other day he's building a mansion with Connor. If that's true, maybe they'll win.”

“Doctor Lahela doesn't stand a chance,” Lilac responds confidently. “We're going to combine our houses to win this thing. Lahela and Connor won't know what hit them.”

The children cheer. 

“A common enemy. I approve,” Ethan says with a nod. 

“Let's obliate them!” Angie laughs.

____________________

Author’s Note: I wanted to get in the habit of writing again. Please bear with me as I get all these ideas out.

Also, I am actively working on the Picta series again, so I hope to have that chapter done sooner than later. Thank you to everyone for your support and patience! 

I hope everyone is safe an healthy. Love you all!

-Bree

__________________

tags: @openheart12 , @takeharryandgo , @trappedinfanfiction, @aestheticartsx, @aworldoffandoms, @paulfwesley, @myusualnerdyself,  @rookie-ramsey, @ohchoices,  @enmchoices, @i-bloody-love-drake-walker, @choicesfanaf, @openheartthot, @octobereighth, @nazarihoe, @utterlyinevitable, @kites-in-our-skies, @maurine07, @schnitzelbutterfingers, @doilooklikeiknow, @snesdudes, @kingliam2019, @perriewinklenerdie, @cinnamonspongecake, , @queencarb, @ethxnrxmsey, @missmiimiie, @jens-diamondchoices, @adamsdumortain, @apphia12, @kalogh, @lucy-268, @binny1985, @queenbirbs, @honeyandsunfl0wers, @newcolonies, @lilyvalentine, @rigatonireid, @interobanginyourmom, @parkerattano, @custaroonie, @nikki-2406, @lilypills, @chasingrobbie, @nooruleman,  @lonely-mxxnlight, @ruinedbypixels, @shadynaturehilariouscookie, @tsrookie, @mvalentine, @professorkingslay, @drakewalkerfantasy, @casey-v, @helloblueeyedcat, @mysticaurathings, @blossomanarchy, @thegreentwin, @togetherwearerapture, @rookieoh,  @rookiemarsswiftie, @natashajaniphilchoices, @mysticalgalaxysstuff, @hatescapsicum, @choices-lurker, @kiara-36, @junehiratas, @danijimenezv, @macy-ray85, @adrex04, @canigetanawwjunk, @sanchita012, @overwhelminglyaquarius , @scorpiochick8, @skylarklyon, @starrystarrytrouble, @mercury84choices, @drariellevalentine, @ethanrcmsey, @lion-ess24, @aarisa-frost,  @udishaman, @a-crepusculo, @quacksonlover, @caroldxnvxrs, @ramseyandrys, @whatchique

@varikasnuori, @dimitriwife, @genevievemd, @shanzay44, @fabi-en-ciel, @trebondialanna, @emotionalswift2, @lady-calypso, @ashiiknees, @dr-ramseys-rookie, @stygianflood

[ethrenisnotthehero]

@hogwartsmystory is a predator (final)

If you haven’t read the other parts of this callout, I encourage you to start here. As in both previous posts, the normal tags are not included in order to allow this to reach as many people as possible. Potential triggers are listed below, and the main content is hidden to keep sensitive individuals from being unintentionally exposed.

TW: Pedophilia, Abuse, Gaslighting, Sexual Assault, Self Harm, Suicide, NSFW Topics, Faked Illness, Faked Mental Illness, Faked Death, Victim Blaming

Originally, I intended to craft this final part to you, the reader, as an emotional appeal. To be wholly honest, there’s only so much evidence that can be utilized without either forcing Jill to relive unnecessary trauma or exposing deeply intimate or personal parts of her life. Until now, everything I’ve told you and everything I’ve shown you is what was enough to convince me when Jill first reached out to me. If you, the reader, don’t believe the factual information that’s been presented so far, then I don’t think that you will. If you, the reader, believe Jill and her story, then no further evidence is going to magically make her story more true.

However, I don’t have to. Instead, I can let the friends-- the family--that Ren created on his website speak for themselves, and show you with their own testimony just the kind of person he was. Jill wasn’t the only person that Ren hurt. Jill wasn’t even the only person Ren preyed on as a sexual predator. Many people on staff, and many people outside of it, knew Ren and grew to have what they thought was a close relationship with him. People regarded him as someone to look up to, to find comfort in, to aspire after, to lean on; people thought of him as a friend and a hero in his community.

On April 12, 2021, at 9:57 AM Greenwhich Mean Time, the current administrators of Advanced Scribes issued a statement addressing Ren’s actions and his faked death. An additional announcement was made the following day. While the announcements themselves and the replies (including moderator statements) are publicly available, I have saved a print-to-PDF versions on Google for you to browse at your leisure. 

I intentionally waited until the initial panic and outrage died out a little to let the most important statements come to light. Included in the PDF are sentiments that I personally thought were the most important sentiments; edits have been made and pages have been deleted, so you can see the current state of the conversations by visiting them directly. You can find the first discussion at https://advanced-scribes.com/viewtopic.php?f=13&t=42100#p1454263 and the second discussion at https://advanced-scribes.com/viewtopic.php?f=13&t=42107#p1454361.

Before you continue reading, please look over the statements and replies. The words of former staff former friends say more than I can ever hope to about Ren and the kind of reality that he stood for. Additionally, Jill herself has added to the conversation (username Rakuen), so you can read a bit from her perspective by looking into these announcements. After you’ve taken a look, continue below and I will sum up my final thoughts on this predator and his legacy.

Advanced Scribes • Our Statement (PDF)

Advanced Scribes • Change (PDF)

The Act of Grooming, Part 3: Entrapment

One of the reasons that predators get away with their crimes for so long is because they trap their victims. When they gain access to and successfully lure in their prey, they then engage in entrapment behavior to separate victims from other people and build reliance. The reason why kids are so prone to predation is because of how vulnerable they are. Young people just want to belong. They just want to have community, security, and affection. When they can’t get those things in their lives, they seek it out and take it where they can get it even when the situation is obviously bad. Kids can’t be held accountable for being smart because they’re kids. Jill was vulnerable. She wanted belonging and support. She fell into Ren’s lures, and he trapped her. He used his affection as a tool to solicit sexual favors and pictures from her, but never shared his face with her. She was always chasing his love, and all the while he was simultaneously preying on other individuals in the community. For God’s sake, this man had a selfie thread where underage girls would send pictures of themselves publicly on the site for him to look at, and he even intentionally disabled the website’s COPPA features.

Before Jill, there was Buttercup. Buttercup was also an admin, and she was also 13 when she met Ren. While Ren was a minor during he and Buttercup’s relationship, his behavior with her was just as predatory and Buttercup attempted to warn Jill via PM before she ended her relationship with him.

The picture he sent Buttercup wasn’t even him.

The entire time that Ren was convincing Jill that Buttercup was evil, and jealous, and a spiteful, hateful person, he was manipulating her the same way he was manipulating Jill. Ren is a predator who knows what he’s doing; he always has. He draws in his victims and makes everyone hate them so that he’s the only person they have. He makes them so desperate for his approval that they let him screw them over time and time again, and for what? Just to see his face. Think about what you read. He didn’t just do this to Jill and Buttercup. He did this to every person he cheated with or got close enough to get a grip on. Even if he didn’t sexually exploit someone, he emotionally did. An entire community of people suffered through this over and over and over again. Read the statements again. If you only read the live version, read the PDF. 

I also want you to bear in mind that everyone on staff was equally a victim as they were an enabler. It doesn’t erase their responsibility, but their roles in this story or more nuanced than “moderator bad, burn the witch!” Some of Ren’s supporters were as young or younger than Jill when they met him. The two people most notorious for standing at his side right now were both “rewarded” with a relationship with him in the fallout of his faked death.  

At some point, this man looked at his behavior and not only decided that he didn’t need to take responsibility, but that his victims daring to try and claim some kind of ownership over their own story was a personal affront to him. 

Ren is a monster of his own creation. He chose to be that monster again, and again, and again.

What makes his enablers equally to blame is when they became adults and made a conscious choice to ignore what was happening, which brings us to the next topic.

Finally... How Old Was Jill?

Despite everything I’ve said and shared so far, I still get this question in my inbox.

