#but they still jab at arthur

[arthursfuckinghat]

"I was gonna say you're like a son to me.. but you're more than that."

"It ain't that complicated!"

How quickly that shoulder pat of comfort turned into a condescending one.

#he makes me feel so emo #this life was never meant for you but your fate was forced #the way dutch (and hosea) talks to arthur like he's stupid will never sit right with me #like they've been by his side over 20 years they KNOW he isn't stupid because if he was he would have been gone a long time ago #not only is arthur incredibly emotionally smart but he's a trained conman vault breaker gunslinger horse rider you name it #the fact that his own adoptive parents break him down like that hurts #it's a manipulation tactic on dutch's end - break your victims self esteem to make them chase your praise and approval #hosea I believe has just gone along with that kind of attitude but in a different way he just likes to jest lightheartedly #arthur doesn't see the difference though and it's understandable but he takes it to heart #the worst part is that hosea sees through his tough guy act and has called arthur out on it #his act is a defence mechanism to protect himself from being too vulnerable - in arthur's mind #and it isn't a sudden thing it's very likely something that has built over the years given the life he has lived #and hosea notices he knows this #but they still jab at arthur #oh it hurts #is he your son dutch? or is he your guard dog? your personal workhorse? #playing through the second time is opening my eyes more and more #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #mick squeaks #mick rants #mick gifs #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #liveblogging #you guys gotta understand - arthur seeks and longs for dutch's approval he'll never say it but it's the key motive behind his loyalty #and arthur *rejects* dutch's comfort #he doesn't *want* dutch to pat him on the shoulder because he knows dutch is digging them an even deeper hole #he doesn't want that touch he craves #it's so insanely monumental for such a small scene because it shows us how arthur feels without telling us

[bosbas]

Chapter 8: this is falling in love in the cruelest way

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 3.4k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, heavily going off of book canon, me stirring the pot (im sorry)(no im not), PINING!!!!!!!, anthony being very much in love with his wife

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

A/N: guys i'm sorry but this picture is INSANE. the THIGHS??? HELLO? i am looking respectfully.......👁️👁️

June 5, 1816 – And yesterday, much to this author’s surprise, Lord Barlow reportedly proposed to Lady Montclair! This proposal comes unexpectedly after the Duke’s promiscuity with Miss Barrington at the Bridgerton ball a few weeks ago. Given the fact that Miss Barrington has been compromised, it is incredibly shocking that Lord Arthur Barlow would do something like this in polite society. Luckily, Lady Montclair remains a single woman and swiftly rejected her former beau’s proposal. But this only begs the question: why did the Duke propose? Is Lady Montclair simply too alluring to pass up, or is something else amiss between Lord Barlow and Miss Barrington? 

“Oh, thank God,” muttered Colin under his breath, his eyes quickly scanning Lady Whistledown’s column as he sat on a bench in the garden. 

“What’s that you’re reading, brother?” asked Anthony, ears perking up at Colin’s scandalous language, even if it was just between brothers. 

Colin felt a slight blush forming on his cheeks. He hadn’t realized he was speaking out loud, having been too caught up in the news that you had finally received a proposal from Lord Barlow. It was a lovely day out, and Anthony, Benedict, and Colin were in the gardens of Number 5 Bruton Street after a round of fencing. 

Of course, once Francesca had come outside holding a copy of Whistledown to read in the gazebo, Colin had stolen it out of her hands and abandoned his brothers in favor of catching up on the ton’s happenings. Though no one should have been surprised by his interest, really, given that you were the main topic of most of the gossip sheets nowadays. 

“Nothing,” Colin answered quickly, trying to recover from his blunder. “It’s bizarre how invested one becomes in Whistledown while living here. Is this what every summer is like when one isn’t traveling for half the time?”

“In essence, yes,” answered Benedict, still jabbing at the air with his épée as Anthony stared at him amusedly. “What does she have to say today?”

“Lord Barlow proposed to Lady Montclair yesterday,” said Colin, a slight edge to his voice. “And he looked a sight while doing it, too, apparently.”

Benedict dropped his foil, turning around to fully face Colin with a shocked look on his face. “And what did she say?” he pressed, intrigued about the outcome of this curious development. It was practically unimaginable that the Duke had proposed to you after defiling another lady in the ton, and Benedict hadn't considered him capable. 

Anthony clapped him on the back, smirking at Colin as he did so. “Well, did you not hear the man say, ‘thank God’? Obviously, she said no.”

Colin crossed his arms, immediately defensive. “It wasn’t that obvious! She could have said yes, and my ‘thank God’ could have been because she would’ve finally left me alone. Duchesses have a lot to do; I doubt she’d find the time to be irritating while attending to her duties in the country.”

Benedict and Anthony gave their brother unimpressed looks, watching amusedly as he squirmed under their gaze. 

“I assure you, brother, that there was absolutely no possibility of that being the case,” said Benedict jovially, earning a snort from Anthony. 

But before Benedict could laugh, too, Colin lunged at him, épée in hand as he glared playfully at his brother. Finding himself unarmed, Benedict yelped and ran toward the house, citing a very important painting to attend to before sprinting back inside. 

Turning to Colin, Anthony smiled curiously. “So, it’s true, then? What Daphne said?”

“What did Daphne say?” asked Colin innocently, dreading the conversation that would follow.

“Don’t be daft. That you love Y/N.”

Colin rolled his eyes, letting out an impatient sigh. “I don’t love her; that’s ridiculous, Anthony! A mere two weeks ago, we absolutely despised each other. I hardly think I could love her now.”

But even as he said those words, Colin questioned whether he actually meant them. Could he love you? He hadn’t ever felt this way about anyone, but then again, no one had ever vexed him quite like you. Though lately, he had been finding the line between irritation and fascination to be quite blurred. So blurry, in fact, that he was having trouble seeing a line at all. 

Having clearly overheard part of the conversation, Gregory ran up to his brothers, laughing hysterically as Hyacinth chased him. He stopped and let his sister catch up, smiling evilly at the older Bridgertons “Colin loves who, now?” 

Hyacinth arrived a few moments later, panting heavily. “Y/N, of course,” she stated while trying to catch her breath, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“What? What do you mean? Why do say that?” pressed Colin. Why did everyone in his family seem to think that he loved you? Surely they saw the two of you bickering incessantly, right? Your feud was so famous it had even made it to Lady Whistledown’s column. Colin couldn’t understand how anyone could think he had so much affection for you. 

Hyacinth raised an eyebrow at her older brother, unamused. “Colin, I am not an idiot. Though perhaps you might be,” she added brightly. And before Colin could respond, she quickly turned to her eldest brother. “Now, Anthony, could you please tell Gregory to give me back my quill?” she begged.

Gregory, scoffed, glaring at his sister. “I’d only borrowed it for a moment! And I only did so because Hyacinth hid mine! Anthony, she’s being unreasonable,” he whined.

Anthony affectionately patted them both on the head and flashed a faux sympathetic smile. “I rather think both of you are being quite the nuisance right now.” 

At times, Anthony found himself slipping into the role of a father figure to his youngest siblings. It was an unspoken duty he assumed after their father's passing. Yet, it was important to occasionally remind them that he was still their brother.

Hyacinth responded with a frustrated groan, her teeth grinding audibly, thoroughly vexed with her brother. However, the sight of Gregory's smug smile reignited her fury, and she immediately charged at him. Despite being older than Hyacinth, Gregory wasn't foolish enough to underestimate her, and he took off in a panic, screaming as he tried to outpace his deceptively quick sister.

Colin shook his head in amusement as he watched the antics of his youngest siblings. “Were Daphne and I truly like that?”

“Worse,” said Anthony flatly, but he couldn’t mask the warmth and fondness interlaced in his words.

At that, Anthony began to turn back toward the house. “Well, I must be-”

“Wait!” interrupted Colin. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had stopped his brother, other than the fact that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the possibility that he could love you. You, the person he supposedly hated. The person who certainly hated him. 

But, as always, Anthony was the right person to talk to about this. He would know what to say. Though it was well known that Anthony was completely smitten with his wife, Colin remembered a time when the pair seemed to dislike each other fairly intensely.

After a few moments of charged silence, Colin met Anthony’s expectant gaze. Swallowing his pride, he spoke up. “Purely hypothetically, and simply out of curiosity, when did you fall in love with Kate?”

Anthony smiled, amused. “Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, putting a hand to his chin. “As long as it's purely out of curiosity,” he teased. “It wasn’t like I simply fell in love with her one day, Colin.”

“Yes, but if you had to pinpoint a moment?” pressed Colin, slightly exasperated. If anything, he needed to know if he had experienced that moment himself.

Anthony’s gaze softened, and he suddenly saw a lot of himself in Colin’s uncertainty and pause when it came to a woman who profusely vexed him. “I found Kate in the library the night after we played Pall Mall for the first time,” he recalled fondly. “We were at Aubrey Hall for the country party and it was raining outside quite loudly, a terrible storm. She was huddled underneath a desk because she was scared of the storm. I very quickly realized I couldn’t hate her anymore. Not properly, anyway. Not when I just wanted to sit on the floor with her and protect her from the storm, and anything else that might come her way.”

His voice had softened as he spoke about his wife, recalling the moment he truly knew there was no way out. Anthony had tried to deny it to himself after, but his protests simply held no conviction after that night. 

“You never told me that,” said Colin thoughtfully, not missing the glint of emotion in his brother’s eyes as he talked about his now-wife. 

“Yes, well, the real challenge was getting her to love me back,” he said, coming out of his musings. “And that didn’t happen for quite some time after that. It was rather premature of me to declare my love for this woman while I supposedly hated her and was still technically courting her sister.”

It was truly a wonder that he and Kate were married now. But when it was meant to be, it was meant to be, Anthony supposed. Something that was proving to be particularly true of you and his brother. If Colin, who had a deep-seated need to be liked by anyone and everyone, could fall in love with you, the only person who didn’t actually like him, then surely it was meant to be.

Colin, still deep in thought, chewed his lip nervously. “And how did you get her to fall in love with you?”

“We were caught in a… compromising position. She had been stung by a bee and I… Well, I’m sure you recall,” said Anthony, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically shy as he remembered the circumstances that allowed him to marry his wife. “It’s far easier to get a woman to love you when she’s already your wife,” he finished sympathetically. 

Colin choked back a laugh. “Unfortunately, I can’t very well put Lady Montclair in a compromising position, can I?” he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“But Colin, I thought this was all hypothetical,” teased Anthony, playfully punching his brother on the shoulder. 

Colin cursed under his breath, rolling his eyes in annoyance as Anthony continued laughing at him. “Never mind. I’m off to find Eloise,” he muttered, patting the eldest Bridgerton on the back and leaving him free to go dote on his wife. 

After speaking with Anthony, Colin had a renewed sense of purpose. He had to find out why you hated him. He was so utterly exhausted of hating you and of having this tiresome charade of fighting with each other at every available moment. At this point, he didn’t particularly care who in the ton liked him or not. Colin knew he would happily take the entire ton’s wrath for the rest of his life if it meant you loved him.

But he needed to know just how unrealistic his hopes were. Eloise would be the best–and perhaps only­–person who would know. 

Colin found his sister practicing needlepoint in the sitting room, focused intensely on the material in front of her. It was unclear whether she was trying to sew the fabric or her finger, given how often she was pricking herself as she attempted to thread the needle. 

“El!” he called by the doorway, pausing when he saw his sister grimace after pricking herself once again. “I can return later if you’re busy.”

“No! No, please interrupt. Thank heavens,” gasped Eloise, grateful to be able to do something other than draw her blood. 

Colin laughed, amused, and suddenly felt a tad sheepish. Was he truly about to ask about you? To ask about you to Eloise, who would no doubt hold this over his head for the rest of eternity? But he had to know. He had to ask, at the very least. 

“I was just…I was wondering if you knew why Lady Montclair hates me,” he asked, clearing his throat awkwardly. 

Eloise let out a snort. “Well, I can’t imagine she’d be hard-pressed to find a reason why, given how you treat her.”

Seeing her brother’s crestfallen face, Eloise immediately sobered. Standing up and walking toward him, she placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “I thought you disliked her as well,” she said in a questioning tone.

“Of course I do,” clarified Colin quickly. “But she hated me first and I still don’t know why. I thought she might have said something to you, given how close the two of you are. Do you know at all?”

Eloise clicked her tongue in sympathy, looking at Colin with concern. Perhaps his feelings did run deeper than anyone thought, and the recent dancing and promenading were more than just Colin being his usual charming self around you. “I’m sure I have no idea, Col. But you could always just talk to her.”

Colin shook his head, smiling sadly at his sister. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? She doesn’t usually seem very eager to speak with me.”

