#much worse if....well you bet on the wrong horse so to speak.

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

Guys I am on the edge I am losing it. I haven’t written fanfiction since freshmen year of high school, since then I’ve said all my writing will be publishable. And yet I am mere seconds away from losing myself to a Sully family adopting Spider fic what is wrong with me. The chokehold this series has on me. Anyways here are some headcanons that have been giving me holes in my brain:

-All the Sully's constantly argue over who Spider likes best, especially Kiri and Lo'ak. "That's my best friend" "NO, that's my best friend." "I knew him first." "Well, that's not fair you were born first. I've known him my whole life." Then dark horses Tuk and Neteyam come in like "You'd be surprised to learn spider actually likes me best." For a while after Tuk was born the competition was HEAVILY in her favor and everyone was mad about it. Neteyam doesn’t participate unless he wants to annoy someone, but no one thinks he’s in the running as much as he actually is. Spider has no idea this competition exists and whoever tells him is instantly disqualified so he never will. 

-This shit absolutely applies to Jake and Neytiri too if/when they officially adopt him. Which parent Spider likes best competition. Who can get him to call them mom/dad first wins. It’s absolutely RUTHLESS and everyone knows about it except Spider. I’m fairly certain Jake and Neytiri’s love language is borderline unhealthy competition. Bets are made, sabotage is attempted, Tonowari definitely tries to help his bestie Jake and whatever plan they come up with is dumb as hell, I don’t know what it is but it’s stupid. Ultimately, Neytiri wins. Jake is not sad about it actually. 

-Tuk is every parents worst nightmare. Her siblings are so much older than her, she has been desensitized to everything. When Lo’ak and Kiri were Tuk’s age they were fighting over a toy, but Tuk is pretty sure she’s ready for an Ikran. She is the ringleader of all her friendgroups and she can manipulate anyone into anything. She was the youngest to do everything in her family just to keep up with her siblings, and that means she knows so much more than all her friends her age. She taught them all the swear words they know, and she definitely told every child in the clan how babies are made as soon as Lo’ak told her and they were ALL way too young to know. 

-The entire clan is worried Jake and Neytiri will have another accident child. Only they were surprised by Tuk, no one else was. 

-Neteyam confides in Spider in a way he can’t with his siblings. Not only are they the oldest, but I think he isn’t afraid to not be perfect in front of Spider (This is why Neteyam is Spider’s favorite jkjk). I think they have a lot of chill talks up on the mountains, or they go flying and Neteyam’s just like “What if I fail at the hunt tomorrow?” or some shit and Spiders like “Well, it would be about time, and then you would just try again.”

-Spider is Mo’at’s least problematic grandchild, and the one that annoys her the least consistently. Kiri is still her fav tho. There is no Mo’at’s fav competition because everyone knows Kiri would win, but sometimes Lo’ak says he’s her fav because their names are similar and then everyone calls him stupid.

-Speaking of Mo’at, I’m pretty sure her and Jake get drunk together at least once a month. I don’t know what they talk about but GOD I want to. Only Norm has ever been invited and that was like one time and it’s because he and Mo’at are secret besties.

-Spider gives the best advice ever, because of being the only human child on Pandora he has empathy for everyone. He’s the best person to go to if you did something wrong because he’s for sure done something worse. Unfortunately he is incapable of taking any advice himself, and he is def suicidal a lil. You cannot convince me that kid doesn’t wake up every day wanting to die a little bit. 

-For a solid half a year certified dumbasses Lo’ak and Jake were pretty sure Rotxo was some sort of spirit from Eywa because they never met his parents and never saw him go home and he was always somehow around. They shared this theory with no one but each other, which is good because it’s dumb.

-I think once adopted, Spider is a mama’s boy. He craves physical attention and he has been raised essentially Na’vi in a way that Jake hasn’t. I think he would connect with Neytiri’s parenting style more, I think they’d do a lot of weird shit together that the other kids would rather die than help with, like cooking or mending shit. I think Spider would be literally delighted to help with boring household chores with his mother and that’s so mamas boy of him. He’s a “mother, do you need help with dinner, can I do the dishes so you can sit down?” kid while all the rest of them are gagging and calling him a suck up in the background.

-It comes to a head when he tries to help make lunch instead of going surfing with Lo’ak, Kiri, and Ao’nung, and they have to have an intervention. It’s very serious, everyone was there, Tsireya, Ao’nung, Rotxo obviously came because I’m convinced he doesn’t actually have a home. They treat Spider like a five year old going to his first day of preschool.

-Spider and Neytiri also both have experienced such immense loss, and it shaped them both so much at such a young age. I think the way they would talk about it would be similar, and it would be a connection discovered that wouldn’t be vocally acknowledged often but they would both have that. It’s a mutual understanding that the others can’t get as much that helps them get past any animosity and fear. It takes them longer to get to casual conversation actually.

-If Spider ever got an Avatar Mo’at would make them put off the full transfer until he was older 50% because of his safety and 90% because he’s forced to spend time with her every night when he goes back to his human body no matter where they are. She is vocally grumbling always about how her family never visits. He does not pretend to hate it.

-It started out because Spider wasn’t taking care of his human body well enough, for sure. He’s Jake coded. Mo’at was on Feed New Grandson For Daughter duty. But now it evolved and he’s popping out of the link after a long day of Spearfishing with the Boys (I believe this is Tonowari and Jake’s fav father/son + Rotxo bonding activity) and Mo’at is there with Norm and Spider’s dinner like “you will not believe what this idiot warrior did” and Norms like “Do tell” and Spider has his second dinner with the HOTTEST TEA in the Omaticaya camp that Norm and Mo’at can spill. And one time he’s like “Lo’ak fell off a tree today because he’s too used to the water now” and then when Lo’ak finds out about that he pushes Spider out of a tree (from a safe height).

-(He has to recount this tea the next morning to Jake, this is what he and Mo’at did when drinking, he pretends he wants to be up on current affairs in his former tribe but Jake Sully is a gossip whore and he isn’t hiding it well). 

-No one else is interested in this but Lo’ak. He cares so much. It’s Spider spilling the hottest tea with so much disinterest (he only cares because it’s Mo’at and Norm) and Lo’ak and Jake like gasping and then pretending they didn’t. 

-Obviously Kiri and Spider’s bond is insane and unbreakable but I think one time he stepped on a bug and she didn’t speak to him for the entire day. He probably has nightmares about that day. But also Lo’ak did the same thing once and she didn’t talk to him for a week so. 

-I like to think the rest of the Omaticaya do love Spider cause he’s just that weird little guy that’s always like crouched on the rocks and in the trees and shit. I think he and the Sully’s do have other friends and do spend time with others, but Spider, Kiri, Lo’ak, and then later Tuk, all spend literally every waking moment together because they all can’t escape that little feeling that they don’t quite fit in. 

-Tuk doesn’t feel this way she just wants to be there. Neteyam totally feels this way he just feels like he has to be responsible.

-Neteyam also spent every waking moment with them until he had Adult Business to attend to, like learning to be in charge. Now he just spends all his free time with them. His friends are probably like “Why do you want to spend all your time with your little siblings?” and he has Vietnam flashbacks to the 17 things that Lo’ak and Spider did that almost got them killed that week alone (but also he loves being with them all).

-When the Sully’s leave Mo’at is really sad but Norm visits her annoyingly for weird advice that he doesn’t actually need every day and she pretends to hate it but doesn’t because they are secret buddies. 

-Idk if this even happens to Na’vi but Neteyam’s human dna finds a way and he goes prematurely grey for sure. Kids so stressed it’s a miracle he doesn’t go into cardiac arrest. 

-Tonowari and Ronal literally don’t know where Rotxo comes from half the time. He’s just always there. One time when Ao’nung was a baby Tonowari turned around for like 15 seconds to stoke the fire and then there were two babies, Ao’nung and Rotxo, on the mat. 

-Lo’ak doesn’t think things through. Spider has no self preservation skills. There is a difference. So when Lo’ak suggests a dumb thing Spider will probably do it first cause he has recognized and acknowledged the risks, he just doesn’t care, whereas Lo’ak hasn’t realized yet. So he’ll test it out for Lo’ak first. The amount of dumb shit Lo’ak did went way up when Spider was captured because his human test dummy wasn’t there. 

-Once with the Metkayina, Spider and Lo’ak have found a kindred dumbass in Ao’nung (+ Rotxo). He’s never thought a single decision through in his entire life (neither has Rotxo, he’s just here to vibe). They are menaces.

-Unfortunately for everyone, Jake and Tonowari created them from their own very loins, and they too, are dumbasses. If the RDA ever leave them alone the amount of bad decisions the five of them (and Rotxo) will get up to will be astronomical. There’s at least one incident that gets Jake and Tonowari exiled from their respective marui for the night and they have an Adult Men sleepover on the beach that is like the most fun either of them ever had, but they pretend it was no fun at all when they come back. 

-After that Tonowari replaces Mo’at as Jake’s monthly drinking/gossip buddy. Tonowari has never met most of the Omaticayans, but he could ruin lives with some of the info he has. 

-This one might be out of left field, but I think every single Sully child has had a crush to varying degrees on Spider at some point. I think Spider has never even remotely fathomed that anyone on planet Pandora has ever or will ever like him, and if anyone ever did he might just die of shock. He thinks he’s dying a virgin, probably at a young age.

-Ronal and Neytiri go on pretending to hate each other long after they became friends just for fun. No one figured it out until Neytiri was the first choice babysitter for Ronal and Tonowari’s new baby for like the tenth time.

-If Spider ever beats anyone at anything he believes they let him win and literally nothing can change his mind. He’s convinced baby Tuk let him win in a foot race one time, and that Lo’ak fell out of a tree on purpose to let him win a climbing race. The most criminal one is his claim that Ao’nung got a hole in his net intentionally so all his fish escaped and Spider had more. The joke is that no one other than Neteyam or Tsireya would ever let him win. 

-The amount of times a Sully child accidentally dislocated Spider’s arm trying to pull him somewhere is way higher than anyone wants to admit, but Spider can now relocate his arm on his own like a pro. His pain tolerance is way higher than anyone’s should be. Kid just braces that shit against a tree and pops it back in and everyone is horrified every time. The first time it happened in front of the Metkayina kids Ao’nung threw up and then Lo’ak laughed until he cried. Spider shouldn’t use that arm for at least the rest of the day but he used it to shove Lo’ak for Ao’nung.

-Spider loves babies, will stop, drop everything to watch any baby, because he knows how much Na’vi treasure children and he never feels more important then when he gets to watch a little kid because he was trusted to keep the kid safe.

-Lo’ak and Spider are equally matched at sparring because Spider knows where Lo’ak is ticklish.  

-One time Kiri and Lo’ak had a sleepover with Spider at the lab. Norm pretended to hate it but then let them sleep in the room with Grace’s tank and also made them cookies. It was the best night of Spider’s life. Tuk was too little to go and threw the most massive fit ever about it so Neteyam stayed back to keep her company and he was Very Mature and Not At All Jealous about it. 

-They brought him back a cookie, and then everyone was tired all day because literally no one slept except for Tuk. They all took a nap halfway through the day all in a little puppy pile and that was the real sleepover. 

-Post sleepover, the amount of printed out images of human Jake Sully from video logs with like dumb things drawn on him that have made their way around camp is insane. Norm made the kids draw mustaches on him for sure. Jake can’t take a single solitary step without there being a picture of him with a dick for a nose on a tent pole. He was probably stressed about something and this was Lo’ak’s brilliant Cheer Up Dad plan. It was the worst plan ever, but for some unknown reason it worked, and Jake keeps cackling at them like a crazy person when he sees them. Retaliatory Norm pics are in the works, Jake got all the kids in on it this time. Tuk is really good at drawing pa’li shit on Norm’s head.

-Neteyam knows everything about everyone so when he gets in on teasing and jokes his are fucking crazy accurate and targeted, you’ll never recover. Tuk has picked this up from him and she has that little kid talent to destroy you. 

-Every single time someone goes somewhere Spider says some shit like “I hope I see you again!” and everyone knows it’s not a joke and no one finds it funny but he can’t stop doing it.

-The pact that was born between Ao’nung and Lo’ak to impress their respective love interests is the Fight Club of all pacts, either would kill the other to keep it quiet and not feel even a little bad about it. Lo’ak teaches Ao’nung to climb trees to impress Neteyam and Ao’nung teaches Lo’ak to surf to impress Tsireya. Ao’nung eats shit so hard that Lo’ak almost literally dies laughing but then Ao’nung doesn’t warn him about rip currents so he can rescue Lo’ak in front of Neteyam like he’s in Baywatch, coming out of the water all dramatically and with a lil hair flip and then presenting him with his half murdered little brother like a gift.

-The Sully children have been divvying up who gets what of Jake’s stuff when he dies since Tuk was like four. Obviously, they will be devastated, but it’ll be a little less sad when Kiri gets Jake’s coolest knife and not Lo’ak, or Tuk gets his best arm band before Neteyam can call dibs even tho it won’t fit her. It was a lot funnier before the RDA came back. 

-No one has ever dared to do this to Neytiri’s stuff. 

[loafandfish]

After getting multiple requests for more soul crushing angst by multiple people, I have finally obliged. While writing, I was listining to Two by Sleeping At Last, and although the story isn’t based on the song, the line “I will love you without any strings attached” gets me every time so I had to make it a theme.

No Strings Attached// John

⚠️WARNING⚠️ Mentions of being attacked, blood, and violence. The people have spoken and this is what they want.

For as long as she’d known John, everything came with strings attached. She wanted to join him and James on a trip to the docks? Only if she gave him half her lunch. She wanted him to bring her extra leftovers from Salome? Only if she helped him with his chores. That pretty much meant doing them all herself while he goofed off.

And when it wasn’t favors, it was contests.

…

“Hey if you beat me in a staring contest, I’ll give you this cool rock I found. I’ll probably get to keep it.”

“Oh, you’re on!”

…

“I just beat Andrew in arms wrestling and I think I can beat you.”

“What? No you couldn’t. I’d bet my lunch on it.”

“Hah! And I’d bet my dinner.”

…

No matter the circumstance, there was always strings attached. It’s how it had always been between the two. Deal after deal and bet after bet. It made their lives more interesting, more fun.

Even when Y/n began to follow Jesus along with her fishermen friends, their friendship never changed. It wasn't selfishness that kept these deals going. Y/n would've done anything for him, and she knew he would not hesitate to do the same. It was just a habit for the both of them. By now it was practically their love language.

And speaking of love, the contests really helped cover up her crush on him as well.

So never in a million years did Y/n ever imagine something would change that. Especially not something as simple as a walk.

...

"How about these? They look edible enough." Y/n picked a few berries off a branch, presenting them to Mary. Her friend shook her head, a small smile on her face. "Not unless you want to vomit for a week. Let's keep walking."

Y/n's shoulders slumped as she tossed the berries onto the ground. They'd been searching for too long now and she was starving. She could only imagine how much worse Jesus and the disciples felt after such a long day. She silently prayed they would happen upon something to eat.

Mary stopped in her tracks, pointing to a small tree in the clearing a head. "Look over there!"

Sure enough, the fruit of the tree looked ripe. If Mary was happy, they must've been edible. Y/n thanked Adoni for answering her prayer and hurried over to the tree.

After a quick inspection, the women began to fill their baskets. Y/n had to hold herself back from eating it all right there.

"It smells so sweet, I don't know how long I can wait."

Mary laughed, reaching for a taller branch. The larger fruits grew higher. "I know! I'm very excited to get back to camp."

"The boys will be happy we actually found..." Y/n paused halfway through her sentence. Mary froze as well, her hand lowering slowly.

They had heard a noise coming from the road.

Hesitantly, the two turned toward the sound. It was one both Y/n and Mary were familiar with, but they hoped they were wrong. But no matter how much they wished, there was no mistaking that noise. It was a horse clad in metal armor. A Roman horse.

Sure enough, a soldier came riding around the corner. Mary dropped her basket in fear.

Y/n's heart hurt for her friend. She only knew bits and pieces of her story, but enough to assume the trauma a Roman had caused her.

Without moving, Y/n whispered at her friend. "It's alright. Maybe he won't notice."

Not a second later, the man turned his head, staring straight at them. He had noticed.

Mary's breath hitched and Y/n stepped closer to her. She knew she had to do something before he came over. She needed to protect her friend. Slowly, Y/n faced the raven haired girl, placing her hands on her shoulders. "Mary, you need to get out of here. I will distract him."

The poor girl never tore her eyes off the man. She was horrified at the sight of him. Still, she managed to get a few words out. "But... but you'll be here-."

"No buts. I'll be fine." Y/n took a quick glance at the soldier. He had hopped off his horse. "Go back to camp and I'll catch up with you."

She nodded quickly and as soon at the Roman began to walk towards them, Mary took off in the direction of camp. Y/n watched as she disappeared into the trees, then began to walk quickly in the opposite way.

To her terror, the plan worked as the man ran after her. She sped up even more, hoping he would give up.

"Hey, woman!"

She lowered her head, beginning to sprint.

"Don't ignore me!"

His footsteps sped up.

"I command you to stop!"

At this, Y/n ran as fast as she could. Her feet kicked up dirt as she dashed toward the denser part of the woods. The trees were so close. Just a little further...

A harsh shove caused her to tumble forward. The Roman man towered above her, but she would not let herself freeze. Y/n scrambled up, ready to somehow fight off this stronger, more skilled man. He was a soldier, for goodness sake! She was just some kid from Capernaum.

"Why do you keep running, woman?" The Roman sneered. "I don't like being ignored."

Y/n backed away, but he followed. He reached out, grabbing her wrist. "There's no use in making me angrier."

So Y/n shoved him back with a strength she didn't know she had. The Roman flailed his arms, stumbling backward with a shocked look. It was so out of character, that had Y/n not been in a life threatening situation, she would have found it amusing. Before she could make her escape, his shock turned to anger.

"Well now you've done it." He sneered, gripping her arms so that his fingernails dug into her skin. Y/n gave him the nastiest glare she could muster, stomping on the man's foot.

He let go of her , quickly reaching for his injury. Y/n took this chance to sprint, this time in the direction of camp.

As a child, she and her friends would often race, whether it be to win a bet against John, or just to spice up a walk. Unfortunately, she had never been the best runner and usually ended up next to Simon in these competitions. So Y/n couldn't bring herself to be surprised when the soldier eventually caught up to her once more. The act of defiance had only made him more infuriated.

He grabbed her arm, shoving her up against a tree. Y/n's head hit the trunk and stars danced in her vision. The Roman brought his face so close to hers, she could smell his vile breath. "You are dead, woman."

With a swift movement, his hand was around her neck, squeezing the air from her lungs. Y/n panicked, unable to breathe or even think. Her chest was burning from the lack of oxygen. She clawed at his arm, but he didn't let go. Her head was screaming with voices that weren't her own. Under different circumstances, she would have been confused, but now was not the time to question. The absence of air was making her crazy with fear.

Just before she thought she'd black out, the soldier was ripped off of her. She dropped to the floor, gasping like a fish out of water. She drank in the fresh air desperately, putting a hand to her chest in an attempt to slow her racing heart.

Looking up, she saw a few of the disciples and relief flooded her body. Her friends were here and she would be safe. Those voices in her head were not from insanity after all.

The ringing in her ears eased enough to hear James and John pouring out their passionate, "Sons of Thunder" rage toward the Roman. For a moment the man didn't know what to do.

But he was still a soldier. A ruthless killer.

So with a skilled swipe of his hand, he unsheathed his dagger, pressing it to John's chest. Y/n felt her heart drop.

"Step back!" He ordered the rest of the men. With a nervous glance, they stood down, moving away. The rage in Big James's eyes nearly made the Roman falter.

"If you touched her, I will burn you to the ground." John hissed at the man, ignoring the knife completely. He was not afraid.

But the Roman wasn't either. He sneered, barking out a harsh laugh. "You're hardly in any position to be threatening me."

He lifted his head toward the other disciples, gesturing at the dagger, still pressed against their friend's chest. "None of you are."

When none of them replied, the soldier smiled. "Good." He looked back to John. "Now you're coming with me."

Y/n stumbled to her feet in horror. She knew exactly what the man would do. He was going to imprison her friend for attacking a soldier, but not for long. Those who crossed Roman officials never survived for more than a month. Their supposed "life sentences" were always cut short.

So without thinking, she launched herself at the man, tackling him from the side. Not for a bet, not to win a contest. This was for John, no strings attached.

Y/n hit the ground hard, bringing the soldier down with her. His helmet rolled off completely as the two wrestled to pin the other. What Y/n didn't realize was the Roman had not let go of his weapon.

Before any of her friends could step in, the soldier pierced the knife through her side, just below the ribs. Y/n pushed herself off of him in shock, her hands flying to her stomach.

It took only seconds for blood to seep through her fingers.

For a moment, John could only stare. He didn't even breathe. Everything that was happening... it wasn't possible. But when his eyes locked with Y/n's, he felt reality sink in.

A pained whine caused him to tear his eyes away from the girl he loved. He spotted the Roman on the ground, the one responsible for this.

In that minute, all he could see was red.

If anyone ever asked him to recall that moment, he wouldn't have been able to. It was almost as if he'd blacked out. All he knew is that one moment, he was staring at the man on the ground, and the next, the disciples were dragging him off of the Roman. He didn't know how long the gap in his memory was, but it had been long enough to beat the soldier to a pulp.

With rage filling his veins, he tried to go back, but his brother stopped him with a hand to his chest. "Don't."

John's eye twitched as he watched the soldier writhe in pain. James spoke again, catching his full attention. "Y/n is hurt, brother. Think of her."

Just like that, the soldier left his mind as quickly as the anger. He turned to see Andrew leaning Y/n against the trunk of a tree. Her jaw was clenched in pain as he sat her down.

In an instant, he was kneeling in front of her, cradling her face in his hands. His eyes searched her for any other injuries he didn't know of. Of course, the stab wound was most prominent. The more he looked at it, the quicker his heart raced.

“No no no, Y/n you‘ll be okay.” She had never heard John’s voice sound so soft before. His words were gentle, but the panic shone clearly in his eyes. He was holding himself together, but it wouldn’t last long. “Just stay with me, please.”

"Hah, I saved your life." She let out a light laugh, half delirious. "Guess you really owe me one."

Under normal circumstances, John would have laughed too. He even would have joined in on their little habit of favors and bets. But now was not normal, not when his world was crashing down around him. He glanced behind him at the group of a shocked disciples, gesturing at one in particular. “Matthew, I need one of your handkerchiefs.”

Keeping his eyes away from the injury, Matthew fumbled for the cloth, quickly handing it to John and backing away just as fast.

Y/n hissed as the handkerchief was pressed over the wound. She knew the pressure would slow the bleeding, but it only made it hurt more.

“I know it hurts. You just have to trust me, okay?”

She did trust him, that much was true. She trusted him with her life, but the searing pain made her push his hand away. “Okay, you can stop n-.”

Another agonizing pang shot through her as he ignored her words. “Stop.”

“But Y/n we need to-.”

“No.”

“You’re bleeding out!”

“There’s nothing you can do!” Her shout caused a silence to fall over the group. They knew she was right. None of them were even close to being doctors. Y/n shook her head, bringing her voice back to normal. “We can wait until Jesus comes back. He can heal this.”

Her eyes met with John’s and her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “Until then, can you hold me?”

Without hesitation, he gently pulled her to his chest. She gasped as the wound sent a jarring shock to her body, but it was worth it. Hearing his heartbeat soothed her.

John, on the other hand, was not comforted at all. His heart ached as he cradled his best friend in his arms. It should have been him. He should have gone with the Roman. Any prison sentence was more bearable than this.

Glancing back at the others, he grew angry realizing they were doing nothing. Now was not the time to stand around in shock. Y/n was right, they needed a miracle right now. "You heard her! Go get Jesus!"

Big James nodded, masking his worry for both his friend and his brother as he led the group back to camp.

The two were left alone in the clearing. All that was left to do was wait. John knew he couldn't do anything and it drove him insane. He gently brushed the stray hairs off of Y/n's face.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” John choked back a sob through clenched teeth. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”

A ghost of a smile crossed her lips as her hand cupped his cheek. John leaned into the touch, placing his own hand on top of hers.

“Please… don’t apologize.” Y/n’s voice was airy and light. “It’s not your fault. Promise me you’ll never think that.”

He didn’t understand this. It was his fault. He hadn’t been there for her. He should have been there. And now it was too late to take it back. He knew this was the truth, but how could he say no to Y/n? John owed this to her, to keep at least one promise. He throat tightened as tears sprang to his eyes. He moved his head to the side, placing a soft kiss on her palm.

“I promise.” He whispered, his voice still muffled as he pressed his lips to her hand once more.

“Good.” A real smile crinkled at the edges of her eyes. The sight sent knives into John’s chest. He knew she was in agony, yet she smiled for him. Her selflessness baffled him.

With a shaky breath, allowing herself lower her hand. “I’m so tired. I need to-.”

“No.” The rough edge to his voice surprised her. He almost sounded angry, a complete change from moments earlier. She knew that anger was not directed toward her. For the first time since she’d known him, John was scared. Purely, inexplicably terrified. “You need to wait until Jesus gets here.”

“I don’t know if…” Against her will, here eyes fluttered shut. She wanted to keep them open, but it was so difficult. Her eyelids had grown heavy and she couldn’t bear it any longer.

“Don’t close your eyes, love.” Yet another change of tone. His breath came out shaky from the effort of holding back his tears. “Keep them open for me, yeah?”

She hummed in response, but couldn't bring herself to open her eyes. John shook her gently, which should have hurt but she felt nothing.

"I can't lose you, can't you see that?!" He buried his face into her shoulder, shutting his eyes tightly. "I'm not strong enough for that."

The sudden absence of pain allowed Y/n to move. She carefully wrapped her arms around him, gently patting down his messy curls. "John, you're a son of thunder! You can handle anyth-."

"Not this." His shoulders shook with silent cries.

A few moments of silence passed, aside from John's muffled sobs. All Y/n could do was run a comforting hand through his hair. After a second, she spoke up.

"John?"

"Yes, love?"

She breathed deeply, but she still felt nothing. "The pain is gone."

"The pain...?" He lifted his head, worry etched on his face. He glanced at the wound which hadn't stopped bleeding. In fact, the handkerchief had long been soaked through. "But that doesn't make any sense."

"And I feel..." She tried to think of the words to describe it. "I feel like I'm floating almost. Everything is hazy."

John's heart sunk to his stomach. She was getting worse by the second. He prayed that Jesus would come soon.

With tears staining his face, he pressed his forehead against hers. Neither of them said a thing. Y/n was slowly loosening her hold as she grew weaker by the second. John was determined to take in her presence as much as possible. He so desperately didn't want this to be his last moments with her, but that wish was foolish. Jesus was still nowhere in sight.

"Y/n, I have something I need to say."

He could feel her light breath on his face as she answered with a soft hum. The response was the only indication she was alive. Her body was completely limp in his embrace. He knew time was running out. It was now or never.

Before, he would have been nervous at the mere thought of confessing. Now, it could be his last chance. The thought terrified him to the core. She had saved his life, so she deserved to know.

“I love you, Y/n."

All bets were off. It was the honest truth.

"I love you without any string attached.”