How old was Jill? Did she lie about her age? Is she free of guilt because she was a kid? Did he know how old she was? Was she legal in her country?

I gave you all everything I had. There were some things I just couldn’t confirm because there was no proof either way. However, all of that changed when the announcements were released. I now know exactly how old Jill was when they began dating, exactly how old she was when people knew about their relationship, and even that Ren was public with all of this information. I also know that staff knew everything, and chose to do nothing.

As you can see in the screenshots above of Buttercup’s message, it was sent on Jun 17, 2015. At that time, Jill was 14 years old. By Buttercup’s estimation, they had been dating for around a few months, which is how I was able to discern the previous exact age of 14 years old at the time they began dating.

However, Ren himself refutes that fact in a Valentine’s post for Jill. As pointed out in the “Our Statement” thread, the post that user amnesia. references includes very sexual and disgustingly graphic descriptions of Ren’s activity with her. It also says this:

As per the timestamp of this particular post (as seen below), Jill was 16 at the time. Ren, a man claiming to be twenty-five years old at the time, was proud to admit that he had been with Jill since she was 13.

You can view the full PDF of this post to see what else he said here, but please be warned that his descriptions are NSFW and absolutely disgusting. 

Warm Fuzzies Post (PDF)

No adult should talk about a kid like that. In the statements, several staff members admit that they knew that the two were dating when she was 16, and that it grossed them out. But none of them did anything. To amnesia.’s credit, they claim they tried to pursue legal action but found no viable routes. 

From the discussions and statements, we can discern five things:

1. Jill was 13 when she started dating Ren. 2. She did not lie about her age. 3. Ren did not lie about her age. 4. Ren knew how old she was. 5. Staff knew how old she was.

Jill’s feelings and her opinions on staff and their behavior are separate from my own. She does not share my beliefs here, and I need to make it very clear that what I’m saying next is entirely my own opinion.

To everyone who was staff at that time: shame on you. It’s one thing to be a victim yourself and to not understand how or when to stand up for what’s right, especially when you’re young; it’s another to become an adult and to have let something like this permeate your legacy and your community for all this time. From what I understand, none of you are completely innocent in this. Ren wasn’t secret, he was loud and proud and he didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. Everyone who was an adult then and is an adult now shares some responsibility for that. Those of you who mean your apologies, thank you, but those of you who are using this event as a stepping stone to make that website into your own personal playground know who you are. Stop. There’s an entire generation of kids between AS and CS who have lost years of their childhoods to this shit and the only right thing at this point would be to turn the site over to the police so that Ren can answer for his crimes the right way.

To everyone else: protect the people around you. People like Ren don’t think about how other people think or feel. They don’t care who gets hurt or who they trample under their feet. Look around at your community, and ask yourself if those who interact with you know that you are safe. Inevitably, someone is going to get hurt. Are you the kind of person that they can come to when it happens, or are you the kind of person who will turn your head away? 

Be the person that everyone knows they can come to, because, eventually, someone’s going to need you.

[baidar-oroq]

Ktisis Hyperboreia (Fashion Statement)

(In which Baidar Oroq makes a fashion statement in Ktisis Hyperboreia and gives an answer to a very important question.)

Baidar: And we're back!

Hythlodaeus: Will we be resolving the question of whether or not you want to kiss Venat oh my goodness what are you wearing?

Venat: I will ask him once we are finished. Along with another question I still have.

Emet: I hate each one of you with every fiber of my being.

Venat: Baidar, what are you wearing?

Baidar: Ah. Maid's dress. It's a very long story. I just felt like making a fashion statement today. In hindsight, it was not my best idea.

Venat: It does have certain...appeals, admittedly. A definite charm.

Baidar: It got a bit drafty jumping around on those platforms in the air.

Venat: I'd like to point out that you jumped before I did, so I am aware of said draft.

Baidar: Okay this was a really bad idea.

Venat: It was an amusing idea, Baidar. If nothing else you added one more line to Emet-Selch's forehead. Now, about that question...

Baidar: Hold that thought.

Hythlodaeus: Oh, dear, this concept of yours...it seems somewhat more specialized than robes, with a certain flair. I could easily get this approved as a concept if you wish?

Baidar: I thought you did animal concepts.

Hythlodaeus: I can make exceptions. I'd also like to apologize for the awkward position I've put you in regarding Venat and-

Baidar: I didn't need the help. I specialize in this sort of thing.

Emet: Get over here, now, Oroq.

Baidar: Going to threaten to send me back to a dungeon in my time again?

Emet-Selch: No. I wish to say that however you intend to resolve this tedious "kissing" question Venat has for you, do it now so we can proceed to far more important and pressing matters!

Baidar: Would rather be sent to Tower of Zot, thanks.

Emet-Selch: And I would like to point out to you the fact that she has not summarily dismissed the notion before you even give an answer augurs far better for you than you believe it does.

Baidar: Right. After this is done, just drive a nail in my forehead, it'll be less painful.

Baidar: Of course I want to kiss you. Sorry.

Venat: Why would you apologize for something I am willing to allow you to do?

Baidar: (after half a minute): ...what?

Hythlodaeus: Oh dear I think you broke him. He's truly a delight!

[(more fun (?) in Ktisis Hyperboreia: 1) 2) 3) 4) 5)]

(Yeah this one started as being fun and something happened along the way. I REGRET NOTHING. And yes, that this happened with Baidar in a maid outfit slays me! And the fact that Emet was the one to give him something resembling hope just felt right.)

[ibijau]

*chanting* sangxuan, sangxuan! because I’ve been reminded that I love that ship, have a continuation of that fic where jzx is a very repressed bi with a huge ass crush on nhs

It takes Nie Mingjue about a week to realise that there's something wrong with Nie Huaisang. The first day or two, he blames it on the shock it must be for his brother to have finally graduated from Lan Qiren's classes, and with unexpectedly high grades at that. That success must have given Nie Huaisang one of his sudden short bursts of motivation, and that's why he's suddenly attending sabre practice with the other disciple, and showing up on time for lessons. Those bursts are usually short lived, in Nie Mingjue's experience. Where the sabre is concerned, five consecutive days of hard work is his brother's record.

So on day eight, when Nie Huaisang is still showing up dutifully, still trying his best to get the movements right, Nie Mingjue becomes concerned. When the lesson is over, he asks his brother to follow him to his office so Nie Huaisang can learn how to help with something, as befits a young master of a prominent sect. Normally, this is the time of the day where Nie Huaisang likes to take time to play with his birds, something he's always particularly enthusiastic about right after returning from Gusu. But this time he follows Nie Mingjue with only the briefest of hesitations.

Slowly going from merely concerned to actively worried, Nie Mingjue decides to see how far he can push this before his brother starts acting like himself again. He gives Nie Huaisang a pile of letters to be sorted through by order of importance according to a number of criteria such as the nature of the problem, the rank of the writer, and their physical location. Night Hunting doesn't interest Nie Huaisang, so it is always a bother for him to think about creatures and remember how dangerous any of them might be. He also can't see the point of keeping track of whether a duke or a magistrate is supposed to be given more consideration. As for geography, Nie Huaisang could get lost inside his own bedroom.

And yet aside from a deep, heartfelt sigh upon being given that task, Nie Huaisang doesn't show any reaction. He just picks a chair, makes some space for himself on the side of his brother's desk, and gets to work. Nie Mingjue sits down as well, ostensibly to check some bills, but most of his attention is on his brother who is never this obedient and helpful.

“Alright, what have you done this time?” Nie Mingjue asks after a while.

Looking up from the letter he's studying, Nie Huaisang stares at him with confusion written all over his face. He could pass as perfectly innocent if Nie Mingjue didn't know him better than that.

“Did you get in trouble in Gusu before leaving?” he insists. “Or on the way home?”

“Why would you think I got in trouble?” Nie Huaisang gasps, the very picture of wounded virtue. Nie Mingjue only has to gesture at the pile of letters for his brother to drop the act. “Oh, that. Well. I've decided that I need to become a better person. I can't keep wasting my youth in frivolous pursuits. The young master of a sect must be proficient in martial arts, in cultivation, and know about running an estate. Isn't that what you're always telling me?”

“And you're never listening.”

Nie Huaisang grimaces slightly at the accusation, but nods.

