#cue some heavy breathing from arthur

[brogurt]

i am only on part 15 but every episode feels like this:

#and then the panic sets in #cue some heavy breathing from arthur #and maybe they say some things they'll later regret but #bigger fish to fry and all... #malevolent #arthur lester #john doe

[apileofashandember-writes]

light as a feather

light as a feather (unedited)

Summary: At some point, Merlin should learn to stop taking the brunt of spells meant for Arthur.

tags

It started off the same way it always does.

There was yet another magical attack on Arthur’s life that Merlin yet again intercepted.

Except it wasn’t that simple.

It could never be.

They had been on a hunting trip with the knights, when the weather had taken an unexpected turn and rain poured down on them in a heavy torrent.

It was clear that this wasn’t a natural occurrence.

Merlin could practically smell the magic laced in the water.

The group stumbled their way through the forest, barely finding shelter before they were ambushed by bandits.

It would have been an easy match, but the bandits had a wizard at their side, one with a profound hatred for the king before them.

With the law still intact, it would be a very one-sided firefight.

The elderly man started to chant words for a spell that Merlin had never heard before, but being magic incarnate, could vaguely understand its intention.

Before the wizard had completed the spell, Gwaine had decided that it was a good idea to tackle the man, and as he fell, stumbled his words and said something entirely different, losing control of the ball of magic in his hand, which promptly headed toward Arthur, before Merlin decided it was a good idea to jump in front of the king.

The rain cleared up and the bandits took their cue to flee, disappearing into the thick of the trees as Arthur crouched to help his manservant.

Merlin groaned as his knees wobbled, barely able to hold himself up from the blast.

The opposing magic settled in his chest as his own tried to heal the damage.

Even with the spell now running through him, it was hard to tell what it was going to do.

The magic settled into the bones of his back, and he heard the breaking before he felt the pain.

And what pain it was.

White hot fire licked through his shoulders, and he face plants into the mud, his fingers digging into the ground as he tried to ride through it, grimacing as blood trickled down from wear he felt his flesh tearing open.

It seemed like an eternity passed before it ended, and an odd weight settled behind him.

The knights gasped, and Merlin tentatively looked up at them, the horror visibly etched on Arthur’s face making him panic.

It’s Percival, sweet Percival, that helps Merlin to his feet.

Instantly, he can feel that his balance is off, the pressure at his shoulders even heavier.

He only figures what’s wrong when Gwaine decides to poke the area behind Merlin, and he feels it, a spark crawling through an appendage he does not have and into his spine.

Craning his neck, he can only see a small mass of black fluff.

He reached behind to touch and immediately regretted it as it produces more sparks, and it’s Athur’s arms at his waist that keep him steady when his knees wobble.

He’s keenly aware of how close they are.

“Wings.” the king breathes out, “Merlin, you have wings.”

—

The trip back to the castle takes far too long.

His wings kept getting caught in branches, and the resulting sensitivity was bordering on painful.

It’s a quarter way into the journey when Arthur shucked off his cloak and wrapped it around Merlin.

(“It’s thicker than the others.” he mumbles before marching forward).

Surprisingly, the additional pressure brought relief, and it did well to keep anything else from brushing against them.

They barely spent a second at the gates before heading straight toward Gaius’s chambers.

Arthur tries to get the knights to leave, but the men linger outside the door, even when Arthur shuts it, worried for their friend.

The old healer goes right into assessing the situation, watching as the cloak is removed to reveal the evening’s aftermath.

The wings are rather small in size, and despite the rich black color, when Merlin strained to look in the mirror, he could pick out each individual feather. There’s holes in his tunic from where they protrude from, and the blood has dried into the fabric, possibly staining it.

If he were in a mood to joke, he’d make a comment about getting his falcon wings.

Although, he wouldn’t relate them to belonging to a bird.

Something about them was ethereal, and if getting or having them hadn’t hurt so badly, he wouldn’t mind the new addition.

But right now all Merlin wanted was them gone.

He grit his teeth as Gaius gently poked and prodded at the organ, feeling it and the area it was connected to grow increasingly tender, until the first set of tears fell from his eyes and all he could do was move away.

“Enough.” he said, his voice thick with physical and emotional pain.

The two men in the room startled at the outburst, and took a step back.

“I did not mean to hurt you, Merlin.” Gaius said kindly.

Merlin groaned, “I know, but even merely breathing makes them hurt.”

“I see. Do you remember the spell that had been casted?”

It’s Arthur that speaks up instead, “It seemed the wizard had meant to cast something else, and to me, before he stumbled on his words and said something else entirely.”

Gaius hums in consideration, before picking up a small blade, and Merlin panics for a moment before feeling silly when the man just raises an eyebrow, “Well the tunic is a lost cause, and perhaps adding to the irritation you feel, so I shall have to cut it off.”

Merlin briefly despairs at losing a piece of clothing, but figures the relief would be worth it.

His mentor is careful and precise, only tearing through what is necessary. When he finishes, he places the scraps on the desk and rummages through a drawer, pulling out a small container of what Merlin knew to be a healing balm mixed with mint leaves to cool the skin it was applied to, and handing it to Athur.

“If you do not mind, Sire, could you apply this on Merlin’s back, around the area that the wings spawn from, while I prepare a healing tonic.” Gaius asked, nudging his head toward Merlin’s room.

For once, Arthur did as he was asked without question, placing his hand gently on Merlin’s lower back to guide him.

Merlin sat down, facing the wall and grabbing his pillow in comfort, hissing when Arthur’s fingers made contact with the sore flesh.

The king was uncharacteristically quiet, and while the manservant would usually take joy in that notion, it was off.

“Are you alright?” Merlin asked.

Arthur let out a small snort, “I should be asking you that.”

“What ails you, my lord?”

Arthur did not respond for a moment, focusing on applying the salve, “Just… it seems to always escape me how often you risk your life for me.”

“You are my king.” Merlin retorts. Perhaps it was the wrong thing to say, as Arthur draws back a bit, being distant with his touches. He contemplates for a second before adding, “and my friend.”

Merlin’s eyes wander to his mirror, catching a small smile gracing his lips.

Arthur’s hand spreading out the cooling mixture brings the comfort he was promised and soon Merlin feels his eyes start to droop.

—

When he opens his eyes again, Arthur is gone, and Gaius is handing him the finished tonic, and Merlin tries to not feel disappointment.

—

He wakes up to the soft sound of Gwen placing a breakfast tray on his table.

She looks at him with guilt as he stretches carefully, and as she opens to say sorry, he pins her with a glare.

“Gaius had to step out to deal with a patient, but asked me to give you something to eat and another dose of the tonic. Oh, and His Highness said to tell you that you have today off, and tomorrow as well, if your, er, dilemma, persists.”

He gives her a small smile, “Thank you.”

“How are you feeling, Merlin?”

And how is he feeling?

The sensitivity that plagued him yesterday seems to have receded enough that when his muscles shift underneath his skin, he doesn’t have to fight the urge to claw at his back.

He grabs the vial of tonic Gwen had placed for him, and downs it in one go before tearing off a piece of bread.

It’s surprisingly fresh, not like the stale loaves that he’s usually given, but closer to what he gives Arthur in the morning.

As Gwen stares at him with a kind smile, he’s reminded of his state of undress, bringing his sheets closer to his chest.

The better thing to do would be to put on a tunic, but that is not an option he has.

After he had his meal, Gwen moved the dishes around before grabbing the salve that was there from the night before, and started to gently apply it.

Despite the light touch, his wings kept twitching, nearly hitting his friend in the face, and Merlin apologized profusely but Gwen only laughed.

“They did not do this when Athur was applying last night.” he murmured.

Gwen hummed in amusement, and Merlin rolled his eyes at her unspoken words.

She left shortly after finishing, promising to return with his lunch, and Merlin laid back into his sheets, feeling a strange exhaustion take over him.

—

His impromptu nap was rudely interrupted by the sound of his chamber doors slamming open, Gwaine smiling widely.

Lance and Gwen trailed closely behind, the former shooting his fellow knight a nasty glare at being so disruptful.

Merlin, his mind still foggy with sleep, rolled his eyes at their antics and buried his head back into his pillow.

He has his eyes closed for five seconds before a pain shoots through his wings and into his back and arms and he lets out a hiss, opening his eyes to see Gwaine with his finger extended an inch away from his feathery appendage.

Thankfully, Lance smacked the man upside the head, and Merlin is grateful since he couldn’t do it himself.

“Sorry sorry.” Gwaine mutters, dropping his arm to his side.

“How badly does it hurt, Merlin?” Lance asks, already reaching for the salve.

Merlin shakes his head, “Like sparks of fire crawling down my skin whenever someone touches them.. well except when Ar—” he cut himself off but the others caught on to what he was going to say.

“Except for what, Merlin dearest?” Gwaine asks, a leer etched onto his face that Merlin’s own heating up. It doesn’t help that Lance and Gwen also wore knowing smirks.

“Perhaps,” Lance says, and Merlin is hopeful that he’ll shift the conversation. “His Majesty should be here instead of us.”

Scratch that.

Merlin needs new friends.

He closes his eyes again, willing his guests to leave, and feeling relief when they do.

—

He expects the next person he sees will be Gaius returning from whatever errands the elder man to run.

Merlin does not expect Arthur, dressed not in full king regalia, but a simple tunic and trousers, the sole of his boots cakes with dried mud.

The causality of it all had Merlin's heart flutter and wings twitch, although he quickly smothers any wandering thoughts when he takes in the grim expression his visitor wears, his jaw clenched.

He tries to get up as fast as he can with sore muscles and an added weight he’s not used to, and scoots over just enough for Arthur to be able to sit.

The man does not move, and when he looks Merlin in the eye, the sorcerer can detect anger and frustration.

“What is wrong?” he asks, patting the seat next to him

Arhtur sighs and sits down, “I took a few knights to go and find the wizard that had cursed you, but we failed.”

Oh.

Merlin clears his throat awkwardly, “Well, it is no matter. I am sure that this spell will wear off soon enough.”

“You are in pain, Merlin. You should not have to wait it out if we can help it.”

“I am perfectly capable of bearing the pain I am in, sire. I may not be a knight, but I am not weak.” His words are perhaps bitter, but there is little that he currently has patience for.

“Mer–”

“You find the wizard, a wizard, and then what? Execute them? Do the exact thing that they harm you for?”

Arthur grabs his shoulders, his fingers brushing the tips of the wings, and the sparks that follow are not painful like usual, but instead ignite a heat somewhere else that Merlin can only ignore.