Sure, the two of you had been getting along recently. But that had only been twice. And was that really enough to undo the weeks of hatred?

---

It was a particularly delightful Wednesday afternoon, and you found yourself feeding the ducks at Hyde Park as you watched Isabelle and Charlotte skip rocks across the pond. Though you loved Louis to bits, it was a lovely feeling to have both of your sisters home with you. There was simply something about being out in society that he could never quite understand like them, though not for lack of trying. 

After lunch, you, Charlotte, and Isabelle had managed to sneak out of the house just as the post-meal discussion grew rowdy. It was not unheard of to have such lively discussions in the Montclair household, and you frequently even enjoyed them. But there were some days, like today, that you frankly just wanted to have a quiet afternoon with a baguette and about a dozen ducks. Luckily, your sisters had decided to join you, and the three of you had set off toward the park in search of a flock of birds to feed.

It seemed that the ducks had taken much more of a liking to you than to your sisters, and they had grown disinterested in the endeavor. Charlotte and Isabelle had opted to give you their remaining bread and take a stroll around the mostly empty park, and you couldn’t say that you were complaining. Coming from such a large family, it was a rare luxury to have an afternoon largely to yourself. 

A while later, after most of the ducks found themselves happily full, you spotted a stumbling figure making its way toward you. As you turned to your sisters with a questioning look, you were disappointed to find them in deep conversation facing away from you, neither one of them noticing you. 

As the figure neared, you realized who it was: Nigel Berbrooke. Your heart skipped a beat and you felt your stomach drop, unpleasant memories of him and his disgusting words flooding your brain. You had no desire to speak to this man, and you looked around for anyone you could speak with instead. But you had not brought a lady’s maid, and everyone else was too far to intervene.

“Lady Montclair,” said Nigel, with what looked to be an attempt at a seductive smile on his face. 

You stood up from your crouching position rigidly and turned to face him. You were unable to form any words, discomfort far outweighing any other emotion you were feeling. This had to be his first time back this season after his absence, you thought. You hadn’t seen him at any events since the Danbury ball, and you rather thought you would have noticed him, looking as vile as he did now.

His nose was a tad more crooked than on the night you had met him, and the bags under his eyes were ghastly. But perhaps it was just your perception of him, knowing what you did about who he was.

“Mr. Berbrooke,” you settled for saying, nose crinkling as you caught a whiff of the pungent smell of alcohol emanating off of him.

“A promenade?” he asked roughly, reaching for your hand without permission. “It’s a lovely afternoon, it would be a shame to waste it.”

“Oh, Mr. Berbrooke, we were just about to head home,” you pointed your head toward your sisters, panicked. 

Isabelle and Charlotte were far too immersed in their conversation to look like they were ready to head home, but you prayed that Nigel’s inebriated state would distract him from this.

He growled at you, clearly displeased at your rejection. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you, Montclair. Your dowry, as well as your other…assets, are far too good to pass up,” he slurred, very obviously staring at your chest. “It’s a shame Colin’s gotten to you first.”

You were scandalized, opening your mouth to chastise him, or to scream for help, or anything that could get you out of this situation, really, but he cut you off before you could say anything. 

"I've heard Lord Barlow abandoned you, and truth be told, it's hardly shocking," he taunted, his voice laced with disdain as he regarded you with a sneer. "You insist on playing the coy maiden, denying every man what he craves. It's the only reason they’re after you now, you see? They want what you didn't give Arthur. And it appears Colin has taken the lead in the chase, the lucky bastard."

His words brought you crashing back down to reality. Of course, he was colluding with Colin. You had conveniently overlooked that fact as you found yourself becoming bashful in his presence, feeling secure, even desiring his company after these recent days. A surge of bile rose in your throat.

You felt tears prickling in your eyes, and you were impossibly angry with yourself for forgetting the very reason you despised Colin Bridgerton. How could you have let yourself forget? He was still the same man you overheard at the Danbury ball, and you were too embarrassed to admit that his charm had worked on you. 

You were disgusted with Nigel and Colin, but also with yourself. You were more than this, you chided. How could you have let this happen? The two men were clearly no good, and you had unwittingly allowed yourself to be ensnared, much like you had with Lord Barlow.

“Excuse me,” you said roughly, dodging Mr. Berbrooke’s outstretched hand as you ran toward where Isabelle and Charlotte were standing, propriety be damned. 

“On va chez nous. Tout de suite,” you said to them urgently, practically begging as you tugged on Isabelle’s hand (We’re going home. Right now). 

Charlotte looked at you, confused, and then noticed you glancing nervously at Nigel as he approached, angrily staggering over to you as his face contorted into an ugly scowl. 

“Ah, I’m terribly sorry Mr. Berbrooke,” Isabelle said firmly, “but it seems we have to go.” 

Not waiting for a response, your sisters hooked their arms in yours and hurriedly walked back from where you came. They’d be damned if he let anything else happen to you after what happened with Lord Barlow, and they were not about to waste any time.

Nigel only grunted, displeased, but let the three of you go without protest. Both of your sisters’ husbands were very powerful men, and Nigel was not so deluded as to forget his place in society.

“Y/N?” Charlotte questioned softly once you were sufficiently far away enough. 

But you were too embarrassed, tears streaming down your face as you choked back sobs. How could you have let yourself fall for Colin’s charm? You knew exactly who he was, and you had ignored it anyway. It didn’t matter that he made you feel safe and that the two of you had more in common than you cared to admit. He would never respect you, and you could never love him. 

Nigel had come at just the right time, you thought sullenly. Right as you were thinking you could finally overlook your rivalry with Colin, right as the memory of why you disliked him in the first place was fading. And thank heavens he did. You would not be taken for a fool again, by Colin or by Lord Barlow or by anyone. 

—

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[pendragonsclotpole]

help, i just got slapped in the face with the existence of WILL. be still my beating heart as i write an essay on this man, will of ealdor

firstly, i adore the silent and implicit trust hidden in the first joke that introduces will’s character. like merlin’s been aware his whole life that if his secret is ever found out, he will be hunted down and persecuted, but here comes will with a jab that they both inherently understand is a joke in the macabre style only true friends can lovingly master. the smile they share almost immediately gives me ned stark and robert baratheon meeting again in the courtyard of winterfell in season one of got. there’s also something so normal in their interaction that speaks of a familiarity borne from their equal status and years of friendship. i know merlin’s friends in camelot tend to skew to the non-royal/non-noble, but when you tally it up, those closest to merlin often hold some title that’s greater than merlin’s role as arthur’s servant. gwaine is a knight implied to be of noble blood; lancelot, percival, and elyan are also knighted and esteemed members of arthur’s court; gwen is the lady morgana’s maid and close companion long before she is ever queen; gaius is a physician and long time member of camelot’s court; morgana before her betrayal is literally uther’s ward. i feel like when placed among them all, merlin has a tendency to fade into the background offscreen. obviously the audience knows how important merlin is to the overall story given how much of the storyline focuses on him, and the characters regularly acknowledge merlin’s importance to them or arthur, but all of them still regard merlin as merlin the servant from camelot and few of them are privy to the plots we as the audience see firsthand. and even when they acknowledge him for his merits, his role as arthur’s close friend and confidante takes precedence. look at leon’s reaction in the later seasons when merlin is bewitched by morgana. merlin literally makes a comment about plotting to kill arthur and leon barely even blinks before quipping back, “driving you mad isn’t he?” or something along those lines. except for a few instances with even fewer characters, they never get a chance to know him as merlin the sorcerer from ealdor.

will does! and more than that, he got to know merlin as he is without arthur. we all hype up their status as magical soulmates but damn if i wasnt living for how jealous of arthur will seemed to be in this episode. call me crazy, but it makes me desperately headcanon a realistic past in ealdor for merlin, full of hardship and strife, but never without it’s moments of happiness. furthermore, will’s lone appearance in season one shines some real light on the unfairness of the fate that has been bestowed on meelin. the moment that will points out why he’s been so obstinate with arthur really strikes a deep chord. sure it could be just jealousy, but more compellingly, i choose to read it as a deep sense of care for merlin. everyone merlin has met within camelot, (or reunited with in the case of his own mother) has continually pushed him closer and closer to arthur. will presents a crucial exception. he knows exactly who merlin was before camelot, and who merlin is completely separate from arthur.

will is staunchly in merlin’s corner, and that position allows him to identify a key characteristic of merlin’s series’ long arc: his complete devotion to arthur. will even points it out himself: merlin could singlehandedly defend their home if he just used the full extent of his power. merlin doesn’t, and actively chooses not to because of his desire to stay close to arthur. it’s such a small moment, but i think it demonstrates how much of merlin’s decisions become motivated by his desire to stay close to arthur and to always put arthur first, even at a detrimental cost to himself. merlin understands and readily accepts arthur as his destiny, but this acceptance does not come about independently, instantly, or of merlin’s own volition. it does so eventually, but initially merlin sticks by arthur’s side because of the encouragement of everyone around him. “arthur needs you, merlin” or “arthur is your destiny, merlin” or “arthur is a good man, merlin. he has the potential to be a great king, he just needs the right people, merlin.” its codependent as hell.

sure, merlin originally does not tell arthur about his magic because they do not know each other and as far as merlin knows revealing his magic would lead to his death, but eventually the reasoning changes and becomes so focused on doing what’s best for arthur. merlin can’t tell arthur because then arthur would have to kill him and then who would look after arthur or ensure his fate? merlin can’t tell arthur because if arthur chooses to defy uther’s law, merlin is then forcing arthur to turn against his father and how could he look after arthur then? merlin can’t tell arthur because another betrayal from magic would ruin everything and truthfully, he wonders how would arthur react? merlin comes to fear what his magic might do to arthur and what it’s reveal might mean for his place in camelot more than the laws of camelot and their verdicts.

by this logic, merlin is a magical solar system orbiting entirely around the celestial body known as arthur pendragon. eventually merlin cared more about his relationship with arthur and what arthur thought about him than his own life. in retrospect, it’s so sad that will died so early on, because it strips merlin of a person solely in his corner. will’s death is the first in the series’ long pattern of loss that merlin endures and that eventually comes to define him because people either find out about his magic and their knowledge is directly tested against his loyalty to arthur, or he cannot allow them to know about his magic because it will unravel his relationship with arthur.

will, freya, balinor, morgana, mordred, arthur.

also the fact that will covered for merlin’s use of magic in his last moments just adds to the tragedy AND the growing pile of moments merlin could have told arthur about his magic but didnt. and also the fact that will literally died to save arthur. like tell me that just doesn’t prove my point. tell me. will never stood a chance. tell me every aspect of merlin’s life does not get consumed by arthur pendragon.

i’m all for merthur being soulmates, but god the original series is rife with the unbalanced mess of merlin being wholeheartedly aware of arthur’s great potential and destiny leading to some intense devotion and faith that yes, arthur earns and pays back in full measure but can never fully reciprocate because he just does not know anything. by the triple goddess, it can get so toxic. i wish will had lived if just for that. and like the jealousy arthur gets whenever merlin has other people. because i 100% live for possessive arthur and protective merlin dynamics.

#will of ealdor #merlin #bbc merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin bbc #merthur #king arthur #merlin emrys #bbc merthur #merlin deserves nice things #someone give merlin a friend pls #merlin deserves people solely devoted to him #where is the merlin defense gang #hmm #headcanon #show analysis #merlin season 1 #merlin rewatch #gendry waters played will and i unironically adore that no matter what merlin is surrounded by the sons of kings #arthur and merlin #arthur/merlin #prince arthur

[ego-meliorem-esse]

Okay but why do François and Arthur keep separating if they are the only ones who understand each other that well? It's their arrogant personality? Their vicious habits and need to be correct? Bc I actually see françois more aggressive and Arthur more permissive in the end which seems to be contradictory to what I see people writing in the fruk shippers. I don't get it, no hate

Nah nah all good valid question and i do agree actually on most of what you say.

They dont separate in the traditional and common way we associate humans and human relationships with. Not fully.

Lets say they spend a vacation together. They go to the beach and drink and find bars and terorrize supermarkets during their stay. They are happy and content and a destrucrive power couple. But they are still nations and nations have more responsibilities than two moddle aged human men could ever have. So they clash on a thing or two. One takes a stab at an old phychologial wound thought healed. The other gets irritated but doesnt express it (cus emotional repression is legal apparently) and he takes a jab at the other at their weak spot. And they are irritated at each other and start to bicker bc both are too hardheaded to apologize or talk like people who didnt grow up during the middle ages. Now any small mishap irritates the other. A big fight then separation. They dont see eath other for a longer period of time after that. They might hit it off again with an old friend/enemy/lover and its fine. The problem is that François knows exactly what to say and what nerve to pick and get on it to get Arthur to react as he wants. And Arthur is too much of a sarcastic person and generally a man who enjoys a good challege which he might not get from everyone he interacts with. At least not precisely the way he likes. Like Alfred, Arthur gets bored seemingly quickly with a person. Also his affection can be missinterpreted as belittlement or even a jibe or taunt. He portrays himself as polite and appropriate but in truth he is a hard man to get along with. And few people know how to deal and distinguish his comments.