He sat up straight again, opening his eyes to see her face. Despite the tears blurring his vision, he could see the small upward tug of her lips. No words were said, but he didn't need any. He knew the smile meant she loved him too, no strings attached.

Right then, John heard his name being called from a distance. He looked back to find his brother running toward him at full speed. For a moment, John felt his hopes were lifted. But Big James came near, kneeling before he gave him the bad news. "We searched everywhere. We can't find Jesus.”

“What do you mean you can’t find him?” John felt a pang of dread hit him again.

“I mean exactly what I sa-.”

“Well you can’t mean that.” John cut off his older brother with a hiss. “We need Jesus now!”

James shook his head, trying to keep himself together. He wanted to scream and shout, but his little brother was in distress and needed him. He was the oldest and had to keep his emotions in check. For John, he had to.

“Let’s get her back to camp, brother.” Big James stood up, clenching his jaw to keep his voice steady. He had to look away, knowing that the sight of his dying best friend would break him for good. “Maybe He will be back by then.”

John nodded, slowly at first, but faster as his hopes were raised once more. It would be more likely that Jesus would be near the camp. He shifted Y/n carefully in his arms so she wouldn’t fall as he stood.

James put a hand in his brothers shoulder, giving him the most hopeful look he could muster. “She will make it.”

The two brothers prayed the words would be true.

…

Back at camp, the disciples were in disarray. No one could find Jesus anywhere. Mary had been gone for quite some time as well. After telling the disciples about the Roman, she had disappeared completely.

John rushed Y/n into the women’s tent, setting her down gently. Mother Mary gave him a reassuring look, promising to do everything she could. Despite her kind words, John still had to be dragged out by his brother.

So there the disciples sat in deafening silence. Simon had suggested doing something useful to pass the time, but no one had the strength in them to move. The weight of stress was crushing, an exhausting burden to carry.

John eyed the tent, unable to tear his gaze away. Every bone in his body told him to rush in and make sure Y/n was okay. But he knew there was nothing he could do.

In that exact moment, Mary came out of the tent. The group stood up, their hearts racing. Her face was sullen as she looked at each of the boys. She locked eyes with John for a moment, then glanced away. Slowly, she gave the disciples a small shake of her head, and casted her gaze back toward the ground.

For a moment, no one dared to move. No one even breathed. No words had been said, but they understood Mary as if she’d spoken clear and loud. A simple gesture set their world on edge. No one wanted to accept the horror of it all, the meaning of her gesture, the truth behind the tent’s curtain. Y/n was gone.

Then John broke the silence, letting out a humorless laugh. “You’re lying.”

They waited impatiently for the punch line of this horrible joke. Surely, it was all a prank. Any minute now Y/n would walk out, her smile glowing in the evening sun.

Any minute….

But that minute never came.

“You’re lying!” The younger disciple’s blood had run cold. For many, the weight of reality hit them like a rock, but for John the horrors slowly dawned on him one by one. It was not a single moment of realization, but many moments. He was frozen as the truth tortured him from inside until it was no longer fiction.

Mary could not look him in the eye again. “I’m sorry.”

With that, he rushed forward. Toward the tent, toward his beloved. He needed to see her.

But the strong arms of Simon and his brother held him back. He strained against their hold, heels digging into the dirt as he tried to push himself away from them. “I have to see her. Let me go!”

They did not let go.

“Please I need to see her! I have to-.”

The words died in his throat as he fell to his knees. His body shook with sobs and his fingers dug into the ground. His heart burned like he had been stabbed himself. She was gone.

Then there was Big James, kneeling directly in front of him. Without a second thought, he pulled his younger brother into his arms. The sound of John’s cries were muffled in his shoulder.

There sat the Sons of Thunder, holding onto each other so tightly in their grief. The silent tears of the older brother were vastly different than the weeping of the younger, but they felt the same pain.

“I should have been there.” John gasped through his tears. “I should have been with her but I- I wasn’t… and now…”

He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

His grip tightened in his brothers shirt as he let out a strangled cry. “I was going to ask for her hand.”

Big James shut his eyes, more tears falling in the process. “I know, brother. I know.”

“I loved her so much, James. I still do.” He finally lifted his head from his brother’s shoulder. Grief was etched into his face. “No strings attached.”

At that moment, Simon walked up behind him, placing a hand on John's shoulder. Andrew came up with tearstained cheeks, doing the same. Slowly, each disciple followed, comforting each other as they mourned their friend.

...

As evening turned to dusk, a familiar face came into the camp from the woods. Jesus of Nazareth had returned from a long day of praying and preparing. When He saw the disciples in their circle, He took a breath, preparing Himself for what was about to happen.

John heard His footsteps before He had come near. With a broken voice, he spoke to his teacher. "Where were you?"

"I was preparing."

"Preparing?" John stood up, his voice growing louder. "We needed you here!"

"John-."

"You were the One who could heal her!" The disciple continued, taking a step forward. It was foolish to be angry at the Messiah, but he couldn't help it. Jesus could have fixed this but He hadn't. "How could you let this happen!?"

James put a hand on his chest to stop him, but his younger brother continued. "The Messiah is supposed to bring good to Israel! Well, this isn't good! If you were here, you could have healed her. But no, you were away and she had no one to help. Now she's..."

The burning in his throat cut him off. For the first time that day, he really looked at his teacher's face. Just like him, there were tears in His eyes. Just like the rest of them, Jesus wept for the loss of a friend.

John bit his lip to stop it from trembling. What was he doing? This was the Christ, the Savior of the world! How could he be angry? How could he chastise the Son of God?

Jesus shook His head, placing His hands on His disciple's shoulders. "John, didn't I tell you there would still be heartbreak? That there would still be suffering?"

He lowered his face to the ground in shame. "You did, Rabbi."

"If I told you that there would still be trials, then why do you doubt My goodness? Why do you doubt that I cannot use evil for good?"

"I'm sorry, Rabbi." For the hundredth time that day, John cried. "I'm sorry for my lack of faith."

Without hesitation, Jesus pulled him into an embrace. John was in awe at His compassion for a sinner like him. He had just rebuked the Messiah, yet he was in His arms.

"I forgive you, but in your suffering, remember the goodness of God. For I turn sorrow into joy."

John sniffed, nodding his head. Jesus stepped back, holding John's face in His hands.

"Now that won't always mean raising a loved one from the dead..." A smile tugged at Jesus's lips. "...but perhaps this time it will."

Without another word, He promptly made His was toward the tent. John was frozen, unsure if he had heard his Rabbi correctly. Jesus turned back before entering, addressing Ramah and His mother. "May I?"

Mary nodded, a knowing smile on her face as Ramah watched, her mouth open in shock. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Neither could any of the disciples.

When Jesus disappeared into the tent, all was silent. No one knew what to expect. The Messiah's words had been plain as day, but they were miraculous. They waited, for what seemed like a lifetime, for their teacher to return.

When He finally did, Y/n was at his side, smiling as brightly as usual. She was standing in front of them, completely alive. No one dared to moved.

There she was, the love of John's life, the girl who had nearly died in his arms. She was right there. He blinked slowly, like he was in a dream.

It wasn't until Jesus gestured for him to come over that the miracle finally hit him. Y/n was alive. She was dead and now she lived. Jesus, the Lamb of God, had done this.

John ran forward, pulling Y/n into his arms and spinning her. The impact of the embrace left to two breathless, but their smiles were as bright as day. He touched his forehead to hers, holding her face in his hands as he soaked up the fact that the was still here.

After a moment, he let go, looking back at Jesus. He stood behind them, watching the scene with misty eyes. John immediately ran and hugged Him tightly. "Thank you, Rabbi."

"You don't doubt that I turn sorrow into joy now, do you?" Jesus laughed, patting His disciple on the back. He then nudged John back toward Y/n.

"Forgive Me if I'm wrong," said the Messiah who was never wrong, "but I believe you two have something to talk about."

John raised a brow in confusion, but Y/n grinned sheepishly. "He's right. I think there's something I owe you."

"You? Owe me?" John blinked incredulously. "You sacrificed you life to save me. What could you possibly owe me?"

"The truth." Y/n answered so quickly, she nearly interrupted him. "I heard what you said before. I couldn't speak then, so now I owe you the truth. I love you too."

She loved him too.

He didn't know what to say in response. It was everything he'd ever dreamed of. So instead, he took a step closer. "May I kiss you?"

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips as if she had been waiting for the question. "You may."

And so without a second thought, he pressed his lips to hers. He poured out the love he had felt for her for years, the pain and and anguish of losing her, and the overwhelming relief of getting her back into that kiss.

When the two parted, John's heart was exploding with joy. His arms were still wrapped tightly around her, like he was afraid to let go. He closed his eyes again, his face so close to hers that their noses touched.

“I will love you forever.”

“No strings attached?” The grin was evident in Y/n's voice. John's smile brightened to match hers before kissing her again.

“No strings attached.”

[sepyana]

Jjba Stardust Crusaders Ep. 34-39 Thoughts

Under the cut

Ep. 34-35 (D'Arby)

These episodes were pretty solid! Good setup and pay-offs.

The opening scene is so funny to me, they are all synced... wow

D'Arby is entertaining, his Japanese VA really does a lot ot he work, despite the dodgy English. I'd say his stand ability is a bit too obvious, taking people's soulds by gambling. I feel like something more interesting could have been done but it's fine as is, the stand's design makes up for it.

Also, this episode implies people in JJBA have souls? I'm saying implied because it's a real possibility that those are not actual souls, just a part of stands ability.

I love how fucking pissed Advol is this episode. I can't blame him.

I initially thought this was gonna be a Joseph episode since he is a natural gambler. I did like the direction they took. It's showing us that even someone like Joseph can't out cheat D'arby, getting rid of that as an option.

It's a bit weird that Joseph doesn't use hamon to keep the drink from spilling. Hamon would make too much noise, I guess?

The confortation between D'Arby and Jotaro was the best part, I think. It's entirely non-combat but the show utilizes a lot of the tactics it uses for fight scenes. With the lines and the colors and the music.

Jotaro is secretly the funniest character in part 3 and nothing will change my mind. He has Star Platinum bring him a drink and light his cig while betting his and his friends' souls. He could have done all these thing without being so extra about it.

D'Arby fucked up by letting Jotaro bet people's souls with a contract. I sure he thought there is no way he would go for it. He doesn't even flinch when betting Kakyoin's soul which is so funny to me. If the group is going down I'm taking him with us too. He doesn't get a pass just because he is away in the hospital.

Then he bets his own mother's soul. I was sort of expecting that to happen since if he dies, Holly will die too anyway.

I think he should have bet Iggy's soul too while D'Arby was panicking just to get the point across lol

Yeah these episodes were fun. The mechanics around the contracts gets a bit confusing if you think about it but who cares.

Ep. 36-37

I did say before that I would kill to see Hol Horse and DIO interact and guess what?? It was so worth it. I liked this way more than the DIO scenes before.

Otherwise? I struggle to find anything to talk about. I feel like this was just here just because of the set up from earlier, in the Justice episode. It would be worse if they never acknowledged Hol Horse at all.

My question is that, Is the scene with DIO earlier the reason Hol Horse's watch is wrong? I already know DIO's power is stopping time cuz everyone who has heard of JoJo knows. Let's be real. It doesn't make that much sense when I think about it but I assumed that was what they intended while watching.

Ep. 38-39 (Pet Shop)

I was really mixed on it initially but I think I like it a lot now. A fight scene between a superpowered bird and a dog have no right to be this well done.

The most notable thing I don't like about it is a personal preference. I don't like when animals in a show are anthropomorphized. Because part of the fun of an animal companion is that they don't think like us. The most amount of it I don't mind is Missile from Ghost Trick, as an example. Even the way he is drawn now anthropomorphizes him.

I did love the fight scenes. I love that whenever Iggy thinks he has escaped he gets found again.

The shows stops in it's tracks sometimes to tell us how COOL and FEROCIOUS hawks are, just really hyping up Pet Shop.

Speaking of Pet Shop, I really like him. I've found the Engrish names in JJBA charming, It gives a completely different vibe to those who know English compared to Japanese people who do not. It's not intended but it is either really funny or really bold. Pet Shop's name shows that well.

His design is strangely cute. Intimidating but also cute :) It's funny to think how DIO recruited him. Did DIO gave that outfit to him??

When Iggy started having flashbacks I thought "Holy shit is he gonna actually die??" You know how jjba is, if we learn a character's backstory it means death for them. The show knows this. It waits for the last possible second to save him, to make you think he was gonna die for real.

It was really sad seeing Iggy struggle to walk. I said I don't like tiny dogs but what I dislike even more is how much jjba loves torturing dogs.

So, Kakyoin is back. With sick shades too. I don't know why he has them, maybe his eyes are sensitive to light after treatment? They are a bit extra, sure, but they also fit his character really well for some reason. I appreciate this costume change and that he has scars left from the incident.

I love that everyone rushes towards him, sort of hugging and and then Jotaro is just like 😐. I know he is emo but he could at least pretend to be a bit more excited.

The translator of the manga I was reading even left a little note on top going "MY BRO MY BRO IS BACK".

They have found DIO's hideout so... we are reaching the end. I am excited but also a little bit scared.

People wouldn't be praising this part ao much if it had a horrible ending, so I'm not really worried about it being bad, at least.

Praying for my lads to make it out alive lol

I will try to watch the last 9 episodes as soon as possible.

[criminalmindzjunkie]

Avoidance

masterlist

part two

Summary: Reader doesn’t know what she did to make Spencer hate her so much.

A/N: This fic is just a reminder that sub!Spencer lives rent free in my head at all times. Also, if anyone would like to be on a taglist for one shots like these, let me know! I’m going to work on getting one started.

Pairing: sub!Spencer/femdom! reader

Content Warnings: honestly way too much swearing, sexual harassment, slapping, hands free orgasm, oral sex (male and female receiving), hand job, orgasm denial, edging, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, degradation, femdom 

Word Count: 8.2k

           I have absolutely no idea what I’ve done to make Spencer Reid hate me.

           Usually, when someone despises a person to the point of complete and total avoidance, there’s a reason. No one just wakes up and decides to resent another person for the hell of it – right? Wrong.

           Because Spencer Reid positively loathes me – and I have no idea why.

           It all started on my first day at the BAU. I had somehow landed the highly coveted job of media liaison after the previous one had decided to complete the training to be a profiler. For reasons unbeknownst to me, they thought a twenty-four-year-old fresh out of college with no prior job experience was the best fit for the position. I didn’t understand it, but I also wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

           To say that I had been terrified the first time I set foot into the bullpen would be the understatement of the century. After a very formal and very intimidating orientation with the unit chief, my predecessor, a beautiful blonde named Jennifer, offered herself up to be my personal tour guide. Jennifer introduced me to the other members of the team, and with every smiling face I came in contact with, my fears of being the odd man out were assuaged. I could tell that Penelope Garcia, tech analyst extraordinaire, would most likely be my biggest ally – and it was abundantly clear that Derek Morgan and I would probably get into a fair amount of mischief together. Elle Greenaway seemed like the obvious choice for a future drinking buddy, and Jason Gideon – well, he merely grunted at me in acknowledgment before retreating back to his office. I figured three out of four wasn’t so bad.

           I didn’t meet Doctor Spencer Reid until after lunch. Jennifer mentioned something about him guest lecturing at a local university, which surprised me considering she mentioned him being a year younger than me. Apparently, the kid was an actual genius, which was more than a little bit intimidating, but Jennifer assured me that Spencer was a sweetheart.

           “He’s a little quirky, but I’m sure you’ll love him. Just don’t be surprised if he tries to talk your ear off,” Jennifer laughs. “Last week I asked him about the weather and he went off on a tangent about climate change that lasted nearly an hour.”

           By the time Spencer strolled into the bullpen at exactly one in the evening, I was sitting perched atop Jennifer’s desk, thoroughly engrossed as she told me about their latest case. When she stops talking midsentence in favor of smiling at someone behind me, I half expect that Morgan is attempting to sneak up on me, when:

           “Hey, look who’s back,” Jennifer greets, prompting me to turn around excitedly. I was eager to put a face to the man I’d heard so much about.

           And when I turn, my eyes land on the prettiest man I’ve ever seen.

           Sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jawline are framed by shaggy brown hair, complete with beautiful brown eyes and soft, pillowy lips. As if his good looks weren’t enough, he’s dressed in the most adorably nerdy sweater vest and a pair of thin framed glasses. He’s absolutely precious – a fact that Jennifer had conveniently left out.

           “How was the lecture?” Jennifer asks him as he places his satchel on the desk adjacent to hers. Spencer perks up at this, smiling excitedly from across the divider.

           “I think it went really good, actually. I incorporated this really cool joke that I heard about quantum physics. Do you want to-”

           He stops abruptly when he realizes Jennifer isn’t his only spectator, and those lovely brown eyes go almost comically wide when they settle on me.

           “Spencer, this is Y/N Y/L/N. She’s the new media liaison. Y/N, this is Doctor Spencer Reid.”

           I give him my best smile, tacking on a small wave for good measure.

           “It’s nice to meet you, Doctor Reid. Jennifer’s told me a lot about you.”

           “Uh, y-yeah. It’s n-nice to meet you, too,” Spencer stutters. He looks positively stricken and I’m fairly sure he hasn’t blinked in over a minute. I cast a glance at Jennifer, who seems just as confused as I am.

           Well, she had mentioned that he was a tad strange.

           “I’d like to hear the joke,” I offer, only to immediately regret it when I see him tense up.

           “N-No, that’s o-okay,” he chokes out as he struggles to gather the files on his desk. “It’s n-not that good, anyways.”

           And just as quickly as he came, Spencer leaves in a flurry of crumpled papers, leaving Jennifer and I wondering what the fuck just happened.

--

           Things didn’t get better with time. In fact, they got much worse.

           In the six months that I had been working for the BAU, I could count my interactions with Spencer Reid on one hand. It wasn’t for lack of trying on my part – in my desperation to figure out what I’d done to make him avoid me, I sought out the young genius every chance I got. But every time I got within ten feet of him, it’s like an alarm would sound in his head and he’d make up some excuse to leave the room.

           The others had noticed his strange behavior, too. It seemed they all had made a sort of game out of it – calling Spencer into rooms that I was in just to see him panic, or asking me to personally deliver files to his desk. At first, I played into it, hoping that their teasing would help to diffuse some of the tension.

           After a month of being on the receiving end of Spencer’s cold shoulder, I started avoiding him, too.

           I tried to act indifferent – like it didn’t hurt me as badly as it did. I no longer sought him out, and by month two, we had a sort of understanding. I didn’t go near him, and he didn’t go near me, and that’s how it went on for four miserable months.

           Until today.

           “Reid, Y/L/N, you’re in 202.”

           I damn near drop my bag on the floor. This was bound to happen at some point or another, but I hadn’t planned on that day being today, and I was not prepared. After nine hours of running around the local police department, my body was weighed down from fatigue and I was downright grumpy. Not to mention I had picked the worst possible day to try and break in a new pair of heels, and my feet were throbbing.

           Needless to say, I was in no mood to deal with Spencer Reid’s bullshit.

           “Uh, Hotch? Could I maybe room with Elle?” I ask, sending a glare in Morgan’s direction when he snorts out a laugh. Hotch raises an eyebrow at me.

           “Why? Is there a problem?”

           Yes, sir, there certainly is. And your guess is as good as mine as to what that problem is.

           “No, but I just think that-”

           “Good. Then you should be fine to share a room with him.”

           Right.

           I spare a brief glance at Spencer, who, in the last thirty seconds, has turned the color of a tomato. I pray that he’ll speak up and voice his discomfort, but just like always, he stays silent.

           Hotch doles out the room keys and I begin the trek down the hallway, my poor aching feet groaning in protest with every step. I’m vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps behind me, and it’s not until I swipe the key into the key card that Spencer speaks.

           But not to me – no, never to me.

           “Derek, please, I’m begging you. Just switch with me this one time, and – and I’ll do your reports for a month!”

           After six months of dealing with Spencer’s aversion to me, his words should come as no surprise. And really, I’d expected as much - but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

           “Not happening, kid. This is the perfect opportunity for you to get over whatever problem you have with Y/N. I bet you’ll even end up liking her. She’s not going to be rude to you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

           “… T-That’s not what I’m worried abo-”

           I don’t wait around to hear the rest of his sentence. I push open the door to the room, not bothering to wait for Spencer before closing it. I kick off my heels as soon as the door clicks shut, letting out a half relieved, half frustrated  groan.

           After claiming the bed nearest the air conditioner as my own, I pluck my pajamas and toiletry bag out from my suitcase and shuffle over to the bathroom. The way I see it, the quicker I get a shower and can go to sleep, the faster the night will pass. Before I know it, this unfortunate situation will be a thing of the past.

           After drawing out the shower for as long as I possibly could, I exit the bathroom clad in a tank top and a pair of shorts, hair dripping wet and skin freshly scrubbed clean. Spencer’s sitting on his bed, book in hand and tie loosened. He doesn’t look up at me when I walk by - not that I’d expected him to. A thick silence hangs in the air as I pull a bottle of lotion out from my suitcase, and I debate turning on the TV just to make things slightly less awkward. In the end I decide against it, because I doubt even that could make this situation better.

           I prop a leg up on the bed and begin to lather my legs in cherry scented lotion, paying special care to my aching feet before moving on. It’s not until both of my legs have been thoroughly massaged and coated in lotion that I look up.

           Spencer’s eyes are locked on me, mouth hanging open and chest heaving up and down. His knuckles are white from how hard they’re clutching the book in his hands, but despite that I can still see the way they’re trembling. When he realizes I've caught him staring, he closes his mouth and gulps hard.

           I straighten up and raise an eyebrow in a silent question, and that’s enough for Spencer to snap his book shut and scramble off of the bed. He’s clumsy as he moves to his suitcase, dropping his bottle of travel shampoo twice before he reaches the bathroom. If I wasn’t so off put by whatever the hell had just happened, I might have thought it cute.

--

           As if the universe thought my current predicament wasn’t enough to deal with, the next morning I was dealt another shitty hand. This time, my distress came in the form of a young cop who couldn’t pick up on social cues to save his life. After an entire morning of dodging sleazy advances, I finally managed to shake him when his superior sent him out to go and actually do his fucking job.

           Or so I thought.

           I’m standing in the breakroom, pouring my fourth (or is it my fifth?) cup of coffee when I hear the sound of footsteps in the hall. I don’t know if I’ve developed a sixth sense about these things, or if I’m just particularly on edge today, but I know it’s the young officer before he can even cross the threshold.

           And when he does, and he sees that he has me cornered, a saccharine smile stretches across his lips.

           “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he drawls in an accent that could probably be attractive if he wasn’t so damn skeevy.

           “Might wanna get your eyes checked,” I mutter, refusing to look in his direction as I stir my coffee.

           “Pretty and feisty. Just how I like my women.”

           “I am not your anything,” I seethe, and instead of backing off like any respectful human being would, he just chuckles and begins to saunter towards me.

           “C’mon baby, you don’t have to be that way. You don’t have to act all professional with me.”

           “Don’t call me that.” I look at him now, and the smug, self-righteous smile on his face makes my blood boil.

           “You don’t like baby? That’s fine – I’m sure I can think of lots of other things to call you,” he murmurs. He’s closer now, so close that I can practically feel his breath against my neck.

           “I’m going to tell you to stop one more time, and it would be in your best interest to listen,” I growl.

           “Or what?” he taunts. “I’d like to see you try to stop me.”

           I jolt forward when a hand comes down hard on my ass, squeezing me harshly through the material of my skirt.

           Oh, fuck no.

           I’m whirling around faster than I ever thought possible, and then a harsh crack sounds throughout the room as my hand comes in contact with his face.

           My hand stings from the contact, but the pain is welcome because he flies backwards, stumbling and grasping as his already reddening cheek.

           “What the fuck?” he roars, eyes flashing with unbridled fury. I take several steps towards him, and to my utmost delight he nearly trips over himself in his hurry to put distance between us. I stop when his back hits the wall and I lean in until our faces are only inches apart.

           “Listen here, you limp dick fuck,” I snarl. “I’m getting real sick and fucking tired of pathetic pieces of shit like you thinking they can put their hands on women. What’s your problem? Are you so fucking tactless that you can’t get anyone to fuck you?” I punctuate my question by jabbing my pointer finger into his chest and cocking my head to the side. “Are you so unappealing that the only way you can get your hands on a woman is to wait until she’s alone and try to corner her?

           Or is it a power thing? You’ve got the gun and the badge so you think you’re entitled to just take what you want, don’t you? You think no one can stop you because you’re in a position of power. Well, I have some news for you – I outrank you, and you just assaulted a federal agent. I will not stop until I ruin your fucking career, and if you even think of trying to lie your way out of this, I’ll do a helluva lot fucking worse. After the week I’m having, I am just looking for an excuse to kick your fucking dick into the dirt. Do you understand?”

           By the time I finish speaking, my chest is heaving up and down and my eyes are narrowed into slits. The officer is so angry that he’s shaking, hands balled up to fists at his sides. For a moment, I think he’ll try to hit me, but then his hard-exterior cracks and the anger gives way to fear.

           “You – You can’t tell anyone about this,” he says, trying his best to sound menacing. But his voice wavers, and I can tell he’s losing his grip. “It’ll r-ruin my career.”

           I raise my hand up to his cheek, placing my palm over the red imprint I had left on his skin. And then I flash him the sweetest goddamn smile that ever there was.

           “I’d like to see you try to stop me.”

           I give him a pat on the cheek before turning around and heading for the door, only to stop halfway when I see that I have an audience of one.

           Spencer stands in the doorway, a coffee mug gripped tightly in one hand, mouth agape and eyes wide. He’s standing stock still, eyes darting in between the police officer and me. I let out an exasperated sigh because of-fucking-course it would be Spencer that would happen to walk in on whatever that just was.

           “Close your mouth, Reid. That’s how you catch flies,” I deadpan, prompting Spencer to snap his mouth shut.

           Without another word, I brush past him and leave the break room.

--

           I suppose the universe had decided to finally give me a break, because that afternoon we were able to apprehend the unsub. But my good fortune only went so far, because Hotch announced that we would be leaving first thing in the morning – which meant another night alone with Spencer Reid.

           He didn’t mention what he walked in on when the two of us arrived back at our room, and I didn’t expect him to. The two of us went about the motions of unwinding from the day in complete and utter silence, and by the time I emerge from the shower I decide that I’ve had enough.

           “I’m gonna go stay with Elle and Derek,” I murmur as I zip up my suitcase and slip on my shoes.

           “Oh. O-Okay.”

           And that was that.

           It’s about an hour later when my phone is on four percent that I realize I hadn’t remembered to bring my charger with me. I contemplate just letting it die, but the idea of sitting through a seven-hour jet ride tomorrow without it sounds excruciating. Then again, so does the idea of having to suffer through an interaction with Spencer.

           The phone wins out in the end, and with Derek and Elle still snoring softly in their respective beds, I slip out of the room and into the hallway. With any luck, Spencer will be in a similar state and I’ll be able to sneak in and out without him waking up.

           I think thank my lucky stars when I slowly crack open the door to Spencer’s room and see that the lights are off. I take special care to close the door as quietly as possible before tiptoeing across the carpeted floors, feeling my way around in the dark so that I don’t trip over anything.