“If they heal you, and promise to never attack us again, I would let them go. I thought you of all people knew that I am not a replica of my father.”

Before he can think of doing otherwise, Merlin places his own hands on Arthur’s wrists and leans in for their foreheads to touch, “I know you are not.”

“Then?”

“But the people do not, and it is when things like this happen, and how you react to it, that will let them know. You cannot let the anger you have over magic dictate how you treat those you those that wield it, Arthur. It is a weapon the same way a sword is, and a knight can choose to swing or to block.”

The silence in the room was thick, and Merlin feared he crossed a line when Arthur pulled back slightly, and his heart catches in his chest when there’s a gentle touch of the king's lips on Merlin’s forehead, and his magic hums in his veins.

A beat passes, and he cries out, gripping tightly at Arthur’s wrists, when the bones in his back are shifting again, and a pop sounds in the room, and the added weight he bore disappeared.

He spares a glance in the mirror and the wings are gone.

Merlin rotates his shoulders, feeling relief when there are no sparks.

Arthur looks just as relieved, his hands leaving Merlin’s shoulders and instead wrapping around his waist, hefting him into a tight hug, burying his face in the crook of Merlin’s neck.

Merlin’s melts into the embrace.

They have much to discuss, but that will be for a later time.

Right now, he feels as light as a feather.

#merthur #bbc merlin #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #wing fic #angst #hurt/comfort #apileofashandember #my fic

[fruitcoops]

Could we please have a prequel to the praise kink fic? Because i really want to know why were Sirius and Remus not together and what did Remus send him. I really need context

I was hoping somebody would ask for this!! The aforementioned fic is here for any curious souls (18+ please) and SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for spicy texts (not exactly nudes), and smutty feelings with nothing explicit

The bus went over a bump and Sirius winced as his shins knocked against the back of the seat in front of him, connecting with the metal brace inside. “Fuck.”

“You sure you don’t want to switch?” James asked next to him. Sirius glanced down at the veritable wall of gear and empty snack bags between them, then back to James in disbelief. He shrugged, then set his headphones back over his ears. “Worth a shot.”

“Merde,” Sirius hissed as a pothole nearly took off his kneecap. He gritted his teeth and readjusted, drawing his legs closer to his chest. I want to be home, he thought, allowing himself an internal moment to whine.

He checked his phone—not even ten in the morning. It was a Saturday, so Remus would probably just be rolling out of bed, still sleepy and soft with his hair sticking up like a disgruntled cat’s. Sirius sighed heavily and stared out the window at the small town rolling past in the distance; there was little he wouldn’t give to be back with him instead of on the way to a full week of conferences.

“Why did we have to win the Cup?” he grumbled.

James lifted one side of his headphones. “What?”

“Nothing.”

It wasn’t like they had had much time to themselves before that, either—Sirius’ schedule was packed with interviews that felt more like interrogations, and Remus had been running the PT department mostly by himself while Moody took a well-deserved vacation. They were dead on their feet every night, worked to the bone with little energy left to do more than cuddle and fall asleep. Still, Sirius was grateful for every second of it.

He waited ten more minutes before giving in.

New Message To: Re

Bonjour mon loup <3

There was no immediate response, which made sense, though he was a little bit disappointed. Sirius closed his eyes and tried to make himself relax; it would be at least another six hours before they arrived at their destination, and the bad weather gathering overhead didn’t bode well for quick travel.

His phone buzzed gently and he scrambled to answer. Don’t be Reg, don’t be Reg, don’t be Reg—

New Message From: Re

Morning love!

Thanks for the bagels <3

“Fuck yes,” Sirius said under his breath. The bagels had been a last-minute decision as he crept through the house in the early hours of the morning after carefully detaching himself from Remus with a final half-asleep farewell kiss. There was no guarantee he would remember breakfast with everything going on, so Sirius figured it was a safe bet to toast them and leave them on the countertop before heading out.

Message To: Re

Pas de problem

Sleep well?

Message From: Re

Decent

Missed you :(

Sirius rested his temple against the cold window with a soft sound. He hated leaving at different times, but that was just how their life worked at the moment.

Message To: Re

Missed you too <3

Three small dots appeared for a long moment before vanishing without a trace just as his heart rate began picking up. Where’d you go? he almost wondered aloud. Something bumped his arm and James raised a quizzical brow. “Loops,” Sirius said by way of explanation.

“I figured. He okay?”

“I think so? He just…disappeared on me.” Sirius was well-aware of how plaintive he sounded—James’ teasing smile was completely unnecessary.

“Aw, Cap,” he laughed, reaching over to mess with his beanie until Sirius slapped his hand away. “It’s alright, buddy, it’s just a couple days.”

Sirius jammed his hat back on his head and flicked James on the unprotected bit of his ear, making him yelp. “Fuck off, I know you’ll be a mess as soon as Lily FaceTimes with my godson.”

“He has a name, you know.”

“Sorry. You’ll be a mess as soon as she FaceTimes with Pocket Pots, who happens to be my godson.”

James rolled his eyes. “I regret giving you that title.”

“Nah, you don’t.”

As if on cue, his phone lit up again; Sirius ignored James’ snickering as he quickly unlocked it.

New Message From: Re

When will you be at the hotel?

“That’s it?” he muttered.

Message To: Re

That was a lot of typing for one sentence

6-7 hrs, if the weather holds

Why?

Message From: Re

Sorry lmao Reg came in for a bit

Just curious :) Keep me updated?

Message To: Re

Will do <3

Tell Reg he needs to wash his sheets. It’s been over a month.

A small thumbs-up emoji was his only answer, and he tried not to be too bummed. Remus liked having things to do; sitting there and texting Sirius while he slowly got further and further away was probably not his preferred way to spend a morning. With a sigh that was likely a bit too dramatic for the situation he was in, Sirius faced the window once more and buckled in for a long ride.

He chatted off and on with the others when they stopped for lunch, but everyone was exhausted from the combination of a packed week and an early morning. Even Talker stayed fairly quiet, and James kept his headphones on for most of the trip.

Sirius finally succumbed to his tiredness and put some music on, then dozed for an hour or three while they traveled through yet another field. A few halfhearted calls of “cows” made their way around the bus, though nobody seemed particularly enthused about being packed in with double the gear due to a broken storage compartment. Donuts and gas station coffee could only do so much.

“Just crossed the state border,” Arthur called from the front of the bus as Sirius tried to ignore the cramping in his thighs. Three hours. Just three more.

His music was interrupted by a soft jingle alert and he pulled his phone out, hoping against hope that Regulus hadn’t caused a fire anywhere. It was unlikely given the…well, everything about him, but with Sirius’ luck it could happen.

New Message From: Re

How far?

Message To: Re

About 3 hrs. Ran into some detours

Good day?

Remus remained silent on the other end and Sirius frowned. That was rather rude, and highly unusual. Between the two of them, Remus was the one who kept conversations going past the initial question to be answered.

Message From: Re

Attachment: 1 Image

Love you! Call me when you get there : )

Sirius opened the attachment and almost threw his phone in utter shock. Skin. Bare skin everywhere, its smooth edges broken up only by tight black fabric that may as well have been painted onto the curve of Remus’ ass. “Oh my god,” he whimpered, voice barely audible even to his own ears. It had been taken in their bedroom mirror; Remus looked over his shoulder, and Sirius caught the corner of a devious smirk on his lips. “Oh, you fucker.”

Message From: Re

Thoughts? They’re cozy

Message To: Re

Did you miss the part where I said three (3) hours

Message From: Re

Nope

Second one is a guessing game and u get a prize if u get it right : )

The second photograph was more zoomed-in than the first and Sirius wracked his brain, running through his mental catalogue of Remus’ body to figure out the answer. It did absolutely nothing to calm the situation in his pants.

He had no idea what the promised prize was, but anticipation made his hands shake slightly as he carefully scanned the picture. The shadows caught it at an odd angle—it wasn’t the steady slopes of his face or neck, nor was it the strong curve of a shoulder. Not enough freckles, either, he thought.

A lightbulb lit in the back of his mind.

Message To: Re

Right hip

Another thought connected half a second later.

Holy fuck you took them off

Is that my prize?

Re?

Remus Lupin I swear to god

TEXT ME BACK

Message From: Re

Bingo!

Christ you’re impatient, I was gone for like 2 mins

He chanced a look toward Pots, whose head lolled to the side as he snored.

Message To: Re

Hey quick question why are you like this

It’s a good thing Pots is out cold bc this bus is too small to hide anything

Message From: Re

Haha sux to be you

Sirius’ cheeks heated with a whole cocktail of different emotions as he furiously typed a response.

Message To: Re

‘Sux to be you’???

Are you 13 yrs old????

Message From: Re

Do you want your prize or not u horndog

Message To: Re

YOU MADE ME THIS WAY

He took a deep breath through his nose and flexed his fingers.

Yes please

A simple smiley face—Sirius would never see those things the same—popped up, followed by an audio file. He triple-checked that his headphones were plugged in before tapping ‘play’ with an unsteady thumb.

His face went very, very hot before all the blood went straight to his groin and he closed his eyes, covering his mouth with his hand. Breathy sounds came through the heavy earphones, a little more crackly than they would be in-person; he heard Remus’ gasp catch in his throat and crossed his legs as best he could in the too-small seat, torn between thanking and cursing any higher power. He could practically see Remus’ face in his mind’s eye as the noises continued, intermixed with fragments of desperate words.

The file came to an end after what felt like the blink of an eye and a hundred years, and Sirius did not look away from the violently red seat cushion in front of him for a long moment as his brain came back online. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so turned on.

He took a few deep breaths, though it did nothing to erase the poorly-muffled whines that still rang between his ears like church bells. Sirius huffed and turned to grab his waterbottle out of his duffel, only to make direct eye contact with Finn across the aisle.

Sirius froze.

Finn grinned.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he hissed, too low to wake James but just loud enough to carry over the four feet separating them. Finn’s smile widened. “Stop it. Stop it right now.”

“How’s Loops?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“That good, huh?”

“O’Hara, I swear to god—”

“Oh, is Cap spilling secrets?” Kasey asked, poking his head over the back of the seat.

Finn opened his mouth, but the force of Sirius’ glare must have been enough to at least intimidate him a little, because he shook his head. The smug Cheshire grin remained. “Nah, just having a chat about our plans when we get home.”

Kasey groaned. “You’re a lucky man, O’Hara. Both your people get to come with you. Nat sent me a promise, like, twenty minutes ago and I can’t stop thinking about it. I won’t be available tonight from six to eight if anyone was wondering.”