“I have not always been all that I ought to be,” he sighs, rather dramatically. “But I am a changed man.”

“I'm not sure that you can call yourself a man when you're not even eighteen,”

“A changed person,” Nie Huaisang corrects without missing a beat, glaring at his brother. “I need to improve my public image, or else I'll never get to marry.”

Just like that, Nie Mingjue relaxes. Out of every reasons Nie Huaisang might have had to straighten his act, this is the least worrying one. He's the right age to start thinking about that sort of things after all, and he's apparently made a lot of friends this past year in Gusu.

“Do you have someone specific in mind?” Nie Mingjue asks, trying his best to hide his amusement.

“Maybe I do,” Nie Huaisang grumbles after just a moment of hesitation.

“Boy, girl?”

“Does it really matter? You'll let me have however I want, right?”

There's a surprising note of worry to Nie Huaisang's voice, which Nie Mingjue doesn't like in the least.

“I just ask because it'll take more work to convince the parents of your beloved if it's a boy,” he clarifies, and yet his brother doesn't relax at all. If anything, Nie Huaisang starts frowning and bites his lip. “So it's a boy, and the family is stupid about these things,” Nie Mingjue guesses.

Nie Huaisang sighs and flops over the desk, ruining his careful work with the letters.

“It's hopeless, his parents are stupid!”

“Don't badmouth your future in-laws, Huaisang.”

“It's fine, you'll agree with me when you know who it is, and how much they've messed him up.”

That's a worrying statement, but for now Nie Mingjue decides to treat it as a secondary problem. It's hardly the first time Huaisang develops a crush on someone. When he was eight, he wanted to marry Lan Xichen for a few weeks. At thirteen, he threatened to court Wen Qing who he'd seen once at a conference and to run off with her. Nie Huaisang is older and (allegedly) more mature now, but Nie Mingjue prefers to check how serious this is before calculating an auspicious date.

“Well, tell me about him then,” Nie Mingjue demands. “What unlucky bastard caught your eye this time?”

“Bastard no, definitely not,” Nie Huaisang snorts. “Unlucky... yeah. He's... well, first of all, he's handsome.”

“Goes without saying. You're too vain to settle for someone less than stunning.”

Nie Huaisang sticks out his tongue and sits back up so he can slap his brother's arm.

“Rude, very rude. Anyway, he's the most gorgeous person in the world, especially when he laughs. But he sadly doesn't laugh a lot. He's been trained out of it, I think.”

For a brief moment, Nie Mingjue wonders if his brother is in love with Lan Wangji... but no, Nie Huaisang wouldn't dare to call Lan Qiren stupid.

“He's also pretty nice, when you know him,” Nie Huaisang continues, smiling to himself. “He complains a lot, but he'd offer to study with me and he'd really try to help me. And he's serious and righteous. No matter how many times I offered to let him cheat on tests, he'd always refuse because he wanted to succeed through his own work.”

“You set the bar so low,” Nie Mingjue comments, though at least now he knows how his brother got such good grades. It's almost reassuring, in a twisted way. “Doesn't cheat on tests, somewhat nice to you... I'm not really sold on this.”

“I am,” Nie Huaisang retorts, his smile growing a little warmer. “When he looks at me, it's like he's looking at the moon and wondering how he could ever reach it. Like I'm the most incredible person in his life.”

That does sound like something that would appeal to Nie Huaisang's vanity, though Nie Mingjue wouldn't quite call it enough to get married.

“And what do you see when you look at him?”

For a moment, Nie Huaisang falls silent, his expression turning serious. Nie Mingjue is half getting scared that he's made his brother realise how shallow his feelings are, when Nie Huaisang speaks again.

“I see someone I want to make happy and to protect from everything bad,” he announces, a deep frown on his brow. “I see someone who has been hurt, and it makes me hurt as well, because he's so wonderful, and the people who hurt him are the ones who should have protected him, and it makes me so angry that something like that happened to him. I just... I just want to take him away from everyone who's ever made him feel bad about himself, and bring him somewhere safe, and hold him in my arms until he's never afraid again of what others will say about him. Is that... Is that weird?”

Coming from any other Nie, it would be normal, Nie Mingjue thinks. Their family tends to have a protective streak, even toward people who don't quite need it. It's a little odd to hear this coming from Nie Huaisang, but he is a Nie too, so it shouldn't be a surprise that he loves like one.

“So I'm guessing you want for him to marry into the family, rather than you joining theirs?” Nie Mingjue asks.

To his surprise, Nie Huaisang shakes his head.

“Won't work, his parents won't allow it. Damn, they won't be happy with it even like this. But it's... da-ge, I think I'm really in love with him,” Nie Huaisang sighs, blushing at his own confession. “I didn't mean too, it was supposed to just be a game, but I really love him. If there's got to be someone, I want it to be him.”

“Then you'll have him,” Nie Mingjue promises, like it's an evidence.

To him, it is. Their sect doesn't bother playing the game of alliances through marriages that others do. They're a little more like the Lan in that respect, even if they're not quite as ostentatious about it, and they don't bat an eye at second or even third marriages. So if Nie Huaisang has decided he wants this person, enough so that he's willing to put in effort to improve himself for over an entire week, Nie Mingjue will help him. He is weak to his brother's whims, and even weaker to his rare moments of determination.

“You don't even know who it is,” Nie Huaisang protests. “You have no idea how difficult it'll be... I really might have to run away with him and become a rogue cultivator with him, because his parents are so damn stupid! And also, I'm not sure you'd actually approve if you knew...”

“Is it one of Wen Ruohan's sons?”

The immediate grimace of disgust and betrayal on Nie Huaisang's face make it hard not to laugh.

“I told you he's handsome!” Nie Huaisang gasps. “I have taste, da-ge!”

“Aside from these two, you can marry whoever you like,” Nie Mingjue retorts. “Even other Wens if that's what you want,” he generously adds, knowing full well that there were none in Gusu, and so it's unlikely that his brother's beloved is from the sect that killed their father. Even if he were though, Nie Mingjue would do what's needed to make his brother happy, trusting him to find the one person from that sect who would have any value as a person.

Nie Huaisang is less than impressed by that statement.

“You promise?”

Maybe it really is a Wen, Nie Mingjue wonders. If so, it's too late to back off.

“I promise. Any person you want, any sect, if you say it's a decent person, if that's who you want to spend your life with, I'll do what it takes.”

“I'll hold you to that,” Nie Huaisang threatens with a cheerful smile. “I want to marry Jin Zixuan.”

Nie Mingjue stares at his brother, refusing to believe he's heard that correctly... but no, Nie Huaisang is grinning like he pulled the con of the century, that manipulative little shit. He did, in a way. However much Nie Mingjue hates Wen Ruohan and dreams of slaughtering him, at least that's someone he can somewhat respect. Jin Guangshan, on the other hand...

Nie Mingjue shivers in disgust.

Maybe a Wen would have been better after all.

[whenisitenoughtrees]

Congrats on 500 followers!!!!! Your writing is amazing and you totally deserve it! Would you be able to do “Can you please stop biting your lip…it’s distracting.” for analogical? If you don’t get inspo for it that’s totally fine I’m just on a total analogical kick recently lol

@wisherbystarlight thank you!! i absolutely love analogical so here you go

Title: abject impermanence

Word Count: 3,570

Content Warnings: implied suicidal ideation (in reference to virgil ducking out), negative self image

(fic masterpost)

Virgil would rather die than admit this to anybody, but he develops a crush on Logan after their first debate.

It’s ridiculous, and bothersome, and stupidly humiliating, and he has to spend a few days in his room before he feels prepared enough to face anyone again, prepared enough to put up his usual walls and throw around his usual sarcastic comments, and all the while, his heart is beating far too fast, his mind racing, insisting that he’s being obvious, that everyone knows.

(That is what being Anxiety means: he is under a microscope all the time, his every movement watched and analyzed and derided, alone in a crowd of people who wish him nothing but ill.)

It’s awful, really. Is he truly so pathetic that the first time someone treats him like his opinions are valid, he falls head over heels for them? Because he has to admit, that’s the root of all of this. The debate, and the fact that even though Logan didn’t agree with him, he still treated him with respect, like he was someone worth listening to, and none of the light sides have ever acted like that before.