I make it halfway across the room when I hear it – it’s quiet, and if the air conditioner had been on, I wouldn’t have even heard it at all. It’s faint, so faint that I wonder if I’d imagined it, but then that same sound breaks through the silence and I know it’s not a product of my imagination.

I hear the covers rustle, and then a low moan followed by the distinct sound of skin on skin. My blood runs cold as the moans grow louder and more frequent, rolling off Spencer’s lips in rapid succession. There’s heavy breathing and whimpering and holy fuck I just walked in on Spencer Reid masturbating.

Spencer cries out a particularly load moan, one that sounds so pornographic that it shoots straight to my core. It’s sexy and dirty and he sounds absolutely wrecked, and the part of my brain that is still capable of logical thinking is screaming get out! Get out, now!

I begin to slowly backtrack, moving at one tenth of the speed that I had coming in because the possibility of being caught is absolutely not an option. If Spencer hates me now, he’d really hate me if he found out I snuck into his room at night and heard… that.

I’m about five feet away from the door when:

“O-Oh my God, yes! Y/N, please - fuck!”

I think then that I certainly have to be dreaming, because there’s no way I’d just heard him correctly. There’s no way that Spencer – the same Spencer that scurried out of the room when I walked in – was moaning my name while he touched himself. Absolutely not.

But then it happens again and again and again – my name falling from his lips incessantly like some kind of debauched chant.

It feels like my skin is on fire – my mind a befuddled mess – and before my brain can tell me what a terrible idea it is, my feet are carrying me back into the room and I’m coming to a stop at the foot of Spencer’s bed.

Bathed in the glow of the moonlight shining through the window, Spencer looks ethereal. There’s a thin line of sweat beading on his forehead, and his usually meticulously slicked back hair is fanned out on the pillow like some sort of halo. His teeth are nestled into his bottom lip now, and all that can be heard are tiny whimpers as his hand slides up and down underneath the bed sheets. Spencer’s always beautiful, almost painfully so. But the way he looks now, shadows dancing across his face as he works himself to orgasm, is infinitely more breathtaking than words can express.

It doesn’t take long for Spencer to release his lip from beneath his teeth, and when he does my name is flying out of his mouth once more.

I take that as my invitation to speak.

“I don’t think I’ve heard you say my name before.”

Spencer’s entire body stills and his eyes fly open to reveal two dark pools full of sheer panic.

“I-I can explain,” he stammers, moving to clutch the comforter to his chest in an attempt to cover himself.

I let out a hum and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Please do. I’m very interested in hearing about just what you were picturing me doing.”

Spencer sucks in a harsh breath. I can practically see the wheels in his brain turning -desperately trying to concoct some kind of reasonable explanation.

“I-I… I don’t… I’m s-sorry,” he stutters, and it’s so adorable how he’s squirming underneath my gaze that I decide to help him out.

“Was I sucking you off? Or were you fucking me?” I wonder aloud. He tries to hide it, thinking the covers will mask the way that his hips buck up, but I definitely see it.

“I-I…”

“Which was it, Spencer? Was I taking you down my throat or were you fucking my pussy? Or maybe I was coming undone on your face – was that it?”

Spencer lets out a low groan, and if my patience hadn’t been running so fucking thin, I probably would’ve left it at that. But after the hell he’d put me through for the last six months, I feel like he deserved to squirm a little.

“Fucking answer me.”

“Y-You were, um… r-riding me. And you s-slapped m-me.”

Oh.

This just got a lot more interesting.

I raise an eyebrow at him and I can see the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he gulps.

“So, you liked what you saw today, did you?”

Spencer nods so fervently that I have to bite down on my tongue to suppress a laugh.

“Words, baby. Use them.”

“I-I liked it. A lot.”

“Apparently so, seeing as you were moaning for it like a desperate little slut,” I breeze, my tone cool and indifferent. “Have you done this before, Doctor? Touched yourself to the thought of me, that is.”

“… Y-Yes. I’m s-sorry. I didn’t m-mean to. It just kind of happened one night, and once I started, I couldn’t s-stop.”

I reach out a hand and brush away the hair that had fallen into his face, tucking it back behind his ear before continuing.

“Why the cold shoulder, then? And here I thought you hated me,” I muse, before pausing and cocking my head to the side. “Do you hate me, Doctor?” I ask, and just when I thought he couldn’t look more guilty, he proves me wrong.

“No! I just… couldn’t be around you. I felt so b-bad. You were so nice, and I was using you to g-get off,” Spencer explains. “I couldn’t look you in the eye. Not after picturing you… like that.”

I let out a sigh. Knowing that Spencer didn’t actually hate me for the last six months was a relief. Knowing that Spencer was secretly rubbing one out to me was something else entirely. Whatever was I to do with this information?

“So, you want to fuck me, then?” I reiterate. “Why not tell me this sooner?”

“The probability of you responding positively to me telling you that I, uh, m-masturbate to you was very l-low. And after what I saw today, I think I was wise for keeping that from you,” Spencer says, the last part coming out in a rush. I can’t help but let out a low laugh.

“Yes, but the guy that was coming on to me today wasn’t someone I find attractive. He was pompous and crass and pushy - and you, Doctor Reid, are none of those things.”

“R-Really? You think I’m attractive?”

I hum.

“Very much so, Doctor. But I’m afraid you may have waited too long, and now I don’t feel as inclined to be nice,” I murmur, allowing my hand to trail down from his shoulder to his collar bones before lightly grazing his nipple with my thumb.

“O-Oh my… God,” Spencer whimpers, eyes fluttering shut as my fingers continue to dance across his skin.

“But then again, I don’t think you really want me to be nice to you. I think you want me to treat you like my little play thing.” I stop my hand just below his navel and I thumb across the light layer of hair that makes up his happy trail. “You want to be my dirty boy - don’t you, Doctor Reid?”

“P-Please,” Spencer chokes out, hips jerking up when I allow my thumb to graze a little lower.

“Please what?”

Spencer lets out a frustrated groan.

“Please, I-I want you to u-use me. However you want, just as l-long as you just do-don’t stop touching me,” he rambles. He’s shuddering underneath me, his breaths coming out in harsh pants as my hand wanders lower and lower until I abruptly pull away. “W-Why did you stop?”

“Because I don’t think you deserve to be touched just yet. You’ve got six months to make up to me, after all. I think I want you on your knees for me first,” I say, and from the way his eyes seem to dilate even further, I don’t think he has any objections. “Are you familiar with the color system?”

Spencer nods.

“Green for good, yellow means slow down, and red means stop now.”

“Do you have a safe word?”

“I… I’ve never really, uh. Done t-this.”

Oh. Oh.

I withdraw my hand from its place on his leg and Spencer lets out a distressed whine. “No, please! Don’t go. I’m not a complete virgin, I promise. I got a h-hand job once,” he argues. “And I think I’ve done enough, uh, research, and I really want to try to make you cum. I want to be good for you. Please let me try.”

Spencer looks like he’s about two seconds away from crying, and I can feel my argument dying before it even leaves my mouth.

“Oh, baby, I know you’d be so good,” I coo, and just like that Spencer’s leaning towards me, desperate to have the contact. I indulge him, placing my hand on his cheek, and he relaxes into the touch. “Are you sure you want to do this with me? I’m not what anyone would call vanilla, and I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

“I trust you. I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else,” Spencer whispers, and he sounds so damn sincere that I feel my resolve crumbling.

“You’ll let me know if at any point you want to stop?”

“Yes. Absolutely!”

Enthusiastic little shit.

“Safe word?”

“Um… Tolstoy?”

I let out a snort.

“Alright, smarty pants. We’re going to start now, okay?”

“Yes, Miss,” Spencer pants out.

Fuck me running. He clearly has been doing his research.

“Get on your knees for me, baby. I wanna see just how eager to please you are,” I instruct as I stand up and shimmy out of my shorts. I discard my shirt, too, absentmindedly throwing it somewhere across the room. Spencer lets out a startled squeak when he sees that I’m now completely naked, aside from my underwear.

“Y-You’re so pretty,” Spencer breathes out. “Even better than I imagined.”

The sentiment tugs at my heart, really, it does, but I specifically requested that he get on his knees and he seems a lot more content to just sit and stare.

“On your knees,” I command, and Spencer jumps up almost comically fast.

“S-Sorry, Miss,” he apologizes as he lowers himself down. I seat myself on the edge of the bed and spread my legs for him.

“Don’t apologize, just do as I ask of you, okay baby?”

Spencer nods.

“C-Can I kiss you? Like on the lips first?” Spencer asks as he looks up at me with big doe eyes. It’s a beautiful thing, the image of Spencer Reid sitting in between my legs, cheeks flushed and chest rapidly rising and falling. I give Spencer a sweet smile and lean forward, and the excitement radiating off of him is practically palpable. He leans forward, too eager to wait for me to close the gap, and the action makes my chest swell in adoration.

Just as our lips are about to meet, I pause, and Spencer barely has the time to look confused before my palm connects with the side of his face. The moan it draws out of him is obscene and his hips jolt forward, desperate for some kind of friction. His dick rests painfully hard between his legs, flushed red with precum beading at the tip.

I waste no time in taking his chin in my hand and tilting his head upwards.

“Did I say you could kiss me?” I ask him, voice sugary sweet, contrasting starkly with my actions.

“N-No, Miss. I’m sorry,” Spencer pants out. His hand twitches at his side and I can see how desperately he wants to touch himself, but his desire to please keeps him still.  

“Then the answer is no. Maybe if you can prove to me that you aren’t completely incompetent at eating pussy, I’ll consider it,” I allow a moment for my words to sink in. “Color?”

“Green. So fucking green,” Spencer whines.

“Good boy,” I praise him, and the effects of my words are instantaneous. Spencer rests his cheek against the skin of my thigh and then he’s nuzzling his face against me in a silent plea for permission. After a moment, his pleas become a lot less silent.

“Wanna be your good boy - please let me,” Spencer begs as his nose brushes against my skin. “I want to make you feel good. S’all I ever think about, since the first time I saw you.”

His words send a jolt of pleasure to my core and I reward his brazen honesty with a tender smile and a nod.

“Go ahead, baby. Let me see what that pretty mouth of yours can do.”

The words barely have time to leave my mouth before Spencer is reaching out and hooking a finger underneath the waistband of my panties. I raise up off the bed just enough for him to slide them down my legs, and before I even manage to settle back down onto the bed, Spencer literally dives in. He starts with one long lick, and by the time he reaches my clit he’s crying out lewd moans against me. The feel of the vibrations mixed with the feel of his mouth on me is maddening in the best possible way, and my eyelids threaten to flutter closed under the weight of my pleasure.

“Fuck, baby – you’re doing so good,” I sigh as I lift my hand up and card my fingers through his hair. “You look so pretty on your knees for me.”

Spencer’s movements stutter when he feels my hand tangle itself into his hair, and I let out a light chuckle. I grab hold of the roots and give an experimental tug. My actions cause his hips to jolt forward violently.

“O-Oh my…” Spencer keens, raising his glossy, lust filled eyes to mine. “H-Harder, please.”

I oblige, and Spencer lets out a particularly filthy groan before lapping at my pussy like a man possessed. His hands come to wrap around my thighs and he pulls me closer to him, causing me to let out a gasp when his nose nudges against my clit. The sound only spurs him on further – Spencer begins assaulting my clit, alternating between short, kitten licks and light sucking. The control I had so adamantly been asserting over him began to slip from my fingertips the longer he worked his mouth against me, and quiet, breathy moans started falling from my lips.

“Such a good boy, Spence,” I moan as I scratch my fingernails against his scalp. “You’re making me feel so good, baby. Love that dirty little mouth of yours.”

Spencer thrives on the praise – that much is made obvious by the way he whimpers and tightens his grip on my thighs. He’s completely submitted himself to the act of getting me off, only stopping long enough to cry out when my hands give a particularly harsh tug on his hair.

“Add a finger, baby,” I tell him, allowing my hand to drift down the side of his face, caressing the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

Spencer releases my thigh from his hold and tentatively raises a hand to my entrance, eyes raising to meet mine.

“You’ll tell me if I do something wrong?” he asks, and his concern is so endearing that I tilt his chin upwards and lean forward until my lips meet his.

Spencer gasps into the kiss, shocked, but it doesn’t take him long before his lips are moving against mine fervently. His lips are slick with my arousal, and I dart my tongue out just long enough to swipe it across his bottom lip.

           “D’you like how I taste, baby?” I murmur against his lips, pulling back slightly when Spencer tries to bring his lips down against mine.

           “S-So much,” he whispers, before letting out a frustrated groan when I tease him with the slightest brush of my lips before pulling away again. “P-Please, kiss me again.”

           I bump my nose against his before I reach down and grab his hand in mine.

           “Don’t be a greedy boy, Spencer. Greedy boys don’t get to cum,” I chastise him as I raise his hand up to my mouth. I trace my bottom lip with his pointer finger as Spencer watches on in rapt fascination, before taking the digit into my mouth and sucking. Spencer chokes out a pathetic cry and his hips hopelessly buck into the air as I swirl my tongue around the pad of his finger, taking special care to coat it with spit before releasing it from my mouth.

           I guide his hand back down to my pussy, gasping when the tip of his finger brushes across my entrance.

           “Just take it slow, baby. Start with one and move up to two once you get the hang of it.”

           Spencer nods, eyes alternating between my face and my entrance as he slowly slides his finger in me.

           “You’re so warm, oh my God,” Spencer breathes out, tentatively pulling out his finger before inserting it back in. I hum appreciatively as he begins to move faster, eyelids fluttering shut when he lowers his head and begins languidly licking my clit.

           “Feels so nice, Spence. I fucking love your fingers. Knew that they’d feel like this. I can only imagine how good your cock will feel,” I ramble, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other tugging on his honey brown hair.

           I groan as he inserts a second finger, reveling in the way he’s stretching me out.

           “Curl your fingers when you – fuck! Just like that, baby. Gonna make me cum if you keep doing t-that.”

Spencer speeds up both the onslaught of his fingers and his mouth at my admission, tongue working figure eights on my clit while his fingers brush up against my g-spot. A familiar warmth starts to spread in my lower belly, and with every swipe of Spencer’s tongue against my clit, the coil in my stomach winds tighter and tighter until, finally:

“O-Oh, fuck, Spence!”

The coil snaps, sending jolts of pleasure straight through my core. I can feel the way my walls tighten around Spencer’s fingers as my orgasm rips through me, never stopping their ministrations in an attempt to help me ride out my high. Vibrations ripple across my clit when Spencer lets out a cry of his own before his movements halt completely as shudders wrack his body.

I know he didn’t just…

           I allow myself a moment to recover before I lean forward and drag my eyes down Spencer’s slender frame – and sure enough, his tummy is covered in white ropes of cum and his now softening cock is hanging limply between his legs.

           Spencer’s eyes reluctantly open when his shudders cease, and one look at my pissy expression is enough to send him into a fit.

           “I-I didn’t mean to cum! I’m so sorry, Miss. It’s j-just that you looked so pretty when you came, and you taste so good! And you were pulling my hair, and you called me a good boy and I just couldn’t do it anymo-”

           “Shut up,” I seethe, voice cold and laced with annoyance. Spencer’s mouth snaps shut and he gulps. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t remember saying that you were allowed to come. Am I mistaken?”            “N-No, Miss.”

           “Mm, that’s what I thought,” I hum. “Stand up.”

           “B-But I want to make you cum again! Can I plea-”

           “Shut the fuck up and stand up, Spencer.”

           Spencer rushes to his feet, stumbling a bit when his legs begin to shake. He corrects himself, standing perfectly still in front of me with a shameful look on his face. I scoot back on the bed and fix him with a stony look.

           “I want you to lay on your stomach across my lap. Can you do that, Doctor Reid, or are you too stupid to follow simple directions?”

           Spencer adamantly shakes his head, scrambling to splay out across my bare thighs. Once he’s comfortable, I raise a palm to his bare ass cheek and smooth my hand across the skin.

           “Color?”

           “G-Green,” Spencer stutters out.

           “Wonderful. Since you’ve decided to be a greedy little slut and cum before I gave you permission, I’m going to punish you. Do you remember your safe word, baby?”

           “Tolstoy.”

           “Good boy. I’m going to give you ten, and I want you to count them out for me. One for every month you held out on me, and four because you’re an insolent little whore who can’t do as he’s told. Does that sound fair to you?”

           “Y-Yes, Miss. P-Please.”

           A harsh smack sounds throughout the room, and Spencer lets out a whorish moan that’s bound to wake the people in the neighboring rooms. The pale skin of his ass transforms to red, and I rub my palm across it soothingly.

           “O-One,” Spencer says through gritted teeth as he rocks his hips against my legs.

           “You okay, baby?”

           “Y-Yes, Miss. Please don’t stop. I deserve it. P-Punish me, please.”

           My palm comes down across his ass four more times, and with each strike I watch Spencer fall apart right before my eyes. Tears are gliding down his flushed cheeks, and his cock is now painfully hard against my legs.

           “Five more to go, baby. Keep counting for me, my pretty boy.”

           By the time my hand comes down against his flesh for the final time, Spencer has devolved into a mess of pathetic whimpers. His cock is smearing precum across my thighs as he rocks against me, and his ass is covered in a litany of bright red marks. Incomprehensible pleas are falling from his lips, and his hands are tightly fisted in the sheets.

           I lean forward and place a gentle kiss to each of his battered cheeks.

           “T-Thank you, Miss. Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

           “You’re welcome, baby. Can you go lay in the center of the bed for me?”

           Spencer gives a feeble nod and crawls to the center of the bed, carefully laying himself down and letting out a low hiss when his ass came in contact with the mattress.

           I let him rest against the sheets before I roll over and settle in between his legs.

           Spencer’s cock, painfully hard and leaking precum, sits against his belly. Spencer watches as I trace lithe fingers up his thigh, his chest rising and falling quickly as I get closer to where he demands my attention.

           A garbled groan rips from his throat when my hand grasps his cock, and I have to place my other hand on his hip and force him back down onto the bed when he tries to buck up.

           “Stay still, baby,” I tut as I drag my fist up and down at an agonizingly slow pace.

           “S-Sorry, M-Miss,” Spencer stutters. His brows are drawn together and his eyes are heavy lidded. “Need m-more, please.”

           “Mm, I don’t think you need more. You just want more. Dumb little greedy baby,” I tease as my thumb swipes across his head.

           “Oh… G-God, please!” Spencer mewls.

           “Is what I’m giving you not good enough?”

           “N-No, it’s just-”

           I raise an eyebrow at him and halt my movements.

           “No, it isn’t good enough?”

           Spencer lets out a frustrated groan and his fists clench the sheets.

           “P-Please, Miss! I’ll be your good boy, I promise. Just let me cum, please, I want it so bad!”

           Thoroughly pleased by his shameless begging, I start moving my hand again.

           “Let me know when you’re about to cum, baby.”

           That moment comes when, not thirty seconds later, the muscles in Spencer’s abdomen start to spasm – telltale signs of an impending orgasm. Spencer is so lost in the way my hand is moving against his cock that he makes no move to warn me, and just as I see his eyes start to flutter shut, I withdraw my hand.

           “W-Why did yo-”

           “You didn’t tell me you were about to cum. I thought you said you were going to be a good boy, Spencer? You sure aren’t acting like someone who wants to cum.”

           “S-Sorry, please, just… fuck!”

           Spencer’s whole-body folds in on itself when my mouth wraps around the head of his cock. I swirl my tongue around the tip, lapping up the precum that had gathered before I pull away.

           “You’ve got such a pretty cock, baby. Can’t believe nobody’s had you in their mouth yet,” I murmur, pausing to drag my tongue along the veiny underside of his erection. “Let me hear you, baby. Wanna know how much you like when I use my mouth on you.”

           “Love it so much, oh God… Feels so warm and wet. Thank you so much, Miss. God, it feels perfect,” Spencer keens as I take him into my mouth again. Mumbled praises fall from his lips as I take him deeper, and the second my nose hits the soft skin of his belly, Spencer’s hand comes up and begins to tap incessantly on my shoulder.

           “S-Stop! I-I’m close – Jesus Christ, I’m so fucking close and I really want to cum inside you, i-if that’s okay with you,” Spencer babbles, eyes wide and pleading. I smile up at him.

           “Do you think you deserve to cum in my pussy?”

           “H-Honestly, no, but I’m hoping you’ll let me anyways,” Spencer says, shooting me an adorably shy smile that has my heart doing somersaults in my chest. I let out a light laugh and shake my head, moving to straddle his lap.

           “Are you sure you want to do this, Spence?” I murmur as I caress the side of his face with my hands. “This can stop right here, if you want it to.”

           “Please, Miss. I want this. I want you,” Spencer reiterates, eyes shining and filled to the brim with adoration.

           “Want you, too, baby. You can call me my name now, if you want,” I say as I place a gentle kiss on his lips. I move to pull away, but Spencer’s hand is quick to grasp the back of my neck and pull me back in.

           While our lips move together, frenzied and desperate, I sneak a hand in between our bodies and grab Spencer’s cock. He gasps into my mouth as I drag his head in between my folds.

           “I-I won’t last long,” Spencer chokes out, eyes trained on where I’m rubbing him against me. “I’ll try my b-best, but I’m sorry if I c-cum too fast.”

           I sink down just enough that his head is the only thing inside me, watching as his face contorts beautifully as a result.

           “Don’t worry about me, baby. Tonight’s all about you.”

           With one last, chaste kiss to his lips, I slowly begin to lower myself down onto his length. The sound of our moans fill the room as Spencer clings desperately to me, hands finally finding purchase on my hips.

           “Y/N, fuck, you feel so good,” Spencer whimpers as I begin to slowly rock against him. “I-I knew it would feel good, but oh my God. I-I can’t… I’m gonna cum, soon. M’so sorry.”

           His admission prompts me to move faster, raising my hips until he’s almost completely out of me before I’m slamming back down.

           “Spence, you feel so good. Such a good boy – my good boy.”

           “Yes, yes, I’m all yours! Only yours, please!” Spencer whines. I lean forward, and the change of angle is enough for both of us to cry out.

           “Are you gonna be a good boy and cum for me, Spence?” I murmur into his ear, biting lightly against his earlobe. “I want you to cum in me, baby. Don’t you want to be my good boy?” I punctuate my words by lightly wrapping my hand around this throat and squeezing, and that’s all it takes for Spencer to completely fall apart underneath me. 

           “Y/N - fuck!”

           Spencer’s grip on my hips tightens as he bucks up into me, painting the inside of my pussy with his cum as he yells out strangled exclamations of my name. He presses his face into my shoulder as I ride him through his orgasm, whispering quiet thank yous and pressing open mouthed kisses to my skin as the euphoria floods through his body.

             I place a kiss to his forehead before I crawl off of him, having every intention of getting up and procuring a wet washrag. But Spencer reaches out to grip my arm, and his eyes look so sad that I stop in my tracks.

           “C-Can you stay? Please?”

           The insecurity in his voice tugs at my heart.

           “Of course, I’m staying. Was just gonna get a wet washrag for us. M’not gonna leave you, Spence,” I murmur. Spencer visibly untenses, but his grip on my arm doesn’t lessen.

           “Could you just stay here a little bit longer?”

           “Sure thing, baby,” I say, prompting Spencer’s lips to pull up into a pleased smile. I crawl back into the bed and lay on my back, and Spencer instantly plasters himself to my side. He hums contentedly as he wraps his arms around me, and I let out a light laugh when I catch him stealing glances at me.

           “What is it, baby?”

           A rosy blush spreads across his cheeks.

           “Can I kiss you?”

           After everything we just did, he still feels the need to ask permission to kiss me. What a sweet boy.

           My answer comes in the form of me pressing my lips to his, and that’s how we stay until he pulls away.

           “I have another question,” he says shyly.

           “Lay it on me, baby.”

           The blush on his cheeks gets significantly more pronounced.

           “It’s just that, uh, you didn’t get to cum again. And I really want you to, because you took such good care of me,” Spencer pauses, and his fingertips lightly graze the inside of my thigh. “C-Could I please eat you out again?” Another pause, and he retracts his hand. “I-It’s okay if not. I understand if you just wanted this to be… a one-time thing. I guess I was just kind of hoping that it w-wouldn’t be. But that’s silly – you were just doing me a favor. I’m sorry I asked.”

           Spencer cringes as he finishes speaking, not even giving me a chance to reply before he’s trying to pull away. I tighten my grip on his arm, and Spencer gives me a weary look.

           “First of all, I don’t think I would ever say no to being eaten out – especially if you’re the one offering. Second, this is definitely not a one off. I have lots of plans for you, pretty boy,” I explain, and the relief that radiates off of Spencer is almost palpable.

           “Thank God,” he sighs, and then he’s scooting down the bed and settling in between my legs.

--

           And if the rest of the team notices the way Spencer starts following me around like a lost puppy - well, they’re all kind enough not to point it out.

[high-functioning-lokipath]

All About Eavesdropping - Loki x Reader - Words: 1,835

“You want us to what?” You yelled. 

“I need you and Elsa here to go to Greenland for about a month,” Tony said. You stared at him from across his worktable in his lab. 

“Why in Valhalla would we need to do that, Stark?” Loki retorted. “And don’t call me Elsa.” Tony had called the two of you in there right after breakfast saying that he had a very important job for you. This, however, did not seem to be all that special.

“For purely scientific purposes, of course,” He replied, mouthful of blueberries.

“And those would be?” You sighed, facedesking. 

“The new winter stealth suits I designed. I need them tested in the field. I’ve run as many lab tests as possible but,” Tony shrugged. “Field tests are absolutely necessary. Everything you’ll need is either in these boxes or in the house in Greenland. If you want to take any other personal stuff you’ll want to grab it before you leave.”

“And you think we’re the best for the job?” You asked.

“He’s already a popsicle so if it gets too cold he can deal with it and you can heal yourself or him anyway,” Tony said like it was the most logical thing in the world. Loki tensed at his words but didn’t say anything about it.

“Fine,” Loki grunted. He grabbed the box Tony had marked for him and headed for the doors. 

“You leave at 6! Don’t be late!” 

“I wouldn’t dare disappoint you, Stark,” Loki sassed before finally stalking out. 

“Have fun!” Tony grinned at you, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“First of all, perv. Second of all, ain’t gonna happen!” You replied. “Why are you doing this? This whole thing is a direct attack on a part of him he doesn’t like to address!” 

“Well I figured he has to grow up one day and deal with it. We all have inner demons to fight. I figured I’d help him.”

“A bit not good there, Sherlock.” Tony snorted in laughter and shook his head. 

“Would you rather I send him with Steve?” Your eyes widened comically.

“Nope!” You exclaimed, popping the p. “I think we’ll do just fine.” You grabbed your box and headed out as well.   

By 6 o'clock, the two of you were flying out on one of Tony's jets. "So, what do you think of the new suits?" You asked Loki, trying to make some conversation.

"They are no match for true Asgardian leather and would be greatly improved by at least a cape," He replied sounding rather bored. 

"Oh," You said. "How exactly are we to be testing the suits again? I forget what Tony said."

"He said nothing, darling. It was all in his infernal little packet." You blushed lightly at the pet name and nodded. 

"Alright, well, I guess I'm just going to," You paused, unsure of what to do. It was obvious Loki was not interested in conversation but there wasn't much to do on the jet. "I'm just going to sit over there," You said, getting up quickly and moving to the other side of the jet. The rest of the flight was quiet, Loki only speaking up to alert you that you were about to land. 