So after a randevouz with Portugal whom he hasnt seen in a while, he is once again sitting at home by himself pondering what takeout to get bc who has time to cook these days. He is still annoyed with francois but doesnt think too much of it. So after a while something happens and he wants to talk to someone about it, so having all but forgotten their little feud he picks up the phone and dials the french phone number. François picks up and you can hear the irritation in the "I thought the lord is still pissed at me. What a surprise." To which Arthur responds with "Oh do shut up. Now listen I've recetly got word that......" because who can be as stubborn as mules yet forgetful as fish at the same time? These two.

I do think to a certain degree Arthur is more permissive. Especially as he got older and saw his empire sink into that ocean he loved so much. François has more of a need to prove that he is still on top of the game so he does tend to be more assertive in some situations and discussions.

Even if they dont speak to eachother for multiple years at a time, something will come that hauls them back to one another. Be it shared history, mutual understanding or good gossip.

In short, small things break them apart and smaller things bring them together.

#i miss them holy fuck #i need a holywood movie set in the 1880s in the english countryside and they are sitting at the breakfast table eating and insulting #eachother as they pass bread and wine and butter to oneanother #i need them stressed and on a time crunch trying to figure out a plan durong wartime #i need them say last words to eachother as they both die but have the last words be somthing like we should have stayed home today #hetalia #ask meli #hws england #hws france #fruk #my headcanons #im sorry if it doesnt answer ur ask but i did enjoy your point of view very much anon

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

Hello! Incoming Arthur x fem! reader request 🙏🏼

I got the idea from a little side dialogue where Arthur complains to Hosea that his back is sore and when Hosea offers to take care of it, Arthur declines lol.

BUT I was thinking that Arthur and reader are good friends. After noticing on their way back from a job that his back is a mess, she offers to massage him. He hesitates at first but obvi accepts 😏 maybe he lays down on the bedroll and she straddles him to massage him? or something tamer like he sits in front of her and she takes care of him that way?

The Guise of Night

Summary: Arthur got hurt and you decided to help him.

Warnings: Just your regular fluff!

Word Count: 3,057

A/N: I didn't die...again...I promise! I certainly hope this one lives up to expectations. It's your choice on what Arthur does next at the end...

“Arthur?” 

The outlaw’s wayward thoughts centered him back to reality, at least the reality of the sharp, nagging pain that jabbed the very center of his spine with every other rhythmic hoofbeat as his horse trotted along. And unfortunately, that was quite often. 

His attempt to be stoic about it was failing rather quickly in your presence, in case you were to tease him about how he received this injury; his faithful steed tripped over a tree root while running and sent Arthur flying—his landing unfortunately onto a sharp rock, enough to knock the wind from his chest and sending stars to erupt in his spinning vision. He’s of course had his fair share of falls, but this...this was by far one of the worst. It was by some stupid miracle he wasn’t paralyzed. 

Admittedly, he’d reached behind him in attempts to soothe the tender swelling beneath his vest more often than he’d realized, thus clearly showing his discomfort despite being so nonchalant about it. 

“You alright?” you asked, keeping your mare to trot in sync with him. 

He sighed. No use in continuing to feign. “Rocks ain’t exactly soft,” he muttered. “Pretty damn lucky I didn’t break somethin’.” 

You glanced at his lower back with a furrowed brow, and then back to him directly. “Do you need to stop for a minute? You look too uncomfortable.” 

Shaking his head, he tilted his head toward the path ahead. “Nah, we ain’t too far out from camp now. No point in stoppin’.” 

“If you insist then,” 

The ride back to camp wasn’t even twenty more minutes. But to Arthur, it felt like hours. Even the slow, easy trot his horse maintained was almost too much. Still, he managed to make it back, albeit having trouble dismounting and bringing his normal supplies back into camp. The stiffness in his gait was all too noticeable, yet thankfully no one else but Hosea mentioned his discomfort. 

And of course, Hosea with his expansive knowledge of remedies offered to help, but Arthur declined, stating he just needed some stew and a good night’s rest to be as fit as a fiddle. 

Late that night, he wished he’d stocked up on some health cures when passing through Valentine earlier. 

It was fairly late when he’d sat up from his failed attempts to sleep, rubbing his sore eyes and his even more sore back—and wincing. Without any immediate relief, he was definitely struggling more than he’d like to admit. 

Perhaps a bit of alcohol was to help. 

He leaned over his cot, reaching for the worn leather satchel rather slowly and stiffly, digging through the multitude of belongings until his fingers found purchase of a cool bottle neck. He grasped it and whipped it out, sitting up faster than he intended. 

Arthur hissed out a swear vulgar enough to make a nun blush, squeezing his eyes shut in pain. 

“Arthur? Was that you?” 

He stiffened at his own name, then immediately relaxed after recognizing your voice. He then peered out from his overhang to see into the darkness. Silhouettes of tents and inky black trees in the background lay unmoving until your figure appeared in his sights. 

Why were you up this late too? 

“Yeah,” he responded quietly. 

“Why are you up this late?” You asked, your silhouette moving closer to the wagon that housed his belongings. 

“Could ask ya the same,” he joked, though the pain was clear in his voice. “Can’t sleep with this God-awful ache.” 

You hummed so quietly he thought he imagined it. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he watched you step even closer, and the gleam of the half-moon reflected onto something in your hand. He at first thought you somehow had the same thought of late-night drinking, only to realize the bottle was much smaller. 

“I found this,” you held up the bottle. As he opened his mouth to ask, you continued. “It ain’t a health cure, but it’s liniment.” 

“Liniment?” He repeated with confusion. 

“For muscle pain,” you clarified. “I got it from some fancy doctor down in Saint Denis.” 

“You was bringin’ it over here?” He continued. 

“Yeah…” you said, shuffling even closer so now that you were just barely under the canvas. “I couldn’t sleep so I was rearranging some of my stuff, then I found it. I wasn’t thinking you would be awake, just wanted to drop it off.” 

He peered up at you—well, your silhouette anyhow, the faint silver moonbeam doinglittle to show him more than the soft billow of your clothing in a gentle breeze. He then reached over to his oil lamp, igniting the flame to burn at a low golden flicker. Your figure illuminated immediately—your torso draped in a fine silk nightgown, let your upper torso protected by a shawl. The bottle remained in your hand and you held it up, the liquid sloshing inside. 

He plucked it from your hand, eyes skimming over the slightly faded label. It mentioned rubbing on the skin for instant relief. He’d heard about this but never cared enough to try and obtain it, since health cures were easier. “So I jus’ slap it on?” 

You nodded. “I’ve used it myself a few times, works like a charm in taking the edge off.” 

With a low hum, Arthur’s eyes swept over the bottle again. He supposed he could try it; it couldn’t hurt any more than he was. “Well, thank you.” 

“Of course,” you said with a smile. “Uh...this may sound odd, but mind if I put it on for ya?” 

His breath hitched at that. He of course wasn’t a stranger to women offering a service for him, usually a young bath girl in hopes to make a quick buck by providing sweet talk and a nice wash on the rare occasion he’d get to indulge. Fleeting moments that he’d soon forget about with a move to the next state over.  

You were not as such, opting to ground your finances in a rather morally questionable way, just like the rest of them. He’d seen you shoot lawmen in the blink of an eye, pickpocket unsuspecting inebriated men in the saloon, lasso a wild Mustang and ride its bucks until the beast foamed and sleek with sweat, too exhausted to continue the fight. A woman of civilization would cringe at your acts. 

Yet, that was the furthest thing on his mind. 

A wild woman you were, but not without a tender heart. The kindness you’d shown him since you first joined was much more than he deserved, yet you never relented.  

There was always that one question, “Why?” he asked. 

“I learned a few massage techniques along my travels,” you explain. “Don’t have the occasion to use it often enough.” 

“Uh,” his eyes swept across the trodden grass beneath his feet, a wave of warmth rushing to his face. To even perform something so...intimate, it seemed improper. But with the pain that didn't seem to alleviate, what further harm could it truly do? He finally shrugged and said, “Sure,” before handing the bottle back to you. 

A smooth smile appeared on your lips, and you gestured for him to remove his shirt and lay down. He began to do so, rather slowly and awkwardly, knowing your eyes were on him as he revealed his top half for the first time, too afraid to even attempt to look at the damage in the mirror. Carefully he laid down on his stomach, skin prickling from the odd sensation of being...exposed...to you, in such a vulnerable position. 

He heard you step closer, your presence hovering over him as you presumably observed his back. “Jesus, Arthur...” you murmured. 

His head peeked up at that. “Can’t imagine it looks pretty.” 

“Unless you call a bruise ‘pretty’,” you amusingly replied. “Surprised there ain’t any blood.” 

“You n’ me both,” 

The sudden touch of your hand made him flinch. Your fingers were surprisingly soft and light, dragging down along the expanse of his back, and halted right at the edge of his tender flesh. He tensed, waiting for the inevitable agonizing pain. Instead, your fingertip circled, still with featherlight pressure, around the area. 

“Lots of swelling here...” you observed, before Arthur heard the unmistakable yanking of the cork from the glass bottle. A few seconds passed before cool liquid dripped onto his back. 

Your palm rested on his spine before you began to move in a circular motion, each pass becoming bigger than the last. The liniment spread along easily, its cooling sensation spreading to soothe his angry wound. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, thankful the expected pain had been dulled. 

What happened next was unexpected. 

He felt his cot shift slightly with your weight as you straddled his thighs. His head shot up and his heart hammered, your name sliding from his lips in surprise. 

“Shh,” you cooed, reaching to pat his shoulder. “Just relax, okay?” 

This was completely new, and any other time he would have immediately stood and left. But your voice, your touch, soothed him just like this liniment was doing to his aching back. He had no reason not to trust you, after all. 

He took a deep breath. “Okay,” he replied. 

“Good, I’ll work up here first,” you patted his shoulder again, before both hands were placed against the swell of muscle on either side. The pressure was slight as you began to work, kneading and pushing along his body like bread dough. 

Bath girls have done this countless times, but your technique was different. It wasn’t just rubbing, it felt much more complex; managing to hit every pit of tension he held. A twinge of pain that soothed itself almost instantly with just the right amount of pressure. 

With each stroke he felt himself relax even more, so much that he could have melted into a puddle if it were physically possible. The breath he released rattled with a low groan. 

“You alright?” You quietly asked, hesitant with your movement. 

“‘Course,” he rasped. “Ain’t ever felt so damn good in my life.” 

“Ah, don’t exaggerate,” you giggled lightly. 

“I ain’t,” Arthur assured you. “Never had anything like this before.” 

“Then you haven’t lived,” you replied, steadily moving to his mid back, dragging your palms perpendicular to either side of his spine. “The bath girls do a decent job, but nothing close to this.” 

“No kiddin’,” he groaned, falling deeper with such ease. He couldn’t remember the last time he truly felt this peaceful, if at all. 

The conversation quieted down as you methodically worked lower along his back, taking extra care to work out any “knots”, as you called them, to find that he was riddled with such. Every individual release felt like heaven; his own body almost gelatinizing beneath your capable hands. 

Hell, if it hadn’t been for your occasional shift upon his thighs, he would’ve fallen asleep.  

Although as relaxed as he was, he was still very aware of how you positioned yourself atop him. It’d been years since a woman had gotten this close without the temptation of money. You didn’t ask for compensation, instead just offered without a second thought. 

He often wondered why you chose to be so good to him, Lord knows he doesn’t deserve it. Favors often didn’t come without a price in this world. Yet you never asked nor expected anything from him, an almost suspicious at first, yet pleasant, surprise. 

The thought, however, crossed Arthur’s mind more than he’d like to admit. 

But how would that appear to the others? To you? Would you get the wrong idea? Would you think he was sweet on you? What if you didn’t like it? 

The sensation of your thumb grazing across a particularly thick knot spiraled him back to the present, a soft hiss sliding from his teeth. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmured gently, the pressure lightening. “Is that better?” 

“Yeah…” he sighed out, closing his eyes as the lump of tension dissipated. That was the relationship between the two of you, he thought. Him; a grizzled outlaw hardened by life’s woes. Then there was you…a unique combination resulting from the world’s cold abrasiveness, yet still retained a gentleness that belonged to a more civilized pathway, a balance to soothe his rough exterior. 

You were…nothing short of amazing. 