And they’ve certainly never told him that they don’t mind his company.

So. He has a crush on Logan. And it takes him a few weeks to calm down enough to really think about it, but when he does, he decides that nothing has to change. It’s not like he’ll ever work up the courage to act on these feelings

(because holy shit, how badly would that go? He can picture it now: Logan sneering at him, Logan rejecting him, Logan informing him that he would never in a million years have feelings for someone so irrational and useless, and while Virgil is at it, would he kindly remove himself from his presence and never come back and— well. Maybe Virgil is irrational, but he can’t bring himself to risk something like that)

so the only thing to do with them is pretend they’re not there, right? He’ll keep all of his emotions right here, in his chest, and then one day, he’ll die, and no one else has to know a thing about it.

He doesn’t see what could possibly go wrong with this plan. Which is odd for him because usually, he can only see the things that could go wrong. But the only factor in this plan is him, and his own ability to disguise his feelings, and he’s been successfully doing that for a very long time.

(After all, it’s been years, and none of the others have managed to figure out how much their rejection hurts him, how deeply it strikes at the heart he pretends not to have.)

But he doesn’t anticipate things changing. He doesn’t anticipate trying to duck out, at least, not until the moments in between making the decision and actually going through with it, and he doesn’t anticipate anybody coming after him. He certainly doesn’t anticipate their reactions, doesn’t anticipate being told that he’s important,

(because since fucking when?)

and doesn’t anticipate their acceptance.

He doesn’t anticipate telling them his name.

And alright, maybe he could deal with all of this. Maybe he could ease his way into being one of them, edge his way into their inner circle. It’s something he once would have thought impossible, but now, they seem determined to make him one of them, to bring him into their family, and even though part of him wonders whether they’re just trying to make sure he doesn’t duck out again, doesn’t hurt Thomas, a larger part of him is ecstatic about the fact that they’re including him at all. Maybe he can let himself have this, for once.

But that night, Logan comes to his room.

“Do you have a moment to talk?” he asks, and reluctantly, Virgil takes off his headphones.

Because, yes. Of course. He’s hardly busy, and even if he were, he’s certain he’d figure out a way to put it aside in favor of Logan, because really, he’s helpless to do anything else.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, aiming for casual. He thinks he makes it, if only because he is very practiced in hiding how much of a mess he is internally. “What’s up?”

Logan looks uncomfortable, a bit shifty, even though he hasn’t been in his room nearly long enough for its effects to take hold.

“I merely wanted to check in with you after today’s events,” he says, and then pauses, biting his lip, something that Virgil finds incredibly distracting. “Specifically, to ensure that you are alright.”

He blinks. “Of course I’m alright,” he says. “Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

“Well, I was considering everything that happened, and it occurred to me that we glossed over precisely what ‘ducking out’ would have done to you in the long term.” In an oddly vehement motion, Logan shoves his glasses further up his nose. And Virgil knows very well that as the embodiment of Logic, Logan tries not to display his stronger emotions, but right now, he is the perfect picture of distress. “I find it likely that if Thomas had been unable to utilize you for an extended amount of time, you may have… disappeared, for lack of a better word, not unlike a muscle that atrophies after disuse.”

Well, yes. He knew what he was risking. But he’d felt low enough that he didn’t particularly care about himself.

He was just tired of hurting Thomas.

(And maybe, just maybe, if there was a part of him, small and insidious in the back of his brain, that found the prospect of nothingness appealing, he’ll keep that to himself.)

“I mean, yeah,” he says. “But that didn’t happen. You guys came and got me, and I’m okay now. Not gonna do anything like that again, I swear.”

“That’s not my point,” Logan says, even more upset entering his voice. He crosses his arms, holding his shoulders tensely. “No matter how illogical it might seem, I find myself wondering what might have happened had we not attempted to reach you in time, and the idea is… displeasing.”

Oh.

Despite himself, Virgil’s heart flutters.

“So, I arrived at the conclusion that assuring myself of your continued well-being would help to assuage my concern.” Logan fidgets. “As well as the fact that… I want you to be alright. For yourself, and not just because I am…”

“Anxious?” Virgil can’t resist finishing, even as he feels his face flushing underneath his foundation. God, he hopes Logan doesn’t pick up on that. He shouldn’t be reacting this strongly to something as simple as basic worry, especially after the day they all had, but to know that Logan has been thinking about him? That Logan doesn’t like the idea of him not being around, doesn’t want him to vanish?

That Logan cares enough to come check on him like this?

It’s a strong, heady feeling, and Virgil has the sneaking suspicion that his crush has just upgraded itself.

“Yes,” Logan answers, and he seems a bit embarrassed, but he holds his ground, staring Virgil straight (gay) in the eyes. The direct eye contact is intense, almost too much for him to handle, but Virgil finds himself unable to look away.

“Well, uh, I appreciate it, I guess,” he manages. “Really, it’s nice to know that you care.”

“Of course,” Logan says, and seems almost indignant at the idea that he might not. “I value our discussions,” he adds, and Virgil has to pretend that that statement doesn’t almost give him a heart attack.

But that is mostly the end of that conversation, because really, neither of them is very good with touchy-feely emotions. Logan sinks back out shortly after, and Virgil is left alone in his room, his headphones lying uselessly on his lap as his mind reviews their exchange over and over again, searching for all the places where it might have gone wrong, or where he might have messed up. He can’t really find any, and that is a realization in and of itself, almost enough to distract him from the bigger one, the one that looms over him.

It’s not just a crush anymore. He could try to deny it, but he thinks that would summon unwanted attention. So he accepts it, accepts that he is… he’d say infatuated, but infatuated isn’t the right word. Infatuated doesn’t even begin to cover what he feels when he looks at Logan, doesn’t cover the way his heart races and his words trip over themselves and the way he longs for his approval. It doesn’t cover the way he knows so many little details about him, like the way Logan pushes at his glasses or fiddles with his tie when he’s nervous or upset, or the exact way his lips curl around the edges when he’s pleased and trying not to show it. So many little details, none of which would be on his radar at all if he wasn’t—

Well. He won’t deny it. But he doesn’t particularly see the need to voice it, either.

After all, it’s not like it changes anything. Or at least, it shouldn’t. He wasn’t planning on sharing his feelings when they were a simple crush, and he’s certainly not going to share them now that there’s more.

Except, nothing is ever that simple,

(Nothing ever can be, with him. It’s what he does best, turning easy things into overcomplicated messes because he can’t let go of all the what ifs—)

because suddenly, he’s welcome to spend time with the others. Is welcome at their table, is welcome in the commons, is welcome to join their movie nights and their game nights, and most of the time, he even feels mostly okay with doing so, because Patton is enthusiastic in his invitations, and he can tell that even Roman is honestly trying. And sometimes, it makes him want to cry, because this is all he’s ever wanted, to be one of them, and now he can and it’s almost too much.

The only problem with that is that he’s spending a lot more time around Logan.

Which is fine. Great, even.

Except, sometimes, Logan will do things. Little things, inconsequential things, but things that remind Virgil all too clearly of the feelings he keeps nestled under his heart.

For instance, Logan bites his lip a lot. When he’s working, when he’s watching movies, when he’s listening to the others, and sometimes for no reason at all. It’s a stupid thing to get caught up on, but he can’t help himself. And it’s not as if Virgil’s attraction to him begins or ends with the physical, but—

Whenever he does it, Virgil can’t stop his eyes from zeroing in on his lips. Can’t stop himself from thinking about how much he would like to kiss him.

He would like to kiss him a whole lot. And he’s fairly sure he’s being pretty obvious about it, but he can’t bring himself to stop.

So, really, he should have prepared himself for the possibility of being found out. Under any other circumstance, he would have, but there’s a saying, he thinks, about love and fools.

“Can I help you with something?” Logan says, and Virgil flinches violently, the rest of the world coming back into focus. He snaps his gaze up to meet Logan’s eyes, and the expression on his face might be amusement, maybe, but it could also be annoyance, and in fact, it’s probably definitely annoyance, because actually Logan is annoyed with Virgil and maybe even angry and now their budding friendship is completely ruined and all because Virgil doesn’t know better than to stare when he really shouldn’t be staring and—

No, stop. Stop. He’s not going to do that, not right now. He wrests his thoughts back under control with an effort.