“Did she really?” Finn looked back to Sirius, who bit the inside of his cheek and tried to keep his cool. Two and a half hours, and then he would be safe. Just two and a half more hours.

[bandersnatchmywigho]

Henry Cavill Imagine - In the Night

A/N: I originally intended this to just be a fluff, but it evolved into something more

Summary: Henry has to pull you away from your hours of gaming on his new PC.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader

Requested: No

Word count: 1,927 words

Warnings: Strong language, unprotected sex, and Arthur Morgan

You were sat at Henry’s computer, deeply focused on the game in front of you. You were hunched over in his chair, not resting your back on the backing or your feet on the floor. You quite literally looked like Sméagol, but you were too distracted to pay attention to your shitty posture. Arthur Morgan galloped away on his horse on the screen in front of you, a bounty tied to the back of his horse. You were just about to turn the bounty in when you felt an embrace from behind and someone’s lips kissing your neck.

“Fuck!” You yelled, dropping your controller and headphones in the process. Your heart pounded against your chest and blood rushed to your ears. Your hand clutched your rapidly moving chest and your feet were back on the floor. You took a second to collect yourself before turning to the laughing person behind you. 

Henry was keeled over in laughter and pointing at you. “That’s not funny, Henry. I wasn’t paying attention,” you complained, folding your arms. He wiped the tears from his eyes before standing up from his crouched position on the floor. He continued to silently laugh for a bit while leaning over to console you by kissing you on the forehead.

“C’mon, baby. It’s time to go to bed. It’s almost 2 am,” he said. You yawned in response and earned another chuckle out of him.

You sighed in defeat as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes: “Yeah, I guess so.” You turned back to the computer and exited out of the game before shutting the computer down. You stared at the black screen in resignation for a bit before he nudged you to get up. Spinning around in the chair, you lifted up your arms, motioning for him to pick you up.

“Are you serious?” He looked down at you with a quirked eyebrow.

“Pleaseeeeeee,” you pleaded. He thought to himself for a few seconds before scooping you up bridal style. You screeched in delight and wrapped your arms around his neck. You kissed him all over his face, his neck, his lips and snuggled your face into the crook of his neck. A laugh came from deep within his chest as he continued walking towards the bedroom. He gently laid you on your side and pulled the blanket out from under you before joining you underneath it.

You both assumed your usual sleeping positions: him laying on his back with one arm around you and you laying across his chest and tangling your legs with his.

“Hmm this is nice,” you hummed. He gently stroked your hair to which you moaned a bit. His grip tightened and he dug his nails a bit deeper with the next stroke. You moaned louder this time, your ulterior motives becoming more clear.

You turned in his arms and moved forward to meet his lips. He gladly kissed back as you pressed your face into his. It was gentle kissing at first, mostly testing the waters until he slipped his tongue into your mouth. As you fought to dominate the kiss again, the long forgotten grip on your hair returned and pulled your head back. You gasped in response and looked down at him through bleary eyes. His eyes were dark and lips were swollen.

“Get on your back,” he instructed. You obliged as he assumed his position over you, straddling your legs between his. He dipped down and continued to kiss you with the same fervor as before.

“Henry,” you moaned into his mouth and he moaned back. He broke away to kiss down your jaw and neck. Wet kisses littered your throat and clavicle as he continued his pursuit down your body. His hands were everywhere at once before finding their place at the hem of your shirt. He slowly lifted it up, urging you to take it off. You lifted your head and arms to remove it before tossing the shirt somewhere in the darkness of the bedroom. He stood up for a second to remove his before returning to your body.

You reach behind yourself to unclip your bra and were met with an onslaught of kisses and nips as soon as your breasts were freed. Your hand shot up to the back of his neck and pulled at the hair on the nape of his neck. Henry nipped and sucked at your left breast while fondling and pinching the other. He did this for a while before switching and paying the same amount of love and attention to your right one.

“Fuck, why are you so good at that?” You gasped. He laughed darkly and started moving further down your body. He pulled your pants and underwear down in one fell swoop. You suddenly realized how exposed you now were and attempted to close your legs in embarrassment.

“No no, don’t do that, baby. Let me see you,” Henry said, opening your legs again. Wetness dripped down your pussy and you felt it pulsating with heat and desire. He nudged your legs wider before dipped his head down to face it. You looked up to the ceiling and shuddered as he withheld himself from indulging so quickly. All you could feel was the breath from his mouth fanning rhythmically on you. You arched your back in an attempt to move closer to his mouth, but all you got was a heavy arm placed over your hips, pinning you down to the mattress.

“You didn’t think I was gonna give it to you that easy, huh? I’m just gonna sit here and watch you squirm until you say what you want me to do,” He teased.

You whined in response, but refused to concede. You weren’t going to beg.

“C’mon pretty girl. Just say the words and I’ll do anything you want me to. Say it. Say ‘Henry, I want you to lick my pussy and make me feel good.’”

You scoffed and folded your arms, but inside, your brain was screaming at you to just say it. Get over your pride and give in.

You must have waited a while because, all of the sudden, Henry was moving away from you.

“No no no, don’t leave! I’ll say it. I’ll say it,” you reacted. He looked you directly in the eyes and patiently waited. Your confidence diminished immediately at the intense eye contact you two shared and you found yourself right back where you started.

“Fuck,” you quietly cursed to yourself, looking away. Henry said nothing and made no movement otherwise. A few beats. “Ummmmm… HenryIwantyoutolickmypussyandmakemefeelgood,” you said through your teeth. Your eyes roamed the room and looked at everything instead of him.

“Huh? What was that? I didn’t hear you,” He said, putting his hand up to his ear. You scoffed again and repeated it in the same exact manner. Henry turned your face towards his: “Say it again and look me in the eyes when you do.”

You gulped.  “Henry, I want you to lick my pussy and make me feel good.” 

“Fuck, that’s all you had to say,” he groaned before quickly assuming his position from before. You had no time to reply before you felt his slick tongue slide achingly slow up your pussy. You were paralyzed with pleasure and let out a loud moan. He swirled his tongue around your clit and gently massaged it. Your legs shuddered and your hand found its place back on the nape of his neck. You guided his head where you wanted it.

His tongue was all over you. At some point he had added his fingers, but you were too preoccupied with the bliss he was bringing you to notice. It was all too much at once. His mouth. His fingers. His slick tongue. All of it bringing you to a peak.

“Henry, I’m gonna come,” you said frantically. His unrelenting motions continued and without fail, you came all over his tongue. The pleasure was blinding white as he drew more and more out of you. Your legs shook and your back arched off the bed. You moaned his name over and over. Eventually you pulled his head off of you as you become oversensitive. He had a big smile on his face, but you wiped it off with a kiss, tasting yourself on him.

You reached down to cradle his hard-on through his sweatpants and he moaned into your mouth. You continued to grope him: “I want you to take these off for me.” The previous embarrassment you felt shed off like skin from a snake.

“Shit, you don’t have to tell me twice,” he responded gleefully. You stared down as he removed his pants and boxers to see him rock hard. He kicked the ends off his feet before returning to you, stroking his dick and spreading his precum down the shaft. Thank God I’m on birth control, you thought to yourself. He was well-endowed.

You moaned as he slowly dragged the head of his cock through your wetness. He gently teased your clit for a couple seconds before moving down to your entrance. “You ready?” He asked.

“Yes,” you stated desperately. He slowly pushed in and you both groaned in unison. “Fuck, Henry. You’re so fucking big.”

Henry kissed you in response and pushed until his pelvis met yours. With his dick now fully sheathed within you, he slowly pulled out before slowly pushing back in. He slowly found a rhythm that had you both moaning messes. He ground his hips into yours as you clenched to meet him. He stuttered a bit before saying “Fuck, don’t do that, baby.”

You giggled before he hit a spot in you that had you seeing stars. You moaned his name and he took that as his cue to keep aiming there. Your back arched and made the pleasure even more unbearable. Searing hot pleasure starting coursing through your veins from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet. Your eyes went completely black and you couldn’t distinguish where Henry began and you ended.

“Oh fuck you’re gonna come again, aren’t you?” he laughed at your state. His hands gripped your waist and pulled you impossibly closer towards him. Nothing could slip past the little distance left between your bodies. You were molded together like clay. He continued his strokes and you found that coil deep within you finally snapping. You moaned loudly as pleasure overcame you and Henry swallowed those moans with a deep, passionate kiss. You became putty in his arms as he chased his high right after you. His movements sped up and your body involuntarily clenched around him, speeding up the process for him. He came with a gasp and his seed filled your insides. You leaned up to kiss him again and he returned it. After a few kisses here and there, he finally pulled out and dropped down to the bed next to you.

“You did so good, Henry,” you cooed as he kissed the top of your head. “You too, Y/N.”

He untangled himself from your arms to stand up and search for a warm washcloth. When he returned, he cleaned you up first and then himself before rejoining you in the bed.

“Okay, now it’s really time for bed,” he stated, indicating the clock that glowed with the time 3:12 am. “Oh fuck,” you laughed.

“‘Oh fuck’ is right. It’s time to go to sleep. Good night,” he said, wrapping his arms tighter around you.

“Good night, baby. Sweet dreams.”

Henry Cavill tags: @seriouslygoodlookinggents @stephartrave​ @icygurl56​

#hope y'all enjoyed! #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x you #fanfic #smut

[alby-rei]

What Goes Up, Must Come Down (IkeVamp)

a/n:  In which MC continues her reign of mildly infuriating terror upon the Greatest Men in History. No one is safe. A continuation of “Piano Heist” and “Sorry, Not Sorry”.  Happy reading <3

[Main Characters]: MC, Mozart, Dazai (with minor appearances of everyone else)

[Series]: MC Pranks the Ikeboys

[Genre]: Comedy, slight (?) crack

~*~

On her way to the last task of the day, MC passed by Mozart’s piano room, where she could hear him experimenting with different melodies. She stopped to enjoy the music, leaning closer to the door with each second. She closed her eyes, and her mind wandered to the time when her fingers danced across those keys freely. She leaned forward against the door, except her head did not land on a door. It landed on something much... softer and fleshier.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

MC instantly recoiled her head back, meeting Mozart’s glare.  

“Nothing! I was just on my way to clean the—”

“I never did punish you for your little theft, did I?” He narrowed his eyes.

“Uhhh… what theft?” She feigned ignorance.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Mozart scowled.

He narrowed his eyes down on her, elevating his intimidation threefold. If looks could kill, she’d have lasers shooting through her skull right now.

“Ok, Ok, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, I just wanted to play on the piano once!”

“That’s no excuse for damaging my prized piano.”