"Surely the man of iron could not possibly want us to stay here," Loki said, getting out and seeing the small house.

"Maybe it's bigger on the inside," You said hopefully. Gathering your few things, you both headed in. "Oh this is so much worse," You groaned. The large main room consisted of the dining and living rooms and the kitchen. However, it was very sparsely decorated. You could see a stack of groceries in the kitchen along with a note. Loki wandered off to explore the bathroom and bedrooms, you assumed, while you read the note. 

"Find anything of interest?" Loki called out, surprising you.

"Just that Tony said if we didn't like the food or somehow ran out there's a grocery store about 10 miles away."

"And just how does he expect us to go there?" Loki yelled, getting increasingly frustrated. 

"The note says our transportation is out back." You walked down the small hallway to the back door and looked outside. Stifling a laugh you called out, "Hey, Loki! I think your ex is here!"

"My who?" Loki replied, very confused. "I have no 'exes', as you call them, on Midgard." You smirked and moved aside so Loki could look. When he saw what was in the backyard, a strange look crossed over his face. "Run," He said in a dangerously calm voice. 

"I beg your pardon?" You replied.

"Run if you don't want to lose your phone," He smirked back. You laughed but you did take off running. He chased you back out to the main room but you ran out the front door. "Don't think you can escape me!" He called out. 

"Wanna bet?" You called back, running to the backyard. You quickly jumped on one of the two horses you had seen and took off. 

"Oh, you'll regret saying that, my dear," Loki grinned, getting on the other horse and taking off after you. 

The next few days continued in a similar pattern. There wasn't much to do so you and Loki would often spend your time exploring the woods behind the house or riding the horses or just talking. Loki had warmed up to you quite a bit, pun intended, and you were quite happy. Of course, you recorded the events of each day in your diary. Well, it was less of a diary and more of a collection of special moments you wanted to remember and sketches you'd made. You had just finished writing today's events when you heard a loud clatter and Loki call you from the kitchen.

"Y/N!" He said. "Can you come here please?" You quickly put your notebook in the nightstand drawer and hurried out to the kitchen.

"What in the world happened, Loki?" You exclaimed, holding back a laugh. Loki was laying on the floor, covered in a mixture of flour and eggs it seemed, with various cups and bowls around him. 

"I was attempting to reach a mixing bowl on the top shelf when I slipped on an egg and pulled the shelf down," He admitted.

"You're telling the truth!" You gasped, openly chuckling at the situation now.

"Of course, love! I couldn't lie to you." You blushed brightly, as he often made you do with those pet names. 

"Uh, well," You stuttered. "Why don't you go wash up and I'll finish," You paused, glancing around. "Whatever you were making."

"I was attempting to make breakfast," He grinned. "But I think I should make myself clean instead, hm?" 

"Yes, you should," You smirked. "Wouldn't want anyone thinking you were greying early."

"You-" He exclaimed, standing quickly. For a moment you thought he was truly angry, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. He reached onto the counter and threw a handful of flour at you before running off to the bathroom. You laughed, dusted yourself off, and got to work on breakfast.

About an hour later, he came back out and sat across you at the counter. "Your breakfast, my prince," You smiled, presenting him his plate. He smiled and you ate in silence for a time. 

"I've been reading a lot lately," He commented. 

"Mhm," You replied, mouthful of syrupy pancakes. 

"The last book I read had some rather interesting sketches in it too."

"Really?" You asked, truly interested. "I love art. Can you show it to me?" You took a large gulp of milk as he replied.

"My dear," He said, setting down his fork. "I read your diary." You coughed, almost choking on your ill-timed drink. 

"You what?" You screeched. "How dare you invade my privacy like that and-"

"Don't you care to know what I thought?" He interrupted.

"Why? So you can laugh at me, oh Mr. High-and-" He cut you off by leaning over the counter and kissing you earnestly. "Oh, that's nice," You said once you pulled away. 

"Just nice?" He smirked. "I guess I'll have to work on that." He kissed you once more before you pulled away, cheeks flushed and eyes wide.

"I just remembered something!" You gasped. 

"What's wrong?" You quickly pulled out the pamphlet Tony had made you about the suit testing. You then gestured to a paragraph under a subheading of RECORDING ANY AND ALL TEST RESULTS

ALL TEST RESULTS MUST BE RECORDED BY THE TESTERS USING THE STEPS LISTED. TO ENSURE NOTHING IS MISSED, HOWEVER, THE HOUSE WILL ALSO BE UNDER 24/7 SURVEILLANCE TO TRACK ANY UNRECORDED RESULTS.

OUTSIDE - AUDIO/VIDEO

INSIDE - AUDIO ONLY

Loki grinned and leaned into you, lips brushing against your ear. He whispered something and you giggled. "Loki!" You gasped. "We can’t do that here!"

"Oh, yes," He purred. "We can do it anywhere we want if we're creative enough." 

"But outside is so much more exciting," You grinned. "So," you paused, struggling to find the right word. "Freeing!"

"Please do not do anything outdoors where I can see!" You heard a loud voice yell. You both quickly realized it was coming from the monitoring system.

"Steve? Is that you?" You called back with a chuckle. 

"Yeah, Tony insisted I take a turn on guard duty," He grumbled. "Look, I'm sorry I interrupted," He paused awkwardly. "Whatever you were doing but could you please not do it outside? Outside has cameras." Loki laughed loudly and you did too. 

"We really didn't mean to prank you, Cap. I thought Tony was on the other end of that mic."

"I however have no objections to how this turned out," Loki added. You whacked him arm lightly and shook your head. "Truthfully, though, we were only speaking of testing another aspect of the suit. I whispered to Y/N my idea and-"

"I get it," Cap replied quickly. You couldn't see him but you could tell he was embarrassed. "I'll make you two a deal. Behave yourselves, finish the tests, and get home early and I'll help you prank Tony here in the tower. Ok?"

"You have yourself a deal, Captain," Loki grinned. 

"Alright. I'm going to take a nap now. Don't do anything stupid."

"Oh we won't," Loki smirked, wrapping his arms around you and planting light kisses on your neck.

"Loki!" You squealed.

"Do you want to prank Tony or not?" Steve yelled. "I can't see you but I can hear you! And that didn't sound like suit testing. Get to work! If you do as you're supposed to, you'll be done in a week."

"Yes, sir," You both grumbled. Loki, ever the mischief maker, wasn't about to let up. He grabbed a towel and twirled it, smacking your backside with it as you walked away. 

"What was that for?" You asked.

"Loki, did you just-"

"For purely scientific purposes, I assure you," He replied. Steve groaned in frustration.

"This is gonna be a long week."

Loki Taglist

@lucywrites02

@delightfulheartdream

@serpentargo

@khena

@nyx2021

@kaz11283

@weasley-main-lover

@up-to-mischief

@lokislittlesigyn

​Marvel (all characters) Taglist

@bartv21

@another-crazy-fangirl

@whatafuckingdumbass

@ladylulu143

@lokislittlesigyn

[smurphyse]

Touch

Masterlist

Part 5 of The Arrangement

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Adora of Alfheim (Arranged Marriage AU)

Word count: 4021

Summary: Loki and Adora attend the feast, and deal with some bitchy noblewomen. To make her feel better, Loki takes her to the rose garden, then shows her a secret only he and his mother share in a bid to get her to trust him.

The feast was a public success. Adora spent most of the night plastered to Loki’s side. Everywhere they went he had an arm slipped around her waist, or her hand intertwined with his, playing the part of the dedicated betrothed to perfection.

Loki sensed Adora’s struggle. Each time he touched her, she stiffened, sucked in a breath, or just plain refused to look him in the eye. She did her best to avoid physical contact with the other patrons, and when she was forced to clung tightly to Loki instead.

It was an odd disconnect. She obviously didn’t wish to be touched by anyone, let alone him, but his presence as the only person on Asgard with her same predicament lent to him being her comfort for the night. Loki wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to make the tension coiling in her body go away, probably so he didn’t feel like he was the reason she was so uncomfortable.

The two of them were making yet another round through the tables when Adora’s hand tightened around his bicep and she slowed. When Loki looked down to her to see what was wrong, she had her ear turned to a group of noblewomen behind them.

“From what I understand, they’re only marrying now because of the bastard,” a woman Loki vaguely knew to be from Alfheim spoke harshly, and Adora’s jaw clenched at the word. “Knowing as much of her as I do, I bet the child isn’t even Loki’s. Poor man knows not what he’s getting into.”

Adora’s gaze downcast as she listened, the hurt clear on her soft features as her body coiled tightly next to him. He was just about to turn to give the women his best glare and perhaps a rude comment when Adora spoke loud enough for them to hear.

“It’s a good thing, my beloved,” she called above the music, the women turning to look at them with wide eyes while Adora gazed lovingly up at him, a smirk plastered across her face. “You knew of my whoring ways well before our engagement. Poor Carissa of Alfheim’s husband, Count Fjodr, had no knowledge of her leg spreading until after their wedding.”

“Oh, yes, it's to our betterment that we speak so freely together,” Loki barked a laugh, delighting in the way her eyes lit up as Carissa’s cheeks flushed hotly. “Our devilish ways make us a most suitable match. My faith in you grows stronger with each day. I can only imagine how the poor man deals with such public treachery.”

“I’m told he makes time with the stable boys and girls,” Adora quipped, smiling politely as more passersby turned to listen. “Many a bastard of Alfheim has come from such an unhappy union. At least ours knows she is loved and knows naught of disappointment.”

Carissa stood with her mouth agape as Adora finally flicked her gaze her way. Her eyes watered as Adora’s stern glare locked onto Carissa’s.

“My immense grief reaches out to them both, doesn’t yours?”

“Yes, I shudder to imagine the displeasure in such a life,” Loki said, leaning down and kissing Adora’s temple. Her body relaxed under his touch, and she turned to smile gracefully at him before leading him away from the shocked nobles.

“How catty,” Loki remarked as they swept through the hall, smirking down at Adora. Her confidence seemed to wane the further they walked from the women, and Loki didn’t miss her clocking Carissa as she stomped out of the feast, dragging her husband closely behind. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Lady Adora.”

“Yes, well,” Adora murmured as she wrung her hands tightly together. “I do feel a bit cruel. From what I hear, their marriage truly isn’t happy and Count Fjodr treats his wife worse than he treats his horses.”

Loki nodded in understanding, but he cared not for that woman or her home life, “It’s not their business why we’re marrying, or to speculate so audaciously at such an event.”

Adora looked off into the sea of people, her eyes far away as she continued to pull on her hands. Loki covered them with one of his, and she jumped a bit as his skin touched hers.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently, and she nodded, but her warm gaze hardened as she spoke again.

“I care little of what people say regarding my character. I’m well aware of the reputation I have." The fire built up again in those wide eyes when she looked up at him. “But I’ll not have my child spoken of as though she were a burden… to me or the realm.”

Loki smiled appreciatively at her, his fondness for her ferocity only growing. She reminded him of Frigga, something he’d worry about later. Her poise and calculated strength was admirable, her cool demeanor under pressure was something to behold. She was a good fit for Asgard, perhaps even for him. Perhaps the next twenty years wouldn’t be so bad with her.

After a few hours of raucous music and dancing, filtering through well-wishers and royal connections alike, Loki snuck her out to his mother’s rose gardens so they both could have some fresh air.

The moment they were out of sight of anyone, Adora pulled herself from his grasp, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Her cheeks were ruddied and blotchy from her nerves, so Loki kept his distance so she could breathe.

“My apologies,” she gasped lightly after a few moments of staring out in the darkness, watching the nightlife of Asgard rage from afar. The crowds could be heard even from the palace, all celebrating along with the elite at their union.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” Loki told her, and she looked to him with gratitude. Even her dark chest patched red in the candlelight of the garden. “I know it’s a lot to take in. Asgardians do enjoy celebrating, especially happy occasions such as this.”

“It’s not that,” Adora murmured as they walked further into the gardens. The night was cool, and she pulled her shawl around her shoulders tightly, making sure to stand at least two feet away from him.

“May I ask what it is, then?”

Adora didn’t answer, simply walked next to him in silence as Loki led her unconsciously to his favorite spot. It was an intimate gazebo, hidden deep within the brush of the gardens and hard to find if you didn’t know where it was exactly.

She smiled genuinely for the first time in hours as she laid eyes on it, her gaze trailing along the gold vines and detailing painted by his mother’s own hand. It was quite small, only big enough for two, maybe three, people to sit side by side in the little yellow plush booth.

“Care to sit for a while?” he asked awkwardly as they stood staring at the limited space. Adora nodded, so Loki held out his hand for her to take, surprised when she did so.

He led her up the small steps and held onto her until she settled in the seat. Loki eased down next to her, suddenly filled with an awkwardness he didn't know he could muster.

What the Hel am I supposed to talk about now?

Luckily, Adora hadn't forgotten his earlier question. She wrung her hands in her lap and watched carefully ahead, her body held in a regal pose- legs crossed at the ankle, back ramrod straight, neck long and poised as she spoke with confidence.

"Where I come from," she started slowly, "it is customary to ask permission to touch a person you are not married or related to, especially if that person is royalty."

"And Asgardians are… huggers," Loki finished for her, and she nodded. It was something about his homeworld he also despised.

"I'm not used to being touched so…freely, is all."

"I can make an announcement-," Loki began but Adora blanched, shaking her head quickly as she turned to look at him.

"I'm not making a fuss," she insisted, her eyes wide. Adora reached out hesitantly, pausing midair for a moment before clasping her small hands over one of his. "I'll get used to it. Forgive me if it takes longer than one party."

Loki watched her carefully, his heart beating heavily in his chest. Her fear was palpable, and Loki felt himself less sure in playing games with her. She was struggling, and as much as he didn't want to be her husband, he felt himself growing protective of her obvious worry she'd do something wrong.

"I didn't know that about your people. I actually know very little of Alfheim," he told her quietly. Adora pulled her warm skin from his, her brows furrowing in the dim light.

"You're marrying me but you've done no research into my culture or customs?"

"Uhmm," Loki hummed, suddenly feeling quite put out and embarrassed. It was his duty as a Prince of Asgard to know about the other realms, but seeing as he would likely never rule, he hadn't put too much into studying them.

"I was told you were a scholar," Adora pressed, and a light heat rose to Loki's cheeks as she watched him critically.

"I am," he defended himself quickly. Her gaze made his skin prickle uncomfortably, and he shifted under the weight of it. "I study the things that interest me most- battle strategies, battle history, magick-,"

"You've no interest in the realms your father oversees, yet your interest lies in conquering them?"

"I-I don't really think that's a fair assumption-," he stammered. Adora turned back to face the gardens, any warmth she'd felt comfortable showing him gone in an instant.

"I knew this arrangement was just a bet between you and your father," she whispered, her stiff figure trembling next to him, "but I didn't know this was a game for you."

Loki dragged a hand across the back of his neck, the silence blanketing them both in the darkness. He watched as Adora pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, and to his surprise, her chin wobbled.

It was just for a second, so quick and controlled that he almost missed it. She cleared her throat, speaking this time with a measured quiet that made him shiver.

“This is a war of peace, do you not understand? We hold the futures of our realms in the union of our hands. If we do not succeed, our kingdoms will plunge into chaos." Her choice turned low and painful as she continued, and goosebumps broke out under his armor.

"Vanaheim will overtake us all. In this universe in which we are unlucky to be born royalty, I am your punishment, and you are mine. We shall suffer one another for the next twenty years, and pretend to enjoy it.”

Loki, who could not seem to help himself, gave her a smirk in a feeble attempt to shuck the weight of their impending marriage from his shoulders, “Perhaps I am a glutton for punishment.”

Adora’s warm eyes turned cold in the lamplight. Loki wanted to turn away as she watched him with that calculated gaze that made him feel small even though he was over a foot taller than her.

“Then you’ll be the happier of us both.”

Loki bored a hole into the wood flooring of the gazebo as he digested her words. He was well aware that Adora’s reason for agreeing to this Arrangement was for the betterment of her people. The war with Asgard and the loss of her sisters left her as the only heir and sole protector of her realm, and with a bastard child she was being forced to marry him just to maintain her own standing.

But the thought of their marriage being nothing more than a peacekeeping mission frightened him. Had his father known the weight that this union would bring toward a war with Vanaheim?

Of course he had, Loki thought angrily. The old man planned for this.

If the weight of their realms truly rested on their shoulders… then Asgard and Alfheim were truly fucked.

Loki was no dignitary, he was no posterchild for peace. Loki thrived in battle, and would happily go to war with Vanaheim just to get away from the palace for a week. But if their power was truly great enough that Odin would go so far as to trick Loki into wedlock to stave off their crusaders… it meant that there was a far greater danger lurking than Loki had expected.

He looked to Adora as she sat patiently next to him, ever the perfect princess, waiting for the direction of her betrothed. How was he supposed to marry this woman? If the threat was truly as terrible as she made it out to be, then Loki was not the right choice for this peace between their nations.

Thor would be perfect for this, so why had Odin picked Loki instead? She’s a whore queen, and you’re an arsehole that nobody but your family likes, the rude part of his brain came forth in the silence. Even the servants had spoken to it. How had he managed such a reputation for barbarity and cruelty that a woman like Adora would be forced to settle for him? How much damage had her bastard done to resign her to such a fate?

Then it hit him, full force like a direct hit from an enemy's steel.

The Half-Elf and the Frost Giant. A fae in the blood line spelled danger for Asgard. If Vanaheim were to succeed in their quest to rid the realms of the Light Elves and their kin, then they would come for Asgards heirs next, which was why Odin had not chosen Thor.

Loki was adopted, and while it was a secret only rhe Odinsons knew, if Vanaheim came to cleanse a bloodline in a war Asgard would lose… Odin could risk giving up any children Loki and Adora had for the sake of the future of the realm.

By marrying him, her life was still in danger. With both Alfheim and Asgard unified, Vanaheim stood less of a chance at victory. However, if they gained the upperhand, Odin still had a bargaining chip to save his own reign.

"Are you alright?" Adora asked lightly, breaking him from his trance.

Loki's chest heaved with realization and rage, heat rising to his cheeks as she watched him softly, with concern .

He cleared his throat and nodded, then stood. Loki held out his hand for her to take, and she eyed him for a moment before clasping it gently and letting him guide her back through the gardens.

Her skin was warm against his, and Loki found himself intertwining his fingers with hers, and to his surprise she let him. It had been a long night, so when they entered the palace Loki led her away from the Great Hall.

"Where are we going?" Adora asked quietly, slowing a little when she realized where they were walking away from.

Loki squeezed her hand once and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. His realization was tearing a hole in his chest, but he didn't want her to know or worry about it just yet.

"I thought you might like to check on Milja."

"I don't think this is the way to our chambers," she whispered nervously, coming to a stop as her hand went limp in his. Wariness overtook her soft face, and Loki realized she truly didn't trust him.

"When my mother reconstructed the palace, she put in a series of hidden hallways," he began, giving her an awkward smile and sighing heavily. "I was petrified of the dark, so she made them for me so if I got scared…"

Loki swallowed thickly and glanced around to make sure nobody could hear them. The halls were empty save for the odd servant hustling back and forth from the hall to the kitchen. He swiped a hand down his face to quell some of the embarrassment, but Frigga promised more stories of his childhood, and right now he needed Adora as an ally.

"If I got scared, I could go through these halls and find her."

Adora smiled at his admission, but her brows still furrowed in confusion.

"This tapestry is a portal," he said quietly, like the secret it was. Frigga had chosen only the permanent pieces to use as portals, mostly Asgard's colors and old war relics and pieces Odin loved dearly, though only she and Loki knew thay they existed. "It leads directly to the tapestry next to your current chambers. There's another I'll show you that leads next to where Milja’s new chambers will be once we're married."

Adora stepped forward, her dark eyes full of wonder as she reached out to touch the woven silk, Loki's hand still clasped in her other hand. She held that same spark she had earlier in the night when she asked about the seidr in the chambers, and Loki found he enjoyed that look quite a bit.

She gasped just before she touched it, pulling her hand back sharply and turning it slowly as she gazed at it.

"I can feel the seidr," she said, her voice dripping in excitement, but that furrow came back between her eyes. "Can't anyone find these with such magick?"

"There are few on Asgard who practice magick and work with seidr. My mother's cloaking spell hides it from anyone else," he told her, marveling at the fact that she could feel it at all. "Do the fae work with seidr?"

Adora blanched, swallowing thickly, "I wouldn't know about that, would I?"

Her gaze bored into his, the defensive fire alight in the dark pools that watched him. She turned from him and pushed on through the portal, still clutching Loki's hand and pulling him through with her.

She doesn't want anyone to know, he thought, letting it turn over in his mind. Her heritage as a Light Elf had never been confirmed, Loki knew that much. Her mother had been a commoner, a poor one at that, and little could be found on her past. Loki had looked into Adora’s parentage a bit, but her mother remained a mystery as her commoner past meant there was little interest in documenting it unlike Wylen's.

Adora stopped in her tracks as they stepped through the other side of the portal, and Loki almost ran right into her. He was as familiar with these halls as the back of his own hand, knowing when to stop and where to keep moving, but this was all new for her.

A smile crept across her cheeks as she reached up toward the twinkly lights his mother had along the low ceiling. Loki was a child when these were created, and much smaller, so now he had to crouch a little to make it through without scalping himself while Adora’s small frame had quite a bit to go.

"This is amazing," she breathed as Loki took the reins and pulled her through the tunnel. Frigga had painted the walls with gold, her color, and bits of green for Loki to enjoy along with the lights.

He'd never tell her this, but as a child Loki hid in the tunnels more often than he used them to flit about the palace. His father was famous for his temper, which his disappointing children too often were on the receiving end of. Thor and Hela hid in the training halls, Loki made time in here.

Old books littered the flooring here and there, as they did in other tunnels, and Adora reached down and plucked one from a pile.

"Tristan and Isolde," she murmured as she read the spine of the old opera. Loki looked over her shoulder at the worn out copy. He'd read it quite a bit.

"A tragedy," Loki spoke quietly, and she glanced up at him with wide eyes. He smiled down at her, "The hero Tristan goes to Ireland to ask the hand of the princess Isolde for his uncle, King Mark of Cornwall. On their return the two mistakenly drink a love potion prepared for the king and fall deeply in love."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Adora frowned, turning back to the book with interest. "What makes it a tragedy?"

"You read it, tell me what you think when you're done." She gave him a look of annoyance, so he chuckled lightly, "I'll not spoil the end to a good story."

"That I can understand," she resigned herself, and tucked the book under her arm. She waved toward the end of the tunnel, "Lead the way, my prince."

Loki led her through the tunnels, stopping here and there as she inspected the piles of books for interesting titles.

She was a curious person, eager to learn and Loki appreciated it greatly. He liked to find new knowledge as well, and he found himself fantasizing showing Adora his sprawling library in his chambers.

He quickly shut down the fuzziness in his chest as he imagined her dainty finger trailing along a row of spines, those curls falling down her back as she stood on her tiptoes to read.

What the Hel was that? Loki blinked the image away, only to be confronted with a smiling Adora, reading the first chapter of a story, her fingers still intertwined with his.

"Come, let's get you to bed," he said a bit more insistently than he'd meant. She snapped the book shut and set it down on a pile, nodding politely and following him through the rest of the tunnel.

She worried her lip between her teeth again as they trekked quietly up to the second portal. Loki tried to ignore her nerves as he led her through and to her chamber door.

"Loki," Adora called out quietly, slowing as they approached the tall gilded frame. She squeezed his hand tightly as he turned to look down at her.

She was so small, waifish and light, her dark skin and big hair shining like copper in the candlelight. She hardly reached his chest, her hand held up even though his was as far down as he could leave it without crouching.

Adora swallowed thickly, her warm eyes flicking back and forth up to his gaze and down to his chest. His shift in tone had left her confidence far behind in the tunnels, and guilt swelled in his gut from doing that to her.

“Thank you for tonight,” she said, pulling the book out from under her arm and waving it a bit. “Something for us to talk about.”

She pulled away before he could respond, slipping through her chamber door and shutting it quickly behind her. Loki stared at the spot she occupied for a long moment, wishing she were still there so he didn’t feel like such an arsehole.

She had no interest in playing games with him, and as enjoyable and time consuming as it would be for Loki, he found himself with little desire to make her play with him.

If she was to be by his side for the next twenty years, perhaps she would be better as an ally and not an in-bed enemy. Perhaps they could be friends… talk about books and childhood stories instead.

He had been right in his earlier declaration to Hela. His father was the enemy in this tale of woe and deceit. Odin had used him as a pawn, Adora and the child she only wished to protect as well. It enraged him, as this woman had only shown a desire to help her people and his.

On top of it all, Loki despised being toyed with. His father was making a move, one to rid Loki of a future where he was happy being responsible only for himself. He would say it was for the people of Asgard, but Loki knew it was just to save his own face.

The Trickster had been tricked.

Now it was Loki’s turn to play.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Notes: o.O Do you think they'll get along better soon?

Taglist:

@kbakery @huntress-artemiss

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed - Episode 02

Warning: Spoilers for all 50 episodes!

(Masterpost ) (Previous Episode) (Next Episode)

Donkey Riding

way ho and away we go, donkey riding donkey riding way ho and away we go, riding on a donkey

Wei Wuxian and Apple are doing their best for the Ministry of Culture and Tourism. 

Xiao Zhan had trouble riding the donkey sitting side-saddle, so the Department of Questionable Practical Effects made him a fake leg to wear while riding regular style. 

Can you spot it? It’s very hard to spot. It is very convincing.

Simple Pleasures

Wei Wuxian takes his time wandering up the nearest mountain, and half of the cultivators in the land also wander up this mountain because...Night Hunting! The cultivators are hot and thirsty from walking because they forgot that they all know how to fly. 

Wei Wuxian relaxes by a well and listens to people stanning him. 

Also

I’m going to say it: Wei Wuxian never met a drinking vessel he couldn’t blow.

Everything is Beautiful at the Ballet

The actress who plays A-Yan is named Zhang Linran. She probably has studied dance since she was 4 and now she gets her big break which turns out to be feeding an apple to a donkey. So let’s pause for a second to look at how beautifully she moves.  

Reunions are Awkward, Part 1

Wei Wuxian meets up with one of his family members and it goes super well. 

I...like Jin Ling? He’s much less of a douchebag than his dad, his uncles Jin, Jiang, and Mo (the three stooges), and every damn one of his Jin cousins. He’s genuinely brave (his Dad’s primary good quality) and his hair is on fleek. He’s still a whiny diaper baby, but I like him. 

(much more after the cut!)

Then Jiang Cheng shows up, looking fine as hell and radiating peak arrogant-prick energy.

When he discovers that ‘Mo Xuanyu” stuck a piece of paper to Jin Ling, he tells the child to literally murder him. Excellent uncleing! A+++++ would recommend.  

“In fact, literally murder anyone who uses Yiling Laozu’s tools, like talismans, lure flags, or spirit compasses - basically murder everyone in the Lan Clan plus those other fanboys we saw coming up the hill. Then get out there and make some friends, goddamn it!”