Logan was working, typing away on his laptop, biting his lip as he concentrated. And Virgil just so happened to be out in the commons as well, in the perfect position to watch him and daydream, just a bit.

He needs to reply. He’s left it too long, and Logan’s eyebrows are inching up his face as he awaits a response. And the longer he takes to come up with something, the more suspicious Logan will be, so he should just shrug, mutter a denial, and pointedly turn his attention away. Something like that.

But it’s his job to make snap decisions under pressure. And sometimes those decisions aren’t the right ones.

So instead of taking another second to think things through and deflect Logan’s interest, his mouth opens ahead of his brain and says, “Can you please stop biting your lip?”

Logan stares. Virgil feels himself wilting.

“… It’s distracting,” he finishes weakly, and prays for the ground to swallow him whole. He can’t even manage to sink out

(because his mind is screaming at him now, screaming horrified recriminations, screaming all of the worst case scenarios, and it’s taking all of his concentration to breathe properly, much less get out of here)

because the sheer force of his embarrassment is leaving him paralyzed, curled up in his chair and with nowhere to go, nowhere to escape Logan’s widening eyes.

“Is it now,” Logan says, and he doesn’t sound particularly angry, but Virgil could very easily be wrong. Or, he could be angry and trying to hide it. Or maybe he’s not angry, but irritation would probably be just as bad, at this point.

“Sorry,” he mutters, hunching in on himself. “Nevermind, forget I said anything.”

“Virgil, you’re magnifying,” Logan says softly, and that softness is worse than any anger could be, because what if he’s figured it out? What if he pities him? Virgil would take just about anything over pity. “Whatever you think you just said, I assure you that it didn’t come off nearly as badly as you seem to believe.” He pauses, tilting his head. “Though, I can’t say I’m certain of what you meant, considering—”

He cuts off suddenly, and Virgil can practically see the cogs turning in his head. He should leave now, leave before Logan draws his conclusions, but he is frozen, powerless to do anything but let this train wreck happen in real time.

“I wouldn’t ordinarily consider biting my lip to be a disruptive habit,” Logan says slowly. “It makes no noise and does no one any harm, and it’s not something I would think affects anyone else. But you were staring, which means there is something about the habit that draws your attention. I can only think of a few reasons for that.”

He takes it back. Pity would be far better than this, than this slow and measured reasoning, drawing out all of Virgil’s best-kept secrets, spiraling toward a conclusion that he never wanted anyone to know, much less Logan himself.

Perhaps that is why he says what he says. Because with this, Logan is only prolonging the inevitable, and it’s torture.

It’s like a band-aid. The biggest band-aid ever, maybe, covering one of the worst wounds of his life, but a band-aid. And it’s coming off one way or another, so he might as well rip it off now and brace himself for the sting.

“Oh my god,” he says. “It makes me want to kiss you. That’s why it’s distracting. And I’m just gonna go die in a hole now, if that’s alright.”

His face is burning, mortification rising up in him like a tidal wave, threatening to swamp him. This is, possibly, the worst thing that has ever happened to him, ever.

(It’s not, of course, because anything and everything is better than it was before he was accepted, when he was on his own and so lonely and bitter all the time. But this comes close, he thinks. It’s a different kind of hurt altogether, but a hurt nonetheless.)

Logan sets his laptop down, giving him his full attention. For a moment, he is completely silent, and Virgil prepares himself to stand and sink out and into his room, where he will spend the next few weeks huddled under the covers on his bed with his headphones on blast, hating his life and himself for being such an idiot, because here he is, ruining one of the best friendships that he has ever known, and for what? Because he was too much of a moron to keep himself from staring, from forcing his unwanted attentions upon the one side who was more likely than any of the others to notice what he was doing? It’s pathetic, and stupid, and he knows it, and Logan knows it, and—

“I don’t see why you need to do that,” Logan says. His voice shakes, just slightly. “You could kiss me, if you wanted.”

Virgil stills. He can’t have heard that right.

Logan clears his throat. “That is to say, I would enjoy it, if you kissed me. If I’d realized you were interested, I would have broached the topic sooner.”

Hysterical laughter threatens to escape him, his brain dissolving into static, because what? And he knows he needs to say something, needs to respond, but his vocal cords refuse to work, so he’s left sitting there, staring, stricken dumb.

Logan glances away, something like uncertainty crossing his face. “I apologize,” he murmurs. “I’m not doing this right, am I?”

And that is what finally spurs Virgil to action, because Logan sounds so terribly dejected, and that is absolutely not allowed. Not when it’s Virgil that’s made such a mess of things, when none of it is Logan’s fault at all.

“Do you mean it?” he croaks.

Logan blinks, his expression clearing, and then landing on comprehension. His face softens, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he stands, crossing the floor and kneeling in front of where Virgil sits.

“Of course I do,” he says, and then reaches out with one hand, cupping Virgil’s cheek. Virgil’s breath catches, the contact shooting lightning across his face and down his spine. His heart starts beating faster, and he doesn’t know whether it’s fear or anticipation or some mixture of the two. Most of him still hasn’t processed that this is happening, hasn’t made the jump from Logan can never know about my feelings because he’ll reject me and then I’ll have no choice but to jump off a cliff to Logan knows about my feelings and he is doing the exact opposite of rejecting me hoooooly shit what do I do—

“I think about you often,” Logan says. “Ever since our first debate, if I’m being completely honest.”

Virgil blinks.

The laugh escapes him, then, but there’s not much hysteria in it. It’s something warm, now, something bright and colorful and blooming as he realizes just how much of an idiot he’s been, as his anxiety slowly begins to fade away,

(not completely, never completely, because he is who he is and that will never change, and his mind is already looking to the future, at all the fresh new opportunities he is going to have to screw this up, but for now, in this moment, he has Logan here in front of him, offering to kiss him, telling him that his feelings aren’t as one-sided as he convinced himself they had to be, and it’s very difficult to be negative at all, in the face of such a beautiful thing as this, as him)

morphing into something that he is tentatively willing to call hope.

“Yeah?” he says. “Me too.”

Before he can lose his nerve, he shifts position, leans down, and kisses Logan. Lightly, briefly, and it’s really more of a peck than anything else, but in the split second in which their lips meet, Virgil can feel just how soft Logan’s are, and when he pulls back, anxiously searching for a reaction, Logan’s cheeks are dusted with red.

“Yes, um,” Logan says. “That was… good. Would you like to do it again?”

A wave of fondness washes over him, and he lets it drag him away.

“You dork,” he says, and pecks him on the lips again. He doesn’t yet have to courage to try for more, but he thinks that might come with time. If he is allowed time, if he is allowed this, and he is not prone to optimism, but for once, he might be willing to give it a go.

Optimism, and whatever this is, new and exciting and budding between them. And there is a part of his mind that is screaming at him, insisting that he’s only going to hurt Logan or get hurt himself, and that no brief happiness could ever be worth that, but—

Logan’s lips are gentle and soft, and Logan is smiling at him, and that, he thinks, might be worth the world.

(“I would be extremely displeased if you died in a hole,” Logan informs him a bit later. “Please refrain from doing so.”

He agrees, if only because of that fact that if he died in a hole, he would never get to kiss Logan ever again. And now that he’s started, he doesn’t ever want to stop.

He is not one to believe in permanence. Or in happy endings. But just this once, he’ll try it, and trust that Logan will catch him if he falls.)

General Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii @severelylackinginquality @aceawkwardunicorn @gayerplease @elizabutgayer @dwbh888 @thatoneloudowl @sanderssides-angst @gayboopnoodle @wildfire5157 @a-ghostlight-for-roman @ldavmp4

[deborahdeshoftim5779]

BBC Merlin 4x05: His Father’s Son

Here's a round-up of my main observations from BBC Merlin's "His Father's Son" (4x05).

1- MERLIN AS A KNIGHT 

I have to admit that Merlin as a sorcerer and trusted adviser appeals to me the most, but I did write a lengthy post analysing how Arthur had turned Merlin into an excellent fighter. This refutes claims that Merlin gave more to Arthur than he received in return. 