His entire body flinched involuntarily when you’d reached low enough to handle his injury. Your hand stopped at his sudden jerk, hovering just above the bruised skin. 

“Easy there,” you cooed, your voice still soft. “Let me know if it’s too much…” a tender graze navigated the swelling. Though still sore, the liniment allowed it to be bearable.  

He breathed, slowly, attempting to convince his body to relax once again. “Go on,” he rumbled. “Ain’t gonna get much worse.” 

The pressure was slight, almost like a tickle. The movement was different, though, circular and drawing outwards rather than the constant crisscrossing of your previous paths. It almost seemed as if you were drawing a sun on his back. 

“This is just to aid the swelling,” you explained, his unasked question now answered. “It opens up more space for drainage.” 

Seems like massage was much more than just relaxing folk. He had to wonder where exactly you learned this from, and why you chose to rough it as an outlaw rather than living a much more comfortable life with such valuable knowledge. 

So he decided to voice it. “How come you ain’t makin’ money on this somewhere else?” 

You giggled, sliding your palm through the very core of the pain and to the side, as if attempting to drag it away. “You mean, ‘why not satisfy countless men with my hands when I’d rather be here?’” 

You were good at reading his mind sometimes, perhaps too good. It wasn’t exactly his intention, but the thought of you doing this to a stranger didn’t settle right in his belly. “Uh…” he huffed, trying to keep from bracing again. 

“Perhaps I could, should I decide I’m done sleeping in the dirt and robbing rich folk of their precious pearls,” you continued, the smile audible in your voice. “But where’s the fun in that?” 

Arthur chuckled. “Wouldn’t exactly call this life, ‘fun’.” 

“It has its moments,” you replied, “Especially when Dutch’s brute of a Lieutenant gets a drink or two and loosens up.” 

Arthur snorted, turning his head to give you a sideways look. “Now I ain’t always a brute.” 

“Course not, not when you have some booze,” you joked, grinning down at him. “You’re a lot more fun that way.” 

“Y’ think so?” Arthur drawled, a smile of his own tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“From the escapade I heard you had with Lenny,” you recounted. “Stirrin’ up enough trouble for the lawmen to chase you outta town!” 

“I made it out, didn’t I?” he chuckled. “Honestly, I might’ve gone too far that night...all for the sake of forgettin’ ‘bout Micah.” 

“Well...it ain’t very often we get to let loose, you know?” you said. “Shame we can’t do it more often.” 

“Would be nice,” Arthur agreed, though internally cringed at the memory of that night in the saloon. “…Maybe.” 

“Well, wouldn’t be bad if it was just you and me,” you say thoughtfully. “I’d keep ya in line.” 

“That so—” he groaned and tensed as you hit a particularly sore spot. 

Your pressure lightened significantly, easing him back into a state of relaxation. Your hips shifted and he could feel your presence hovering closer over him, your breath just ghosting along the shell of his ear as you whispered, “I know I can…” 

For whatever godly reason, this action manifested a knot in his belly. A knot that stirred an emotion he’d locked away so long ago, it was almost foreign. His heart began to pound. Not out of anxiety, but a rare excitement. 

Just as the feeling began to swell, you seated yourself back to your original position as if you’d never moved in the first place, focusing right back to his injury. 

Arthur was left breathless, his mind abuzz. Why on earth did that happen to him just now? He wanted to ask what exactly you meant by that, but deep down in his gut, he knew exactly what it truly meant. 

How was it that you out all people would elicit such a wayward thought when he’d attempted to hide it for years? You…a woman of such strength and kindness and a spitfire attitude who would boldly refuse a comfortable civilian life to live in the dirt with the rest of them. 

It seemed as if he’d answered his own question. 

“You doing alright?” You asked, breaking his train of thought. 

“Uh…” he hesitated, wondering what to say next. “Sure.” 

“Pressure too much?” 

“Nah,” he shook his head lightly. “Jus’…relaxin’, is all.” 

The exact words were lost to him. Hell, there was no proper form of thought to even remotely describe the tornado whirling and wreaking havoc in his mind currently. Confusion, happiness, contentedness, nostalgic, and maybe even…forlorn. 

It never truly occurred to him just how much he missed the essence of intimacy, having convinced himself he was unworthy and undeserving. Still is, really, how you willingly offered to cater to his comfort was still a complete mystery to him. 

“May…may I ask you somethin’?” 

There was a slight pause in your movement before you continued. “Yeah?” 

“Why are ya doin’ this for me, really?” He inquired. “Coulda jus’ left me with that concoction.” 

A small giggle curled into the still air like fine smoke. Your hands smoothed up his back and back down, gliding through his muscles with no effort. “Well, I suppose you might already know,” your tone held a slight playfulness to it, like a teasing child. 

And just at an instant, your weight disappeared from him. He blinked and turned to look at you as you straightened the ruffles from your nightgown. You peered up and smiled innocently at him, except the telltale gleam in your eye held another story. “See you in the morning, Mr. Morgan,” you say, swiveling on your heel to sidle towards your sleeping area. 

He had half a mind to tell you to stay. Instead, he muttered a flustered, “thank you,” before attempting to redress his torso. 

#Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan x female reader

[multifandomwriter56]

Karissa's 31 Days of October Fun

Day: 1

Prompt: "I bet you can't catch a leaf." from this.

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Characters: Shelby family x Shelby!Reader, Sister!Reader

Warnings: language

It was a chilly day, the leaves falling for the first time for the autumn weather.

Y/n Shelby was awoken by an overly excited Finn who kept rambling about a road trip.

"Shut up, Finn! I'm sleeping!" She snapped as she covered her face with her quilt.

"Come on, Y/n." The eleven year old whines at his sister. "Tommy said we have to be downstairs in five minutes or else he's not going to take us."

The youngest Shelby frowns at her brother even though her face is hidden by the quilt. "Fuck off, Finn. Tommy doesn't take us anywhere." Not anymore, at least.

Finn pulls the quilt until it falls to the floor, ignoring his sister's threats. "Y/n, come on! I don't want to go by meself. It'll be more fun if you go."

She smiles at his confession. The two youngest Shelby's do almost everything together. Their Aunt Polly has always had a love/hate relationship with the fact that they stick together constantly.

"Oi! Finn! Is she coming or what?" John yells from the bottom of the stairs.

"She won't get up!" Finn yells back.

"Oi! Stop fucking yelling inside!" Polly scolds from somewhere in the kitchen.

Y/n groans. She's about to yell for everyone to fuck off when ten digits jab into her ribs. She turns to punch John, but freezes when she realizes it's not John.

No... it's the last brother she would've ever guessed.

"Tommy, stop!"

"Then get the fuck up and let's go." Tommy orders with no heat in his voice. He's too pleased with himself with catching his sister off guard.

When Tommy removes his fingers from her sides, Y/n moves as far as she can without having to get up. "Where are we going?"

"We're going for a drive."

Immediately, Y/n is on edge, her eyes narrowing. "Tommy Shelby never does anything without a reason. What gives?"

Tommy's eyebrows disappear underneath his hair. "I'm your big brother. I ask the questions around here."

"Then how am I to learn if I don't ask questions, eh?"

"Oi! I say we leave her." John pipes in.

Sensing that Tommy might agree with their brother, she pulls herself out of bed. "I'll go."

Eyebrows still raised high, Tommy questions his sister's change of attitude. "Why?"

Y/n shrugs her shoulders. "If you're wanting to drive your siblings around, either you've gone mad or something crazy's going to happen." She pauses, a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. "And I want to be there for either one."

Tommy chuckles. Y/n has been the only person to ever give him so much cheek without retribution.

***

The ride itself would have only taken thirty minutes, but with the Shelby clan, it was closer to an hour.

When Tommy parks the car on the side of the road that cuts through the middle of a field of grass with a few trees nearby, Y/n for sure thinks her brother has gone mad. "Where are we?"

Her question is ignored by everyone as they all start piling out. Seeing she has no other choice, she follows them.

She watches as Polly and Ada lay down three different blankets side by side while her brothers unload the car.

"Picnic? We're having a picnic?"

"Aw, John. Our little girl is growing up. She knows what a picnic is." Arthur teases before taking a sip of what Y/n assumes is a bottle of whiskey.

"Come help us with the food, love." Polly calls.

"I'm must be dreaming." Y/n mutters as she obeys her aunt.

The Shelby family enjoys the food, the quiet, and each other's presence. The youngest Shelby doesn't remember the last time she was this happy.

Just when she thought she couldn't be happier, the wind picks up, forcing the dead leaves to fall from the trees.

Finn jumps up and starts trying to grab the leaves before they touch the ground.

Wanting to join in on the fun, Y/n stands to her feet and runs to her brother's side. A few minutes later, John joins them. Then Arthur. And then Ada.

Y/n laughs as John tries to climb up Arthur's back to grab a big, beautiful yellow leaf; which causes them both to fall to the ground. She looks over at the only brother not participating, sitting by their aunt.

She runs over to them, a mischievous smirk in place. "I bet you can't catch a leaf." She taunts him.

Tommy's smile reflects her own. "I can't, eh?" He glances at their aunt who shakes her head no. "Well, I must prove you two women wrong." He stands to his feet, grabbing Y/n and throwing her over his shoulder.

Y/n giggles in delight. Tommy's been too busy with his new woman to be around his siblings.

Just when Y/n thought she could die from happiness, a cold feeling runs through her body. She blinks, hoping the feeling will go away.

"Get up, Y/n! I need your help in the betting shop!"

Y/n frowns when she realizes she's not outside any more; but back in her room. She looks at Ada, who is holding an empty bucket. She looks down and sees that she is soaking wet.

"What? But- We were-" She looks to her sister for help. "Tommy was just-"

Ada's anger melts away. Y/n had another dream. "Tommy's not here, Y/n." She reminds her softly. "The boys are still at war."

The cold feeling runs through her body again.

Right. Her three older brothers are fighting in the war. The rest of them are trying to keep the family business going.

Any hope she has left dies. Life will never be the same.

Peaky Blinders: @raincoffeeandfandoms @runnning-outof-time @zablife @lovemissyhoneybee

#karissa's 31 days of october fun #day 1 #shelby!reader #shelby family #peaky blinders

[formula1neverleft]

Charles drabble - request

“can you please do Charles x Arthur's bff ! female reader because that ferrari team pic has me feeling all types of ways. thanks! xx”

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Warnings: swearing, lil smut but nothing explicit (not me managing to make a 700 word drabble smutty when that wasn’t even in the request i-) , not proofread. Enjoy xx

//

Charles was convinced he was being completely chill about the situation.

I mean, it’s not like this is the first race Y/N is attending, right? She was Arthur’s best friend and was in Austria to see Arthur and Charles race. Simple as that. All he needed to do was act the exact same way as he always did around her.

All he needed to do was pretend like him and Y/N were still just friends.

Sounds easy enough, had it not been for the fact that he’d had her legs up over his shoulders in his trailer about ten minutes ago.

They had barely managed to evade being discovered when one of the Ferrari media people came knocking at his door asking him to come out for the team photo. Y/N had clasped her own hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle the laugh she’d almost let out. Charles could still see she was smiling, the laugh lines on her cheeks and her eyes narrowing giving her away, and he had to close his eyes to compose himself enough to answer the person on the other side of the door.  The fact that he was still inside of her was not doing anything to aid the situation, for that matter.

Charles muttered out a quick “okay, just, uhm…give me a second”, relief washing over his face as he heard the footsteps of the person walking away from the trailer.

“Sorry, mon ange, duty calls” he said as he reluctantly tore himself from Y/N’s body.

“It’s okay, we can just take our time in the hotel later” she answered with a wink.

She then quickly got fully dressed and attempted to get her hair back to the state it was in before coming to congratulate Charles. Right before sneaking out of his trailer, Y/N turned to Charles and let her hand wander through his hair softly while keeping her gaze fixated firmly on his face.

“Congrats Grand Prix winner, I’m so fucking proud of you”

Charles didn’t even have time to thank her before she gave him a quick peck and disappeared out of the trailer.

He felt like the luckiest man in the world, and the trophy waiting for him in front of the Ferrari garage was only partly responsible for that.

The entire team had already gathered for the team photo when Charles arrived, everyone sporting big smiles and some still hugging to celebrate the win, some of them stopping to give him a congratulatory pat on the back as they passed him. It was days like this where Charles was reminded why he loved racing.

“Bro, where were you?” Arthur came jogging up to Charles in the garage, “We’ve been celebrating without you”

“Sorry, I, uh, wanted to freshen up quickly, '' Charles answered.

“Then why do you still look so sweaty, wasn’t that hot of a race” Arthur questioned as he took in his brother's disheveled appearance.

“That’s just the champagne, mate” Charles quickly retorted, giving his younger brother a mischievous jab to the ribs.