These nets full of cultivators on this daytime night hunt are the only time we ever see anything in a net during a night hunt.  In fact dudes constantly go night hunting and the only prey we ever see is rock lady, murder turtle, and a couple of rag mops in the lake. 

You Are Not Qualified to Speak to Me

Also radiating arrogant-prick energy on this occasion is Lan Wangji. He has been using pettiness as a weapon since long before he met this Jiang Cheng turkey, and he *brings it* when Jiang Cheng tries to have a conversation with him.

Letting your eyes wander everywhere except to his punchable face while you ignore his passive-aggressive questions? Quality work. 

Dropping a silence spell on his child and then letting your own child explain it to him? Golden. 

Lan Wangji is never ever going to forgive Jiang Cheng for what he did on cliff day, and his silence here is as pointed as an ice pick. I suspect the last words Lan Wangji actually spoke to him were “Jiang Wanyin, stop it,” sixteen years ago. 

Jiang Cheng is actually the bigger person in this particular interaction, visibly mastering his temper and telling Jin Ling to take his medicine. 

Reflecting

Wei Wuxian hangs out by a beautiful river and hallucinates for a while. River Jiang Yanli is nurturing and River Jiang Cheng is pissed off, so there are no surprises there.  River Jiang Cheng thinks that Wei Wuxian is a promise-breaking douchebag. He’s not exactly wrong. 

Courtesy of convenient gossiping cultivators, Wei Wuxian discovers that the 16 year old arrogant kid from the Jin clan who his brother from the Jiang clan has custody of is actually and quite obviously Jin Rulan.

Well fuck I guess now I care about something, that’s inconvenient. 

Needing to help parent the child of the sister who parented him is what draws Wei Wuxian fully into his new life. 

As soon as he has this realization, Apple comes back from roaming around, and never gives him any trouble after this for the rest of the story. Which...probably doesn’t mean anything. 

Wen Gravesite

Does Wen Ning hang out here because it’s where he and his (dead) people came from? Oh great, now I am sad. 

Judging by all the leaves on this grave thingy I’m going to say that this grave tender dude is, ah, not very good at his job. 

Get him, Jingyi!

I feel like maybe we all focus too much on how Lan Jingyi is so hilarious and sardonic and not enough on how he is a such a biscuit. 

Soul Grass

As mentioned in the previous post, Chinese spiritual concepts don’t always translate well into English. Soul grass? Sure, why not. 

This is where Wei Wuxian’s Sherlock Holmes brain starts to work, although he still doesn’t remember really basic stuff about Dafan Mountain. Dying and changing bodies is rough on the old neurochemistry. This creates more opportunities for flashbacks, however, and if there’s one thing The Untamed deffo needs more of, it’s kissing flashbacks.

Temple Statue

Presumably grave-tender dude is also in charge of clearing away spiderwebs at the temple, because it’s not getting done. 

Jin Ling walks into the temple blaspheming at full volume. 

Since this isn’t a Greek story, he isn’t immediately struck blind for this. Then when he wishes for the statue to come alive, it obligingly does.  Everything’s coming up Rulan!

Wei Wuxian shows up to rescue all the kids by throwing talismans at the monster which does not tip anyone off to who he is. 

Baby Cultivator Babysitting

Lan Wangji chills out in the cultivators’ pavilion with Jiang Cheng and their mutual hate boners.

Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian forgets all about his nephew and turns into cool professor guy, explaining the basics of soul-eating to the baby cultivators and gleefully encouraging their fear of Hanguang-Jun’s punishments. 

Because the Lan babies are good filial children they are super respectful and engaged with this random adult who is lecturing them. They also - like their own Hanguang-Jun at their age - see and admire Wei Wuxian’s intellect. It’s easy to forget how extremely smart Wei Wuxian is, because of how extremely dumb Wei Wuxian is.

Lan Jingyi suddenly figures out Wei Wuxian is not crazy. 

Bis. Kit. 

Then Rock Lady shows up and Jin Ling sticks 6 arrows into her while Lans Jingyi and Sizhui stand around not bothering to draw their swords.

I see a lot of comments about the bad effects in the statue sequences but I think Rock Lady is all right. The figure animation is decent and the lighting is no worse on her than on everything else in the scene. Her hair is nice, for a rock person.

Admittedly I just finished watching Guardian which has CGI monsters so bad they may have injured my retinas and possibly also my DNA, so the bar, for me, is pretty low. Rock lady clears it with room to spare.   

Note: Wei Wuxian’s flute playing does zippity towards controlling the statue. Not sure what his plan was here.

Wen Ning Kicks Ass

Now we get to meet Wen Ning, who appears to be a stone-cold badass. Later we will discover how hilariously inaccurate that assessment is. 

While all versions of Wen Ning are delightful, this version of Wen Ning is also...strangely attractive? He’s got a Patti-Smith-Horses-Era vibe here, instead of his more usual lost-baby-dork vibe. And his dreamy “I have nails in my head” expression is intriguing. 

I mean, he’s not a total snack like zombie Song Lan or pre-zombie Song Lan or blind Song Lan or post-zombie Song Lan, but this look is a good one for Wen Ning, is what I’m saying.

Reunions are Awkward, Part 2

Lan Wangji, who has 99% already recognized Wei Wuxian because of the haunted sword and the fierce jawline and beautiful neck and tiny tiny waist, is summoned by his flute playing as inexorably as the Ghost General was. 

Jiang Cheng also recognizes Wei Wuxian and goes into full beatdown mode, thwarted (silently) by Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian attempts to preserve his incognito by sassing Jiang Cheng in as sibling-like a manner as possible. 

Hanguang-Jun’s Pro-Ghost Agenda Has Been Clear for Some Time

This Jiang/Lan fight is hilarious when you consider the implications.

Macroexpression vs. Microexpression

Mo Xuanyu brought Wei Wuxian back using sacrifice summons, a dark ritual invented by Wei Wuxian that he, most likely, did NOT show to Lan Wangji back in the day. So it’s a pretty safe bet that Lan Wangji doesn’t know that Wei Wuxian was gifted a body, rather than stealing one.

when your brother turns around, you must whip him you will never live it down unless you whip him

When Jiang Cheng lets loose with Zidian, it’s not just because he’s angry. He’s using purple power to force Wei Wuxian’s ghost out of the body he’s apparently possessed. And Lan Wangji instantly STOPS him from doing that.

Clan Leader Jiang: this person has been possessed, against their will, by an evil ghost

Future Chief Cultivator Lan: Counterpoint: I am banging the ghost

Flashback Time

Welcome to your 30-episode flashback!

Once I used to join in Every boy and girl was my friend Now there's revolution, but they don't know What they're fighting

Let us close our eyes Outside their lives go on much faster Oh, we won't give in We'll keep living in the past

Road Tripping to Summer School

Gosh I’m looking forward to younger, kinder, more relatable Jiang Cheng.

...prick. 

Incidentally, until now this episode didn’t know that Jiang Cheng has smile muscles, and neither did the person who glued his wig on for him.

I Like Rabbits

Here we have our first rabbit in a large collection of rabbit iconography that appears in The Untamed. 

Instead of sending everyone to the Wikipedia page for Tu'er Shen I’m going to take this opportunity to rec the short film Kiss of the Rabbit God by Andrew Thomas Huang (tw: blood, tw:body-mod cutting) which you can read about and watch over at  Nowness.com 

Particularly if you are a queer person of Chinese heritage, check it out. 

So. What the fuck are these? Are they food? 

Are they made from wax? Or corn starch? or pig intestines? 

Wei Wuxian runs off to get laid drunk and Jiang Cheng grumps about it. Jiang Yanli reminds him that being free is a Jiang Clan Rule, so really Wei Wuxian is following the rules by not following the rules. Does that mean he’s not free? My head hurts. 

Jiang Cheng: yes but grump grump grump

Jiang Yanli: Nothing bad will ever happen because of A-Xian’s choices, trust me

Outro

Wei Wuxian faint tally: one  Caught by: the cold hard ground

Soundtrack: 1. Donkey Riding by Great Big Sea 2. Living in the Past by Jethro Tull 3. Whip It by Devo

Fic prompt:  Lan Wangji’s internal monologue while he sits in the pavilion with Jiang Cheng 

If you write a fic from this prompt and want to share, please post a link in comments!

Bonus: Wang Zuocheng, macro-expression king

Episode 03 Restless Rewatch coming soon!

[ivorysoapshavings]

So…… my hyperfixation on HxH is back and stronger than ever so I wrote this

TW: Hanahaki mentions of blood and corpses alcohol and minor cursing

Kurapika finally took the time to open his phone after a few months, he opened it to find eight voicemails and over twenty missed calls. He clicked on the voicemails and played the first one that was sent almost two months after Gon, Killua, Leorio, and him first split up.

~The other night dear as I lay sleeping I dreamed I held you in my arms~

“Hey, Kurapika it’s Leorio, I just wanted to check up on you; you’ve seemed pretty busy lately hope you’re not overworking yourself. Anyway things aren’t too interesting here at medical school but I do have a few big tests I need to study for,” there was a pause for a long sigh, “guess I should get to doing that huh? Well, call me back when you get the chance. It's been a while,” there was a small pause before the line went dead.

~But when I awoke dear I was mistaken so I hung my head and cried~

“Hey, Kurapika, it's Leorio, just wanted to check up with you and see how you’re doing. Oh! something hilarious happened I think would have amused you. So me Gon and Killua were eating lunch together and Gon tried to do his impression of you and Killua was taking a drink at the same time, and Killua laughed so hard water came out of his nose,” There was a small chuckle at the other end of the phone, “you know they miss you too,” silence for a couple of seconds, “welp, you know my number call me back when you get the chance,”

~You are my sunshine my only sunshine you make me happy when skies are grey~

“Hey, kurapika, it’s me again. Listen I know you’re probably just busy with your job and all but I can’t help but be a little worried. You’re not injured are you? You don’t even have to call, just send a message of something, anything,” there was a sharp inhale and a light sigh, “Well bye then,”

~You’ll never know dear how much I love you please don't take my sunshine away~

“Hey Kurapika it's Gon! I just wanted to see how you’re doing. I can tell Leorio is kinda worried about you. We’re also been doing a lot of things. Nothing dangerous of course!” Gon paused to nervously chuckle, “It's been fun though I wish you could be here with us. That would make it even more fun! Leorio said he told you about Killua spewing water out of his nose that was really funny but what I bet he didn’t tell you was that he choked on his food and almost fell out of his chair too,” There was a pause and some chittering in the background, “Welp, we gotta go hopefully you’ll call us soon but call Leorio first he really wants to hear from you,” there were a few crashing noises and someone yelled Leorios name then the line went dead.

~I’ll always love you and make you happy if you will only say the same~

“ Kurapika, it’s Killua you better call us back soon or I’m gonna -,” Killua was cut off by someone. Then came a lot of muffled yelling and a loud crash. “Got it ,” Gon yelled triumphantly, clearly having wrestled the phone from Killua’s hands “Sorry about that Kurapika. Killua just misses you too he just has an awful way of expressing it” Another crash and the line going dead.

~But if you leave me and love another you’ll regret it all some day~

“Hey Pika, It’s gotten boring here again. Gon and Killua ran off to god knows where, no heads up just left. I just really hope they stay safe, they’re always getting into the most trouble,” Leorio let out a small chuckle, something about his voice sounded different more weak “I really worry for them sometimes they’re just so young yet they’ve been through so much,” he paused letting out a sigh, “Ugh, I sound like a dad. Anyway hope you’re staying safe kicking ass out there. I really hope you’re at least listening to these and not just deleting them. But stay safe don’t overwork yourself, miss you,”

~You are my sunshine my only sunshine you make me happy when skies are grey~

Kurapika noticed something strange as he was going to click on the next voicemail. They were usually sent two to three weeks apart from each other but this one was sent almost a month and a half after the last one. He brushed it off thinking Leorio was just busy, until he opened it.

~You’ll never know dear how much I love you please don't take my sunshine away~

“Hey Kurapika it’s Gon again, we just met up with Leorio again and he’s --,”

“Gon! He didn’t want us to tell,” Killua yelled interrupting him

“I know but it’s gotten worse and-,”

“We can ask him again when he wakes up! But its not out place to tell,”

“I know!” Gon yelled exasperated, “but what if we tell him and it’s to late,”

“That won't happen, so give me this an-,” the voicemail cut off there

~You told me once dear you really loved me and no one else could come between~

Kurapika sat in confusion at the voicemail ‘What did they mean it was getting worse? Was there something wrong with leorio? Why didn’t he want to tell me? Is it something bad? Deadly?’  Kurapika wondered to himself as he stood up and started to pace the room with worry. He needed answers so he clicked on the next voicemail which he noticed was also almost a month apart from the last one. About a week ago.

~But not you’ve left me and love another you’ll regret it all some day you have shattered all of my dreams~

“Here, you have to tell him,” It was Killua’s voice, “Or I'm gonna tell,”

“I can’t,” It was Leorio this time but his voice sounded even more different from his last message. It was less preppy and loud and more horse and mellow, “I don’t want him to worry about me. He’s probably doing something important and it’s not like hes gonna listen to this anyway,” Killua let out an angry huff

“Fine than, Kurapika hey it’s killua you better get your ass over here because-,”

“Wait! Killua I’ll tell him just give me the phone,” there were a few shuffling noises and then Leorio started speaking again, “Hey Pika you probably won't get this but I’ve got Hanahaki and it’s you I love you,”

~you are my sunshine my only sunshine you make me happy when skies are gray~

Kurapika stopped pacing and dropped his phone in shock ‘Hanahaki’ ‘it’s you’ ‘I love you’ he was trying to make sense of it all Leorio loved him Leorio had Hanahaki because of him.

“How? How! God damn it!” he yelled to no one. He grabbed his phone off the floor and ran outside. Kurapika had run a couple of blocks before it hit him, he had no idea where to go. He knew they were in the same city but where? So he stopped and dialed Killuas number. It seemed like days as he waited for someone anyone to pick up the phone he gasped out of relief when someone did answer

“Kurapika yo-,” Gon had answered the phone he sounded like he was crying

“Just tell me where you are,” and after Gon had finished telling him the address Kurapika immediately hung up and started running again.

~you‘ll never know dear how much I love you please don't take my sunshine away~

“YOU’RE TOO LATE. YOU’RE TO LATE KURAPIKA. HE’S DEAD HE JUST FUCKING DIED,” Gon shouted furious as kurapika bolted through the door of their hotel room, when he saw what was infront of him he froze in shock from the sunflower petals scattered along the floor, Leorio dead in Killua’s arms, Gon swearing at him, “THIS. ALL. COULD. HAVE. BEEN. AVOIDED. IF YOU PICKED UP. THE FUCKING PHONE. FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE,” Gon kept shouting, shoving Kurapika in between each phrase. Kurapika just let it happen because he knew it was his fault Gon was right.

“Gon stop,” Killua said monotone, now behind Gon holding him back from shoving Kurapika even more. Gon didn’t even fight him; he just turned around and crumpled into Killua’s arms. “Kurapika say something please,” Killua begged. After Kurapika stayed silent and didn’t answer, Killua got up from under Gon and stood in front of Kurapika and slapped him across the face. This snapped something inside Kurapika and he fell down to his knees and started sobbing

“I killed him… I killed him.. I killed him I killed him I killed him I killed him,” Kurapika chanted, getting louder each time he uttered the phrase. He turned and looked at Leorio on the floor lifeless, blood stains all up his front, covered in petals, “I killed him,”

~In all my dreams dear you seem to leave me when I awake my poor heart pains~

The funeral came and It was Kurapika’s turn to come up and say his final farewell to Leorio. As he stepped up to the casket he saw Leorio pale and lifeless, no amount of makeup being able to make him look alive again. He was also wearing that stupid suit he always wore but now that he was seeing it for what was probably the last time it wasn’t really stupid. His casket was also scattered with sunflower petals which stared at Kurapika mocking him for not being there when his friends needed him most, for being so selfish and such a workaholic. He stepped down from his place in front of the casket and left the building not bothering to stay for the rest of the service. He didn’t think he could face Leorio’s family or Gon and Killua after being the reason that Leorio died. So he made his way back to the hotel room.

~So when you come back and make me happy I’ll forgive you dear I’ll take all the blame~

It had been a few hours since Kurapika left the funeral which meant it had probably ended by now. All he had done was sit there and think and ask questions that could now never be answered. After a few more minutes passed the door to the Hotel room opened, and Gon and Killua walked in.

“Oh you’re here,” Killua said, slightly annoyed.

“Kill stop now is not the time to be fighting,” Gon practically whispered, his voice being hoarse from crying.

“No! You had your chance to yell at him earlier, now it's my turn,” Killua retorted, slightly raising his voice.

“Listen Killua, I know it’s my fault. I’ll just leave,” Kurapika mumbled, getting up from his position on the floor.

“No! Do you know how much pain he was in? How much blood and flower petals he coughed up? We were the ones to keep him company and comfortable.

We were the ones who had to watch him slowly die as we desperately tried to contact you. We had to make him tell you about the disease because he didn’t want to worry you in case you were doing something important. And you didn’t even show up until weeks after we told you about it. And after all that you don’t even stay for his funeral ,” Killua was flushed and slightly out of breath after yelling and Kurapika stood in front of him, eyes now a beautiful yet frightening scarlet color.

“You know what? No. I don’t know how much pain he was in nor how much blood and petals he coughed up. And I know I should have been there when he needed me, how none of this would have happened if I had picked up the stupid fucking phone sooner, and I couldn’t stand being at the funeral because how could I ever face his family knowing I’m the reason he died,”

“Guys can we please stop this,” Gon begged from the sidelines, desperately tugging on Killua's hand. Killua just shook him off and stepped closer to Kurapika.

“Yeah because you’re a fucking coward , and it’s not like being here would’ve changed anything you probably didn’t even love him back,” this is what made Kurapika snap.

“How do you know what I feel, Killua Zoldyck! How? How would you ever know how I feel when you’re just an emotionless assassin,” Killua gave a sharp inhale

“Yeah, well because of your cowardice everyone you loved is dead, Leorio, your clan -,” before Killua could finish Gon stomped his foot on the ground cracking the ground underneath them.

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! You guys are arguing like a bunch of babies and there's no point in insulting each other, it's not gonna bring Leorio back. So just.. Stop it!” Killua just huffed angrily and toed at the ground not looking at either of the two boys in the room. Kurapika just brushed past the two boys towards the door knocking into Killua on his way.

~You are my sunshine my only sunshine you make me happy when skies are grey~

After Kurapika left the hotel room he wanted to find a way to distract him to relieve him of his hurt and stress and fast. So he found the nearest bar.

“Hey kid, aren't you a little young to be in here,” The man behind the bar asked Kurapika. In response all he did was place his hunter license on the bar and said

“something strong,” The bartender grunted in response and went to mix a few things together before pouring it in a cup and sliding it to Kurapika.

“You look like shit,” The bartender told Kurapika after what was probably his fifth drink.

“Yeah? Well, I just killed someone I loved,” Kurapika managed to slur out. The bartender just raised his eyebrows in question, “Hanahaki disease. You know the one where you spit up flowers? All because I couldn’t be bothered to pick up the fucking phone.” And without another he stood up, shoved his hunters license in his pocket, slammed the rest of his drink down and walked out of the bar. Now that he had nowhere to go, no one to return to, he was bound to endlessly wander till he couldn’t wander any longer.

~you’ll never know dear how much I love you please don’t take my sunshine away~

[zodiyack]

Good Intentions with Bad Outcomes

Requested by anon: Could you write for shelby sis who fights with tommy and in his anger he says something really hurtful to her and she leaves. Tommy doesn't take it seriously cause he thinks she'll be back soon anyways but she stays way a couple weeks because she had to hide from someone? and when she comes back everyone is angry at first till they realize that something's off with her and she tells them later on? With a fluffy family end? Sorry if it's too specific:)

Pairing: Tommy + Shelby!Female!Reader, Shelby & Gray family + Shelby!reader (no romance)

Warnings: Swearing, angst, reader being best friends with Esme that’s a warning and we all know it, fluff, smol sexual reference, mention of homophobia + abuse, mention of blinding; Peaky Edition™, slight straying from request(?)

Taglist:  @matth1w​, @redspaceace​, @simonsbluee​, @peakysputain​

Tags just for this fic: @mzcrazy2​

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

He snapped.

It was just a small argument, at first, but Y/n wouldn’t stop digging. She fought first, he tried to reason with himself, but he knew it was his fault. He was going to apologize, as soon as she dropped the act and came home.

He waited in a chair by the door.

Any moment now. Just a couple seconds and she’d come bursting through the door, admitting her defeat and accepting her brother’s apology, perhaps even apologizing herself.

He checked his pocket watch.

If not now, maybe, and preferably, before 4 am. Tommy grew tired with each passing moment. He knew Pol would kill him if anything happened to Y/n, and he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself either, so he told himself to sit by the front door and wait for her, but sleep just seemed far too important. It was something he didn’t get much, and it wasn’t like he could stop himself.

So he slept on the couch. Like a baby, might he add.

However, his awakening was not as peaceful as his sleep. Polly slapped his leg rather harshly with her glove. Her eyes were beat red and her heart was racing faster than the horses her and her family bet on. “Wake up, you bastard!”

“Whatever seems to be the matter, Pol?” He rubbed his eye sleepily and sat upright, but yet again was attacked by his aunt’s gloves.

“You know damn well what’s the matter!” Tommy gave her a look of confusion. “Your sister is missing, goddammit!”

He chuckled, loudly. His amusement earned him more attacks from the gloves as Polly glared down at him, “What the bloody hell do you think is so funny about Y/n being missing?”

“She’s not missing Pol, she’s too fucking chicken to run. Just, relax, alright Pol? She’ll be back in what, five hours?” Thomas smirked at his aunt before grabbing his coat and walking out the front door. He went on his way, walking back to his own home.

“Tommy! Like I’ve said, he’s just a friend!”

“Yeah? Just a friend? Look at him, he just wants to get in your knickers, Y/n/n!” He laughed with his older and younger brother, watching the boy, their sister’s age, flush red with eyes the size of saucers. He noticed his sister look away, equally embarrassed as her guest. “Is that what you are, huh Y/n? A whore? Look at that brothers, our baby sister’s become a whore!”

Y/n grunted and pushed past them, trying to get out of the room, but Tommy grabbed her arm. His teasing smile was long gone. “Y/n/n. Send. Him. Home.”

“You lost the right to call me that when you called me a whore.”

Weeks had passed. Still no sign of Y/n.

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you too! Whoring around with some kid-”

“Thomas! I’m not a fucking whore! You may keep your sanity by sneaking around with those women, but I can assure you, brother,” she spat the word with a certain venom to her tone, “none of the whores in the whole bloody fucking world could show you how much of a worthless, sad, piece of shit excuse for a brother you are. Lucky for me,” she leaned in, speaking through clenched teeth, “I’m no whore.”

Y/n grabbed her coat and ran out the door, flipping Tommy off in the process of her exit mission. The shocked expression lazily covered with a horrible attempt of a blank look on Tommy’s face was priceless. He never expected nor meant for it go this far.

That’s when she left. That’s when he laughed to himself and waited by the door, telling himself over and over that she was only kidding around. That she was going to come home.

It had almost been a whole fucking month.

He finally saw the truth.

She was either missing, serious about leaving, or had, as much as he didn’t want to think about it, died. And he was the one who had to break the news to his family. When he did, many different reactions were shared.

Esme, who held a close bond with Y/n, slapped Tommy with small “cat-fight” hits to his arm until John pulled her back. John refused to look at Tommy, full of his own guilt for not stopping the joke before it got too far. Arthur drank his sorrows away, but not before bowing his head in shame as well.

And as for Polly, she gave Thomas a disappointed, disapproving glare and hit his arm, similar to Esme, but with full force, figurative steam coming from her ears accompanied by the tears flowing from her brown orbs. The action spelled it out better than words could’ve. Not that she would’ve said anything about it anyways, as she currently wished to be on something, anything, worse than “not on speaking-terms” with her nephew.

They knew Y/n was at fault as well, but she wasn’t there at that moment, so Tommy was facing his punishment while they had their free time. Esme baked Y/n’s favorite Romani treats, the reasoning quite obvious when Pol and Ada had pointed it out,

“You’re going through a grieving process. She may not have died, for all we know, but you feel that you lost her, and it’s hurting you intensely.”

Some days, Ada joined in, baked her share, and brought them back to her house. Today, however, it was just Esme.

Or so she thought.

The feeling of unease washed over her. A chilly wind blew into the room. She’d had her fair share of the supernatural, but this presence felt alive. Esme’s hand reached for the knife before she spun around, dropping the blade at the sight in front of her.

“Y/n- what the bloody hell...?” Y/n tried to walk over for a hug, but only managed to get half way before Esme snapped back to her senses and hit her friend over and over again with one of her aprons. “Where” hit “Have” hit “You” hit “Been!?”

“Oh you know...exploring.”

“Fucking hell, Y/n, you grew up in Birmingham, in fact, you’re still growing up, here, in Birmingham. So tell me. What’s wrong? If you decide not to tell me, just know that John’s sleeping upstairs, and don’t, for one second, think I won’t go wake his lazy arse up.”

“Oh yeah, sure, Esme, maybe get him to tell Tommy to get that stick out his ass, would you? I mean, it’s got to be painful with how far up there he makes it out to be.”

Esme frowned, remembering what Thomas told them all. “Oh hun... you should’ve told me and came over here! I’m sure John wouldn’t have minded, and if he would’ve... well that’s too bad for him, innit?” Y/n giggled softly and began to smile, causing Esme to cheer with joy. “See! Come, I’ll make you some tea!”

“Well? Where the fuck were you!?” Polly inspected Y/n for injuries, finding bruises along wrists. 

“Nowhere, I’m fine. I just fell into some trouble and, like Arthur taught me, won.”

Arthur chuckled proudly, “Attagir-”

“No. Tell us the truth, Y/n.”

“I am.”

Polly leaned closer to her niece. They held eye contact, Y/n could see the tears threatening to spill over her Aunt’s lower eye lids. She inhaled, preparing to speak, hesitated, to up the dramatic effect, and finally let a word free. “Liar.”

“To be fair Pol, she had been at my home for the past week-”

A gasp and a cough, both from Pol, sounded in the room from shock. “She what?” she drawled.

“My point is, Aunt Pol, my small home, all the little ones, there would be some points where she’d trip, ya know? Even Esme gets some bruises like that-”

“Mhm. It’s totally from the small house.” Arthur chuckled into his cup, snorting when Pol flicked him on the back of his head. “Anyways, she said it Pol, she’s fine. No broken bones, no bloody noses, John gave an explanation for any bruises, she’s fine.”

“I’m with Polly on this one. She didn’t seem all that well at our home, John, and she didn’t run around enough to get bruises. Sorry, love.” She winced apologetically at her sister-in-law.

Y/n shrugged and walked from the room, trying hard to keep the emotions inside. If she didn’t cry, they couldn’t know that she had lied. Not that it was any use, Pol was already onto her and her siblings were giving her suspicious looks.

Tommy followed his younger sister and closed the door behind himself. “Y/n/n. Are you alrig-”

She hugged him, tightly. Thomas could feel his shirt dampening from his sister’s tears. Y/n broke, despite her plan not to, she couldn’t hold it in anymore. Her sobs were painful for Tommy to hear. His protective and brotherly instincts kicked in as he processed the muffled cries of the voice belonging to the girl he watched grow up, the girl cared ever so deeply about, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tightly.