At the beginning of 4x05, we see Merlin selected to play a new role: that of knight. How did this come about? Arthur Pendragon is best known for his skills as a warrior, but he deserves more credit for his military tactics. These destroy the popular yet false idea that he is unintelligent. More on the latter in a forthcoming post.  

One of Arthur’s favourite tactics is using decoys. Previous examples of him using decoys include: The Castle of Fyrien (3x07), when Arthur used Merlin as a decoy to entrap Cenred’s soldiers; Aithusa (4x04), when Arthur used himself as a decoy to get Sir Percival to safety; Arthur’s Bane Part 2 (5x02), when Arthur uses Merlin as a decoy to enrage the slave traders before they escape-- by far my favourite example. 

All things considered, I don’t think it takes long for Arthur to choose Merlin. Furthermore, this decision may have taken place before they reached their selected location, as Agravaine later mentions a previous attack by Caerleon on the border. This choice demonstrates that Arthur has higher confidence in Merlin's abilities than he does of in his knights-- else he would have chosen them. We must conclude that Merlin is Arthur's best fighter, though at first glance, we wonder why an unarmed man follows trained knights into battle. 

Merlin is sharp, fast, has high stamina, and is incredibly resourceful. Most of all, however, he is incredibly brave. In fact, when rewatching 1x02, I was surprised to see Arthur acknowledge that Merlin was "braver than you look." This despite Arthur’s frustration that Merlin did not try hard enough during practice ("Come on, Merlin: I've got a tournament to win!"). 

What’s more, in that same episode, Merlin complains about his first day, but later on, we see his fascination wth the ongoing tournament. Then he admitted to Gaius that working for Arthur (in the context of said tournament) "isn't totally horrible all the time." It took one day for him to change his opinion! 

Sure, Merlin would continue to treat the fighting as pointless violence, and Arthur as having nothing more in his head than a desire to knock "the seven bells" out of other people (3x04). However, even in 1x02, when he applauds Arthur's fighting, his actions tell a different story. We associate this habit of liking something whilst pretending otherwise to Arthur, yet Merlin has it as well. 

As I have said before, Merlin and Arthur have profound differences, yet are profoundly alike. 

2- MERLIN AS A SERVANT 

It comes as no surprise that Merlin would return to serving after the beginning of 4x05. However, what that change represents sets the tone for this entire episode: Arthur dismissing Merlin's counsel repeatedly in favour of listening to his uncle. 

When Arthur says, "so please, stick to what you do know," you have to wonder whether Merlin remembered being entrusted with the role of knight. Now, Arthur puts him back in his place. 

Here's another example: "My conscience is clean, which is more than I can say for my room, so just... do your job, will you?" Yet just yesterday, that job involved Merlin risking his life against enemy forces by dressing as a knight. 

By the way, you can tell that Arthur doesn’t believe his own excuses, because he keeps using the passive voice to justify killing Caerleon: “...a show of strength was necessary… an example had to be made… My conscience is clean…” 

Merlin’s face after Arthur claims he doesn’t need anyone is self-explanatory. 

3- NEW THOUGHTS ON ANNIS

Is Queen Annis a good person? Actually, no. 

First of all, she knows and approves of her husband invading foreign kingdoms to plunder their wealth. Such invasions naturally cost not only the lives of Arthur's men, but her own, too. 

Furthermore, despite accepting Arthur's offer of a fight by single combat, she is prepared to cheat by enlisting Morgana's power. Perhaps if Arthur had died, too, she would have felt some remorse. Yet she still takes a monumental risk with Arthur's life in blatant violation of the knight's code. One has to wonder about her reaction had Camelot plotted against her armies in the same way. 

Then we have Annis calmly ordering Merlin’s execution without giving him a chance to explain himself. The lack of emotion in her voice suggests she has done this before. 

Speaking of cruelty, Annis’ champion seems to enjoy inflicting pain on his enemies, yet the Queen claims that he “served my husband well.” I dread to think what she means by “served”. 

I will also note that Queen Annis disdains magic, referring to Morgana as “witch”. As I have said before, Uther did not begin prejudice against magic; sorcerers were disliked and feared elsewhere, too, including by those who disliked Uther. Many sorcerers caused this prejudice by engaging in manipulative, violent, and wicked deeds. 

Examples include High Priestesses using Fomorrohs to enslave people’s minds (4x06); Cornelius Sigan using his power to change day into night and acquire vast wealth (2x01); sorcerers using special blades to murder people (3x04), and so on.

None of this takes away from Annis’ complexity, nor does it undermine her immense humility when she accepts defeat and withdraws from Camelot. After all, much of Annis' rage and desire for vengeance stems from intense grief over Caerleon's death, so we can assume her marriage was a happy one. 

Forgiving the man who destroyed her domestic happiness (as well as leaving her people without a king) shows tremendous nobility on Annis’ part. I think Arthur sees that, for he is always humble and respectful before her. 

4- LONG LIVE THE KING 

Few people respect Arthur more than Merlin. So when he doesn’t join in with cries of “Long live the king!”, you know something is wrong. 

5- CONTROL YOUR FEAR 

Episode 4x03 has a hilarious scene where a drunk Arthur claims he isn’t even a little bit scared, because, “I’m a warrior. You learn to control your fear.” Then Arthur walks smack bang into a pillar. Never fails to make me laugh. Minus the drunkenness, Arthur was telling the truth about controlling his fear.

You can see this at least twice in this episode: first, when he sees how many men Annis has brought against Camelot, and secondly, when he sees the size of Annis’ giant. In both cases, Arthur harnesses his fear into determination, which is another sign of a great warrior. 

Next up, we have a fascinating scene where Arthur watches his men joking by the fire. It's a great way of showing Arthur’s care for these men, as well as his guilt that impending war will end their lives. In a sense, Arthur has to control his fear yet again. 

6- TRUST IN MERLIN 

After the above scene, Gwaine asks Merlin if Arthur is all right, and the fact that Merlin can describe Arthur's feelings without even questioning the King once again shows the unique nature of their friendship. Merlin sees Arthur's expression, and he just knows. And Gwaine knows that, hence why he does not question the King himself. 

Listen to the silence after Merlin's response. Nobody questions Merlin's judgement: they just reflect. Given the way Arthur has repeatedly dismissed Merlin's advance in favour of his uncle, I think he could have learned something from his own knights. 

I wonder whether the knights would ask Merlin something about Arthur in this way, whenever the king was absent. In ancient kingdoms, kings had advisers, and in order to earn the monarch's favour, you spoke to the latter first. Did Merlin ever play that role for the knights?

7- MERLIN’S IDIOCY 

Now, I have a problem with Merlin telling Arthur that 1)- he would have taken any other option but to face war with Annis, and 2)- his decision to kill Caerleon “was made in the best interests of Camelot.” 

Sorry, but it wasn’t. Merlin knows that. I understand that he has to rally Arthur’s spirits so that they can win against Annis, but I am glad that Arthur knows full well he has done wrong. Both Merlin and many fans do not give Arthur enough credit for recognising his own errors. 

However, even these foolishly optimistic statements pale in comparison to Merlin's reckless and self-righteous interference when Arthur negotiates with Queen Annis. I burst out laughing when he trips and falls headlong into the tent, a metaphor for his impetuousness.  

Merlin eavesdrops outside Annis’ tent, gets caught (so he didn't conceal himself), and then has the audacity to say, “Sorry about this!” to Arthur! Not only that, he got angry over being called a “simple-minded fool”, when he couldn’t even walk in a straight line to follow the king, got himself caught and almost killed by enemy soldiers, and made Arthur look as though he were double-crossing Annis! 

I completely agree with Arthur’s anger: “Oh, I was being kind, believe me: you almost got me killed in there!” Correct. Merlin simply could not trust that Arthur knew what he was doing, and decided to interfere. Instead of apologising for getting Arthur into trouble, Merlin remains on the defensive, claiming without evidence that Arthur was “doing a pretty good job of that yourself!” 

This is untrue. Arthur surrendered himself to Annis’ men. The most injury he received was a slap. He asked a favour. That isn’t risking your life. In fact, Arthur was trying to save lives, and if Merlin had been listening properly (or just stayed in bed), he would have seen that. Only after Merlin’s sudden entrance did Arthur face serious danger from Annis. 