MC closed her eyes, shielding herself with defensive hands.

“The scratch was taken care of, wasn’t it?! No harm, no foul…?”

She lowered her hands slightly and peeked one eye at him. He continued to glare at her for another minute. Then he sighed tiredly and stepped away, allowing her some breathing room. He turned to face his neglected piano inside the room.

“I heard you playing in Arthur’s room. At the time, I couldn’t confirm if it really was you or not.”

“And… what did you think?” She treaded carefully into this conversation.

His murderous intent had somehow subdued. Silence settled between them while his eyes seemed to stare off beyond the piano.

Suddenly, he turned back to her with a huff, fixing his icy lavender gaze on her once more.

“Surely nothing that could compare to my music,” he scoffed.

He was about to turn away and shut the door behind him, but MC called out to him.

“Wait! Herr Mozart!”

She grabbed him by the shoulder, to which he clutched and twisted her arm off of him.

“Don’t touch me,” he seethed. She nursed her assaulted wrist and took a deep breath.

“Listen, I’m really sorry about what I did. To be honest, I’ve always loved the piano, and so when I saw yours, I couldn’t help it.”

“You… couldn’t help dragging it across the hallway and wasting all of our time?”

“…That was more of a heat-of-the-moment kind of plan,” she laughed sheepishly.

She took a deep breath and started again, “If I may be so bold, can I… ask you to teach me to play the piano... the way you do?”

The hallway fell silent again. A silence so heavy, it felt like it lasted an eternity.

“Can you sight read?”

“Yes.”

“Know your scales?”

“Yes.”

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

MC spoke with a renewed confidence, “I can prove it if you’ll let me.”

She tipped her head in the direction of Mozart’s prized possession. He shook his head, already walking back inside, but his gaze remained fixated.

“Meet me here tomorrow after breakfast. Be late and the deal is off. You’ve been warned. I don’t take kindly to tardiness.”

He turned on his heel, punctuating his declaration with a door slam.

...

...Did that really just happen?

‘I don’t know if I should feel honored or threatened? ...or BOTH??’

After a few seconds, the sound of the piano returned at full force, breaking MC out of her reverie. Whatever she was feeling was replaced with a sense of pride in getting herself out of his anger’s reach. Her worries slowly melted into excitement for tomorrow.

Feeling absolutely giddy, she almost forgot her last task of the day. ‘Dining room!’ She picked up her cleaning supplies and made her way to the kitchen, where a row of windows were waiting.

Just as she was done wiping the last one, a hand popped up on the windowsill, followed by another. MC jumped from the suddenness of it, taking a step back as she anticipated the intruder’s next moves. She replaced the towel in her hand with the sturdy mop as her weapon of retaliation. Holding the back end to the window, she prepared herself to attack.

“Oh, hello, Toshiko-san! The weather is lovely today,” he greeted cordially.      

Eh?      

“Dazai?!”

With a huff, he gracefully hoisted himself up and into the dining room.

“Thank you for opening the window for me, it can be such a troublesome thing sometimes,” he shot her a serene smile, one that she couldn’t trust whatsoever.

“You scared the crap out of me! Why did you just climb through the window??”

“Hmmm… Simply put, it’s fun!” He stated with his unwavering smile.  

“W-well, don’t do that. I won’t hesitate to fight you, next time.”

“Ah~ Yoshie-san. You’re so cute when you’re commanding. And what if I do it again, hm?” He challenged with a carefree smile. 

Before she could respond, he walked away with a casual wave behind him, like he didn’t just crawl through the window and scare the soup out of her.

After he turned the corner, MC stared long and hard at the window. Her gaze shifted between the windowsill where Dazai’s hands were once perched, and the archway to the kitchen, where a stick of butter on the counter caught her attention. 

“I guess I just have to show you then...” she mumbled with a wicked cheshire grin etched on her face.

~*~

MC washed her hands of the evidence of her latest scheme, whistling a cheerful tune as one does after applying copious amounts of slippery butter a set of dining room windows. 

She was tidying up the kitchen when Sebastian walked in, ready to make dinner preparations.

“You’re here early, excellent! You’ve been doing well to keep up lately.”

“Why, thank you. I learned from the best,” she mused with a wink.

“Everyone is coming to tonight’s dinner, so we better get started right away.”

Oh, perfect.

And so MC busied herself with dinner preparations, anticipating Dazai’s next unsuspecting climb.

Le Comte de Saint-Germain was happy to see the dining room full of his dear residents. Even Jean was dragged behind Napoleon, who had insisted on the former soldier’s attendance. Le Comte wondered if there was any special occasion that gathered them all, and he voiced his question to his old friend. The polymath shrugged, letting out a puff of smoke from his cigarillo.

Chatter was scattered in the room, Isaac and Napoleon were conversing with Jean. Mozart sat next to Jean with arms crossed, tapping a rhythm with his fingers. Arthur and Theo were bickering about their latest bet with Vincent appointed the mediator of their quarrel.

Le Comte looked on fondly at his residents before his eyebrows knit together in concern. He glanced at his pocket watch while MC and Sebastian made their rounds to serve everyone.

“Where’s Dazai?” Asked a concerned Momte.

Everyone glanced at the window of the dining hall, waiting for his entrance.

“Do you guys smell… butter?” Isaac asked, face scrunched up and confused. 

As if on cue, long slender fingers appeared from the darkness onto the windowsill, but they failed to maintain a firm grip.

“He’s not gunna make it!”

Try as he might, the window fought back.

Dazai’s life flashed before his eyes as time seemed to slow down.

Is it my time, already? Betrayed by my own window-chan. 

Well played... Toshiko-san.

 [Bonus scene]

Back in the dining room, Vincent and Theo, who were nearest to the window,  stood and peered over the edge to search for the eccentric novelist through the darkness.

MC had to excuse herself to avoid laughing out loud in front of them all.

“Not so fast, MC,” Sebastian blocked her escape. 

A thousand flicks were her punishment that evening, on top of a lecture about harming the esteemed residents of the mansion.

“But he’s a vampire! He’ll be fine~.”

Try as he might, Comte could not bring himself to punish MC.  

Arthur had his head thrown back in laugther, enjoying the unexpectedly eventful dinner. Once his laughter died down, he wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to catch his breath. 

He glanced Isaac, who looked far from pleased, “Hey, Newt, do you reckon Dazai’s fall carried enough force to leave a hole where he landed?”

“Is this really the time to inquire about a hole in the ground when Dazai MIGHT HAVE JUST DIED- well, maybe not died,” Isaac’s hand latched onto a lock of his hair twirling it as he continued, “based on the height of the fall and his weight, the gravitational force may not end up large enough to cause fatal damage, but he could still end up with a concussion or what if he landed on a sharp end—that is, unless—"  

Frantic rustling leaves could be heard from the garden below.

“He’s fine! I spotted his head pop out of the bushes,” Vincent announced, and Theo tsked in disappointment. 

“Oh, or… that is also… a possibility.”

“DAZAI-SENSEI, ARE YOU OK?” Sebastian rushed to the window next to Vincent, having finished lecturing MC. Dazai’s head was spinning, but he didn’t seem bothered by the fall at all.

 “I’M FINE, I’M—” 

...and he fainted. 

Everyone turned to MC, who was laughing despite the earlier scolding and the bright red mark on her forehead.  

She simply shrugged, “I said I wouldn’t hesitate.” 

#no one is safe #vampiric strength may come in handy in battle #but not when it comes to mildly infuriating terror #that is #if falling out of a window on the second floor #may be considered mildly infuriating #ehhhh it's just a scratch #or twenty #alby one-shots #MC pranks #chaotic mc is best mc #challenge mc and face the consequences #ikemen vampire #ikevamp fanfic #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp mc #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp crack

[mandelene]

Love your writing so much I had a hard time choosing one!

Do you mind doing “✓: waking up either adorably confused or painfully scared” for Amelia in Face family please? Thank you!

Thank you so much, and here it is! 💖

Cookie Dough Ice Cream Word Count: 875

“Amelia, it’s time to wake up now, sweetheart. You’re all done.”

Arthur watches the oral surgeon try to gently shake his daughter awake and isn’t surprised when she doesn’t respond. The girl sleeps like a rock regularly, and given that she has received a nice cocktail of IV sedatives, her body probably isn’t in any rush to rouse.

“I need you to wake up and say something so I can make sure you’re okay,” the surgeon continues, patting her right hand this time.

At last, Amelia’s eyes peel open. She stares straight up at the ceiling of the medical office, and the surgeon steps into her field of view. “Hey, sweetie. Your infected wisdom tooth is out and you did well. How are you feeling?”

A few seconds pass without a response from Amelia. Then, her groggy voice asks, “W-Where am I?”

“At my office. I took your tooth out, remember? We talked about it. You were pretty nervous and a little scared of the procedure, so you got some medicine to sedate you and now it’s wearing off. You’re probably feeling a little loopy. Look to the right—your dad’s next to you,” the surgeon patiently explains.

Amelia rotates her head to look over at Arthur and mumbles, “I c-can’t feel my mouth.”

The surgeon nods. “That’s the local anesthetic. You’ve got some gauze in your mouth to help stop the bleeding, but I don’t want you to touch it, okay? You can change it when you get home…Does anything hurt? Any pain?”

Amelia shakes her head and giggles softly. “No. I feel goooood,” she replies in a sing-song tone.

The surgeon laughs quietly and pats her shoulder. “Good. Your dad’s gonna take you home okay? You’re gonna take some antibiotics and pain meds for a week. And in ten days, you’re gonna come back so I can have another look at you and make sure everything’s healing. Sound good?”

“…You’re gonna take my other teeth?”

“No, no. You can keep the rest of your teeth—I don’t want them,” the surgeon assures, shooting her a sympathetic smile. “I’m not gonna put you through this again, honey.”

Arthur decides it’s probably okay to interject now without risking overwhelming Amelia since she’s had some time to process the situation. “Can you sit up, love? The car is just outside, but maybe you need a few more minutes?”

“I’m…I’m sleepy,” Amelia mumbles, releasing a heavy breath.

“I know, poppet. You can sleep in the car.”

The oral surgeon takes that as his cue to leave and says, “Take all of the time you guys need. If there are any issues, feel free to give me a call. And feel better soon, Amelia, okay?”

“Thank you very much for your help,” Arthur tells the surgeon before turning to Amelia again and hoisting her up a little under her arms to encourage her to move. “Come along, Amelia. I’m sure you’d prefer to nap at home in your bed. I’ll help you stand.”

“Ughhh,” Amelia complains, reluctantly sitting up.