“Tommy... I couldn’t help him.”

“Who?” She looked up at him with sad expression. He remembered the night. He called his sister a whore for joking purposes and with the intent of preventing her from ending her night with a broken heart, it didn’t help that he was slightly drunk, and he didn’t realize she’d take it to heart. “I-”

“It’s alright, Tom, you had good intentions, they just didn’t have the best of outcomes.”

“Y/n/n, I shouldn’t have called you that, no matter my intentions.”

She hugged her brother again, both Shelby siblings unaware of the door opening and their audience that stood on the other side of it. “Tommy, you wanna know what happened? I was like you, had good intentions, but a bad outcome.”

“What’s this of bad outcomes?” Pol stepped forward, tears spilling over the brims of her eyes and a small smile upon her lips. Y/n began to cry harder, and Polly wrapped her arms around her after Tommy moved out of the way. She rested her head on Y/n’s and mumbled soft affirmations as her hand moved up and down her back soothingly.

“Tells us what happened, dear, from the start, okay?” Y/n nodded, separating from her aunt and sitting in the middle of her clan, who sat on either the sofa or a chair.

“The boy Tommy assumed was into me, was being abused. I was trying to help, prevent him from being hurt anymore than he already was. His father hated him because he... he likes boys. I figured, if I hung around, his father would think the opposite and leave him alone. But one day he slapped him, right in front of me. I got so mad, I- I- it was like I- like all I could see was red-”

“Deep breath, there’s no rush, little sister.” Arthur rested a hand on Y/n’s shoulder reassuringly, earning a kind and appreciative smile from the girl.

“Thank you, Arthur. I hurt his father, so I wasn’t lying about that part, but he got back up. Illia, the boy, helped me out of his house and ran with me. We got pretty far and ended up staying at a small abandoned cabin, a good place for us while we were in hiding. He managed to find a place with his grandmother out of the UK, who could care less about his romantic or sexual preferences in gender, and that’s when I started for home. We went our separate ways and our hiding was no longer necessary.”

“I have a question.” Ada raised her hand, in attempt of getting her family to notice her. Y/n nodded and awaited her older sister’s question. “If you were free from hiding...why didn’t you come home right away? Why’d you stay with John and Esme for an extra week?”

“Yeah, I’d like to know that too. We all thought you’d died, Y/n.”

“Oh...” She looked down, wiping away some of her tears, “I didn’t want you to get mad at me. Or have Illia hurt due to certain lovely trios attacking before thinking. He didn’t kidnap me, but if I came back after news of him fleeing Britain spread, you’d probably assume such.”

Polly sat beside her niece with a soft smile and pulled her into yet another hug. “It’s good to have you back. You’ve missed so much, and we’ve missed you. What do you say we eat dinner as a family today, celebrate your return?”

Ada walked over and joined the two women, wrapping her arm around Y/n as well.

“Get over here, all of yous. I don’t give a fuck if you don’t want to hug all of us, right now it’s about Y/n-”

“Pol,” Arthur chuckled heartily, “We’re not gonna argue, we missed her too.”

Tommy was first to step up, stopping in front of Y/n. He pulled her into him, welcoming her into a warm hug, then Polly wrapped her other arm around Tommy, Ada mirroring her Aunt. Arthur found a spot, as did Esme and Finn. John muttered something along the lines of “to hell with it” and finally joined in on the family hug.

That night, they celebrated, just as Polly said. The girls exchanged gossip with Y/n about what she had missed, the boys teased her, with lighter jokes this time, and shared the news the girls failed to inform Y/n of. By the end of the night, everyone had passed out in the living room with smiles on their face, adults with alcohol in their stomachs, all apart from Y/n and Tommy.

“Tommy?” He grunted in response to his sister, fidgeting with the glass in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

Tom paused, inhaling slowly. The entire time, he thought she was the own who owed him an apology, at least a small one. But he was the one who said the words. He was the one who watched her leave without chasing after her. “Don’t be. If anyone here should be sorry, it’s me.” He looked over to her, the siblings holding eye contact, “You’re not a whore, okay? I never should’ve said that, even if it was true or not, it wasn’t kind of me. I hurt you because I misread your friend’s intentions and-”

“Good intentions, bad outcome.”

“Y-yeah. But my intentions were not needed, Y/n/n. They were something I should’ve kept to myself, but I did it with Ada too, and now she and I have... well a relationship that’s not as strong as ours.”

“Tommy,” she knew what he was trying to say, “you could never ruin our relationship. We may fight, but at the end of the day, your my big brother.” She moved closer to him. “I look up to you, admire you, shit, I wish I was you sometimes.”

“You don’t want to be me, trust me.”

Y/n laughed. “You’re right, I don’t want to be you. I don’t think having a stick up my ass sounds the most comforting-”

“Oi, watch what you say, Miss Blinder, you’re messing with the rest of the world now.”

He tickled her, but stopped when she held up a hand and made a face. “Wait- Peaky Blinders..?” He nodded. “No- you aren’t- Tommy!” Thomas shushed his sister with a chuckle that matched hers, pure happiness in the Shelby home.

“Yep. You’re a Blinder now, sister.” He raised a shot glass, “May all your good intentions have greater outcomes.”

“No, actually.”

“What?” He stopped his hand before the glass could reach his lips, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

She smiled at her brother, raising her own glass, “I prefer the good intentions with bad outcomes, after all, if this is the aftermath of a good intention and it’s bad outcome, I’d be more than happy to make sure all my good deeds had bad endings.”

“Careful there sister, one should be wise about how they phrase such a promise.” 

He didn’t believe in bad luck, nor God, or really anything, for all Y/n knew. That’s what he led others to believe- yet it was like he was warning her about the possibility of bad luck. Beliefs aside, his words were showing a hidden genuine concern to his sister’s.

“I suppose a few good outcomes are acceptable.” They clinked their glasses together and drank their drinks with matching smiles. 

It felt amazing to be back, even better to be back and offered with an opportunity to initiate revenge for Illia. Being a Peaky Blinder had many perks, like the infamous line that was known for being the first thing one hears after losing their sight.

The line that brought motivation to her good intention that could end with a very bad outcome for herself instead of the person she planned it for, had she gone through with it before being presented with the razor dawning cap. The line she’d finally be able to say. The line that could, should, and would be the last thing the evil bastard heard.

Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Tightrope Fanfic

Title: Tightrope

Summary:  Virgil feels lost. It’s not a foreign feeling, especially when one is the embodiment of Anxiety. But it feels like one as he stares down at a sniffling Roman in his arms. He doesn’t know what has happened. One moment, the others are having their spat about the wedding. The next, Roman barges into his room mid-breakdown and hasn’t left since. 

Pairings: platonic prinixety

Word-Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Crying, Anger, Panic, Discussion of POF, Hurt/Comfort

This is a companion fic to Safety Net, but you don’t have to read that one to understand the context of this one <3

-

Virgil feels lost. It’s not a foreign feeling, especially when one is the embodiment of Anxiety. But it feels like one as he stares down at a sniffling Roman in his arms. He doesn’t know what has happened. One moment, the others are having their spat about the wedding. The next, Roman barges into his room mid-breakdown and hasn’t left since.

He keeps expecting the rug to be pulled out from under him. That perhaps this is some delayed April’s Fool joke. A ploy by Remus or one of the Others to fuck with him. His mind crafts a thousand possibilities, a thousand explanations for why this can’t be reality.

Because Virgil doesn’t know how to handle a Roman who fell from a great height and shattered completely. What if he cannot put the pieces back together again? What if he messes up and makes things worse? What if he’s the one to cause this in the first place?

No, he refuses to go down that spiraling thought pattern. Because if he unravels now, then he’ll be completely useless to Roman. He compartmentalizes the fear, stuffing it away to haunt him at a later date.

Roman’s cries have died down to a few hiccuping gasps of air. The ever-poised, ever-presentable Prince of Passion is anything but. He lays in Virgil’s arms, as limp and lifeless as a doll. His white princely jacket wrinkly and half-undone, red sash hanging loosely. Virgil cannot see his eyes from underneath his rumpled, messy hair but he’s willing to bet they’re bloodshot. Virgil bits his lips as he notes the dark ichor running down Roman’s cheeks like smeared mascara. 

Roman has been in his room for far too long. Especially for someone who was already in a fragile emotional state upon showing up. Virgil shouldn’t have allowed him to stay. But he couldn’t find in himself to deny Roman, not when he’d looked at Virgil with a helpless terror in his eyes. So he had chosen instead to hold onto a sobbing Roman while trying to figure out what the hell happened. 

The clock in his room is hardly reliable, but he’s certain at least an hour has passed and he’s still nowhere closer than he’d been at the start. Which is that it involves the stupid wedding, Patton and Deceit. The latter of which, apparently told them his actual name. He won’t know more unless Roman divulges more. And in the swirling storm of hysteria that is his room, the chances of that happening is slim.

Before he can let doubt rake its claws into him, he pulls Roman closer to his chest and syncs out. Roman realizes a moment too late what’s happening. He lets out a startled gasp, tries pushing away, but it’s too late. With a loud crackle, they appear in the gloomy fog of a dead forest.

Roman looks around, eyebrows bunched up together. If this was any other situation, Virgil might’ve smirked.

“It’s the imagination,” Virgil says, answering the question behind Roman’s bewildered gaze, “Or at least my little pocket of it. No one will find us here.”

Well maybe except Remus, the one responsible for its creation. Virgil is hoping that today will not be the day he decides to return here for the first time in years.

Roman opens his mouth to speak, yet hesitates halfway through. He turns his head away from Virgil, shrugging. Virgil’s cold dead heart plummets at this. Roman isn’t supposed to be this defeated. He’s supposed to be stubborn, obstinate, argumentative. Virgil knows how to handle that. He knows how to bait Roman into banter, to get him to admit the root of his problems. But this? He doesn’t know how to deal with a Roman this apathetic. And that scares him.

Virgil should apologize, he thinks. After everything that happened, he hunkered down in his room. He stayed away thinking his presence would only be detrimental than beneficial. He was Anxiety after all, flight or fight. In this case, he chose flight. But obviously, like everything else in his existence, that’d been the wrong choice yet again.

He inhales deeply, his breath hitching at the last moment, the words refusing to come out. They remain stuck in clumps inside his throat, refusing to solidify into verbal spoken words. The ghostly howl of the wind is the only sound between the two.

Then Roman laughs. It sounds more like a cat hacking up a hairball than his usual melodious chuckles. It’s loud, harsh and absolutely dripping with pain. Halfway through he ends up in a coughing fit. Virgil watches, unsure how to respond.

“You were right.” Roman croaks at last, sagging heavily against a tree.

Those words aren't what Virgil likes to hear. It’s never good when he, Anxiety, is right.  He’d much prefer to be proven wrong. Even if that meant Roman lording it over his head for weeks on end. It’s annoying as hell and he never thought he’d miss that until now.

Virgil swallows, pushing the sudden ache in his chest aside. He doesn’t need confirmation to know what he was right about.

 Still, his heart thudding heavily in his chest, he asks anyways, “About Janus?”

Roman nods, grimacing. 

“Ro, what happened?” Virgil asks, unable to hold that question within himself any longer.

The fanciful side doesn’t respond at first. His hand traces the grooves of the bark on the tree he’s leaned against. His lips twist and contort, as if fighting to find the words to say. Virgil isn’t sure if he’s ever seen Roman ever at a loss for words until now.

“I thought it was a villainous trick at first. Just another ploy to get us to trust him. I made fun of it, even. It wasn’t until the way you reacted when I mentioned it to you that I thought otherwise,” Roman says, breaking in mid-conscious thought. Something that is very Roman-like, forgetting other people can’t read his mind. There must be something in Virgil’s face because he clarifies, “Deceit’s name I mean.”

“I mean, I don’t blame you,” Virgil says slowly, toying with his hoodie strings, “He never told any of the Others.”

“But he told you?”

Now it’s Virgil’s turn to stare at the ground. The ache in his chest returns, except it’s different. It’s like a fire-pit at a summer camp-out. It’s warm and comfortable to linger next to, but stay too long and you’ll be sweltering in the unbearable suffocating heat. The same goes for thinking about the past. That’s why he hates getting nostalgic. It’s hard to reminisce about the good times without remembering why they ended.

The old him that hasn’t been extinguished yet, the one that called himself Janus’ friend, is indignant that Roman apparently made fun of Janus’ name. However the newer him that calls himself Virgil and wears the purple hoodie, isn’t. Good, he thinks, he deserves it. And he isn’t too ashamed of feeling that way. Not after the raging forest fire that burnt down their friendship in the first place.

“Yeah.” Virgil breaths out with stifled lungs. He can feel Roman’s eyes burning a hole in his head. He thinks he’d find an unspoken question in them if he looks up. He doesn’t elaborate. He isn’t in the mood for scorching his tongue on the ashes of a cremated friendship. Especially when it’d shift the focus onto him and not Roman. Something he’s certain Roman wants despite it being so rare for him to flinch away from the spotlight. 

For all their vast, stark differences, they aren’t really that different when it comes down to several things, one being that neither of them like showing weakness. They are also incredibly stubborn. It just so happens Virgil has the stronger resolve at this moment.

“I trusted him,” Roman says, continuing where he’d left off, “I trusted him, I thought he’d knew best and I just wanted--” 

A huff cuts off Roman’s words as he flings his arms towards the sky. He paces in front of Virgil, muttering bits and pieces too quick for him to understand. Perhaps he does need to share a little. Just to help Roman know and understand he isn’t alone. 

“Listen, I get it,” Virgil says, “I also trusted Janus once too--”

“No, it wasn’t Janus--well, yes, but--” Roman yanks at his hair, “I meant Patton!”

Patton? Virgil feels as if he'd been riding on the flying magic rug from Aladdin. Only the magic rug has been ripped from underneath him and now he’s freefalling into a waterfall full of sharp pointy rocks at the bottom.

He’d thought he knew where this conversation was heading except now he’s lost more than ever before. He needs a minute to breathe, to process what’s happening. Roman doesn’t give him that. He pushes on, shaking his head like a riled-up mistreated stallion from a horse girl movie.

“I wanted to do what was right for Thomas and--and Patton has always known what’s right, right?”

He gazes desperately at Virgil, searching for reassurance, for affirmation. Virgil’s heart sinks. He can't honestly give that to Roman, though he'd love to give Roman whatever his heart desires to stop his pain. 

Patton tries his best, he really does. But even he is wrong sometimes. He has made mistakes, ones that have hurt Virgil himself both past and present. And although Virgil has forgiven him, it doesn’t change the fact that even their softest puffball isn’t always right.

He can tell Roman realizes that by the way his scowl grows bigger.

“Am I too dimwitted?” Roman growls, “Was I the only one foolish enough to believe that? Just like believing that I could truly be--be--” 

He lets out a tormented scream, slumping down against a tree. Head bowed, knees drawn close, arms pulled tightly around himself. Virgil stands a few feet away, still so far from understanding as he was when Roman first appeared in his room. Only that apparently he needed to kick both Janus’ and Patton’s collective asses.

Virgil withholds a sigh as he crouches down next to Roman. 

A gloomy fog hardly provides the best lighting. It’s better than the dark murkiness of his room, however, and it’s here that he notices something. A blueish-purple splotch of something. Just barely poking out of Roman’s collar. It’s then, Virgil remembers that a metaphoric “bruised ego” is anything but metaphoric for one metaphysical entity such as Roman, Creativity and Ego in one.

“Princey,” Virgil says, his voice unusually level, “did you get hurt by what happened earlier?”

Roman doesn’t answer his question. Not directly at least. “Lee and Mary Lee hardly spoke to Thomas at the wedding, did you know that?”

“Yeah,” Virgil bites his lips, “I knew that.”

It’s a rhetorical question. Of course Virgil knows--he’s a part of Thomas. He’d been with Thomas during the wedding. The leg bouncing up and down in an anxious jitter. Directing the eyes away from the merriment of the wedding and towards that pointless moronic mobile game. The clenching feeling in Thomas’ throat during the brief interaction with Lee and Mary Lee. He hadn’t even been able to say hello because of Virgil.

He’d tried so hard to hold back, to not torment Thomas with his decision anymore than his host had already endured. It didn’t really matter in the end. As Thomas finally slipped away from the wedding, so had Virgil slipped into his room. He ignored the muffled noises of the debate erupting outside the mindscape. Why show his face when Thomas already knew what his input would be? Or knowing what he’d once been, for that matter? Or at least, that had been his justifications at the time.

“Which hardly seems fair! After what I--Thomas sacrificed to be there for them. B-but it’d been the right decision, right?” Roman laughs, shaking his head. He doesn’t wait for an answer as he pushes on, “Was it too selfish to expect more? To think that making the right decision would result in an award?”

Virgil stays silent. Morality isn’t his forte; sure as Anxiety he often cautioned Thomas to follow societal rules. It’s often easier to go with the current rather than fight against it. So he’s hardly the most reliable source of it. 

And as for his role, both the wedding and the call-back offered the same amount of dread. After all, he’s Anxiety. It’s literally his job to nitpick and point out every single thing a situation could go wrong, no matter how improbable or absurd. Unlike Roman, he’d be lying if he said he was surprised by the outcome of the wedding. It’s not far off from what he had predicted.

On the flipside, he could offer a million ways of how the audition could’ve ended poorly. A tear in Thomas’ pants mid-audition. Thomas blanking out on a crucial line. A meteor falling from the atmosphere and effectively crushing Thomas to death. Okay, that last one is highly improbable but it could still happen! You never know!

Regardless, he doubted any of that is what Roman needed to hear.

“I trusted him. He’d said it’d been the right decision when I made it. And I believed him.” Roman scoffs.

Virgil frowns, cautiously sitting a few feet away from Roman. He chooses not to look him in the eye, treating him as if he’s an easily-startled wild creature.

“Y’know, he and I are going through a bit of a rough patch. He’s trying his best, I know he is. But take it from me--sometimes someone’s best isn’t always good enough. And I think it’s okay if it...takes time for you to forgive Patton.”

“No!”

“No?”

“I mean,” Roman lets out a frustrated scream, “I don’t know! Before, there was a script, a stage, parts to play. Ones I had intimately memorized! But it’s as if it’s before the curtain rises before the opening show and the director has thrown out the script completely. He expects me after years of practice to perform something I’ve never seen--that even he has no concept of what it looks like and h-how is any actor expected to perform in such conditions?” 

A light-bulb finally goes off in Virgil’s head.

“You’re...angry at Thomas, aren’t you?”

Roman flinches as he’d been struck, throwing his body backwards harshly against the tree. He looks hardly affected by it as he scrambles quickly to his feet.

“Wh-what? No! That’s absurd!” Roman protests, “I’m not angry at Thomas--”

“But you are,” Virgil interrupts, rising to his feet, “You’re angry at both Patton and Janus, yeah, but they’re just targets to throw your misplaced anger at. Because you don’t want to admit it’s actually Thomas--”

“Yes, because you’re wrong, Mary Mary Q-quite Misconstrued!” Roman puffs up his chest, trying to keep his head high, “I--I’d never, I can’t hate Thomas--”

“Whoa, I didn’t say you hated him,” Virgil says, gently tugging Roman’s hands into his own, “there’s a difference between being mad at someone for something, and hating them.”

Roman looks at him with almost a wild gaze to his eyes, so close to almost hyperventilating. Virgil can almost see the invisible cracks in Roman’s skin, his multitude of facades peeling away before Virgil’s eyes. He looks at Roman and sees himself. 

“I used to think they were the same thing,” Virgil begins, “But they’re not. Hate is when you abhor ill will towards someone, when you wish them dead or worse. Anger...anger is just a form of fear. And it’s okay to feel and experience that anger, you don’t have to repress it.”

“I’m not scared of Thomas,” Roman scoffs, his gaze drawn to the forest floor rather than Virgil.

“But you are afraid that if Thomas can accept Janus and possibly Remus, then he could just as easily change his mind regarding you, right?” Virgil questions, “You’re afraid because all you've ever done has been in Thomas’ best interest and suddenly now you’re being told all it’s done is hurt him. You’re afraid but you don’t want to admit it, so you turn to anger instead because that’s better than being scared, right?”

“I’m not…” Roman trails off, clenching his jaw. Virgil is fully expecting to get punched by the way his body tenses up. Roman does lunge towards him just then, arms flailing out. Virgil doesn’t even have a chance to raise his arms up in defense before he gets an armful of blubbering prince once more.

“I’m supposed to be Thomas’ hero, he told me I was, but what if I’m not? W-what if I never was? And--and I have to be good, Virgil, I can’t be evil--”

Roman lets it all go then. It’s a tidal wave of anxiety and fears, of self-doubt and self-deprecation. Almost any other person would become overwhelmed by how much perturbation Roman’s kept hidden all these years. But Virgil is Anxiety, his realm is terror and trepidation. He’s experienced every fear-induced thought and more under the sun. He understands it better than perhaps anyone else ever could.

He knows Roman will most likely clam up after today. That later on, they’ll need to address these things in detail and take care of the bruises mottling his skin. Roman will need encouragement to rebuild his confidence and to turn away from self-destructive habits. Both of which are things that Virgil struggles with all too well. He knows it to feel as impossible as walking across a tightrope blindfolded. Right now, however, all Roman needs is for someone to listen.

And so listen Virgil does.

[dapandapod]

Lambert the lark

On Ao3 here! 

This one is for @mayastormborn, because singing Lambert and because Lambert looking very much indeed like Paul Bullion with his curly hair and fancy beard. I had fun.

Beware the swearing and actually rather filthy songs that Lambert likes. Oh and a surprise sentimental thing in the middle there.  It was supposed to be a 5+1 but writing is hard so it turned into a 4+1. Please enjoy!

1. The bar

Let it be known Lambert likes to sing. Let it be known that when Lambert is drunk, he sings very loud.

Most patrons of the tavern he favours in the little shit town Mulbrydale, they know.

Most people living close to the tavern know too. And all the horses in the stable behind the tavern.

Yes, it is known that Lambert likes to sing.

The poor bard entertaining for the night is looking rather exasperated, and there is a bet going on in the corner when the bard actually will just march out. Lambert couldn’t care less. Earlier that day he got paid for a job well done, a basilisk tormenting the locals' livestock decapitated and shoved into the eldermans face.

It was glorious.

So it only makes sense to have a glorious finish, beer foam stuck in his mustache and voice roaring louder that the poor blond lad trying to play his lute. How the fuck does the loud drunk ginger know every song?!

It takes another three tries at a ballad until the bard gives up. Or rather, explodes.

“IF YOU ARE SO KEEN ON SINGING WHY DON’T YOU TAKE THE FUCKING STAGE?!” He screams at Lambert.

Money changes hand in the corner, the bard storms out, and Lambert takes the stage.

Let it be known that Lambert loves Fishmongers Daughter and knows all 27 verses.

Let it be known Lambert still did a better job pissdrunk than the actual bard.

2. The bath

Hot springs are the best thing ever. Really, nothing is as good as settling in to one of the stone pools and soaking in the slightly-too-hot water. Best thing those fuckers funding Kaer Morhen back in the days ever did.

Lambert leans back against the stone, his angry orange locks curling even tighter in the steam. In the next pool over sits Jaskier and Eskel, Geralt is still wrestling with his towel by the wall.

“Hot springs are the best thing ever.” Lambert says, voicing his thoughts. If the moan from Jaskier is anything to go by, he agrees.

“Move over.” Geralt mutters after finally being defeated by the towel.

Lambert opens an eye to peer at him, then spreads his arms across the edge of the pool and closes his eyes again.

“Asshole.” Geralt says fondly, then proceeds to climb over Lambert to get down into the pool.

Stark naked.

Lucky Lambert wasn’t looking, because otherwise it wouldn’t have been Geralt calling Lambert names, but Geralt instead declaring what Lambert was seeing.

“Aaaasshoooooleee.” Lambert sings, his voice bouncing around the walls, giving it a rather otherworldly feel.

“Oooh, nice resonance! Do it again!” Jaskier sits up a little straighter.

Lambert smirks and peeks at a glaring Geralt who now is soaking too.

“Aaassshoooooooolee.” Lambert sings again, and Jaskier joins him, harmonizing. It sounds lovely, so they do it again and again, creating a little melody.

“Please.” Geralt huffs, but he is smiling.

“Nah, I rather like it.” Eskel says agreeably, and really, if Geralt dislikes it Lambert has to continue. Those are the rules.

They experiment a bit with tempo, making it canon, Lambert taking a really low note that Jaskier can only barely meet, and oh the discord of that note sounds great too.

“I'm going to steal your job.” Lambert declares to Jaskier, when they dry off. “Im going to get so much fucking coin.”

Jaskier only snorts.

“I would like to see you try.” He says, amused.

Oh, little bard, you just wait.

3. The night

Silence is different in the woods. Especially at night. The way that everything is asleep, even the trees quieter than in the day. The fire crackles merrily anyway, the wood popping and fizzing. Lambert is feeling a little forlorn, he sits close to the fire and stares at the flames, hugging his knees to his chest.

Aiden is half laying on his bedroll next to him, working on a leather braid for his saddlebags.

It is strange, Aiden is right there, but Lambert feels lonely.

Achingly alone, small among the giant trees, old in a world that forever is new.

His mother died long ago. But her voice comes to him, words half forgotten and a melody that reminds him of honey and of sleep. Before he realize it, its leaking out.

He is humming, a deep murmur in his chest. He can see Aiden look up at him from the corner of his eye, but he keeps his eyes on the flame. Idly he drags his chin back and forth on his freckled arm, letting his beard scratch and soothe him. The heat of the flames feels good, his back too cold in contrast.

“What is that song?” Aiden asks quietly, he, too, afraid to disturb the night.

Lambert finally looks over at him, the light dancing on his face, making his hair look like its own fire.

“I don’t really know. My mother sang it to me.” Lambert never speaks of her. But this is Aiden, and the world is sleeping, and he tastes honey.

“Will you sing it for me?” Aiden asks, of course he does. This is why Aiden is here.

The words are old, the language has long since changed. He sings of rolling hills and budding flowers, of rivers feeling lonely and luring travelers into their cold embrace. He wonders if that is how drowners came to be.

Aiden watches him all the while, the braid still in his hands. Lambert watches the fire, sings lowly into the night.

It feels good, singing her song to the darkness. It feels ever better when he stops and peeks through his locks at Aiden.

Aidens face is hard to read, but his actions are not.

“Get over here, wolf.”

With Aidens arms around him, with the taste of honey on his lips, the crackling of fire behind him, Lambert joins the forest in its slumber.

4. The fight

It’s raining, fuck, it’s pouring down. Thunder is rumbling ahead, the raindrops fat and absolutely much wetter than rain has any right to be. They are soaked, the drop bounce off the armor, the weapons get slippery in their grip, their hair sticks to their faces and necks.

Geralt hates it. As they fight the griffin, he grumbles and mutters.

Lambert thinks he is being dramatic, really, it’s just some water. (Though, to be fair, it’s easy to be positive when Geralt is so extremely cranky. If Lambert was alone, he would be just as miserable, if not worse.)

The griffin is very big, and very angry.

It swoops down from the sky, Lambert aims with a crossbow at it’s wings.