Now, Merlin’s explanation for this is, “I’m your friend! I was looking out for you.” I don’t doubt it. But once again, Arthur is right: “I appreciate that in your very confused way, you’re only trying to help, but please: don’t do it again.”

Condescending? Of course. But this time it was Merlin who provoked him into this anger. 

8- MORGANA 

Despite all her power, Morgana still has to defer to non-magical kings and queens. After all, she requires their military assistance to take over Camelot. 

You can also see how Queen Annis detects Morgana’s hatred, greed, self-righteousness, hypocrisy, and bloodlust. In one glance, Queen Annis begins questioning the wisdom of working with a sorceress she does not trust, not least on account of Morgana being a sorceress. 

In fact, Arthur’s prowess as a warrior impresses her more: “You have as much to lose as I if Arthur wins…” Fascinating scene. 

9- THANK YOU, OLD FRIEND 

It’s ironic that arguably the best scene in 4x05 begins by showcasing Arthur’s cynicism. No guesses why Arthur did not tell Merlin about breaking off his relationship with Gwen earlier. That speaks volumes. If he had told Merlin, I think they would have had an argument similar to that of 4x11. 

Only when Arthur realises that he may die does he ask Merlin to pass his ring onto Gwen with an apology. You can see the guilt etched onto his face as he refuses to make eye contact. Interestingly, Merlin does not ask any further questions. 

Arthur’s entrusting Merlin to look after Gwen in the event of his death says a lot. For example, that ring is technically royal property, yet Arthur gives it to a servant for safe-keeping, rather than his next-of-kin, Agravaine. Despite claiming to need his uncle’s advice, Arthur will not trust Agravaine with such duties. Has Arthur made a medieval will or testament? Obviously, I have no idea, however, this episode already shows Arthur’s reliance on Merlin to deal with family matters. 

Another interesting aspect to this scene is Merlin’s silence after Arthur makes an indisputable point. This dispels any idea that Merlin’s advice was always correct. On several occasions, Merlin had to defer to Arthur’s judgement, because he saw the truth and wisdom behind it. “I don’t know what will happen. But for the first time since I became king, I know in my heart I’ve made the right decision.”

Got to love Arthur’s half-amused, “You’re not about to start crying on me, are you?” He expects Merlin to be either in good spirits or confident, because that is how he, too, remains confident. Arthur is an optimist, yet Merlin becomes a pessimist, so the king must pull Merlin together with light and yet serious teasing. 

Needless to say, Arthur calling Merlin “old friend” implies that they have been friends for a long time. So why do some fans still think that Arthur had trouble admitting that Merlin was his friend? Also, the word “old” in this context can imply reliability, constancy. Arthur chose that word to describe Merlin’s value, as well as the length of their friendship. 

The great thing about Arthur is that while he makes some serious errors, when he does repent, he does so well. Not only does Arthur graciously thank Merlin for his concern, but he makes it clear to Agravaine that he relies on Merlin’s judgement prior to entering battle. This supports my earlier statement that Merlin is Arthur’s best fighter, as well as right-hand man; Arthur does not leave for the fight until Merlin has confirmed his readiness. 

On top of this, Arthur later admits that he might be a cabbage head. “I should have listened to you, Merlin. Just this once, I think you were right-- even if you are the worst servant in the five kingdoms!” 

By implication, Agravaine is wrong. Arthur won’t say that, of course, but we saw Merlin’s sound advice competing with Agravaine’s lies for this entire episode. We can only conclude that regardless of what he says, Arthur trusts Merlin more than members of his own family. 

And this is a theme which will continue and grow for the remainder of Season 4. 

FURTHER POINTS:

Merlin’s fighting skills

Paradoxes of Arthur and Merlin’s friendship

[cakejots]

this is us trying, Chapter 8 - The Unravel

In this AU, they don’t know each other outside of the suit. And in this AU, Ladybug and Chat Noir love each other. But in this AU, Chat doesn’t want their identities revealed.

Written for @ladynoirjuly 2021

notes: this is a coherent story based on all the prompts; each chapter contains at least 3 prompts. TW for mention of death threats.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10

Read on AO3

24. Rewrite the stars

With how he reacted to those online comments about Marinette a few days prior, Adrien legitimately thought he was going to throw another fit again. But as always, Marinette’s closeness managed to distract him from the negative and made the ‘task’ bearable.

“Go to hell? I’m sorry but who are you to tell me what to do?” She dismissed the comment. “You think I’m just gonna listen to you? People who send these kinds of messages clearly need help.”

He snorted. “Don’t let it get to you, Buguinette.”

“Ah no no,” she shook her head. “It’s just… I can’t understand why they have the need to send this kind of stuff to other people.”

Marinette moved on to other comments within the hashtag page and saw quite a handful of positive comments. She would even go as far as to say that people are generally supportive of their relationship.

There was just a very loud and obnoxious minority that stood out everywhere. It was no wonder Adrien got that infuriated, she wasn’t feeling the best either when she read what people had written about him.

“Chaton?” She stopped scrolling, taking a break before her anger got the better of her. “You’ve gotten quiet. Something on your mind?”

“Uhh, yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?” She put down her phone and moved to sit beside him, combing her fingers through his hair. “You’ll feel better if you do.”

Adrien leaned against her palm and closed his eyes. “I feel better already.”

She chuckled when he started purring. “Do you wanna stop for a while? Your hair’s so smooth and I honestly think I can do this for the rest of the day.”

“Ahh, that is so very tempting, my lady,” he opened his eyes and pouted. “But at last, this can’t be put off any longer.”

She continued massaging his scalp. “Hmm?”

“The management wants me to make a public apology and… and break up with you to save the company’s image.”

Marinette went rigid with her ministrations.

He quickly wrapped his arms around her and kissed her temple. “Obviously I’m not going to do that. You wound me if you think I’ll do that, Marinette,” he joked.

“Ahh no.” She hugged and leaned against him. “It’s not you. I— I’m just appalled that they’d demand you to take such a drastic move.”

He shrugged. “The company’s image suffered a huge blow when the Agreste Scandal happened. It has only been around six months since then, and now they have to deal with another.”

She nodded and tightened her grip on him. “So what will you do, Adrien?”

He smoothed her arm and nosed her hair. “To hell with them.”

“But—”

“I finally found you, I’m not going to let you go,” he grinned.

A rosy pink hue settled itself on Marinette’s cheeks. Even when she’s already his, Adrien never stops to let her know how special she is to him. She pulled back to hold his gaze while her thumb brushed against his cheek.

“What if they dismiss you?”

Fire lit in his eyes. “I’m going to do what makes me happy, what makes us happy. I’m not going to apologise for my love for you.”

Warm and fuzzy feelings filled her chest as he settled on what he planned to do. Adrien has come so far, and Marinette was more than happy to allow him the agency he desperately needed.

“You’ll rewrite the stars, huh?”

“I’ll rewrite the stars.”

Marinette pulled him close—

“Then I’ll be here supporting you every step of the way.”

—and gave him a long and earnest kiss on the lips.

25. De-transformation

Adrien was hiding half his body behind the door that leads to Marinette’s room. She had her full attention on the task on hand that she didn’t realise he was at the entrance watching her from afar, much like how a kitten observes their human. Adrien really admired how focused Marinette can be sometimes. But right now, he wished that she wasn’t that fixated on whatever she’s doing.

Despite his resoluteness on what to do with the scandal earlier on, Adrien was feeling stressed about it now. They had agreed that he would release a statement to address the scandal tomorrow, and it’d just be a couple of sentences from him, along with a photo of them in his mansion, to really sell to the public that they aren’t fooling around and that she has been staying with him for a while now.

The kiss they had shared earlier did tons to calm his nerves. He could never get enough of the thrill whenever they kissed, it was just that addictive to him. Her alluring lips, curious and exploring hands, the tiny sounds she made, and how she felt within his arms were the only things that mattered.

But that was a few hours ago, right after he came to a decision on what to do. They parted ways afterwards for Adrien to draft his statement, and it looked really good at first. But the more he read and thought about it, the more he felt like they’d face more backlash if he were to put that statement out. His anxiety was returning and he needed to take a breather.