Arthur wraps a hand around each of her upper arms to catch her in case she falls, but he’s fairly positive she’s going to be able to keep her balance. She can use her legs—she just doesn’t want to.

Sure enough, once she’s up, she’s fine, and he’s able to escort her to the car and into the passenger’s seat without any trouble. He buckles her seatbelt and gives her a reassuring kiss on her forehead.

“You’re not going to be too happy in a few hours, I imagine,” he says to her with a worried frown. “I don’t want you to get motion sick, so we’ll wait here for another several minutes.”

“…I want ice cream.”

“You can have ice cream later, okay? Once the bleeding has stopped and you’re more alert.”

Amelia laughs to herself and lets her head loll to the left. “Ice cream. Cookie dough ice cream.”

“Okay. When you feel better.”

“I already said I feel gooood. I’m fiiiiine.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do. Midazolam will do that to a person.”

“Mida…Midalam…Mizolam.”

“Midazolam. Don’t worry about it.”

He gets into the driver’s seat and sits with her in the parking lot for a little while. At one point, she starts poking at her cheek, and he has to pull her hand away from her face. He doesn’t want her dislodging the gauze.

After another ten minutes, she becomes more docile, and she murmurs, “My head hurts.”

“That can happen sometimes as the sedatives wear off. I’m going to start driving now. Are you okay?” he asks, looking into her eyes to see how glassy they are...They’re much better than they were earlier.

“…Okay.”

“All right. Let’s get going, then.”

“…Ice cream?”

“You’ll get your ice cream, love. You can have all of the ice cream you want until you recover.”

“…Yay.”

Arthur laughs this time. Poor dear. He hopes she won’t remember most of this later. He doesn’t want her to feel embarrassed. And if she does ask him about it, he’ll gladly lie and say she was as quiet as a mouse.

And then he’s going to go to the store and buy her the largest tub of cookie dough ice cream he can find.

#hetalia #aph nyo!america #hws nyo!america #aph england #hws america #hws england #hws face family #aph face family #drabbles #hurt comfort #confused amelia #amelia dental surgery

[frenchmemories]

Renaissance (Chapter 1/?)

Series: Axis Powers Hetalia (APH) Ship: FrUk NSFW: Yes

---------

It was late. One-thirty in the morning to be exact.

He didn’t know where he was going at a time like this. All he knew is that he wanted to get away from home right now. He barely got his phone and wallet into his pocket in his desperation to leave his house.

His dreams have become less subtle and more violent. It became harder to ignore. He used to be able to shrug it off after a few minutes and go back to sleep but recently, that had been nearly impossible. He found himself slipping back into his old habit of smoking late at night a couple of times just to stop the pounding on his chest every single time he would dream about it. It was getting worse.

His dreams have consisted of nothing but what happened. That night that he watched him walk away from him and out of the door. It was that night where the alcohol and the sex weren’t enough to pacify the explosion that was waiting to happen. The ticking time-bomb that was their relationship. Jealousy, pride, and lust truly were demons that ate you from the inside. They turn love into a minefield that could be catastrophic with one wrong move.

0--0--0--0--0

“Arthur, I don’t know what you are talking about.” Francis groaned after a sigh. He’s been dealing with this whole on-then-off-again relationship with this man for about four months and it’s been… bittersweet.

Francis loved him. Truly he did. He adored Arthur from the tips of his disheveled, blond hair to the last inch of skin on his body. Every breath out of his lips was a prayer that Francis held on to and revered. There was no denying that Arthur was a beautiful man. His sharp, green eyes and his thick, downturned eyebrows, as well as his skin that put cream and roses to shame. Arthur made every hair on Francis’s body stand with every time he would see him as a whole, sprawled against his velvet blankets.

However, Arthur was an unhappy man. He was jealous, insecure, and easily stressed. He makes small things feel like unsurpassable mountains. A look, a change of tone, a sudden silence, all could mean huge to him. Francis often felt like he was treading on eggshells around Arthur and was often being careful not to upset him. He found this to be absolutely tedious, but he bore it with grace as Arthur was the complete opposite when he was happy. Arthur was affectionate and loving when he was happy. When Arthur was happy, Francis was too.

Today was not one of those days though. Judging from the tight, downward line that his lips had taken shape into and the heavy, deafening silence he’d been emanating, Arthur had a lot to say that he kept inside him. So many unsaid things pounded behind the door of his curt reply as he crossed his arms.

“Don’t play dumb.”

Francis couldn’t help the exasperated scoff that he let out. His hand shakily flew to his head, his fingertips massaging his temples and his eyes closed in strain. Frustrated. Annoyed. He could almost feel how long he would have to work to stabilize his lover.

“Arthur, please-” he began, his voice a little tense and high. “I just want to know what is going on. Don’t make me guess again. How are we supposed to sort things out if you don’t talk to me?”

Arthur’s frown intensified as he heard Francis strain to keep his voice level. Shouldn’t he be the one frustrated and not Francis? He uncrossed his arms and he sat down on the bed, turning to Francis, equally frustrated.

“You have been doing a lot of overtime at work, you’ve been unreachable on your phone, and you’ve been too tired every single time you come home. We barely do anything anymore. Your weekends are always packed with activities with those two lunatics that are your friends-“ he rambled, pausing when he saw Francis’s eyebrows knit as he made that remark about his friends. “I just don’t know where I fit in to all of this. I can’t help but be a little suspicious Francis.”

Francis’s hand ran through his blond locks, and he bit his lips, a habit he’s developed out of stress. Here it is again. The jealousy and suspicion. He has become so adept at dealing with this, but he has become increasingly aggravated the more he had to.

“Arthur, it’s a job. I need to focus. I am working overtime because we are planning that vacation to Santorini in 2 months right? You need money for that-“

“- I KNOW THAT Francis. I am not a child!” Arthur interjected

Francis only gave him a look and a little raise of his eyebrow. “-then stop behaving like one. As for my friends, I have only gone out with them twice last week and none at all the weeks prior. Am I not allowed to spend some time with them?” he asked, his voice increasingly getting more tense and on the verge of breaking. “You got to keep me almost all the other days before that, Arthur. I am allowed to have a life outside this relationship you know?”

Arthur stood up and turned around to face away from him. He struggled to find words for his frustration and was combing his brain for a reply. It seemed that with the way Francis said his piece, it would make anything he said in response sound unreasonable and demanding. He groaned.

“I know that.” Was all he could manage. He frowned heavily and walked towards the cupboard where his liquor was. He heard a small “…of course…” from Francis as he grabbed a bottle and a glass only to start pouring himself a bit of bourbon.

The silence that followed was so heavy that Francis couldn’t help but just sit on the small armchair at the corner of their room. He leaned back heavily and threw his head back against the back of the couch, then sighed and closed his eyes. He could hear the soft sound of liquid pouring into a glass and Arthur setting the bottle down on the wooden desk. He could hear the quiet gulping sounds from Arthur’s drinking. He could even hear the soft whirring noise of the radiator and the faint, muffled noises outside that were leaking through the window. He sighed once more.

“I’m sorry” he whispered. This was routine too. He would apologize. He would always apologize just so they could finally make up. He was the type who couldn’t sleep unless they were on good terms. So, he would apologize. Always.

“I’m sorry Arthur.” He repeated firmly and didn’t open his eyes or made a move to look at him.

He waited.

Soon he heard shuffling and movement towards him. He stayed still. It was coming and he knew it.

Finally, he felt the soft hand on his shoulder and the slow adding of Arthur’s weight on top of him. His legs adjusted so he would catch Arthur slowly latching on to his lap. He waited a bit more and soon felt soft lips on his cheek. His hand naturally moved to pull Arthur closer by the waist. He let off a soft breath and opened his eyes, only to be greeted by those soft green ones, looking at him intently. His hand squeezed Arthur’s waist and he lifted his own chin up, leaning into Arthur’s proximity. Arthur took the cue and leaned down to kiss him.

He kissed back softly but keenly, and softly grunted. His lips moved with a slow need. He deepened the kiss a little more and now held Arthur with both hands on his thighs, gently squeezing. Arthur’s one hand pulled at his hair gently while the other rested casually over his shoulder. He could taste the bourbon on Arthur’s tongue.

This was how it always went. They would fight. They would get frustrated. They would stop, issue still unresolved. Arthur would drink and Francis would apologize. Then this. The heat would come. The touches would come. The passion takes over and he gets reminded on why he stays. He remembers how much he loved and wanted Arthur, and he would succumb. He would always surrender first and pull him closer to him, where he deemed Arthur belonged.

Francis groaned softly as Arthur’s resting hand began to move to unbutton his shirt while they continued kissing. He could already feel his pants tightening a bit and he was absolutely sure Arthur could feel that too. He felt the small smirk on Arthur’s lips in response to it. His face was heating up. His own slender fingers toyed with the button on Arthur’s trousers and popped it open. He was satisfied with the soft gasp he received in response.

“Francis….” Arthur whispered heatedly. Francis shuddered every time that Arthur would call his name that way. The needy, flustered breathlessness of it was like a drug to Francis. He hears it and he gets greedy to hear it more.

He couldn’t help how he squeezed at Arthur’s thighs before he pulled those pants down and exposed the pale, smooth skin of Arthur’s hips and legs. He growled softly. He would get to see it again. Arthur’s dangerous beauty.

“Mon amour….” He hummed softly. He took off those offending trousers and simultaneously, Arthur also slid Francis’s shirt off of him. Arthur’s beautiful fingers were now on Francis’s skin, exploring. Meanwhile, Francis gently moved his lips off of Arthur’s and moved more to his jaw and neck. He softly kissed one after another until he was at his nape. He then sucked softly, his hands now on Arthur’s ass, squeezing. Arthur stretched his neck and leaned his head to the side, letting out a breathy moan. Francis’s blood rushed.

All traces of the fight forgotten; Francis suddenly braces to lift Arthur. The other man must have felt it coming and moved to wrap both legs around him as Francis stood. He gently set the Brit down onto the bed and crawled atop him. His hands slid down to hold on to Arthur’s knees to hold his legs up, his lips still on Arthur’s neck, paying it the attention it deserved. He licked softly and nibbled at his skin. Arthur let out a breathy and flustered chuckle before whispering. “Git… don’t leave too many marks.”

He laughed softly as well before gently starting to rub their members together. He pulled back to look at Arthur’s face and wasn’t disappointed. He was greeted with such a lewd, erotic expression while Arthur panted and bit his lips, eyes closed, a couple soft moans escaping him.

“Mine” Francis mumbled.