Luckily for him, that seemed a sufficient answer for Arthur as he dropped the subject and beckoned Charles to follow him for the photo.

“Y/N should be in the picture too, right? I can’t find her anywhere. How much do you want to bet one of the mechanics is flirting with her again? I don’t even know why they try you know, she’s hard to get” Arthur said with a shake of his head.

Charles tried his best to fight the smile that was tugging at the corners of his mouth as he felt heat rising to his cheeks.

“Yeah, tell me about it” he mumbled, hands moving to one of his shoulders where he still felt the imprint of where her ankles had rested just minutes earlier as he and Arthur took their place on the front row of the group picture.

Just as the photographer was instructing some people on where to stand, Arthur spotted Y/N and called her over.

She looked slightly apprehensive to approach them, but Arthur kept yelling at her that they were about to take the photo, so eventually she had no choice but to make her way over.

Y/N took her place beside Arthur and kept her gaze facing the camera.

Arthur ,however, was staring at her, taking in her messy hair and flushed cheeks, not to mention her awkward demeanor.

Charles could practically see the cogs in his head turning as he pieced together just what was happening, switching his gaze between Y/N and Charles a few times.

“Oh you two have got to be kidding me”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc #masterlist #formula 1

[cypresskey]

I wrote this in response to someone in a malevolent fan discord pointed out Canary in a Coal Mine by The Crane Wives being a Jarthur song, which I completely agree, but the song is a whole analysis on its own.

theres that extra jab of Kayne using the phrase in 28, and thou it was due to them literally being in a coal mine and the color yellow, it got me thinking about jarthur in terms of actual coal mine canaries.

So miners used canaries as a warning sign to toxic gases, having much smaller and sensitive lungs then humans. So when the birds succumbed to the gases, becoming ill or dying, the miners knew to escape before they faced the same.

Arthur is John’s ‘a piece of driftwood to hold onto, otherwise he’ll drown, nothing to him’ other then a vessel for him to no longer be trapped and get what he wants. Arthur is the canary John brings into the mine knowing arthur will suffer but not carrying because it benefits him.

Except miner’s started to see these birds as pets, they felt bad, but they still needed them. So they invented special cages that when they noticed the canaries reaction to a toxic gas, they could close a door that would prevent the outside air from getting in the cage and pump clean air in. This wasn’t done for economic reasons, just out of empathy. John grew to view Arthur as more then a tool, rather a friend. Someone he is still bound to, someone he still needs to use, but someone he cares for and someone he will save.

Not to mention, further connections with the symbolism of canaries and Arthur. First of all, they are song birds and were prized for their voices. They were seen to teach how to experience the sweetness of life and how to use ones own voice. They were the light at the end of the tunnel, John learning humanity from Arthur. New beginnings, getting out of your comfort zone. Loyalty, courage, protection of yourself and those you love, optimism. But they weren’t a purely positive sign. A caged canary spoke of limitations or even entrapment, particularly of an emotional nature, a sign of vulnerability and of of an unfaithful friend that has damaged trust and jeopardised your safety. “If a strong negative force kills the Canary in your dream, this is a sure sign that somebody has done something wrong – whether that’s you or another, it symbolises guilt, shame, regret or anger at your own actions, or inaction especially if you have not been able to protect something important to you” further more, surrounding the phrase ‘canary in a coal mine’ is them being an warning of impending doom to those around them. Some say them as a omen of a family death. And this is more john/the kiy but “if the Canary is singing into your ear, this is said to represent the flattery of others who may be wanting something out of you”

Though they, specifically yellow canaries are also a sign of good luck, which the boys definitely dont have

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #arthur lester #john doe malevolent #john malevolent #arthur malevolent #kayne malevolent #the king in yellow #malevolent songs #jarthur #jathur songs #media analysis #character analysis #malevolent analysis #animal symbolism #canary in a coal mine #malevolent 28

[barrykeoghanstan]

Birmingham's Sunshine

Arthur Shelby x Fem!OC

Warnings: Age gap (10 years)

A/N: I have no clue what spirit possessed me to write this, but here we are. I am by no means a writer, and this is the first fic I have ever written, but I hope you enjoy none the less. 💙

Amelia pushed the doors the Garrison open with a bright smile on her face. Waltzing to the bar, she stopped seeing her best friend. "Well, hello Arthur," she said with a small giggle, placing a kiss on his cheek.

If you want to talk about unlikely pairings, Amelia and Arthur were at the top of that list. Where Arthur was dark and brooding, Amelia was bright and cheery. Where he was rough, she was soft. Where he was filled with anger and violence, Amelia was patient with the heart of a saint. His hands had long since been drenched in blood, and hers were a clean as fresh filled snow. They were complete opposites. He was a monster, at least he thought so. And her? She was Birmingham's sunshine. There was never a day you would find Amelia down in the dumps or without her bright, vivacious smile that brightened up everyone's mood. Even the cold and hardened Thomas Shebly couldn't help but crack a smile at the young girl.

Squished between Arthur and John on the bench in the snuff, Amelia sipped on her gin, her face souring each time she took a sip. Hearing John laugh once more at her, she shoved him light. "Now listen here, John Micheal Shelby. You keep that up, and I have Esme make you sleep in the dog house." That was one thing to know about Amelia while she was sweet and sunny she was not someone you wanted to cross. That is part of what drew Arthur to the younger woman in the first place, but mostly, it was the way she managed to calm his raging mind. "Well, boys, I best be getting home. I've got to be up early for work tomorrow." Tugging her coat over her dress, Amelia situated her hat on her head before reaching for the doorknob. " 'Melia wait,' Arthur's gruff voice called out, turing to him with her head tilted to the side in question she watched him stand up and walk towards her, with his arm held out. "Oh Arthur, you don't need to walk me home it isn't far," she tried to insit but Amelia knew by the look in her friend's eyes it was no use trying to argue. So, with a smile, she linked her arm with his and led them not if the Garrison ignornoging John's teasing jabs being voiced at their backs.

Back at her flat, Amelia fiddled with the key before finally getting the door open. Stepping into the warmth, she motioned for Arthur to follow. Once inside, she hung up her hat and coat before helping Arthur do the same. These small domestic acts were not uncommon between the pair. In fact, if you simply saw them on the street, you'd be certain they were a couple with how sweet on one another they were.

Moving to the living room, Amelia settled herself on the couch with her head in Arthur's lap after he too sat. Per their, now, usual routine, Arthur played with her hair til the younger girl was almost asleep. Then, with great care, he carried her to bed. Nuzzling into the sheet, Amelia smiled, her eyes still closed. "Stay. Please?" She whispered, her voice almost imperceptible. But Arthur heard it. He would always hear her. Climbing into the empty side off the bed, Arthur felt all of his pain and worries slip away as Amelia wrapped her arms around him. She was his solace, his respite after every bad thing. Allowing himself to place a light kiss in her forehead, Arthur settled into the bed before they both fell asleep.

The next morning, Amelia woke to the rhythmic beating of Arthur's heart in her ear and his arms protectively wrapped around her. Slowly sitting up as not disturbing him, she watched his face, which, for the time being, looked not only younger but peaceful. Brining her hand up, Amelia let her soft fingers gently trace the feature of the man 10 years her senior. With slight hesitation, Amelia leaned down and pressed a kiss to Arthur's cheek, which prompted him to open his eyes. "Morning you," Amelia teased, pushing a stray hair out of his face. God, he looked so pretty. Eyes dipping down to his plush, pink lips, she bit her bottom one as she met his eyes again. Upon doing so, Amelia found Arthhur leaning. Then their lips finally met in a long-awaited kiss. Arthur was the first to pull away after a long moment, pressing his forehead to hers. Calloused hands cupping her face, he smiled lightly. Somethjng that obly ever really hapoe ed around her. "I think I might love you," Amelia admitted, breaking the silence, her eyes darting down nervous to see Arthur's reaction. It was only when his finger tilted her chin up and kissed her once more that she allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. " I love you too, sunshine," Arthur's responded, feeling his heart soaring.

And that was the start of something truly special.

#paul anderson #arthur shelby #arthur shelby fluff #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby x you #arthur shelby imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fluff #arthur shelby ❤️ #first fic #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinder headcanon #peaky fucking blinders

[pippin-katz]

Merthur & Johnlock

You know what I just realized? I was (and still am) a big Johnlock shipper. I love Sherlock despite the many issues I have with it, and it was my primary mlm live action ship for a while.

Then Merlin came along.

I kid you not, I literally said out loud: “Why the fuck was I bothering with Sherlock?”

I didn’t mean it in a “show vs show” way, but more in a “vibe vs vibe” way. There was something about Merlin that made me happier and more excited than Sherlock ever did. Merlin and Arthur’s dynamic was some how so much more fun to me than John and Sherlock’s, which is interesting given the similarities.

Arthur’s a privileged royal who has Merlin take care of him. Sherlock is very capable consulting detective who has John take care of him.

Arthur and Merlin insult each other constantly without any real bite. John and Sherlock insult each other constantly without any real bite.

Both pairs pretend not to care as much as they do, and go full “kill” mode if the other is in danger.

Neither of them know what “communication” means.

Arthur and Sherlock are both self centered and arrogant. Merlin and John are both sick and tired of their bullshit.

While Arthur and Sherlock can operate without Merlin and John, they struggle significantly when they’re absent. Arthur is a helpless mess, and Sherlock can’t focus on his cases to the point of missing an incredibly obvious detail.

Merlin and John are perfectly able to exist without Arthur and Sherlock, but they are miserable or constantly thinking about them. John lives with thinking Sherlock is dead for two years, and he’s super fucking depressed, even with a girlfriend he intends to marry. Merlin can’t go anywhere or do anything without thinking about if Arthur will be safe, and talks about him constantly for no real reason.

Both pairs are willing to die to save the other.

They both get jealous/protective when someone they don’t approve of is making advances. With Merlin it’s the princesses and ladies that take advantage of him, like Sophia, Vivian and Elena (albeit unknowingly), and Mithian, even though there was nothing wrong with her. The only relationship he supports is with Gwen. John gets super aggressive and protective when Irene is messing with Sherlock. Sherlock goes out of his way to interfere and insult every woman John is involved with aside from Mary. While Arthur never sees or is confronted with the idea of Merlin actually in a relationship, I’d assume it would go pretty similarity. His response to being told that Merlin is even “seeing a girl” is disbelief and skepticism when he gets back.

They both make ridiculous amounts of direct eye contact that anyone with eyes notices as being a bit much for friends.

I could probably find even more if I continued to think about it, but my point is that they’re very similar dynamics. So why do I like Merthur so much more than Johnlock?

I finally figured it out!

It’s because in Sherlock, their relationship is constantly questioned and denied throughout the whole show. It’s both a joke, and not a joke. But because it takes place in modern times, we constantly get reminders of “he’s not my boyfriend” or “I’m not gay” and constant jabs from side characters.

Merlin doesn’t take place in an era where they would talk like that. You could come up with equivalent dialogue that fits the time period, but it would definitely feel out of place. So it just doesn’t happen. Nowhere in Merlin are Arthur and Merlin poked fun at/bugged about whether their relationship is platonic. Nowhere in Merlin does Arthur or Merlin say “I’m not gay” or “he’s not my boyfriend”.

I didn’t realize how exhausting that was until it wasn’t there.

While Arthur is definitely attracted to women, and in love with Gwen, there’s never a moment where he denies Merlin. It’s because he’s never asked, but that gives the viewer more room to interpret their feelings.

With John, he’s constantly shutting down any suggestion of being gay, or being in a relationship with Sherlock, despite all the evidence in front of his face that he feels differently about him than other people.

Now that I’ve realized it, I’m shocked at how much of a difference that made in my feelings toward the shows and ships.

EDIT AFTER SEEING SOME REPLIES/REBLOGS: This is not meant to be interpreted as a Merthur VS Johnlock post!! I am purely talking about the subconscious difference in feeling I felt but couldn’t figure out!! This is not a breakdown of all my thoughts and feelings about the two shows/ships! It’s not meant to be about one being superior than the other! That’s why the title is Merthur AND Johnlock! Just clearing that up!!

#merlin #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merlin thoughts #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #sherlock #sherlock bbc #bbc sherlock #sherlock thoughts #sherlock holmes #john watson #johnlock #merthur #medieval husbands #two sides of the same coin #what’s the cool name for the sherlock fandom? #the once and future fandom

[unhetalia]

well. I guess it depends on what relationship head canons you have for ukus if they ever truly got together?

I had to think about this (nap) because I realised just how LITTLE established relationship UKUS I've actually consumed. I think I've read a lot more established RusAme than established UKUS. Maybe because I'm incredibly picky about the latter dynamic? Anyway - because I haven't read a lot of it, I had to think really hard about what it would look like.