Which was why he was standing at Marinette’s door right now. He really wanted another kissing session with Marinette, but he doesn’t want to push his boundaries either. He figured a rooftop run would help him to loosen up and take his mind off of the drafted statement for now. But he didn’t want to do it alone either.

Adrien stared at Marinette’s back. He felt really bad for disturbing her. He really did. But…

“Marinette?” He called out softly.

She lifted her head to look back at her door, only to see Adrien concealing half his body behind her door. She frowned and briskly walked towards him. “Adrien! What’s wrong?”

He came out of his hiding and averted his gaze “C-Can we go for a rooftop run for a while?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m starting to feel a little overwhelmed.”

She petted and stroked his hair. “Of course! Let’s go!”

Adrien gave her a radiant smile.

.

The rooftop run, sadly, wasn’t as helpful as he had fancied. All he had to do was run… on rooftops which he had been running on for the last 6 years. He could even do it with his eyes closed. His mind was not preoccupied with anything else and his thoughts kept going back to the scandal.

Chat dash towards the top of the Eiffel Tower.

“De-transformation.”

He walked towards the edge of the platform and stared at the city underneath his feet. At least he was still able to admire the view. He sat down, hugged his knees and closed his eyes to enjoy the breeze…

Only to be pulled back by a pair of arms around his waist.

“Adrien! What were you thinking?” Ladybug shook his shoulders when he faced her.

“No, no! I wasn’t doing anything!” He waved his hands. “I was just trying to distract myself.”

Ladybug frowned. “Then why de-transfrom? You can enjoy the view as Chat Noir, can’t you?”

He avoided her eyes. “I-I wanted to feel the breeze.”

She pursed her lips. “You said you wanted a distraction? Something to occupy your mind?”

Adrien nodded.

Ladybug stood and brought him to his feet, smiling. “How about a game or two of Mecha Strike with the gamer pro herself?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I assure you that you’ll be needing that mind of yours to defeat me,” she declared triumphantly.

“You won tournaments?”

“Duh. Now come on! Transform and let’s go!”

“Buguinette,” he called out as he transformed. “I’ll have you know I didn’t only spend my time at home studying.”

Ladybug threw her yo-yo and a smirk at him. “Then may the best player reign once and for all!” And she jumped off the edge.

Chat followed suit, anticipating the game battles they have for the night.

26. Reveal

They had no idea how it happened. No, they were lying if they said that. They knew how it happened. They just didn’t expect it to unfold the way it did.

The mecha strike matches they had after they arrived back at Marinette’s home did tons to ease Adrien’s nerves. His mind was full of battle strategies to take her down, but she always managed to outsmart him. She wasn’t Ladybug for nothing. She truly is the Reigning Queen of Mecha Strike.

After they had established their respective status in the world of Mecha Strike, Marinette hoped to put Adrien’s mind at peace entirely. He has his way with words and has written beautiful love poems for her. There’s no way the statement he wrote was horrible.

And so she asked to see it; and he gave it to her, because Adrien fully believes in her word for this. He knows that Marinette would never lie about how she felt about the things he pens down.

She gave her smile of approval, and even commented on how sweet it was. She was confident that it’d sway the hearts of haters in the right direction.

And those were very comforting words. Not only has he accomplished proclaiming his love for her to the world, but he also might possibly increase the appeal of their relationship.

Later, they went to bed, peacefully.

When the time came to finally reveal their relationship to the world, they discreetly made their way back to the Agreste mansion, transformed of course.

Marinette suggested taking their picture in his kitchen to really sell the domestic lifestyle to the public, and Adrien agreed. But as they were deciding on the perfect picture to post along with the statement, Adrien started panicking again.

And so did Marinette. (She didn’t have a lot to work with in his mansion.)

Then, she suddenly recalled that being surrounded by soft things could help, that was how she calmed down when she was younger after all. She felt better just by enveloping herself in her blanket and soft toys.

So she pulled him into his room and pushed him onto his bed, remembering how soft it was, and slowly ran her hand through his mane to coax him into lying down. But all Adrien did was close his eyes.

Her other hand landed on his shoulder to push, but didn’t manage to make him budge at all as she was pulled into his lap, coming face to face with him.

Marinette was startled by his actions and stopped her ministrations. But he began rubbing his head against her palm, and she continued. She also started caressing under his chin with her fingers.

He opened his eyes lazily to gaze at her; so did she.

And Adrien gently held her face to bring their lips together, after he saw in her eyes what was most likely in his as well.

Marinette didn’t hesitate this time, fluttering her eyes close and wrapping her arms around his neck to bring him closer, to bring herself closer to him. She released a tiny whimper when Adrien’s hand suddenly landed on the small of her back, drawing her in to close the non-existent gap between them.

There was just something different about this kiss. Adrien’s heartbeat wasn't thundering as hard as he thought it would be, and a wave of calmness washed over him as they continued moving their lips against the other. His thumb stroked her cheek, to invite her to continue for as long as she liked.

Marinette’s hand shifted towards his hair and grabbed, pushing herself further into his face, and Adrien groaned before grinning against her lips. Marinette soon followed suit before she pulled back, but couldn’t go far as she was literally caged within his embrace.

“What’s so funny?” She opened her eyes and beamed.

Adrien moved in to kiss her nose. “Nothing. Just, thank you,” and he smooched her forehead.

“Trust me, this helped me as much as it helped you,” and she pressed her lips to his cheek.

Marinette caressed his other cheek. “Ready to post that statement and shut the haters up once and for all?”

A glint shone in Adrien’s eyes. “Oh, definitely.”

They moved to sit comfortably on his bed and Adrien copied his statement from his notes, the photo already chosen and sitting on the post, waiting to be sent out.

“You know, this feels very much like a blog post. I’ve never written this much on this account before.”

“SHIT!”

Adrien jumped and looked at her full-blown eyes. “What? What’s wrong?”

She swiftly placed her hand on his. “Chaton, before you post that, I need to let you know that it was my best friend who informed me about what happened to you last week.” She scratched her head. “That’s how I was able to get to you, even though it took quite a while.”

Adrien was visibly confused. “O...kay?”

“And she actually asked for an update on the situation.”

He finally caught on. “Oh! Tell her then! Give her the update she deserves.” He chuckled. “Thank you so much, Marinette’s best friend!”

Her kitty’s so cute when he’s elated. “She… um, s-she wants to know about how we met and stuff.” Marinette glimpsed at him. “How do you want to deal with that?”

“Well, that’d be hard, wouldn't it?”

“Well, we can't use anything related to fashion right?” She said, matter-of-factly. “Since she knows that I wanted to intern at Gabriel and the chance went poof with the final battle…”

“Why not tell her the truth?”

“What?!”

He shrugged. “I mean, the threat is gone. I don't see why not?”

She smiled. “Adrien, honey, my best friend is Alya.”

“Uhh, she... has a nice name?” He tilted his head.

“She’s Alya Cesaire!” She shook his shoulders. “She’s the lady blogger! She’ll flip if she learns that I'm Ladybug!”

“Oh.”

“So there’s no way.”

“What an interesting turn of events,” he simpered. “How about telling her that I don't want people prying into my life?”

“That’s not fair to her,” she pouted.

“Then how about the bakery?” He threw in another excuse.

“Huh?”

“You work in the bakery sometimes, right?” He clarified.

She furrowed her brows. “But I've never seen you at the bakery.”

“Neither did she,” he pointed out, “so maybe we can use that?”

Her face lit with comprehension. “Oh my gosh, Adrien! You’re a genius!”

“We can go with the typical ‘well, we met one day at the bakery, and the rest was history’ kinda sharing.” Adrien gesticulated a rainbow curve with his hands.

Marinette giggled. “I’ll call her now.”

“You two are so sickeningly sweet, you know that?” Alya’s voice echoed through Marinette’s phone.

“Thank you!” Adrien replied, the post still sitting on the edit page.

“So how are you guys gonna deal with the scandal?”

“Adrien will be releasing a statement to address it,” Marinette replied this time.

“Ooo, a reveal huh? When are guys doing it?”

“Now, ehe,” and Marinette gave the okay signal for Adrien to release the statement.

“Marinette!” Alya screamed. “What the hell!”