That was that. Another cycle continues of them solving their problems through this, yet again. Francis heavily disagreed with this at first but after a few times of their arguments ending this way, his body craved it in a sick, twisted way. Each time they would fight, it would feel like his body anticipated the heat. As if it was automatic. There were times he found himself aroused by their arguments as he knew what came after. He hated it. He loved it.

-END OF CHAPTER 1-

#axis powers ヘタリア #axis powers hetalia #aph #aph france #aph england #francis bonnefoy #arthur kirkland #fruk #ukfr #fanfiction #ooc #munfics #renaissance #chapter 1

[peakascum]

The Room Where It Happens

Request for: @slither-in-a-half I know this is a bit different than what you asked for and it’s way different than what I originally intended to write, but I really do hope you enjoy it!

Two politicians stand on opposites sides of each other for a Charity event, something to do with children or painting the Parliment’s ceiling. Thomas Shelby sips a chilled Merlot as he eyes the posh MP’s that mingle alongside him, noses turned up and head in their ass. In front of him lurks another MP, a much snobbier one at that, whom galavants his wife like a bloody medal. You don’t mind, at least not publicly. Always playing the trophy wife, always sporting a smile, always curtsying a ‘What a lovely evening’. Thomas knows he’s playing a dangerous game as he eyes your cherry red lips gulp down yet another glass. It’s the urgency in which you consume the devil’s drink that always catches his attention. He knows how soft your hands are and how delicately you maneuver them from the countless times you've touched his.

The condition of being stuck in a loveless marriage would drive anyone mad. Add a little bit of brute force and a make-believe smile, and that would be enough to send cries for help. Which you had done so on several occasions, but no one took them seriously; instead, they deemed you as a bored housewife. You had heard the tales, everyone had, of the countless wives of esteemed families that suddenly had public outbursts which were deemed as hysterical. You were familiar with the stories, about Mrs. Dormer’s dull complexion and Mrs. Hastings’ scarred wrists, all whispers of misfortune were now your reality. 

Tommy and your husband had never seen eye to eye on any particular topic. Both were stubborn men who belonged to different political parties and lived completely different realities. Your husband was born with a silver spoon in hand while Tommy built his kingdom out of wooden sticks and cut stones. But those eyes, those adoring blue eyes wrapped you in from the first time they met. It started with stolen glances and escalated to a passionate night shared in his office as you delivered some papers on behalf of your husband. He decided you had the loveliest broken smile he had ever seen. The most delicate laugh and the wittiest humor, one he would not mind hearing time and time again. 

‘Did you listen to a word I said Mr. Shelby?’

‘I- I don’t believe I did, no.’ He remarked, clearing his throat.

She smirked. ‘I-I-I’ She mocked. ‘Stuttering is for children and tight-lipped fools. Are you a fool Mr. Shelby?’

You exhaled words of pleasure in each others ears. Bodies molding together like clay and fingertips eager to explore. Exhaustion came after and a simple kiss was placed upon his lover’s lips as if it were already a routine. Both clinging to the affection you so desperately craved.

Months of passion were spent in secrecy up until the moment your husband caught on, almost crushing your wind pipe and blinding you out of rage. Not because he loved you, oh no, but because he craved power and dominance. A poor little rich boy does not share. So when the venue and seating were arranged for the gala he made sure to have Thomas Shelby in front of him, to taunt you, to dangle his prized possession in his  opponent's face. To give you a glimpse into the life you wanted, yet gripping your thigh beneath the table as if saying ‘Don’t you dare’. 

The torrid affair you shared with the Shelby man had ended a few weeks prior with a handwritten letter, but your absence from such events told him what he couldn't decipher from your words. 

‘Dear sir, 

It is with a heavy heart that I write this letter. I hope you understand my reason for ending this relationship. I love my husband, you see, and the idea of breaking this marriage is enough to make my heart weep. My whorish ways have brought misery to my house, but be not alarmed by this, for my husband is very generous and will gladly offer you a sum of money for your silence. You must excuse my behavior these past few months and, therefore, understand the severity of the situation. 

Best wishes, Y/N.’

The letter sat in his pocket weighing heavily against the floor. He rejected the money, of course, but it didn't save his heart from breaking any further, and his mind from wandering to the atrocious acts your husband performed out of hatred. Thomas was a dangerous man, but your husband was worse, and his wrath would treble his political career, crease his business, and ruin his family. Polly had warned him many times about the dangers of thinking with his cock, but it was more than that. Arthur had payed for other whores to keep him company, but he could bed no other. It was the way you said his name in wonder whenever you saw each other after weeks apart. You were a wondrous creature shrouded in a mysterious, yet inviting, aura. One who sported a smile, such a sweet smile on those cherry red lips that made his own twitch and heart clench. 

It was the way you grimaced as your husband squeezed your arm that made his feet have a life of their own. He marched confidently up to you both, eyeing him with brutality, but switching to you with softness. Your eyes widened pleadingly at him to stop, to stop at once, to turn around and save himself from trouble. 

“Ah Mr. Shelby, what a pleasant surprise.” Your husband said, sporting a tight smile and a poised stance. Tommy nodded, “Mr. Crooke, Mr.s- Crooke”. Your eyes bore daggers into his. Your husband shook his hand firmly in a weak attempt to exhume further dominance, when, in truth, all of them knew who really owned the room. 

“Excuse my wife’s appearance, say. She’s not been her best these past few weeks, isn't that right darling?” Your husband said as he ran the back of his index finger gently over your cheek. Your once shimmering eyes appeared lifeless under the yellowish glare of the chandelier- a shell of the woman you had been, the woman you should be. “Wonder why that is sir,” Tommy bit back. Your husband chuckled, “You’re a bold man Mr. Shelby.” The men stared down at each other down as men tend to do.

“So they say.” Tommy replied.

“You've caught my attention, Mr. Shelby,” your husband started, “and in a most ill-manner may I add.” Tommy quirked a brow and urged him to go on. “Mr. Shelby I do not think it is in anyone’s best interest for me to comment on my wife’s extra curricular, is it not?” Your posture remained stoic, eyes trained to the expensive champagne in your hand praying that somehow you could shrink ten sizes and bathe in it. Stretch your arms and do laps on the clear glasses that British aristocracy drank in sighs and content giggles. You had silly daydreams like these. Some not so silly. Ones drenched in crimson liquid as if you were a butcher at the end of your shift, only to look around and see your husband’s body displayed in all his fat glory. 

You sucked in a breath and uttered, “Gentlemen you must excuse me, I need to use the powder room.” Your husbands hand stopped gripped your forearm as you made your exit, “Don’t be long dear.” He uttered menacingly. 

You leaned up against the green wall that lead to a long corridor, away from prying eyes and the clink of heels against expensive tiles. Lungs heavy, hands trembling, and mouth parting like a fish out of water. You felt foolish. You had lived years below your husband’s scrutinizing thumb, surrounded by words of empty headed strangers on how lucky you were to have married such a bright and clever man. A man who rejoiced at the sight of her trembling figure and got off on her agonizing screams that left her feeling like a vegetable for days. A man who curiously spit false facts with such emotion that caught the ears of the rich and the weak. And then she met him. And then life ripped that away. 

As if on cue, Tommy hurried towards her with that ever prominent scowl on his face, “Y/N, love-“

“No! No Tommy we cannot speak!” She pushed his hands away, further encouraging the scowl to become two tattooed lines in between his eyes. “Listen to me Y/N, stop fighting and fuckin’ listen ey?” He grabbed her trembling hands in his careful not to hurt her further. “What? What could possibly be so important to tell me right now that would make tonight’s punishment worth it?” You growled in contempt. 

“In about three minutes I will go into a room with your husband to bargain your freedom.” He grabbed your plum face in his hands, urging for your eyes to meet, for a reassurance, a peace of mind, a promise.

“He won’t give me up Tommy, he won’t.” You noticed his eyes waiver in a way that only a heartbreak could cause. They were filled with urgency, a sense of dread, because how could you not trust him? How could you not see that everything he is and everything he does is for you? 

“The greatest grief in my life will come if I leave you in the hands of that monster. All of this,” he said gesturing around him, “all of this is collateral, Y/N. I’ve accepted that risk of dying, I do it every day for stupid shit Y/N, for really stupid shit.”

“Oh God! Oh God!” You moaned, crying in despair. You shook your head as tears coated your frosted cheeks, unable to comprehend the thought of freedom and actual love. 

The orchestra started playing in the dining hall soliciting the guest’s attention to a melodic grace. The violins struck their cords in an unruly manner, insisting on being heard. Your husband whistled as he came toward you both making you separate. “Mr. Shelby, I believe we have pressing matters to attend?” He said. In his shifty brown eyes lied an expression you could not read. And so both men entered the room with the big fireplace and oak chairs. The mahogany door closed with a thud that coincidentally resonated beautifully with the melodic sound of the band. 

The doors opened just as quickly as they had closed. Or had the hours flown by? You couldn't tell. In the torturous time you had been left outside, a small crowd had gathered around you. Whispers of ‘mistress’ and ‘foes’ and ‘ruins’ had been said, but most just repeated the few phrases that could be heard from inside the room. The two politicians stepped out having reached a mutual decision. One having lost a sum of money that would leave him in financial ruin for the rest of his life. The other with promised assets that would change his family’s fortune and the value of his name. 

Your eyes met the Shelby’s blue ones, a smirk adorning his features as he stared at you. His woman. “Now, what’s this I hear about you doubting me love?” He murmured. You shook your head in disbelief, a small smile itching to be seen as your eyes darted over to your husband. “I don’t- I don’t get it Tommy, what did you do?” You asked grasping the lapels of his evening suit. Your hands tugging and caressing them ceremoniously as anxious tears pooled in your eyes. 

“Don’t concern yourself with business Y/N-“

“No! No, I will most certainly concern myself with business. Business that involves me. Business that has a means to freedom and life- a life Tommy, a-a life without fear.” She insisted, but he only smiled and kissed her lips gently, ignoring the ever growing fight that surrounded them. Your husband had drawn a gun in contempt, only to be tackled by Tommy’s men. He never was quick on his feet. 

*

It happened months later in the middle of an uncertain spring, when his face popped in your mind again. You had seen him in the shadows and in every drunk that passed you in the street. You saw him beneath the knife of the butcher, when rain fell from parted skies, and in the ominous sound violins made when played. But worst of all, you had seen his face in Arthur Shelby’s as he screamed at you yet again for getting in his way. Most of the family had accepted your relationship, as they pitied your cold sweats and silent demeanor, but mostly because the deal didn't ruin the Shelby empire. 