“One little griffin were going shopping in town” he sings, clenching one eye closed while aiming. The griffin flies right above him, his talons inches from where his head was just a moment ago. Lambert swirls around untroubled, and aims again.

“But there came a Lambert, and shot it down.” Water is dripping from his eyebrows, eyelashes, running down his cheeks, but it doesn’t matter.

The shot is clean, it hits the target and a loud shriek announces that the griffin felt it too.

“Stop that! You are just pissing it off!” Geralt yells from the other side of the field, ducking from said pissed off griffin. Lambert smirks, shoving his hair out of his face with the crook of his arm, water sloshing everywhere.

It is a small miracle that he still has a grip on the crossbow. They charge the now grounded griffin, splitting up to make things difficult for it.

“ONE LITTLE GRIFFIN IS FEELING FEELING A LITTLE CRANKY!” Lambert sings, or rather howls, swinging his sword in a tight arc, aiming for the griffins flank. From the other side of the beast, Lambert can hear Geralt harumph in annoyance. It’s fun to work with family.

“BUT THERE CAME A LAMBERT AND-” Here Lambert has to pause.

He even takes a step away, scratching at his wet beard thoughtfully. He turns and yells towards a small grove of trees.

“JASKIER?! WHAT THE FUCK RHYMES WITH CRANKY??”

“Lambert come on!” Geralt yells, and yes, alright, fair.

“OH, NEVER MIND! I GOT IT! BUT THERE CAME A LAMBERT, HE GOTTA HELP GERALT, OR AIDEN WON’T GIVE HIM HANKY PANKY!”

“Wow! A true poet!” Geralt yells again over the shriek of the Griffin. “Now come help me fucking kill it!”

+1 The competition

"You really think you are going to win this?” Jasier says, disbelief and amusement clear in his voice.

“I hope you are ready to pay for my new sword, bardling.” Lambert says with a confident grin. Jaskier shrugs, strapping on his lute.

“Your loss. You do remember I am a very famous bard and poet across the continent, and a very sought after professor at Oxenfurt?”

Lambert makes a very charming snorting sounds and waves it away.

“Work hard tonight, and don’t think of trying to cheat!” Lambert tells him, and waves Eskel and Jaskier goodbye.

They agreed that Geralt is too biased towards Jaskier, so Eskel would go with him while preforming and Geralt with Lambert, to make sure none of them is cheating.

As if Lambert would need to cheat.

They walk towards a rather shadylooking bar by the docks, another one of Lamberts favorites. More than one turn around and give a (semi)friendly nod when he enters. The two of them order their drink and settle down.

“Soooo, when are you gonna go about earning those coins?” Geralt asks, sipping on his tankard.

“As soon as the poor lad stops his wailing. Gotta give him a chance, don’t you think?” Lambert smiles, and Geralt rolls his eyes.

There is indeed a poor lad by the elevated area, trying to sing heroic ballads with an accompanying lyre. Talk about reading the crowd wrong.

As soon as the lad is sat in a corner drowning his lack of success in wine, Lambert rises and stretches.

“Alright, time to make good on this bet.” Lambert steps up and begins clapping his hands in a beat. A few patrons see what he is doing and humours him, so he adds the stomping. And proceeds to sing the filthiest song he knows.

Without going into details, it involves what a lady has under her skirt, and how she uses it when she is a lady with mighty needs. To put it nicely. It takes exactly one verse and one chorus before the coins start.

Lambert gives Geralt a victorious smile.

“Alright, how much did you get?” Lambert asks Jaskier. “I hope you won’t have to add too much from your own pocket, swords are rather expensive.”

“132 crowns and 36 ducats.” Jaskier says with a triumphant smile. “The fine ladies at the brothel where quite generous.”

“Where is Eskel?” Geralt asks, looking around.

“Oh, he found a lady with horns and decided to see if they were real.”

“Again? He really has a thing for succubuses, doesn’t he?” Geralt muses.

“Sure seems like it. So, Lambert, how did it go? How much?”

Jaskier won. Lambert blames it on the florence, being slightly less of value than the crown. He lost by three. THREE. Lambert is pissed and Jaskier laughs, but really, he is sweating big time. Lucky he dresses in layers, because fuck that was close. Jaskier declines every challenge there after.

[phoenixkadeu]

BRUISED FROM THUMB TO FINGERTIP

Red colored uniform clung to his stomach like a second skin and just like a snake, Asra was getting ready to shed it, leaving behind only a hollow carcass on the floor as a remembrance of the past only so that he could continue his life more freely than ever. Yet, it felt bittersweet, with sharp eyes locked onto the grand entrance in the distance, the one that had welcome him for so many years only to spit him out without a second though, with no regards for the bruises on his body, for his time and suffering or for the burn on the palm of his hand running from thumb to fingertip. A memory of his presence was left behind, a useless ring he had worn for the past few years, once shiny piece of precious metals and crystal and once one of his most prized possessions was now filled with only dirt, completely drained from the fight.

He touched the vacant spot where that ring had once made its home, a cigarette burned on his other hand leaving to the wind the task of sweeping the ashes away as his mind started to wander to what had happened an hour ago.

The day for the practical exam had finally arrived, only a few days after the written one that Asra had the pleasure of not succeeding in, however he was sure that this time he would be able to redeem himself, no matter how many happy or sad faces he saw coming out through that mysterious door, he was confident that he would succeed. Unfortunately, he was also wrong.

He had underestimated the wicked mind of his teachers as they stood there waiting for him as he came through that door, eyes focused on gaining a sense of his surroundings instead of the expressions on their faces. The place was enormous, a construction like any other Asra had ever seen and he wondered for a brief second as he looked upwards and sideways, what kind of being had been capable of creating all of this.

The student was standing at the center of the hexagon, a metal grid underneath his feet, fire already burning in the bottom of that pit as he looked down between the metal. The whole perimeter was surrounded by rocks of all shapes and sizes, mud and dirt placed at the bottom of the waterfalls that acted like the walls of what seemed to be a more luxurious fighting ring. Asra stood there for a few minutes, just a bit confused, but ready, waiting for the challenge ahead.

Everything proved to be much more than Asra had bargained for and at the end, he did the only thing that he had promised himself not to do. He surrendered, he gave up, and thus had to see the smiles on several of the teachers' faces as they claimed themselves victorious after witnessing his failure. The harsh truth was that he was at his limit and losing his powers again was not an option, even if he lost (and that was something that he would have to accept over the years) that was still better than damaging his mana channels again or going through the pain of something far worse than shame.

And so, he left. Tired and disappointed with the result, angry at himself and yet, at peace with the prospect of never having to set foot in that place ever again.

Yet, none of this felt right to him and none of it felt good.

However, as much as Asra wanted to continue thinking about what had happened and what he should do going forwards, especially how he should give his mother the sad news, a small voice interrupted that process by speaking up.

“Hello? Excuse me” the voice sounded like it was coming from near him, however Asra chose to ignore it anyways, his eyes still focused on the same point that had been staring at for the last few minutes. He was not in the mood for a conversation and he hoped that this person, whoever they were, would just understand that and go away. Blame the elementalist for thinking that he would get his way with anything today, because the only thing that he heard was some nervous movement as feet moved against the dirty ground as the small pebbles moved from one place to the other and then, this mysterious person decided to press even further, clearly not pleased with his lack of reaction. “I am looking for someone, I think -” there was a small pause in the speech as Asra turned his head to finally see who was talking.

His eyes roamed the figure, accessing it carefully with a rather cold gaze, assuming at first that it was just some annoying person. Instead, what he saw was frail kid, bare foot and dressed in clothes that were clearly too old, too big and too dirty for him. Asra had to force himself not to show any kind of interest, this was no uncommon occurrence in the streets, even in diamonds there were kids and adults like this everywhere, so he simply waited to hear what would come next.

“I think he might be in there” he pointed at The Academy entrance nervously, however his words did not waver, but neither did Asra’s.

“Look, I can’t help you, I don’t go there anymore” there was some disappointment in his eyes as he looked up at Asra and for a moment that seemed to bother the elementalist more than it should have, yet, he continued “and believe me, you don’t want to go there anyways, I don’t know who you’re looking for, but I bet that they would throw you away the moment you step in there” better to tell him the hard truth than build up his hopes, he could not take back the years that he wasted in there, but he could at least prevent this kid from experiencing any more pain.

Asra did not know what to do as he saw the kid standing there looking from side to side, fingers playing anxiously with a piece of paper, with a lost look in his face as if unable to tell where he should go from here after hearing that Asra was not keen on helping him the way he wanted. Asra would have offered to escort him back to his parents or his home, but judging by the state he was in, he doubted he had any of those and then as if to solve all those doubts, the kid reached out abruptly and Asra was shocked at the strength as he pulled on the sleeve of his uniform.

“You have to help me, I’m not going away until I find him” Asra scoffed, he was tired and upset, he did not need some kid bothering him right now, just because he needed to find someone. If he wanted to really find that person then he better do it himself, because Asra really could not give a shit. He was not setting foot in The Academy ever again.

“I already told you I don’t know who -”

Just before Asra could end his sentence, the little brat shoved the note he had been holding so preciously onto his chest, before declaring a simple “There” which left Asra with only the option of opening it. To his surprise the note was pretty simple and one that he knew too well, something that was written by him years ago, one that revealed only his name and species.

“Where did you get this?”

“Yeon Nen, but I wasn’t able to read it until a few months ago” Asra noticed that there was some shame in his voice as he spoke and in return Asra felt shame himself for not having considered that a possibility back when he wrote it, however it did not last long, because another feeling took its place, a much more awful one: responsibility.

He looked back at the kid, that little note in his hand. Asra had forgot about writing this, he had almost forgot that Yeon Nen and the gift he had left to those kids, but clearly the one that had received it had not forgotten and he had come looking for him. “I’m the one that wrote this”

As soon as the words left his lips, he saw the relief on that kid’s face, how his shoulders visibly relaxed even though his posture did not indicate that he trusted Asra completely, yet he did not question him, did not make him prove that he was really the one that had wrote it. 

“You’re an elementalist?” Asra asked, receiving a small, even if unsure nod “What kind?” 

“Fire”

Asra sighed, throwing his cigarette to the ground after one last drag. Gods, this was really not how he had planned for his day to go. Yet, he believed the kid and decided that for now he did not need much more information than the one he already had. So he simply crouched down, taking off his shoes before offering them. He knew that they would be way too big and not very comfortable, but at least it would be better than walking around barefooted and Asra could give up a little bit of his comfort until they got to his horse and back to his parents house where he prepare a warm shower, find some of his old clothes and give this kid a nice warm meal.

He hoped that his parents would know what to do and Asra really needed to get his shit together.

[mashbits]

hi hi!! may i please request headcanons of the brothers (+ barbatos and solomon, if you can) with a fem!MC who is busty and likes teasing them with her bust in public? (lmao im sorry i just find it so cute and funny when boys get flustered because of something like that)

o h o I like your thinking 😉😉 flustered boys are my aesthetic 😌💅🏻

Busty MC teasing the Obey Me boys in public (18+!)

Warnings ;; slight nsfw, tiddy appreciation

Fem!MC here~

Lucifer 🐺

Oh

O h

So you’re gonna play with fire huh?

Lucifer took you out on a not-date completely professional outing in the Devildom

He had business to attend to and reluctantly allowed you to come along

He didn’t expect you to suddenly slip off your jacket, complaining it was too hot

That shirt is very, well...

Low cut

He knew what you were doing when you’d point your body specifically towards him, your arms squeezed close to better present your clevage

He doesn’t get flustered easily, but boy is he distracted

It takes all his willpower to not drag you home and punish you himself 😉

Once he’s finished working, he’ll wrap an arm around your waist and lean down to level with you

“You’ve been playing with me all day, MC,” he whispers, his breath on your ear. “It’s my turn.”

You better be ready for a long night

Mammon 💸

Listen he probably covers you up the second any bit of your chest is exposed

You’re wearing a tight shirt? He throws his jacket around you to hide it

Clevage showing? Not on his watch, he’s making sure his body is covering your own

Very jealous when other people look at you

But also very flustered when he sees you himself

You know how he is

So you decide to tease him one day

You went shopping with him, wearing a tank top that better accentuates your bust

His jacket was wrapped around you, but it was opened, allowing a view from the front and top

While his attentions diverted you suddenly hug his arm

It’s right between the mounds of flesh

You’re lucky you didn’t kill him right on the spot smh

“Maaammooooon~” you coo, subtly squeezing your chest against him

His face somehow grows even redder

Larry the lobster who?

“Are you almost done? I’m bored.”

He nearly whines when you let him go, unable to speak for a hot minute

“H-Hold yer horses! ‘M done when I-I say I a-am!”

He finishes his shopping spree very quickly

Leviathan 🕹

Pls you’re gonna kill him

Worse than Mammon when it comes to getting flustered

No amount of hentai or games could prepare him for the real thing!

He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable by staring though, he’s a good boy 👉👈

But sometimes you want him to stare

It’s a 1 hit k.o when you do

You accompanied him while he went and bought a new game one day

Made sure your shirt was especially revealing

It even had one of his favorite characters on it!

Or mega milk if you’re a sinner like that smh

Whenever he looks your way you make sure to wiggle your shoulders

It’s a chain reaction that goes right to your bust

While he is a thigh guy himself, he can’t help but want to feel yknow?

But again, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfy

Only when you hug him from behind suddenly, your chest squished very noticeably against his back, does he start to malfunction

Satan 📚

Much like Lucifer, you’re playing with fire here~

You dare tease him during class?

How risqué!

You’re sitting across from him during your Devildom history lessons

Your uniform was unbuttoned ever-so slightly

Just enough for him to see skin and clevage poking out

It was quite hot for a human, so he thought nothing of it at first

That is, until you “accidentally” pressed a pencil in between the mounds of flesh

Your eyes locked on his

He could see that dammed smirk in your eyes, and all too quickly you were sitting up and covering yourself like nothing happened

He didn’t appreciate how just any demon could have seen that

But he knows they could never have a chance with you

You’re his, after all

Prepare to skip dinner cause he’s not letting you go once you get home

Asmodeus 💅🏻

You think you can fluster him with a little teasing?

Wrong!

He’ll straight up compliment your chest

“Ara~! So big MC! I bet they’re heavy~”

Can and will offer to hold them for you

Be warned, tease him too much in public and he will find a secluded alley to take you in~

He’ll tease you as much as you tease him

“Oh, my dear, you’ve wanted me to look all day haven’t you? I’ve waited this long though, why not a little longer~?”

Beelzebub 🍔

He’s so oblivious to your teasing though

Baby boy baby

Innocent b e a n

You’ll be eating in Hells Kitchen and take off your sweater, showing your chest in pride

He’ll just offer you some of his food 😭

But one day while on a lunch date, you have an idea

You both got ice cream, and you let yours purposefully melt and drip onto your exposed clevage

“Ah, whoops! Guess we should have brought napkins, huh?”

You’re all but innocent

His eyes never leave your chest

He looks extra hungry now, but doesn’t make a move

That is, until you wipe the drop of ice cream off on your finger

You’re about to lick it off when he takes your wrist gently, licking your finger clean himself

“Be careful, MC, you’ll get sticky...”

Whether he’s trying to be intentionally sexy or not is a mystery to you

You’re the one squealing now

Belphegor 🛌

Another hard one to fluster

Big tiddies?

Do you mean:

M o r e p i l l o w s

Straight up shameless I swear to diavolo

Even in public, he’ll lean over and press his head on one side of your chest

Or right in between your bust

Suffocate him please and thank you

This is the only way he’d allow himself to die

He’ll squeeze em if you let him, he’s no coward

Barbatos 🌓

Pls MC he’s trying to be professional

He has to keep his composure s o b

He’s hard to fluster externally, but we all know he’s thinking some dirty thoughts

He’ll act unphased when you press up to him at one of Diavolos parties

But behind closed doors you’re in danger

As many say, the quietest are the kinkiest ~

You take it as a challenge to try and make him blush

It doesn’t work and neither do your legs now

Solomon 🐍

The man appreciates tiddies that’s all

You get annoyed when he ignores you so often, so you choose the busty approach

Wearing cropped shirts or tight clothes to make it more visible

He acts like he doesn’t care, but high key gets jealous when someone gives you attention over it

You belong to him 😤

He’ll come up behind you, one arm around your waist, the other on your chest as he stares down the demon flirting with you

Yell at him all you want he’s asserting dominance

This man will straight up say “nice tits” with no shame

But that’s only bc he wants to annoy you more

Oh boy. Watch out when he has enough of your teasing attempts

It’s worth it in the end 😉

[lisinfleur]

FTM - Chapter 2: What separates boys from men

Author’s Notes | Second part of this small series! Hope you guys are enjoying! Words | 4353 ⁑ Warnings: Cursing. Mentions to betrayal and fat-shaming.

It was there.

Nevertheless, as he imagined, it wasn't easy.

To be a better man for you was a challenge he had to face with all his heart and Hvitserk wasn't really finding obstacles when he was with you. The moments by your side were just proving he took the best decision he could've ever taken: you were indeed an amazing wife, sweet company, gentle, always up to make his days better and prone to satisfy his needs even more and better than any other lover he ever had.

It was true he didn't have sex with you again yet, but the truth was that it didn't happen yet because of his lack of invests: Hvitserk was still thinking it was too soon to go for something so intimate when the two of you were building something he could see would grow into this level. It wasn't time to search for you yet and waiting to have his sexual desire satisfied was also proof of his change he was giving to himself.

He could find sex wherever he wanted. But he would wait for your time to give it to him once again.

However, he couldn't say it wasn't hard to avoid the "chances" he had everywhere. Getting rid of his ex-lovers was something worse than taking a bath after one huge combat: they were stuck to him like blood between his braids, finding ways to pop out of street corners or cornering him around, trying to get him by the dick as they’d always done.

The fight against his body was the hardest part, but the way his mind was focused helped him not only to fight his own need but also to see things he had never seen...

Many of those women he had in his bed really knew he was married. They not only knew, but they liked to know they were able to take him from his wife's bed! Some of them reached levels of cruelty in their words post being rejected that Hvitserk started feeling disgusted by the memories of every moment he shared with them against his skin.

"Do you think she doesn't know, Hvitserk? What woman wouldn't want to lay with a prince? What pig like her wouldn't know a man like you would want beautiful women by his side?"

"She's not even a woman!"

"By the gods! You'll exchange me for that bunch of meat?"

"Don't come back when you're tired of searching for her cunt in the middle of all that fat, prince Hvitserk!"

Their cruelty was... Despicable. To start for the smaller of the adjectives he could think about those women now.

Every time he would hear such a terrible thing about you from the former lovers he had just shoved away, Hvitserk would come back home and find you there, showing more of those sweet smiles, preparing different recipes for his meals, new clothes you started making for him or even simply being there to kiss his lips and welcome his tired self into the cottage you were turning into his favorite place in Miðgarð.

And it would fill him with the strength to continue changing more and more, facing more and more his own mistakes and changing himself into a better husband for you.

"So... I can see you're growing better."

Words from Ubbe that caught Hvitserk's thoughts from his moment at the Hall's table. He had gone there to drink with his brothers - this time for real, not as a disguise to leave you home for some whore around.

"What?" he asked, taking a sip from his cup and Ubbe smiled.

"You see, some women around have no shame to spit to me their anger about your... Madness," he mocked his lovers' words, smiling at Hvitserk. "I supposed they're becoming angry after being rejected since you seem to have chosen to settle down with your wife. Am I right?"

Hvitserk smiled, but before he could speak, Ivar intromitted himself on the conversation intrusive, as always.

"Our brother was always gluttony, Ubbe. It's not a surprise to see him choosing the bigger dish to devour."

In a different situation, he would've rolled his eyes. Ubbe was ready to reprehend his little brother for the mean comment as the reasonable voice he was always among them but it was Hvitserk's voice to be heard, surprising them all.

"Stop," he grunted, looking at Ivar. "It's not the first time you have mean words to speak about Y/N and I may have been quiet until now, but Ubbe is right. Things have changed and I decided to honor my trousers and stop being a boy which includes protecting my wife from mean words like these."

Ivar rolled his eyes, sipping from his cup as Sigurd and Ubbe were observing that scene with different tones of surprise in their faces: Ubbe, mostly taken by Hvitserk's rampant of maturity; and Sigurd, by the idea he wouldn't be the only one in that table facing Ivar's mean words anymore.

"You have to admit she's quite different from your usual taste, Hvitserk. And now that Ubbe is growing fond of Torvi, I was expecting you to do everything but embracing the female grizzly bear you were forced to marry and accepting your fate. Especially when Margrethe is free to..."

"I said stop!"

This time Hvitserk's voice was angry, followed by a punch of his heavy fist against the wooden table.

"My wife has a name, and her name is Y/N. And you will call her by her name and stop these mean comparisons right now, Ivar! Enough of your poisonous words! She's bigger and curvy, so what? Won't every woman grow bigger and curvy when bearing our children? Won't thin silhouettes grow round when their bellies are full of our seed? Y/N's curves are gorgeous. She fills her dresses, my bed, in a way no other woman ever did. And I may have taken longer to understand how precious she is, but now that I'm aware of my treasures, I won't admit your mocking anymore!"

Ivar had an expression twisted into irony while Ubbe's lips curved in a smile. His little brother was finally growing into the man he always thought was there, hidden behind that hedonist little boy and so, he straightened himself, resting against the chair, letting Hvitserk take care of that situation for his delight.

"It seems little Hvitserk found something hidden into his wife's folds..." Ivar mocked once again.

To what Hvitserk answered with a proud expression no one could really doubt was real in his heart.

"I found love, Ivar. Something I don't think you'll ever find with this bitter tongue and stone heart you insist on keeping inside of your chest. Speak as much as you want, brother. I have a wife, she's gold and soon she'll be full with my child..."

"Even rounder than before!" Ivar insisted, bittered by Hvitserk's words.

"Even rounder than before, Ivar, you're right," Hvitserk completed, not affected by his brother's anger. "Even more beautiful than she already is. And I can't wait to see her like this, waiting for the dreams I have already coming into my life. Now tell me, little brother... Ubbe is to get married for the second time. As long as I know, Sigurd grew fond of that farmer girl he was seeing around. What about you? Bittered by your loneliness, Ivar, the Boneless?"

Sigurd, who was silent since the beginning of that conversation, scoffed a giggle behind his cup causing Ivar to grunt infuriated, hitting the table three times, but having no answer against his older brother who just got up under the smile stamped on Ubbe's lips.

"Going home, brother?" Ubbe asked.

"Y/N will fry pork ribs for me today with lemon and a bittersweet salad she said she's created. I can't lose it, brother," Hvitserk smiled.

"When he comes back, our father will be satisfied, Hvitserk. You bet he will," Ubbe said, smiling at his younger brother who smiled back.

Ragnar was spending some time at the settlement in England and it would surely be a good surprise for him to come back and see that his son had finally settled up with his fate alongside the woman he knew was good for Hvitserk since the beginning.

Hvitserk just nodded, smiling before leaving the table towards the square. This time, he decided to walk himself home since Vakker - his horse - was left home to take a time to rest. Hvitserk smiled, thinking about the beautiful mantle Y/N had done for the horse as a gift since she saw him complaining to Ubbe his horse was slowed by the cold in the last Winter. She had used the pieces of cloth she had from the clothes she made for him and sewed a beautiful cloak that would cover the horse during the cold nights keeping his legs from being affected by the cold and weakened by the harsh time.

His smile became bigger. How was it possible not to love someone who cared even for the littlest things in his life that were important for him?

"I miss this smile in your face," Hvitserk's thoughts were cut by a familiar sweetened voice he wasn't hearing in a while, and raising his eyes from the desert road he noticed what would be his harsher challenge of all: Margrethe was standing near a tree in the middle of his way, close to his house.

Sweet Margrethe...

His first love, the burning desire of his youth. His heart ached once again remembering the sadness of the day Ubbe chose to make her his wife and she accepted. The pain of not being able to question or ask for her since he was already betrothed to Y/N and how he hated that compromise that was now his most precious treasure.

She came closer. Her clothes weren't that bright now, denouncing the effects of divorcing his older brother were already coming down on her life. Yet, she had the same slow way to walk closer. Those eyes he once loved so bad were still sweet, yet full of sadness.

"You should be home, Margrethe," Hvitserk said, keeping his position.

Keeping himself from walking forward to cover the distance she didn't have walked towards him.

"It's late and people know already you're not my brother's wife anymore..."

"I chose wrong, didn't I?" she spoke with a doughy voice he knew so well.

Hvitserk's heart ached inside his chest.

It was easier when they were cruel towards you... It was easier when they weren't into his heart. But she... She was something more in his life and maybe the gods were testing him one last time. One more time...

Was he strong enough?

"I should've married you," she continued, lowering her head.

And Hvitserk felt the impulse to touch her chin and lift her face tickling his fist he clenched, holding back the tense arm. She wasn't his wife.

You were home waiting for him.

"I can see how you treat her... And I envy her. I chose wrong and now I can see my mistakes," she continued.

"I don't blame you, Margrethe. You made a choice with your heart, I believe. Things were what they had to be and I was fated anyway. Y/N and I were betrothed and nothing would've changed my father's decision. After all, she's a good woman and I'm happy now..." Hvitserk tried.

Seeing when she lifted her eyes full of tears to look at him.

"And I'm doomed," she meowed.

Crossing Hvitserk's heart with a thousand blades.

Ubbe never told them why he just gave up on the woman they loved when younger like that. He was a prince and could've taken Torvi as his second wife. Instead, he took distance from her, and within a month, he just said he wanted to divorce and leave Margrethe who had no say in his decision spoke with stone-cold words.

It was like all the love they've once shared for her had gone from Ubbe's heart at once and he didn't know why.

"I'm fated to loneliness and this despicable life... This is not fair!" she cried.

And for a second, Hvitserk thought he could hug her. He could take her as his second wife maybe. You...

But you had suffered so much...

"It was supposed to be me! Now Torvi stands by his side as if she didn't have sat beside a prince before, walking around as the future queen Ubbe will make of her as if I didn't have worked my whole life for the chance she stole from me!"

Margrethe's words cracked the glass of that scene for a moment and Hvitserk blinked twice, looking at her. He couldn't believe what he was hearing so, he let her speak, keeping the attention, giving her enough rope so she could feel safe to keep pouring her heart out.

"All because of her children... All men want her because she produces children like the soil produces trees! It's not my fault the gods kept me dry! I tried... I tried so hard! But Ubbe gave up on me like trash... And you're now with her as if you didn't hate the idea of getting married to that unknown foreigner and cursed this fate so many times between my arms. Come back, Hvitserk... Leave her and stay with me. I... I know my mistakes now. We can be happy again!" she said, walking towards him.

To what Hvitserk stepped back, covering the same distance she had walked but away from her.

"I have no reason to divorce Y/N like this..."

"Björn didn't have any reasons to divorce Torvi as he did. Yet, he did. You can do it too... Isn't Ubbe taking his brother's ex-wife to himself? You can stick your claim over me. I'll gladly accept you, Hvitserk! I know you're fated to great things too... We... We could be so happy together!"

Fated to great things...

Hvitserk blinked twice once again, seeing more and more cracks on Margrethe's mask. How many times did he saw her smiling beside Ubbe after saying he would one day become a great king and she would be queen by his side?