I personally don't think there would be obvious differences between Arthur-and-Alfred-as-friends and Arthur-and-Alfred-as-lovers, but that still means talking about how I see Arthur and Alfred as friends.

As friends, banter is a huge part of Alfred and Arthur's dynamic. A long time ago, there was probably real bitterness in their jabs. Over time, it becomes a softer thing. (One of the songs I associate with UKUS is "So American" by Olivia Rodrigo, because I absolutely believe that's one of the things Arthur always says to Alfred - "you're so American", smirking or laughing, no sharpness or rebuke in his words.)

Arthur grew up with a lot of siblings and he's quick witted - but Alfred has amazing memory and can bring up anything anyone has done that he's witnessed, and is really good at knowing exactly what someone finds embarrassing or infuriating. They have fun riling each other up - this is what leads to them trying to scare each other silly every Halloween.

As a couple, this doesn't change. (It works for them, especially since both of them have a hard time expressing themselves sincerely.) The importance of this aspect of their dynamic is the fact that Alfred doesn't get offended by any of Arthur's comments - not the stuff about himself, or his dry, unimpressed observations about everything around him. He finds it funny, and Arthur thrives on that. Arthur has suffered a lot from being tied to people who found him wanting in some way, but Alfred is one of the few people who actively enjoys and seeks out Arthur's company and doesn't seem to find him wanting in some way.

The second thing is they have a good balance of things they enjoy doing together, and things they're dragging each other to. Alfred enjoys a lot of British media and food (once again, something that's more important to Arthur than he can say). Arthur enjoys McDonald's, and doesn't mind eating there when Alfred gets a craving. But Arthur doesn't enjoy the wilderness in the way Alfred does - is a bit ... discomfited at how there's huge swathes of American land that are completely wild. Alfred drags him to these places, for hiking and camping, and Arthur re-discovers a part of himself that he'd lost in England's industrialisation. Meanwhile, Arthur really pushes Alfred to appreciate the depth of English and European history. It allows for both comfort and growth in their relationship.

The third thing - Alfred is high energy, and so curious about the world. I absolutely believe Alfred has a few doctorates under his belt and invents and fixes things in his spare time. While I don't see Alfred working for the government, I can sometimes see him working for NASA. He's constantly tinkering or jotting things down. He's actually incredibly cerebral.

Arthur is physical. He never stopped sword fighting, and practices martial arts. He runs, and goes to the gym, does boxing (I've mentioned these things in my headcanon about England's appearance before). But when he's not doing those things, he does things that quiet his mind. He crochets or knits. Something repetitive and soothing. Meditative.

They can sit for hours in the same room, Arthur knitting while Alfred has blueprints spread over their coffee table. And its peaceful, and you don't think it even matters if the other person is there or not, but Arthur has to go to London for a week to sort something out and Alfred can't get anything done at home and has to go to the office every day.

HAVE I EVEN SAID ANYTHING IN THIS ASK. Basically Alfred and Arthur after having sex is incredibly similar to them before having sex. The act of sex changes everything and nothing all at once. But their relationship is a lot of being able to feel appreciated where you never felt appreciated before, a lot of being able to do things together that you love, and doing things together that you hate but somehow still helps you grow as a person, and also being able to do nothing together.

#ukus #usuk #aph america #aph england #hetalia #theyre actually a boring relationship bc once they get there theyre married for ten years #like immediately they fuck and then settle into utter domesticity #their sex life is spicy as fuck tho #t: ask #m: hetalia #hetalia: headcanon (ship) #s: england/america

[margowritesthings]

THE MEANING OF THE SCAR

a RDR2 x Black Badge crossover

pairing: N/A for this chapter, will eventually be Arthur Morgan x reader word count: 2650 words warnings: spoilers for RDR2 ending, violence, Micah Bell, explicit language, major character death and subsequent resurrection, brief mentions of domestic violence YOU DONT NEED TO HAVE READ THE BLACK BADGE TO UNDERSTAND THIS SERIES, EVERYTHING IS EXPLAINED DURING THE STORY authors note: What's that, you say? You want a RDR x Black Badge crossover?? No??? WELL IM DOIN IT ANYWAY

The series that no one asked for tbh. If you haven't heard of the Black Badge, it's a wonderful series of books by Rhett C Bruno and Jamie Castle, where the audiobooks are narrated by Roger Clarke. This series puts Arthur in the shoes of the protagonist, who is doomed to hunt the supernatural to pay off his karmic debts. The prologue explains it a little better, so sit back and enjoy! There will be romance, there will be monsters, what more could you ask for?

BLACK BADGE ORIGNAL SERIES

PROLOGUE

I have seen so many incredible things. 

Living on the land for as long as I have, you tend to. I’ve camped under the most breathtaking sunrises, that big orange orb scattering unimaginable colours over our poor souls as it creeps over the horizon. I've seen nature at its finest: baby deer learning to walk, wolves running together in tight packs not unlike us outlaws, even saw a little chick hatching once. Beautiful women from all around batting their long lashes at me, not even all of them because I was a prospective customer. I’ve been a lucky man, to have experienced so many sights.

Never did I think that the last thing I saw living on this Earth would be Micah Bell’s goddamn ugly mug.

The barrel of his gun was shaking in his tight grip, and I used the absolute last of my strength to keep my head up and look right down it. 

“You’re not better than me, Morgan.”

Never claimed to be, but if I had more time, I might have argued it, the rat. But that was the thing… I didn’t have more time. I could tell, the simple act of breathing was becoming just too much. I might have gotten a few more days, if Micah hadn’t just knocked the seven bells of shit out of me and the last few days had been a little calmer, but such is life. Such is death, I should say. 

After a wheezed cough was pushed out of me, I still managed to get one last jab in, as laboured and choked out as it was, 

“Whatever you say, you fool.”

Everything hurt, and I could hear the clock ticking my final seconds out as Micah’s finger trembled on the trigger. He was mad, I could see the fury spreading across his face as he registered what I was choosing to do with my final words. 

Maybe it was supposed to be the time for prayers, the time to have my life flash before my eyes while I count my regrets and mourn the things that will never happen, but there’d been enough of that ever since that doc told me my days were numbered. I hadn’t lived a good life, I wasn’t a good man, but I got some peace knowing my final hours were spent getting Marston and his family out safe, making sure Milton didn’t, and insulting the gang’s little pet rodent. If I had any regrets in that moment, they would only be that I didn’t manage any more permanent damage to Micah’s ugly ass mug before he got me. Actually, I might’ve wanted to die at dawn, to see one last sunrise, but mostly the Micah thing. 

“Damn you…” he spat, the glow of the moon casting the most horrendous shadows from his twisted expression. 

“Damn us both!” 

And that was it. 

A shot,

and it was all over. 

No sunrise, no grand redemption in the last few minutes of my damned life…

Just me, the moon, and goddamned Micah Bell. 

═══════☆═══════

I never expected I’d get into Heaven, but I never thought it’d be so goddamn dark down here in Hell.

I stirred as if waking up from a fitful sleep filled with nightmares involving Micah shooting me in the face, and even though my eyelids flew open, there was no light to speak of. There was a crushing weight on my chest, and a burning behind my right eye. What felt like dirt fell into my face with each little movement, and suddenly it all fit together, forming a terrifying reality of my predicament. 

It wasn’t a dream. Micah fuckin’ Bell had shot me. Tuberculosis ran ragged through my veins and filled my lungs, I’d been captured, hung in an O’Driscoll camp and tortured for information, hell, I’d been shipped off to goddamn Guarma with nothing but the shirt of my back… and in the end the sorry sight to end my story was a rat with a revolver. 

The dirt fell in my eyes relentlessly, so much so I had to close them again. It wasn’t like they were being much use anyway, what with me being buried alive and all. Moving my limbs was hard, but not impossible, I found, giving me hope that I wasn’t too far down in the ground. I never thought I’d hope for a shallow grave, but then again I couldn’t have predicted waking up in one either. None of it made much sense, but I reckoned it’d probably be best if I got back out into open air before figuring out why I couldn’t feel my toes, why breathing felt so strange and unnecessary, or how I’d survived a gunshot to the head. 

I started with small movements, flexing my numbed fingers in and out until there was enough room to ball them into fists. I would have shouted for help, if I could, but I knew all I’ll get from it is a mouthful of dirt. I’d have to do this alone, it would seem. 

The movement spread from fists to arms, the dirt starting to mould around me until it didn’t feel so crushing anymore, and I was soon clawing upwards. I dared to squint one eye open, finding small holes of light poked through the blanket of nothingness like stars. I felt triumphant when I reached upwards into open air, but it was short lived when I failed to feel the wind or the breeze or the sun or anything to let me know this wasn’t all some death dream. 

I pressed on, scraping at the skies until big patches of the Earth fell apart around my body and I could pull myself out of my grave. The sun beat so brightly that I couldn’t help but continue to squint, trying to make out my surroundings. It was dawn, ironically. I always assumed Hell’s skies would hold a lot more fire in them, but the blue hues and yellow rays were anything but hellish. They were beautiful, a sight I was sure I’d never see again. 

After my eyes adjusted, I made out the tombstone standing above my grave, a handcrafted wooden cross with my name scratched into the centre. Folk aren’t usually lucky enough (or unlucky enough, I hadn’t yet decided) to see their own graves, and yet here I was. Why? Was this truly Hell, looking over the sunrise while I was damned to sit by my own grave and wait for no-one to mourn me? 

‘Blessed Are Those Who Mourn, For They Will Be Comforted’

It was my epitaph, carved into the circle surrounding my name. I hoped it was true. I didn’t know how long I’d been buried, but I didn’t want anyone sitting around crying over me. I hoped I’d done enough, in those last few hours, and that the ones I loved, whoever was left of them, anyway, made it out okay. 

I pushed myself up out of the grave, dusting off the mud that clung to me and standing straight despite the complaints of my aching back. I looked over the hill, over what looked an awful lot like Ambarino. 

“Beautiful, ain’t it? I tell you, that friend of yours picked a good spot. Shame you’ll get no rest here.” 

I froze, my spine straightening on instinct as the voice behind me confirmed that I was in fact in Hell. Even after looking Death in the face and calling him a fool, it still took me a moment to turn and face my father. 

I expected anger to course through my veins, for my fists to ball and fury to burn over my skin the first time I saw him after all these years, but it didn’t. I looked my Daddy straight in his cold, dead eyes, and nodded to him. He did the same.

“Pa?” 

“Fraid so.” 

I was almost too dumbfounded to realise what he was sitting on. Who he was sitting on, I should say. Boadicea stood as tall and as beautiful as that last day we spent together in Blackwater. The sight could have taken my breath away, if I had any. 

I wanted to step closer, to pat my girl on the neck and feel to make sure she was really there, but I wasn’t ready to move just yet. 

“What… What the hells goin’ on?” 

Daddy dearest chuckled, probably at my ironic choice of wording, and Boadicea stomped a foot on the ground. Despite everything, all I wanted to do was to get Lyle Morgan off my horse, but there’d be time for it. 

“You’re dead, son. Nasty shot to the head, though you put up a good fight.” He said it like he was recounting the most mundane story ever told, not breaking the news that his only son had died. I considered his words, finding a strange peace with them all.

“...This Hell?” It had to be, right? There’s no other way he could be here, not with the way he treated me and Ma. I dreaded to think what Boadicea could have done to deserve an afterlife with him, but it made more sense than both of us fools being let into the pearly gates upstairs everyone always goes on about. 

Pa chuckled again, clearly finding my demise much more casual news than I, “To some, but not in the way you’re thinkin’ of it. I’ve got some bad news, boy.” 

“Worse than my death?” It was annoying me, how elusive and blasé he was being about everything, dragging this out for longer than he needed while holding the cards right up close to his chest. He knew what was going on, and yet there he was, sitting on Boadicea like he owned whatever goddamn realm we were in. Surely this was Hell, having this conversation with the man who beat me into who I am today. Who I was, before karma caught up with me and shot me in the face. 

“Depends on how much you were lookin’ forward to it.”

My teeth ground together as the frustration at his evasiveness built. He must’ve sensed it, as he dismounted Boadicea and patted her on the neck.  It threw me more than it should, watching the man I’d left long behind me interacting with my beloved Boa. 

He stood just as tall as the day I watched him hang, the only difference being a nasty scar that wound around his neck and made me dread to think what I might look like. It was like looking at a ghost. Well, I guess I was looking at a ghost. 

“You’re still here, Arthur. On Earth. Seems you did just enough good there in the end that they didn’t know what to do with you. Too bad to make it to the upstairs, too good to burn in Hell… for now.”

“Earth? But… I’m… we’re-“

“Dead? Yeah. But you’re stuck here, doin’ their bidding.” 