Once home, you stared aimlessly at the crackling fire, allowing the warmth to envelope you like a protective hug. Tommy made his way towards your figure and sat cross legged, whisky in hand. “Where’s your mind today, bird?” He whispered, tenderly stroking your pinned hair. 

“Thinking about the night my husband sold me like cattle.” Tommy side eyed you, clearly tense about the topic. “Did he?” you pressed again, “no one’s ever told me anything about it. I know we technically won, b- but Arthur’s been up my arse again and I can’t, not for the life of me, continue to be a prisoner of utterly worthless and untrue remarks!” She grew agitated withe very word, but all were true, and he knew this. His hand continued rubbing circles in the back of her neck and chuckle, a small one, escaped his lips. 

“Do you take me for a fool Tommy? Because I assure-“

“I don’t.” He cut her off. “You're no fool. I think you've proven that a few times now, right? You weren't a fool when you were with him and you're not one now.” 

“Then what, Tommy? What could have possibly been said that guaranteed my freedom and his ruin?”

He sighed sensing her desperation, but he couldn't possibly tell her. In fact, he hadn't even told his family. Arthur’s distaste for Y/N was shrouded in mystery itself, more so a rendition of the protective older brother, a one man play. Any other man would have disclosed the information to a close confidant, but not Tommy- never Tommy. It is why under the fire’s glow and the tenderness of your flesh beneath his fingers, he promised himself yet again to never speak a word of it to anyone, not even you. It would remain an active memory buried in the inner, darkest corners of his mind. Each time he visited Mr. Crooke, in a most disclosed location, he would remember to discard the clothing used and have an alibi prepared. A pesky little thing he was, a washed up creature that would receive every punishment he gave;  but no one should know, least of all her, because just like that night, no one else was in the room where it happened. No one knew the words that were spoken or how the deal was made. 

Only assumptions were made. And with one last stroke of the cheek and a light kiss to the lips, Thomas Shelby and Y/N stood up in silent agreement and retired to their newly marital bed. 

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #Peaky Blinders #Thomas Shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy x reader #peaky blinders tommy #Tommy Shelby x reader #peakascum #arthur shelby imagine #Arthur Shelby #John Shelby #finn shelby #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine #polly shelby

[arthurmorgansleftlung]

Secret Cupid 💘

My @rdr-secret-cupid was *drumroll* @foundynnel !!!

This was so much fun to write!! Your prompts were super good! I went a little overboard and tried to tie in all three prompts — oops. Anyways, I really really really hope you like it! Also, I’m sorry it’s not being posted ~on Valentine’s day~!

And a big thank you to @rdr-secret-cupid for letting me participate!

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Bison Hunting // Sadie x Arthur // Secret Cupid 2021

Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Sadie Adler

Words: 2,475

Summary: Arthur, Hosea, and Sadie go on a hunting trip to Ambarino to find a bison.

———————

“You ready to go, Sadie, Arthur?” Hosea called quietly. It was early in the morning, probably five or so. Hosea, Arthur, and Sadie were riding up to Amberino from Lemoyne to hunt for bison, maybe some deer and fish as well. The cool, crisp air would be a nice break from the humid and swampy air that surrounded them now.

Arthur groaned as he walked towards Hosea, he was never a morning person. He lit a cigarette and placed it between his teeth, inhaling the smoke. Sadie yawned and stretched her arms before getting up and meeting the other two.

“You’re lookin’ a bit scruffy, aren’t ya?” Sadie pointed out Arthur’s beard. To be fair, it had been neglected over the past few weeks, and with everything going on with the Pinkertons, Cornwall, and everything else... it was excusable. Arthur scratched at his chin, finally noticing how unkept it was.

“Hmph. Maybe I am lookin’ a little rough. Can’t say yer any better, though. Didn’t have time to groom that mane of yours?” Arthur chuckled while Sadie grumbled in return.

“Alright, kids. If you’re ready let’s go. We wanna get there early so we have plenty of time to track the beast down. You’ll both have time to beautify yourselves while we’re there...” Hosea cracked a smile at the two and walked over to Silver Dollar to mount up.

Arthur and Sadie followed suit, Arthur on his white Arabian and Sadie on Bob. Arthur made sure to bring plenty of arrows, Charles had taught him if they wanted to hunt successfully, they needed to be quiet. And so they set off on their journey to the wintry and mountainous Amberino.

They avoided Valentine, but took a break in Strawberry just to walk around and grab some provisions from the general store. Arthur purchased plenty of snacks for his horse. Sadie, on the other hand, purchased things like kidney beans and strawberries. Hosea bought ammunition, and they were off again.

Arthur hummed a tune quietly, Hosea joining in occasionally. Sadie didn’t know these songs but enjoyed hearing them. The sun was now facing more west than east, which meant night was coming.

They had reached Ambarino by seven in the evening, which was a relatively quick travel time. Hosea and Arthur dismounted and looked for tracks of any kind, Hosea being the first to notice the faint hoof prints of what seemed to be a massive bison.

“Well, it has to have been here recently with snowfall like this.” Hosea muttered. Arthur murmured in agreement.

Sadie followed and squinted, looking for any sign of the animal. “I don’t see nothin’,” Sadie said with her well-known rasp. She had never been very good at tracking but was an incredibly good shot.

“You’ll learn!” Hosea grinned. “Let’s see if we can’t follow these tracks a little further, maybe we’ll get lucky and find it tonight.” Everybody got back in their saddles, Hosea leading the way and pointing out the different signs of activity for Sadie. The tracks eventually went through a river and made their way up a mountain. Everybody had grown tired.

“How about we set up camp and continue our search tomorrow?” Hosea suggested, and was met with agreement. Arthur started a campfire before joining Hosea in setting up their tents. It wasn’t long before they noticed Sadie looking frustrated.

“Why the sour face, Miss Adler?” Arthur asked. He then noticed that it looked like something crucial was missing from Sadie’s supplies: her tent. “Well, that ain’t no good.”

Sadie huffed at Arthur, sending a cloud of hot breath into the cold air. The one thing she needed most had been forgotten back at camp. Shit, she thought.

“Well, Ms. Adler, unless you’re against sleeping beside either me or Arthur, seems you’re sleeping in the cold.” At least Hosea offered some type of solution. She was closer with Arthur, and so she elected to sleep in his tent.

She seemed to be visibly, and audibly upset about her predicament all throughout their dinner of plump bird meat and kidney beans. What had gotten into her? She was never one to complain this much. Arthur was beginning to feel bad about the whole thing, was he really that hard to be around? Did he smell? Probably.

Hosea retired to his tent for night, reminding the other two that they had to be up early in the morning. Shortly after that, Arthur retreated back, leaving Sadie alone at the fire. She sat in her own little world, filled with emotions. Why had she so quickly decided to sleep beside Arthur? If she would have just thought about she would have known she wouldn’t have been able to sleep. She was in love with the man, for god’s sake! But what about Jake, her beloved late husband? What would he think of her now... sleeping in a tent with an outlaw? Sadie being an outlaw now? She couldn’t let her past define her present. This was not how she was.

“Ouch!” Sadie heard the quiet exclamation. It was Arthur’s low, gruff voice for sure. What was he doing? Sadie stood and made her way into the tent, where she found Arthur... shaving. He had cut his jaw, and pretty good at that.

“Oh.” Arthur was flustered when Sadie found him. “What? Can’t a man shave?” Sadie just looked at him, confused.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with shaving, but you ain’t shavin’, you’re butcherin’.” She teased him, watching the small droplets of blood trail down his muscular neck. “Let me help.”

Sadie knelt down beside him, holding her hand out for the razor. “Well no wonder you nicked yourself, this things duller than Pearson.” Sadie laughed and then composed herself. She wiped the blade clean and did what she could to make it useable. Arthur sat patiently, waiting for her to bring the sharp... ish blade to his skin.

Sadie hesitated a bit before bringing the blade to Arthur’s cheek, careful to avoid where he’d hurt himself moments before. She had to remind herself to breathe. Was she really this close to Arthur’s face? She gently brought the razor down towards his jaw, leaving a trail of bare skin. She continued to do so until Arthur was clean-shaven, free of any cuts minus his own self-inflicted one.

“I’d say I did a pretty good job, Arthur!” Sadie chimed. Arthur felt his face, not used to the smooth feel. He had never been too good at shaving, even after multiple lessons from Dutch and Hosea.

“Now do I still look scruffy, Miss Adler?” He teased, recalling what she had said that morning. She rolled her eyes before glowering at him.

“No. But I can’t say my “mane” is any better than it was.” Sadie had tried and failed multiple times on the way to fix her hair, but riding on Bob made it a daunting task. Eventually she just gave up.

“I’m not very good at braidin’ things other than horse tails but... I can try. If you’d like.” Arthur flushed at his proposal, and Sadie’s ears turned a bright pink.

“Oh, uh... sure. I suppose you can try. You owe me anyway.” Sadie turned her back to Arthur and untucked her hair from her shirt, before retrieving her comb from her pocket.

Arthur combed through Sadie’s hair, careful not to tug too hard. He had never noticed the light golden streaks that ran through her hair, or the slight wave that it had. He began to braid her hair, the best he could. Her hair was much finer than a horse’s might be, and it kept slipping through his fingers as it was smoother too. Finally, when Arthur got down to the ends of her hair he tied it off.

“Ta-da...” That was her cue to admire Arthur’s strangely pristine braid. Sadie felt the braid between her fingers, loosening a few pieces to make it look a little more worn.

“Where’d you learn that from? Miss Grimshaw?” Sadie snickered at the thought of Susan critiquing a young Arthur’s braiding skills. Arthur scowled at her, not answering. She was right.

“Do you think we’re gonna find that buffalo tomorrow?” Sadie asked. Arthur pondered for a moment.

“Well, darlin’, we’re hunting with Hosea, so yes.” Sadie furrowed her brow at Arthur’s response. Darlin’? Her cheeks grew hot. She exaggerated a yawn and a stretch, similar to her same one that morning. At least she had her own bedroll. Arthur blew out the lantern in their tent, preparing for rest.

Sadie took her boots off, but left everything else on as it was incredibly cold, even in the tent. Arthur followed suit, taking off his pants, leaving him in his shirt and long-johns. He settled onto his bedroll and pulled his blanket up over his chest. Sadie shivered in the now dimly lit tent, had she forgotten a blanket too? God dammit, she cursed at herself.

“Arthur?” Sadie was plain embarrassed, it was evident. Arthur turned his head and glanced at her, ready for her question. “How big is that blanket...?”