And before his brother had taken her for granted, how many times he had listened to her speaking about the great things all sons of his father were fated to? How lucky the women by their side would be?

"Or maybe you don't love me as you said before..." she said, looking at him with a glow of anger inside her eyes. "Did you lie to me too, Hvitserk? Is Sigurd like the three of you, Björn, Ubbe, and you?"

She would go for his little brother in case of his denial.

Hvitserk stood straight, chest stuffed by the deep breath he took, face frowned to speak with a harsh glare towards the woman he once thought it was the half of his soul.

"Fated to great things, Margrethe? All of us are. But if you want to know which one of us is the fool that will fall for your lies at this point in our lives, the answer is none. Cause not even Ivar with all the sadness of his lonely soul would fall for lovely words poisoned with greed like yours. You're not after love as I thought you were... You tried for our seeds to fill you with child and grant you the life of a queen you thought you would be when you accepted my brother's proposal," he spat.

And almost as if the gods were confirming his thoughts, Margrethe's lovely expression turned into anger and the mask fell once and for all, shattering the loving memories he had kept from her in a million of pieces: she was nothing but an opportunist and somehow, the gods had saved his older brother from that viper he was seeing changing form in front of his bare eyes as if she was Loki himself and his shapeshifting trickery.

"And is it such a bad thing for a woman who lived like me, prince of Kattegat?" she spoke harshly, no sign of the sweet woman Hvitserk had once fallen in love with. "I was a slave! You know nothing of slavery, son of Ragnar! You know nothing about how it is to be used as a dumpster by your masters, passed from hand to hand as if you were nothing but a doll to be used! Even after you got married to one of them, to keep being shared with his brothers like a toy for their entertainment, keeping these stupid games for your husband just to be thrown away by a better whore who can give him the little ones you weren't able to produce! Discharged by all the brothers who liked to fuck you just because they found themselves some cunts they now think are warmer than yours once were for them! What do you know about the life of a woman, Hvitserk? You can't judge me!"

The sound of the door of the cottage being opened froze Hvitserk on his place: Margrethe's altered voice called your attention and you came out through the door to watch that scene, instantly causing her to turn against you as if you were a moving target to her fury.

As soon as you stepped outside, she pointed her finger towards you, infuriated. Her face defaced in an expression of pure anger Hvitserk had never seen on the woman he used to see as the sweetest of his lovers.

"And for her... You're exchanging me and all these years we spent together for her! A woman you barely knew before you got married to! A creature you didn't even want or chose to get married to!"

"Stop it, Margrethe!" Hvitserk tried, standing between the two of you, trying to get Margrethe to shut up, fearing her words would destroy his whole progress as you walked closer to that sad scene.

"No! I won't shut up, you despicable prince! It's true! And if you lied to her then I'll save her from your lying fairytales! This is what your prince is, dear Y/N! A despicable man just like his brothers! Who fell tired of fucking me while you were home waiting for him! Who told you dozens of times he was drinking with his brother when he was indeed drinking from me in his brother's bed! Like his brother, he got tired of the pussy he fucked when younger and now he may be playing the good husband for you, but the truth is that I wasn't the only one he had in his bed before and after you were laid by his side with this ring on your finger that means nothing but a collar his father forced him to wear! They left me to the gods but I won't keep my mouth shut any longer! Cheater, that's what your prince is. A scoundrel, that's what Ubbe is! A liar, what Sigurd is, and his useless cripple brother after him! The great, great sons of Ragnar Loðbrók! Nothing but bastards, that's what they are!"

It was enough for him. Nervous, Hvitserk rose his hand to slap Margrethe's face and she shrunk waiting to experiment what she used to have long ago when she wasn't their slave.

But that slap never came.

In awe, she looked up to see your hand calmly holding Hvitserk's arm. Your touch soothing his angry frown as you stood in front of him, your back turned to her.

"No," you said and Hvitserk's heart sunk into his chest.

He couldn't exactly define if it was the shame of losing control like that or fear that you were defending Margrethe's words, but for a moment, he thought his whole efforts to walk that way towards your heart since the beginning were lost in her words.

Your fingers touched his face. A gentle caress he was getting used to receiving from your tender hands. And his heart ached more, imagining it was the last time he could be tasting that touch.

But your voice sounded calm, almost resigned.

"I know," you said, finally looking at her. "I know he got laid with you. And others. Many others. I know Hvitserk is a cheater and I know he gave around what was supposed to be mine only. I know of his treasons and all the many lies his mouth gave me."

Heavy words that enlarged Margrethe's eyes and shrunk Hvitserk's throat making it hard for him to swallow as you kept speaking.

"But I also know he's changed. And I know it not from his actions nor from the sweet words he started speaking into my ears, but from the stones you and the others started having into your hands whenever I'm around."

Hvitserk looked at you, surprised. Were they coming to you?

Why didn't you talk to him?

But you continued, eyes into Margrethe's full of a kind of security you'd never felt in front of her before.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, Margrethe, but the anger in your eyes just tell me you're not my husband's ways out anymore. The fury of the words you all have been driving to me just vouch for his honesty and prove to me he has been denying what before would put that air of superiority I don't see in your eyes any longer. I have no reason to hate you, Margrethe, because I know Hvitserk was the one who chose to hurt our compromise by keeping his side relationships, living a life that wasn't his anymore. But I won't take from him what he has been doing to fix his mistakes nor how he has grown into a better man in my eyes. So, like the others, keep your words to yourself and leave. I chose to leave the past where it belongs along with all of you in my husband's life: in the past. Please, do not come back to my house anymore. I thank you for the honesty about my husband's crimes but I also expect you shall respect my decisions about it and leave."

If there wasn't a reason for Hvitserk to fall in love with you before, he would've fallen helplessly with you now.

The sweet princess with tender hands and beautiful smiles was also a strong woman, decided, who had just shown him she could have kicked his butt before, and if he had a chance to change and show himself a better man it was entirely her decision to offer this chance for him.

"I hope he cheats on you again... And one day you'll be like I am now! Exchanged and discharged as he lays with a thinner bitch in your bed!" Margrethe cursed.

But Hvitserk watched as his wife spoke calmly, dressed in the mantle of sureness and certain of her own place in his life - an assurance his actions had given to her and he knew it.

"Instead of cursing the other's lives, you should care about your own. It's late, it will be night soon. Find yourself a shelter instead of trying to invade mine. In other words, Margrethe, try to find your own fate instead of trying to insert yourself into mine. And may the gods bless your life, woman, as much as they've been blessing mine."

"I hate you!" Margrethe yelled, angrily out of herself. "I hate you for taking him from me! I hate you, and Torvi! And that bitch of Sigurd's girl as well! All of you! I hate you! I hate you!!" she kept yelling, walking away into the forest like a witch with all her curses.

Hvitserk then felt the heavy weight in his shoulders again. His eyes landed on Y/N as she sighed turning herself to start walking back into their house.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, causing her to stop and look at him. "I'm sorry for all the things you've been hearing, all the stones they've thrown on you, all the time they've looked at you from upon your head as if they were better than you are. I granted them this right and I gave them reasons to do what they do and for this, I'm truly sorry," he said, with all his heart.

But instead of looking at him with disappointment or anger, Hvitserk saw a smile in Y/N's face. one of those smiles he loved so bad and thought he would never see in her face once again.

"I know you are sorry, husband. You have been changing it every day and I know your feelings are real. Don't worry... As I say, I can handle their anger and their stones don't hurt me. They make me happy. Cause if they're frustrated and angry it means you're keeping yourself faithful. And I have nothing to fear anymore."

Hvitserk came closer, caressing her face gently. And her chubby cheeks became red that way he learned he liked the most. She smiled, touching his face that way he thought he would never feel again and his lips turned into a smile as well.

"You have nothing to fear, wife," he mumbled, touching their foreheads. "Cause I love you. I may have failed to notice how possible it was before. But now I know what my heart wants and it's you."

His words preceded his lips touching hers gently, getting her into a warm kiss that lasted as long as their breath could take.

And then, Hvitserk giggled noticing he had managed to get her whole face red and she was now looking like a beautiful ripe cherry, fully shy in front of him.

"The... Ribs... They're ready and..." she babbled and Hvitserk giggled, embracing her tighter, happy to have his arms full of her.

"I can barely wait!" he smiled.

And as she smiled back, Hvitserk felt maybe the gods were satisfied with his actions, because she was there, with him. The smiley girl he married to was back and he couldn't be happier to be blessed like that.

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[tornrose24]

Thoughts on Cinema Sins ‘Everything wrong with Phantom of the Opera’ video.

Well at least ONE of the movies I was hoping Cinema Sins would cover happened. Some sins were expected, but I wasn’t expecting that the CS guy apparently saw the musical and has some knowledge about the history of PotO in general.

-”Several people died.” No not really unless not everyone got out of the burning opera house.

-Knew he’d make a Minions joke the second ‘illumination’ was mentioned.

-Aww, no sins off for the use of the Overture music? And its from the 80’s so of course it would sound the way it does.

-Ok, I admit showing the seats losing their dust and becoming brand new again as a ‘what if’ for movie theaters when quarantine was over was amusing.

-There’s a difference between good opera singing and annoying opera singing, which is why the ladies didn’t care for Carlotta’s singing.

-I wonder what a Silence of the Lambs opera would be like, speaking of CS getting his Hannibals mixed up.

-Raoul and Christine are supposed to be around the same age, so the fact that Patrick Wilson was like 13 years older than Emmy does make the ‘childhood sweethearts’ thing strange.

-Oh great, now CS made 2004!Raoul and Christine’s age gap as problematic as with her and Erik’s by pointing that out.

-Minnie Driver is a great Carlotta AND was a memorable part of this film.

-Oh Christ, 200,000 francs equals almost a million bucks in today’s world? Isn’t that a little too much to demand, Erik?

-Yeah Emmy doesn’t exactly HAVE the right voice for Christine when you compare her to other stage Christines (but at least she doesn’t have a weird vibrato like a certain someone).

-Christine doesn’t strike me as a super social person, and her father was a supporter of her musical talents so it makes sense that she wouldn’t be amongst her new fans and pay a visit to the chapel.

-I wonder if Ramin (aka one of the best Phantoms) found out that he was compared to Harry Styles in this video.

-Christine was supposed to keep her lessons a secret, so it makes sense that she’d confide in Meg after that.

-CS points out the unfortunate implications of Christine being a child when she was approached by Erik in this adaptation and I’m pretty sure CS is going to utterly destroy Webber for this someday.

-Actually yeah-where the hell did everyone go when there was so many people outside Christine’s dressing room a few moments ago?

-I do appreciate CS calling out Giry for just letting the Phantom stalk Christine and not stopping it sooner. (And it does feel strange that she’d let the girl she considers a surrogate daughter go through this).

-”Psychedelically laced smoke.” Every fan thinks that too.

-Also, the mirror is a trick mirror. Kind of obvious later.

-Also he needed her to think he was a divine tutor and didn’t show up until Raoul came into the picture (and because he wanted to move on to actually facing her like a real person).

-Well the horse WAS in the book, but him being part of Christine’s ‘possible hallucination’ makes sense too. Also the idea of her ridding the Phantom is amusing.

-No that WASN’T the sewers they were going through–the opera house literally had an underground lake and there’s a history behind it since the opera house this story is based on is real. 

-Erik building the statues makes more sense to me since the guy is meant to be hyper talented.Also note that this is where you can especially tell CS had experience with die hard fans of the book since he refers to the Phantom by his actual name for this sin in addition to saying WHAT they told him specifically.

-Actually CS has a good point about how the final note of the title song is shown off. They should draw more attention to Christine singing that note since its not only a display of her talent but a show of just how much influence/power Erik has over that. Instead we don’t see Emmy singing (and as anyone will tell you, she sang it as an E flat and not an actual E note).

-Yeah that scarf mask is weird.

-The smoke eye has been a mystery for AGES CS and no one can answer why.

-Love the description of singing “Music of the night” as to treat it like going to a glorious destination.

-Thanks for reminding me why the casting choices and changed up backstory makes 2004!Erik worse than he needs to be (God... what the hell were you thinking ALW and JS?!)

-If CS is familiar with the musical, I wonder if he’s aware that 2004!Erik was many a teenage girls’ crush with that in mind.

-Ah the return of the original ‘creepy doll that looks like a character’ that I almost forgot about. Except CS makes it more creepier by pointing out something about it that makes 2004!Erik more creepier than he needs to.

-CS keeps referring to actors by whatever they were in/a character they also played. And I’m just reminded how strange it was to see Emmy in Shameless (and she’s not enough to make me want to watch that show).

-CS forgot that the managers were supposed to be ass-kissing when he wondered why they were in the dressing room.

-If I remember correctly, a company performs one opera production at night and then practices/rehearses for the next one during the day. The one they perform happens for a certain amount of time before its time to switch out. But yeah, the film makes it look like this is all happening in 24 hours which shouldn’t be possible.

-Nothing for that guy mooning Carlotta? Ok then, moving on I suppose.

-I’ve seen this movie hundreds of times and I NEVER saw the boat in the woman’s wig until it was pointed out.

-Was he not paying attention? Erik kills Bouquet because the guy was trying to go after him. The original reason why he died in the book was for the same reason.

-I’m glad that CS has sympathy for Christine for all she went though in a supposed 24 hours. I’d crack under all that too.

-Surprised he didn’t sin the snot shot on the roof. (You know what I’m talking about).

-Yeah, so much for a secret engagement if you got the ring exposed.

-Not sure why CS finds the gold guys funny other than they are ‘just there.’

-I would love to see the party-goers go after Erik since they DO outnumber him as an alternate scene during that moment after ‘Masquerade.’

-No ‘This is Sparta’ jokes? Ok then, moving on I suppose.

-Christine’s dad is implied to be famous in this movie (explaining the mausoleum, but in the book he was poor so he shouldn’t have one). But that does raise questions as to why Christine seemingly has little money to her name in this version.

-Dude, seeing the gave fight scene as Nite Owl vs. Leonidas was something I couldn’t unsee for more than 10 years. But I bet the Snyder fans loved that joke. (Speaking of CS and superhero films WHEN WILL YOU STOP TEASING ME WITH ‘ANIMATED SUPERHERO FILMS’ THAT ARE JUST ANIMATED DC FILMS AND SHOW ME THE ONE I ACTUALLY WANT TO SEE?!)

-I would love to see a Home Alone version of PotO since CS pointed it out.

-Actually I would love to see the au where CS is a critic in the PotO world and just not give a shit if Erik threatened him.

-Yeah, Raoul making Christine the bait and endangering her IS messed up. As much of a dolt he is, novel!Raoul would NEVER have done that to her.

-Erik’s hair looks nice because its a wig, CS.

-Oh boy, the reveal of the bad make up. No surprise it got a sin. I loved that CS showed Lon Chaney’s version (and hopefully will get people to watch the original silent PotO) and was more impressed by it over what this movie had. I also love how blunt CS is in summing up the deformity.

-There wasn’t a fire when the mob went after the Phantom in the musical. But as history can prove, some mobs care more about their goals than their own safety.

-I think they wanted to squeeze in one more trap before the final confrontation and Raoul WAS trapped in a room that became filled with water in the book and silent film. Though I’m amazed CS didn’t notice the reverse direction the bubbles were going during that scene.

-I don’t know how to answer why Christine was just standing around and doing jack shit to help Raoul during the final confrontation.

-A recreation of one of the most famous kiss scenes in musical history and CS just sums it up as ‘yeah your first kiss always sucks.’

-I love the contrast of Super Mario music with shots of PotO for the bonus round.

-Holy crap, that WAS a lot of candles.

-Some of the alternate audios for the last bit were unfamiliar but that Bug’s Life scene for when Christine is heading towards the mirror is perfection.

-And of COURSE CS would use that one Mission Impossible scene.

Final verdict: Predictable at times, but pretty amusing for a PotO fan like myself. I do hope the next movie musical CS covers is ‘Little Shop of Horrors.’

[faimrpg]

The beginning of the month, Fiacre, is punctuated by optimism. As snow and seaside storms from the winter months fade out of sight and out of mind, Celestine and its people ready themselves for a celebration that will leave its mark on the rest of the year, the kind of party that’s been in the works since the start of the last Summer season. When Calandre’s father, Tristan, marked his twentieth anniversary, the revelry at hand was entirely private. Few received invitations, and even fewer actually left the ballroom once they arrived. Yes, it’s true -- many men and women met their end at Tristan’s command, seeing the anniversary as both the chance to gather and to tie up some unfortunate loose ends. It goes without saying that Her Imperial Majesty has other plans, ones which she has accounted for down to the very last piece of dor.

To celebrate her twentieth year on the throne, Calandre has called for a full and final stop to all trade, all travel, all political and domestic affairs. For the space of an entire week, every city in Celestine has been brought to a halt for one reason and one reason alone: to party like their lives depend on it. And they very well might.

TRIGGER WARNING: Blood, death

Val Faim is at the epicenter of this grand celebration, carefully coordinated by Calandre and her advisors to ensure that any and all who arrive on its cobbled streets will be allowed their fair share. Drinks are abound, a keg on every corner, and when night settles over the city, as people return to their homes, they take a flagon of ale or glass of wine with them to sip from on their journey. Music floods every alley, every quarter, and the waves on the docks seem to sing it back to them, the crashes of waves like cymbals orchestrated by one very talented mage. The anthem to Celestine is sung day-in, day-out, and musicians play a new tune every hour. The Lion’s Mane has never seen so much profit, with the way patrons stumble in through its doors and out again, only to loop their way back around. DEGARÉ almost certainly has their hands full, as tempers rise and fall like the changing tide -- PATRICE and SAINTE get caught in the middle of a fight that threatens to eat the entire building up, but manage to summarily put things down together, unlikely allies.

It’s a busy week for the Underworld and the Guild, too, with nobles content to leave their coin purses out and ready for the taking if they turn their heads for too long. New, outlandish outfits appear at Court, thanks to CYRIL, who’s had their hands full since the first month of the year, and the flames of the pyre seem to burn brighter than they did before. It doesn’t help that ISEULT has decided that the time to haunt their shadow in search of new masks has come, and they are in Cyril’s shop in The Silver Quarter almost constantly.

There are events, of course, specifically coordinated for the purpose of enjoyment. On the third day of the week, Calandre announces a horse race she intends to attend, with the winner receiving enough dor to drown themselves in. No one knows who she’s placed her personal bet on, but most have their eye on the newest star of the track, AGRIPPINE, who finds themselves thrusted to the forefront. GHISLAIN is there to watch, alongside VIOLAINE -- and they both breathe a collective sigh of relief as AGRIPPINE crosses the finish line first. They both go to congratulate the esteemed winner, but it’s VIOLAINE who lingers most. BEAU arrives late, only managing to catch the tail-end of the race, but soothes their disappointment by picking what they can from the pockets of those who don’t know any better.

On the fourth day, the opera house is packed to the brim as anyone who can get their hands on a ticket crowds themselves into a seat to watch MÉLODIE perform. VICTOIRE is assigned to keep a careful eye on them throughout the performance, and everything is almost perfect -- up until MÉLODIE’S outfit bursts into flames at the end and has to be stomped out by the conductor, which sours the mood of the evening for almost everyone involved as the curtains quickly close and attendees are rushed out to the lobby for free drinks as apology.

The fifth day, of course, is one for remembering. In a callback to older traditions, Calandre has requested that her prized Chevalier, MATTHIEU, go up against a metaphorical army’s worth of men, starting at noon and lasting until dusk -- not to kill them, of course, only to dismantle them. The challenges only ramp up in difficulty, and by the end there is more blood in the clearing carved out in the gardens than there is grass. ETIENNE unabashedly collects bets to be paid back later in full, slipping in and out of throngs of people to take what they can from open palms. All goes well, until a soldier dressed in customary gold and blue enters the ring. Calandre calls for the event to pause, briefly -- and whispers in MATTHIEU’S ear that this man’s death should be public, and ugly as her Chevalier can make it. She departs before the soldier loses their life, and the shouts of alarm that puncture the air are overwhelmed by a sudden swarm of music from the small orchestra gathered to play throughout.

The sixth night brings a more clandestine affair, as CECILE, HELENE, and most surprisingly, LIANE and CELESTE are brought together by Calandre to discuss the topic of Alain Gauthier, and whether or not he should be permitted to attend tomorrow evening’s banquet and ball, knowing what she has in store. They think they’ve come to a conclusion -- or Calandre has, at the very least -- and depart the meeting in Calandre’s quarters feeling accomplished, all the way up until HELENE discovers  RÉGIS eavesdropping. Worse, still, they are unaccompanied by their sponsor, and appear to be in hot water all the way up until GISELE rescues them from their precarious situation.

Finally, the last day of the week comes. Most are exhausted by now, having spent the week in a drunken stupor or desperately wishing for things to return to some semblance of normalcy, but there’s no way to wiggle out of the most important part of the celebration. Tonight, Calandre is hosting a masquerade, and anyone who can get in past the guard is invited. This is not an easy feat, but those who know the right servants to bribe or which back entrances to use are allowed to slip their way in. The Summer Palace has well and truly opened its doors, and strangers and kin alike dance together, drink together, laugh together -- looking forward, of course, to the fireworks that will punctuate the end of the night with a decisive exclamation point. It’s no surprise that YVON is the star of the show, charming friend and foe alike in a dazzling new piece with a mask to accompany it. The spotlight is stolen from them by ROSALIND, but not for very long, as Calandre calls everyone of any worth in her court to her side in the throne room. The crowds are filtered out by Imperial guardsmen -- nobility in, everyone else out.

And then the doors to the Summer Palace are summarily closed. Those who managed to sneak in and avoid the feeling of a metal gauntlet on their shoulders have no choice but to hide themselves in the crowd as Calandre begins what will be an inevitably lengthy speech. SAVATIER notices, as she begins to speak, her arms raised as if to embrace all those in attendance, that something feels very wrong. The bristling of SIDONIE next to them, and a shared glance of concern, tells them that it is a shared sentiment. “Thank you all for coming to celebrate with me,” she says, her voice carried across a room of hundreds by what can only be magic. “Your allowance of my reign is as good a gift as any.” 

She gives what must be a pointed look to someone in the crowd; anyone who stands even remotely close to her area of attention preens. A chalice full of wine in his hand, Alain Gauthier watches with eyes that are burning. What follows is not something any of them would be unfamiliar with: Calandre recites the history of her acquirement of the throne, every last detail, all the way up until the part where she buried a blade into the body of her own father. Silence stretches out, long and yawning, as her voice trembles, dips. She does not continue in a straightforward manner. Rather, the direction of the tone changes. “I must confess, I have ulterior reasons for all of you being here tonight.” Confusion passes over the hall in a wave, as Calandre snaps her fingers. It is HECTOR who emerges from the shadows, clutching a struggling man by the arms. It takes a moment for any sort of recognition, but it becomes clear enough eventually that this is Hippolyte Brosseau, a prominent nobleman and merchant with no small amount of dor to his name. He runs the docks, manages every shipment that enters and exits the city, ensures that ships are well-staffed and prepared for departure.

“This is the man who would have killed me last night, were it not for dear Ambassador Zhenya who rescued me,” Calandre announces, looking to ZHENYA and giving what must be a nod of gratitude. “I’ve decided to ask you all what should be done with him. Chatter amongst yourselves, enjoy your drinks, look forward to the fireworks. You’ll be brought up to plead the case of your countryman one by one.” This, it seems, is the plan. The room lapses into stilted, uncomfortable conversation -- those who are really not supposed to be there press themselves even closer to the shadows, for fear of discovery. The feeling of an arm on your hand or shoulder, addressed by the moniker of Lord or Lady, tells you that it is your time to come up and say whether poor Hippolyte deserves his life or not. It’s surprisingly diplomatic, if not drawn out -- it takes a little over an hour for Calandre to meet with those she cares about.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. As every member of Calandre’s court comes forward -- even Alain Gauthier, who says little even as Brosseau looks at him with pleading eyes but does not say a word -- the Empress’ gaze grows darker by the minute. Still, she lets anyone who would speak say their piece. Some call for his head. Others plead mercy. Many say nothing at all, leaning on the wishes of Calandre instead. Whatever you want, your Imperial Majesty.

Finally, the night comes to a conclusion. The ensemble of musicians at the center of the room is commanded to play, and almost as if in direct defiance to her order given to her Chevalier earlier in the week, Calandre does not tear her gaze away as MICHEL draws out a sword and ends Brosseau’s life in a single, decisive swing downwards. The death is not messy, exactly, just... simple. Those who cannot stomach it look away, and those who gathered closer to watch stumble back to avoid collateral spray. The orchestra continues on, playing as quickly and proudly as they are capable. Everyone in attendance is escorted back out to the gardens to watch the pyre burn and enjoy the fireworks that light up the sky, hors d'oeuvres and drinks passed out by servants carrying massive silver trays. 

The rest of the night passes by in relative peace, with discussion of Hipployte’s unfortunate end and Calandre’s flagrant lack of care for anyone who spoke out against his death to be discussed in the next coming weeks. If anything is certain, it is that the optimistic mood at the start of the month has met its demise, and now, those in Val Faim find themselves feeling wary, with the sense they are being tested. Alain Gauthier makes his quiet rounds, promises to meet with newfound allies in the morning and to call together old ones when he can. And through it all, Calandre Valence watches from the balcony, her mouth pressed into a hard-set line. Hippolyte did not set out to kill her -- this, she knows. His end had been a well-composed lie. But someone sought to frame him, to use him as a scapegoat, and she played right along with their little game. In the coming month, as spring settles itself over Celestine, she will find the rot festering in Val Faim and dig it out with her own two hands if she has to. For now, though, there are other matters to attend to -- and blood to scrub off of the Summer Palace’s marble floors.

And that’s a wrap on the opening event! Thanks for sticking through all the way to the very end, I realize this was a lengthy excursion -- I’m super excited to see things kick off! You are free to plot threads during the week of the celebration, the weeks that followed, and any flashbacks you’d like to help flesh out your characters! I’d also encourage you to post your character’s outfits for the masquerade, if you decided you’d like them to attend and if they made it in uninvited or not. You’re free to have your character participate in other parts of the celebration outside of the days they’re mentioned in -- you are by no means bound to this frame, this is just meant to serve as a kickstarter!

TIMESTAMP: The 3rd of Fiacre, 936 — the 28th of Fiacre, 936. Please do not write threads beyond this point.

For a simplified timeline of the anniversary week:

The 3rd of Fiacre: Reserved for drinking, revelry, and generally having a good time

The 4th of Fiacre: Much the same as the first, with the bar fight at The Lion’s Mane occurring in the afternoon/evening

The 5th of Fiacre: Agrippine races their horse at the tracks and wins while Calandre is in attendance

The 6th of Fiacre: the Opera, which gets cut short by an unfortunate accident

The 7th of Fiacre: Those who are able gather in the Imperial Gardens to watch a Chevalier do what a Chevalier does best

The 8th of Fiacre: More drinking and revelry to end the week arrives, as Calandre decides whether or not Alain will be allowed to attend the masquerade

The 9th of Fiacre: The masquerade, which occurs in the night, and ends with Hippolyte’s death and fireworks

If you have any questions pertaining to the event, please drop them in the Discord channel! If you need any help plotting, or getting things started, please reach out and I’ll see what I can do to help. Thank you again, to all of you!