He was running his fingers over Boadicea’s mane, and she shook her head in response. She seemed like she wanted his hands off her as much as I did, but I had to find out what was going on first. 

“Bidding? Who’s bidding? Can you just be straight with me for one damn minute-“

“Patience, boy.” He snapped, bringing out one of Boadicea’s signature annoyed huffs, “The White Throne’s bidding. You’re theirs now. You do as they say, or you end up in a far worse position than you’re in now.”

I felt like I needed to sit down, but unless I was going to climb back in that grave, there was nowhere to rest. 

“I… I don’t understand.”

Lyle sighed, turning fully towards me and hooking his thumbs in his belt loops.

“The White Throne have chosen you to be a Black Badge, Arthur. You’re not alive, nor are you fully dead. You work for them until they decide they’re done with you, and then…” 

“And then?”

“Well… I ain’t sure, truth be told, boy. I never got as far as you, I’m just here to pass the message on.”

None of it made any sense, and I had no idea who this White Throne was. Dad didn’t seem to have the answers, nor did he seem inclined to give them to me even if he did. It was then I noticed that my heart should be pounding out of my chest. Instead, it felt hollow, the anxiety of my situation bouncing around an empty can of nothing. 

So this was really happening…

“They’ll call on you when they need you with this,” he turned, rummaging through Boadicea’s saddle bag and handing me a journal. It looked exactly like the one I gave to Marston just before I died, the one I collected my thoughts and sketches in, only when I flicked through the pages, they were all blank. 

“Keep an eye on it, it’ll tell you what you need to do, who to look for, or where to go.”

“What am I, a goddamn undead bounty hunter?” 

He laughed, a proper hearty laugh that would’ve made my skin crawl had I not been so occupied with the confusion of it all. 

“You could say that. But you’re not just after anyone, they’ll send you off to the supernatural stuff. Vampires, werewolves, demons, that sort. You’ll get the hang of it.”

I was so stuck on the whole supernatural thing that I hardly noticed him step towards me, slapping a hand onto my shoulder. I froze, but not because my father had touched me for the first time in decades, but because I couldn’t feel a damn thing.

He must’ve seen the shock on my face, cause his brows pulled together in a pitiful look, “Ah, yeah… there’s some side effects to death, son. But I’m sure you’ll figure that one out.” 

‘Side effects’ was a light way of putting it. I’d later find out that we unlucky few in the Black Badge have a fair few impediments. I can’t feel. Not the sun on my face, the wind in my hair, the touch of another, not even the burn of a good whiskey. I don’t feel pain, which can be helpful at times I guess. I can’t taste anything, either. It’s a unique punishment, to be stuck walking the earth but not really living, having no access to those simple pleasures in life like a stiff drink or the touch of a pretty lady. If I’d have known what was waiting for me at the end of all this, well… maybe I’d have made some different choices. 

“It’s a lot to take in, I know.” 

I glanced to my shoulder, finding Dad’s hand still there. He must’ve sensed my discomfort, removing his touch- or lack thereof- from me. 

“You’ll get the hang of it, son.” 

If I weren’t so preoccupied with my new lot in life (or death, I should say), now would have been the perfect time to confront the man who stood beside me. Ask him why he did what he did, get some answers for every question my teenage self tortured himself with while he wandered the streets for somewhere to stay for the night. But when I turned, he was gone, without a single trace to suggest he was ever there in the first place. Seems I’d gotten all the information out of him I was entitled to. 

That left me and Boadicea, standing beside an empty grave I wasn’t sure anyone would have visited anyway. 

I sighed, finally stepping towards her and patting her neck in that spot she always loved. 

“Well girl, guess this is it for a while…” 

I looked down to the journal in my hand, just in time to see inky black writing appear on the page as if bleeding through the realms.

‘Welcome to the Black Badge, Arthur Morgan.’

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redepmtion 2 #black badge #roger clarke #tmots

[mystery-skulls-hyperfixations]

Took a jab at redrawing screenshots from the series. Decided to start with one from Freaking Out, redrawing Arthur from my Himawari au over it. This look is actually going to be his final look, but I'm still in the beginning stages of the story so he still has his spikey hair and old clothes for now.

#mystery skulls animated #artists on tumblr #digital art #arthur kingsmen #msa #myart #screenshot redraw #redraw screenshot #screenshot edit #alternate universe #mystery skulls au #himawari au

[fickle-tiction]

Seventeen Minutes

“You can’t ignore me forever, rich boy.”

Punch. Jab. Right hook.

“Something’s bound to get under your skin.”

Jab. Jab. Cross.

“Bruce. Bruce. Bruuuuuce.”

Punch. Jab. Left hook.

Bruce was minding his own business in the corner of the gym, taking his frustrations out practicing on a punching bag, when Arthur decided to mess with him. Apparently something about Bruce focusing on beating the crap out of a punching bag just screamed “see if you can break my concentration” to the King of Atlantis. He’d been trying to get Bruce’s attention for the last six minutes, and Bruce has yet to acknowledge his existence. 

It was time to step it up a notch. 

“Come on, show me that bat-smile.” This last statement was accompanied by a squeeze to Bruce’s sides. 

Jab. Cross. Jab.

“Oh come on!” Arthur continued goosing Bruce’s sides, as Bruce continued to lay into the punching bag unperturbed. “I thought for sure that would work.” He buried his wiggling fingers into Bruce’s armpits for good measure, but Bruce didn’t even pause in his assault on the punching bag. 

“Uh..what’s going on?” Clark was entirely unprepared for the scene that greeted him when he walked into the gym. Arthur was tickling his seemingly oblivious boyfriend, who was paying him no mind as he landed a kick on the punching bag.

“You’re dating a robot.” Arthur didn’t take his eyes off of Bruce’s face, searching for any sign of or reaction as he tickled Bruce from his armpits all the way down to his hips and back up again. Bruce’s movements didn’t falter as he landed another series of punches on the bag. 

Bruce grabbed onto the swinging punching bag to still it, heedless of the rhythmic squeezing at his sides. “Is it 9 already?” He asked Clark as he began unwrapping his hands. He allowed Arthur to pull him against his chest, inwardly amused when the Atlantean bear-hugged him from behind and wiggled his fingers over his stomach.

“Seriously?” Arthur grouched, jamming wiggling fingers into unresponsive armpits. He growled when Bruce merely craned his neck around, a single arrogant eyebrow raised in question. “It’s no fun messing with you if you won’t react.”

“Do you want me to hug you back?”

Clark steals both of their attention away when he barks out a surprised laugh.

“I’ll break you one day.” Arthur vows as he lets Bruce go and resists the urge to shove him and goad him into an actual fight.

“Mmhhmm.” Bruce hums, once again ignoring Arthur as he gathers his water bottle and discarded hand wraps before meeting up with Clark. “Where’s Diana?”

“Upstairs. I wasn’t sure if you were sparing down here, and I’d never be able to pull you two away if she saw you on the mats.”

Bruce let out an amused huff, which was as good as a chuckle from anyone else.

~~~

Bruce emerged from the bathroom in a pair of black sweatpants and a matching black t-shirt, toweling the water from his freshly cleaned hair. He stopped in his tracks when Clark and Diana’s conversation abruptly cut off and the two of them just stared at him, twin grins on their faces. Bruce stared back in silence as he finished toweling off. He refused to give them a curious look before he doubled back to the bathroom to drop his towel in the hamper. Alfred would kill him if he left a damp towel on any of the furniture---again.

“What are we watching?” Bruce asked, walking past the couch with the intention of settling into the armchair. He wasn’t surprised, nor putout, when someone caught his hand as he walked by and tugged him down onto the couch. He was only a little peeved that he wound up in the middle, but relationships were all about compromises; or so he’s been told.

“The new John Mulaney special.” Clark said as he brought it up on the screen, nodding his thanks to Diana when she dragged the foot rest closer to the couch so the three of them could use it.

“Stand up?” Bruce asked, lips turning down into their signature frown.

“Yeah, we thought you could stand to lighten up a little.” 

Bruce’s scowl just served to make Clark’s smile brighter. He was saved from responding by Diana yanking his arm up on into air while simultaneously pushing his chest back into the couch. Bruce allowed himself to be maneuvered without complaint, not that he could win in a fight against her anyway, too curious to see what her endgame was. It turned out she wanted cuddle up with her head on his chest, but Bruce had been sitting ramrod straight between the two of them. Now he was reclined back against the couch cushions, legs stretched out on the foot rest, with his left arm draped around Diana’s shoulders.

“Please, make yourself at home.” His actions betrayed his dry words when he gently ran the backs of his knuckles up and down Diana’s bicep.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Clark followed suit before Bruce could protest, grinning cheekily up at him when Bruce huffed through his nose. Once Clark hit play and their attention was back on the screen Bruce allowed the smile that had been trying to break free to make an appearance. 

~

They were five minutes into the standup special and Clark and Diana were already in hysterics. Bruce still had that soft smile on his face, but it had more to do with the joy radiating off his partners than it did with the man on the tv.

Seven minutes in and a new found of laughter started up again.

Eleven minutes in and Clark buried his face into Bruce’s side as he snorted he laughed so hard.

Fourteen minutes into the special and Diana was rubbing Bruce’s stomach as she laughed at the story being told.

Seventeen minutes into the standup special and Clark and Diana were side eyeing each other from either of side of Bruce’s chest.

“Do you want to watch something else?” Clark asked, pulling his attention away from the screen to look up at his boyfriend.

Bruce had been smiling at the tv until Clark drew his attention away. “Why would I want to watch something else? He’s great.”

Clark’s eyebrows nearly met his hairline. 

“You think so?” Diana asked as she casually rubbed Bruce’s chest.

“I’m watching it, aren’t I?”

“Well, yeah, but you haven’t laughed once.” Clark pointed out.

“Of course I have.”

“You’ve smiled.” Diana conceded. “But you have not laughed.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh.” Clark was clearly trying to sound like this was a thought that just struck him, but Superman was a terrible liar.

Ah, so that’s what they were talking about when he came out of the bathroom. He knew he had a tendency to be stiff and walled off, though not for a lack of trying but more for a lack of experience being open around people he cared about. He didn’t realize his partners had picked up on it, or that it bothered them. “I’m just not very vocal about it.” He said, taking great care to make sure his heartbeat stayed steady and his face remained relaxed. “But I really do think it’s funny.”

“I don’t know why I thought this would work,” Clark was trying very hard to appear innocent, and that set Bruce on edge. That look never meant anything good. That look usually meant that one or both of them were going to mess with him. “he didn’t even crack a smile when Arthur was tickling him in the gym.”

Bruce froze as Diana sat up straight, his arm dropping back down to his side at the sudden movement. “Now there’s an idea.” 

“He just said I didn’t crack a smile.” He was all too aware of Clark’s weight holding his right side down as Diana boxed him in on his left. He could turn his---sensitivity---off, just as he did with Arthur in the gym, but he knew from past experience that he had a harder time controlling this particular vulnerability when it was with someone he trusted.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t try for ourselves.” The look on Diana’s face would have sent him running, if he thought there was any chance it would do him any good.

“Was this the plan all along?” Bruce asked, eyes zeroing in on Clark’s hand that just rested oh-so-casually on his stomach.

“No, we really did think the standup would work.” Clark was now swirling his fingers across the thing material of Bruce’s shirt; Bruce sucked his stomach in as far as it would go, inhaling through his teeth as Clark passed over his hipbone.

“It will.” Bruce tried to recoil from Clark’s fingers that were slowly rippling across his stomach, but then Diana was grabbing his left hand and stretching his arm out along the back of the couch before pinning it in place with her own body. “I’ll start laughing out loud.” He vowed, eyes glued to Diana’s hand as she traced the bulging line of his triceps to wear it disappeared into his sleeve. He did not whimper when she snuck a single finger in to tease at the soft skin hiding under his shirt.

“Oh, we know you will.”

Diana started off in his armpit, drawing stubborn laughter out of him in a matter of seconds. “So you are ticklish?” She asked, dancing nimble fingers into the hollow of his armpit.

“N-no.” Bruce insisted, even as a hapless smile stretched across his face and a few deep belly laughs slipped past his defenses.

“So you don’t mind me doing this?” Clark asked, poking around Bruce’s torso at random. 

“Go right ah-ahead.” Bruce grunted and twitched, biting his lip to stop himself from smiling. Diana’s hand traveled lower, now tweaking his ribs and Bruce let out a “Hngh.” before he managed to clamp his mouth shut, burrowing as far back into the couch as he could, as though that would put any distance between the three of them.

“How about this?” Clark dug into his stomach, and Bruce’s composure went right out the window. He shouted in surprise, before dissolving into laughter, as he tried to curl forward into a ball, but he couldn’t actually lean forward with the two of them pinning him against the back of the couch. 

“Oh, I think he likes that.” Diana laughed, squeezing Bruce’s side and making his entire body jerk at the sensation. When he finally realized he couldn’t budge he changed tactics and brought his legs up to try and knock their hands away, but all that did was give them a new target to attack. 

“Do you like this, B?” Clark was squeezing the muscle above one knee, while Diana managed to get a hand under his thigh to tickle at the expanse of muscle there. Bruce was cackling. It was unclear if his face was red from the exertion, or if he was blushing, or both.

“Fu-hahahaha-ck!” Was all Bruce managed to get out, writhing in place as Diana switched from the back of his thigh to his stomach, to his armpit in the span of a few seconds.

“What about this?” Clark asked, finally leaving Bruce’s knees alone to switch to a new target. Bruce’s eyes snapped shut and frantic giggles started pouring out of him when Clark tickled at the thin skin of his neck. He renewed his efforts to get away, throwing his head side to side to dislodge Clark’s fingers.

“Nononono.” He snickered, squealing when Diana joined in on the other side of his neck. He would be mortified at the sound he just made if he could even begin to think straight. “Stop stop stop plehehehehease!” 

“I don’t think he likes that.” Diana laughed, backing off the moment Bruce pleaded with them to stop. Clark backed off as well, though not without a last squeeze to Bruce’s thigh.

The second he was released from his pinned position Bruce’s hands flew to his neck where they tried to wipe the residual tickly feeling away as the last of his laughter died down. His legs were drawn up close to his body as he calm down, and it was only after he caught his breath that he realized Clark and Diana were both looking at him with soft smiles on their faces. He felt blood rushing back to his cheeks, ears, and neck as he cleared his throat and uncurled from his uncharacteristic display of vulnerability. 

“I---uhm--”

“You didn’t even flinch when Arthur was doing it.” Clark marveled, running a hand through Bruce’s hair to push it off his forehead. He couldn’t help but laugh when Bruce balked and made an aborted movement to protect his neck again.

“Arthur’s not---it’s...different.” Bruce did not jump when Diana’s hand settled on his thigh, and he was not blushing as he tried to explain himself without sounding like a sap. “I can’t control it when I’m around---you guys.” 

“And why is that?” Diana asked, softly squeezing Bruce’s thigh when he elected not to answer her. The muscles under her palm jumped, even as he tried to remain stoic when he looked up at her.

“Oh my God,” Clark gushed, taking pity on Bruce and giving him an out. “You totally have a crush on us.”

That startled a laugh out of Bruce. “Yeah, something like that.”

“I totally have a crush on you both as well.” Diana said serenely, clearly trying to get a laugh out of Bruce as well. It worked.

“Let’s finish the show.” Bruce said, clearly trying to tamp down on his smile. He raised his arms back up so they could both settle in, only feeling slightly awkward as he did so, but that quickly passed when the both eagerly cuddled up to him.

Two minutes later Clark and Diana were laughing at the story being told on tv.

Four minutes in and Bruce’s laughter joined theirs as they started tracing idle patterns on his stomach.

Six minutes in and Bruce’s fingers were scribbling away at any bit of skin he could reach as he threw his head back and laughed.

#ticklish!batman #ticklish!brucewayne #ticklish!bruce wayne #superwonderbat #tickling #fanfiction #i finally wrote something guys look

[wylldebee]

Ye Olde Magick AU Part II: More Houses

As always: thank @books-n-guns for the existence of this AU :D Basic lore (and the first bunch of houses): X Without further ado, have some more houses~!

The Arryns: Wings, wings, wings. They have the most beautiful feathered wings you'll ever lay eyes on and back muscles because damn their wings are heavy. They need special oils and soaps, and are almost constantly grooming. And they have echo voices (X). If the song Hallelujah existed in ASOIAF they would own it. The skies of the Vale always has at least one Arryn or one of it's cadet houses The Boltons: Like books-n-guns says, they're vampires with an interest in blood magic. Legend says the Boltons actually used to be able to shed their whole skin—and I mean their whole skin—until one Bolton got into blood magic and suddenly vampires. The northern weather is perfect for them. The Mormonts: Werebears! Werebears! Werebears! You think Bear Island was named after the bears that inhabit it? No. It's the werebears of House Mormont. Were as wild looking as the Starks of old just bear themed; claws and teeth and fangs and thicker hair, and were generally bigger and stronger. Now they're just strong. Lady Maege Mormont can still crush a man's head between her hands.

The Tarths: Giants. For some reason the magic has been absent from their bloodline for a few years until Brienne was born. While not as big as her ancestors, Brienne is still big and has great strength. She didn't defeat those who had a bet on her maidenhead so much as she sent them flying. People held score cards. Loras was sweating in his armour and allowed Brienne to grapple him instead shut up you drunken archer of my family I allowed it because I didn't want to fucking die. The Hightowers: Flame hair. Think Hades from Hercules. It's safe to the touch and doesn't set anything on fire...unless the Hightower it's attached to wants it. Just like when they turn the beacon's fire green to call their bannerman, a Hightower's hair can turn green at will. Please imagine Alicent entering the room not only in her green dress, but with flickering green flame hair. The Baelishs: Fiery eyes. Look up Lucifer Morningstar red eyes and you get what I'm imagining, though the pupils are a glowing flame coloured. It's hard to look like a friendly and powerless man to be underestimated by all the high lords with these eyes, but Littlefinger manages it. The Greyjoys: Krackens. Honestly I'm just imagining a kracken version of Davey Jones from Pirates of the Caribbean. But they can only get that form when wet with seawater. Can remain in that form so long as a part of their body is still in seawater. Rare times does it skip a member of the family, so sorry Aeron. The Karstarks: Since they are a cadet branch of the Starks they also benefitted from the same wolf magic—however instead of fangs they've got the claws. Sharp and deadly, the Karstarks are best at being frontline fighters where even if they lose their swords they can still maul a bitch. No, seriously, they will maul someone with their claws. They have mauled people with their claws. Rumors say they use grindstones to keep their claws nice and sharp. The Freys: Trolls, specifically bridge trolls. And not the dependable kind that they used to be back in the day. Still having that weasel look to them, they have granite skin that makes normal swords break against them and above-human strength, thus still making them the most powerful bannermen of House Tully. The Reeds: Lizard-lions or frogs. Actually, nobody really knows what the Reeds are—not now or back in the past. Not even Ned knows what Howland Reed looked like because he kept his entire person covered from the top of his head to his hands to his feet. The only thing he saw was a super long tongue jab hard at Arthur's neck that killed the knight and save him. And that's what I've got for now. Again ideas of other houses are welcome!

#ye olde magick au #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #house arryn #house karstark #the greyjoys #house tarth #house mormont #house bolton #house frey #house reed #howland reed #house baelish #house hightower #maege mormont

[fanficshiddles]

The Call Of Fate, Chapter 11

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. ‘Let me get this straight. You just almost strangled prince Arthur to death.’

‘Yes. Because he was about to strike Jade.’ Loki said in defence.

‘Is this true?’ Fury asked Natasha and Jade.

They both nodded.

‘Aghhh. You should have never been there in the first place, Loki.’ Fury grumbled. ‘I’m glad you’re ok, Jade. But this is bad.’ He then looked back at Loki. ‘You are not to go near any of the royals again, at all. Am I clear?’

‘You can be damn sure I will not be allowing Jade on her own with him again.’ Loki snapped.

‘Loki.’ Fury snarled at him. ‘This is going to be bad enough to fix, never mind to have to worry about keeping you away from them!’

‘Loki… I’ll be ok. Now I know what he’s like, I won’t rile him up again. I’ll be careful and on guard, I’ll hit him first if he tries to again.’ Jade said calmly.

‘You shouldn’t have to be careful and on guard, no one should ever raise their hand to you in that manner.’ Loki said firmly. ‘You should be able to be yourself without worrying about being hit.’

‘Loki’s right.’ Natasha said, looking between them all. ‘There must be some way we can stop this wedding. Surely Jade’s parents won’t be happy hearing that Arthur was going to hit her?’

‘They won’t care. They did abandon me as a baby after all. They don’t give a shit about me.’ Jade said.

‘I’ll still be informing them, also telling them they should have a serious word together about whether they want their daughter marrying such a person. No matter what kind of money and protection is involved.’ Fury said softly.

‘I just hope that Arthur hasn’t gone over the top about what happened.’ Said Natasha.

‘What could be more over the top than almost being strangled to death by a God?’ Fury raised his eyebrows at her.

‘To be honest, even his guards didn’t seem overly keen to rescue him. Didn’t you guys notice that they just aimed their spears at Loki, didn’t bother trying to talk him down or even get a jab in?’ Natasha said.

‘Yeah, that was surprising.’ Loki said.

‘He’s not exactly nice to his staff. That’s what caused it all in the first place, because I was thanking the cook and maid.’ Jade said quietly.

‘Oh jesus.’ Fury groaned and put his hand over his face for a minute. Then with a sigh he looked back up at them. ‘I’ll speak to the royals, try and smooth it out. Loki, stay out of trouble for a while, keep your head low.’

Loki and Jade headed out of the room, leaving Natasha with Fury. Loki was just relieved that he didn’t get quite the bollocking he thought he would have from Fury.

‘I’m sorry, Jade. If I have caused more upset… But I just, I would never forgive myself if he had harmed you.’ Loki said softly when they sat down together in the library.

‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Loki. I am thankful you were there to stop him. But I’m sorry too, that you’ve been caught up in my mess.’ She looked down as she spoke.

‘It’s not your mess, cupcake. It’s a horrid situation that you’ve been put into, that’s not your fault.’ He said as he cupped her cheek gently.

Jade sighed softly and closed her eyes, just leaning into his touch for a moment.

‘Will you read to me?’ She asked, opening her eyes again.

Loki raised an eyebrow in slight surprise. But smiled and nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘Your voice is nice and soothing.’ Jade admitted with a very slight blush.

‘One of my many Godly talents.’ Loki chuckled and winked at her.

-

Fury had been expecting a visit from Arthur’s parents, but he was a little surprised when Jade’s father came to visit instead. On behalf of them all. There was also a higher up representative of SHIELD present too.

‘I do not want that monster near Jasmine again. He almost killed the prince!’

‘With all due respect, your highness, but Loki is a valuable and trusted member of our team. And he was only protecting… Jasmine. As prince Arthur was about to strike her. Which surely, as her father, you don’t want her marrying someone abusive, do you?’ Fury said as calmly as possible.

‘What they do behind closed doors is none of my, or your, business. The wedding is going to happen, that is not going to change. She needs to do as Arthur has requested, remove her tattoos and get her hair cut and the colour removed. She is not behaving or looking like a princess to-be should. That needs to change. I will allow this incident to slide, but if it happens again there will be consequences for SHIELD. And Loki is not to go near Arthur or any of the royals again. Do I make myself clear?’ Jade’s dad said sternly.

‘Crystal.’ Was all Fury replied with firmly.

Jade’s dad left without another word. Fury sighed and went to speak to the team. Loki and Jade were still in the library together, so Fury just spoke to the rest of them.

‘That wasn’t quite as bad as I had been expecting... Loki is to keep away from the royals, as expected. And we have to make sure that happens, no more pussyfooting about the situation. We can’t mess up with this agreement, as much as I don’t like it, our hands are tied.’

‘Was her father not even a little bit concerned about Arthur trying to hit her?’ Natasha asked.

‘No. According to him, what happens behind closed doors is no one else’s business.’ Fury said as he leaned back against the table, arms folded over his chest. ‘Makes me wonder what kind of husband he is, if he doesn’t seem to mind the thought of his daughter being hurt.’

Tony hit the table with his fist. ‘This isn’t right. What if we just take Jade away, all of us leave.’ He suggested.

‘You know as well as I do that we can’t do that. Would you really pack up everything and leave all of this behind to go into hiding? And what kind of life would that be for Jade, having to hide away?’

‘Would be better than marrying Arthur.’ Wanda said.

‘I think anything would be better than marrying him.’ Thor grumbled.

‘They have us and SHIELD under a very tight leash, there’s very little we can do.’ Fury said.

‘I could easily take him out of the picture, make sure Loki is somewhere public so his name is in the clear. You know I’m a great shot.’ Clint said calmly.

Fury smirked. ‘I’d be lying if I said that hasn’t already crossed my mind.’

‘I think his guards and maids wouldn’t mind that either from what Jade told me.’ Natasha said.

‘At least we can tell Loki the good news, that he’s not being sent back to Asgard.’ Steve said.

The team all hummed in agreement.

#Loki #Tom Hiddleston #the call of fate #loki fic #Loki x ofc