“Big enough, I suppose.” He lifted the blanket up with his arm and gestured for her to scoot in. Sadie made her way beside Arthur, his body like a campfire. Or maybe that was just her mind. Laying so close beside him made her realize just how small she was, or maybe how big Arthur was. She pressed her smaller frame against his, and convinced herself to go to sleep. She would need the energy tomorrow.

Eight Hours Later

Sadie awoke to the sound of Hosea’s boots crunching in the snow, and something heavy weighing down her torso. “What—?” she was startled to see Arthur’s large, muscular arm wrapped around her waist, his hand gently cupping her stomach. In her surprise, she woke Arthur, who quickly pulled his arm away and flushed a bright shade of red.

“I’m sorry Miss Adler, I—“ He sat up and shook his head, moving his body away from hers. As if on cue, Hosea opened the tent and was greeted by two very embarrassed kids (kids to him at least).

Hosea struggled not to laugh at the two, “We got bison to hunt!”

Arthur and Sadie pulled their clothes on and made their way out of the tent, greeted by venison cooking over the hot fire. “Thank you, Hosea,” Sadie mumbled.

After a nice breakfast and breaking down their tents, the three saddled up. Hosea decided it would be best to head a little more North, since that seemed to be the way the hoof prints were headed the night before.

After about an hour, hoof prints gradually began to appear. They were large, and seemed to belong to the same bison they were tracking previously. The prints became more and more pronounced as they continued on. Once the prints were undeniably fresh, Hosea gestured for quiet and pulled out his binoculars to see if the bison was in shooting distance.

Sadie got Arthur’s attention and pointed towards a hulking brown beast: the bison. Hosea spotted the bison at the same time. In a hushed voice Hosea spoke, “Sadie, the honor is yours. You’re a better shot than I am anyhow.”

Sadie gulped and pulled out a bow, a gift from Charles. She lifted the bow up, gripping it with her left hand and notching the arrow with her right. She drew the bowstring back, felt the strength of the bow and pulled the arrow towards her cheek, the string pressing into her fingertips. She quickly evaluated the environment: how much further did she need to pull, how hard was the wind, how far would the arrow go? And with a quick snap, the arrow went flying and quickly found itself lodged in the heart of a bull.

“What a shot!” Hosea exclaimed. Hosea was the first to ride near the animal, knowing that if the bull was still alive it would be cruel not to mercy kill it. Arthur and Sadie followed. Upon closer inspection, they found the bison laying down on its side. It’s breathing was labored, slow. Hosea patted its shoulder, and thanked the bull before drawing his knife from his belt and piercing the heart once more. It’s breathing had now stopped.

“I suppose we should skin and quarter him now,” Hosea said. Sadie and Arthur brought their knives out, and quickly got to work, starting at the legs and heading towards the stomach for the cleanest skin possible. Eventually, they had successfully skinned and quarter the bison. They loaded what they could on horses, and abandoned what little was left for scavenging animals.

Sadie looked exhausted, she had done plenty of handiwork back when she lived on her old farm, but had never worked on an animal that large. Sadie rested her arms on Bob’s saddle, her tiredness showing.

Smack!

Sadie felt snow falling from the back of her head and neck, and realized: she had been hit with a snowball. She bent over and made one of her own before turning around and throwing it at Hosea.

Hosea looked shocked, but realized what had occurred when Arthur let out a jovial laugh.

“Alright, kids, that’s enough...” Hosea dismissed the two and slyly prepared two snowballs. He launched them at both Sadie and Arthur, hitting them perfectly. Perhaps years of being a gunslinger had benefited him!

Sadie gasped dramatically and returned the snowball to Hosea, and then immediately threw one at Arthur. A snowball fight had ensued!

They pelted snowball after snowball at one another until the sun had fallen more west.

“Alright... really, we should head out. We won’t have anything to bring back to camp if we stay another night. Wolves ‘n’ such.” Hosea warned. And so, they actually did mount up and head back towards the camp.

This time they didn’t stop to sleep, it was too dangerous to leave that much meat on the back of their horses in the wilderness.

When they finally made it back, sometime around six in the morning, it was clear that the three were tired. Those who were awake assisted in storing the meat. Pearson commended them all for the hunting, not leaving out any “surprised” remarks about Sadie’s ability to hunt.

Arthur headed to his tent, Sadie following him to tell him thank you for the fun time and letting her sleep with him the night before.

“Arthur? I wanted to say thank you... for, uh, lettin’ me sleep with you. And teaching me about trackin’ and such. And the snowball fight... goodnight.” Sadie was shy when she spoke, mumbling at some parts.

“And for braidin’ that mane of yours! Thank you for cleanin’ me up, too!” Arthur gestured to his freshly shaven face, which had already started to grow more hair.

“Right. You’re welcome. Goodnight... again.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Adler.”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr fanfiction #arthur morgan #sadie adler #hosea matthews #rdr secret cupid 2021 #mine

[mysteriouslyhopefulstranger]

The Final Test

((My Secret Santa FanFic gift for @solitaria-fantasma. You asked for Lewis to undergo a sacrifice test in a forest, so I placed the crew into the universe of the horror indie game, “The Cursed Forest.”))   @msa-secretsanta-2020

“How are you holding up, Lew?” Arthur asked.

“Much better now that the deadbeats offered a few hands.” Lewis straightened his posture as he carried as much as the sacred stones he could. Not that they were heavy for him; it was just that his arms could only wrap around so much.

“I just hope that this stone doesn’t grate my prosthetic too much.” Arthur looked down at the stone he was holding and huffed. “But better the stone than the skeleton.” He cringed as he looked over at the deadbeats carrying parts of the child’s skeleton. “Son of a bitch. It was supposed to be a simple investigation! An exorcism is one thing, but a fetch quest?! And while avoiding her ‘impulses!’“

“Again, it’s not her fault.” Mystery reminded him. “Corrupted souls barely have control over themselves.”

“Anyway, we’re almost done, right?” Vivi piped up, also holding a stone.

“Yep.” Mystery nodded. “Now we just wait-”

The ground rumbled as the trees cracked and groaned. Vivi and Arthur nearly lost their balances as roots and vines burst from the ground to block the path in front of them. The trees around them shifted and moved to form a new path.

“Ah, there we go.” Vivi smiled. “Onward!”

With Mystery leading the way to keep an eye out for traps, the team headed down the newly formed path.

It only took them about five minutes to find the stone altar. It seemed as though it was made rather shoddily. Normally, altars were hand made; this one was just a giant flat boulder with imprints, possibly for the sacred stones. Vivi came closer to get a good look. “Oh! They have numbers etched into the slots! This should be easy!” She carefully placed her stone down to check the bottom. “Ok, mine’s #3, sooo...” She searched the slots for her assigned number.

Arthur checked his. “Seven.” He scanned the altar and saw that his stone was to be placed at the top center. He set it down. “Phew! OK, LeWAAUUGH!!!” He screamed as he fell back. Arthur had looked up to see a black cloud of a skirt and feet, leading up to more black and a pair of glowing white eyes. The little girl showed up again; the very child whose soul was corrupted by a ritual gone wrong; the very child who called them over by crashing the van; the very child who trapped them; the very child who ordered them to perform this exorcism;

The very child who had also tried to kill them while they searched for the pieces they needed to do so.

Vivi and Mystery backed away from the altar and got close to Arthur, ready to defend each other. Lewis looked stern.   

“You’ve got everything?” A white streak appeared below the eyes of the cloud, and moved about as the girl’s voice echoed out of it.

“Yes.” Vivi said. “Now we just read what’s written in the paper, right?” 

“Yeeesssss,” The ghost girl lilted with a smile. “but there’s one more thing that needs to be done.”

“Oh God!” Arthur groaned, looking like he was going to cry. “ Don’t tell me we missed something!”

“Nope!” The corrupted ghost’s smile got bigger. “This is just a liiiittle test!”

Mystery sighed, “Let me guess: we have to figure out which object is truly needed, or something like that. And if we pick wrong, we die. Yeah, already did this shit.”

“Nnnnnope! ~ Nothing like that!”

Arthur opens his mouth to ask, only to feel his next words being choked in his throat. Along with any air that was trapped along with it. In fact, when did the skin on his neck feel this...constricted?! He put his real hand up to his neck; there was a vine wrapped around it.

Mystery heard his restricted protest and turned to look at him. “Arthur, what-?”

CRMBLE CRMBLE SHK SHKKKKKKKK!!!  

It happened so fast. Vines shot out of the ground, hoisting Vivi, Arthur, and Mystery off of the ground. They grabbed at their limbs, pulling them away from their bodies as if to rip them off of their sockets. Vines wrapped around their torsos, right where the ribs were. Mystery didn’t even have time to react and snap at the vines, for one had wrapped his muzzle tightly shut.

“NO!!” Lewis screamed, dropping the stones he was holding. In a flash of anger, his hands burst into flames. The deadbeats dropped their loads and prepared to attack. The corrupted ghost teleported in front of him, her finger wagging in front of his nose. “Ah, ah, ahhh! ~ You try anything, and I’ll kill them instantly.” She giggled and looked up at Mystery. “And if YOU try anything, I’ll rip your tails off!” Cue more vines shooting up from the ground and snagging each white tail. Mystery whined in pain.

Lewis shot his hand at the girl. She teleported out of range and cackled, “You must really want them to die! Well then, here goes!~”

Arthur let out a strangled cry as the vine around his neck tightened. Vivi screamed out as she felt the vine constrict her ribs and limbs, threatening to break bones. Mystery still could only whine as every limb he had was slowly being pulled apart.

“Stop, STOP!!! PLEASE!!!” Lewis begged. Their cries subsided as the vines slackened.

“Good boy!” The girl chirped. “Now, for the final test...you must choose which member of the team shall die!”

“Are you serious?!” Lewis roared, his hair glowing and whisping.

“Since when was this part of the ritual?!” Vivi grunted.

“Shut it, you!!” The ghost snarled, tightening the roots. Vivi squealed in pain.

“VIVI!!!” Lewis cried.

“Now pick!! Or I’ll kill them all! Ten, nine....” The roots slowly tightened again. Lewis panicked. Even the deadbeats were just flying around, screaming.

“...eight, seven, SIX....”

He can’t burn the roots without risking burning his loved ones, or without the risk of the spirit killing them by other means....

“...five, four, three....” Arthur’s face was turning purple, and Vivi and Mystery were tearing up as they continued to cry out.

....Wait. “a member of the team.” huh?

“TWO....”

“Myself!!” Lewis yelled.

The ghost stopped counting, looking surprised. “....What?”

“I choose myself!”

“Nnngggh, Lew...” Arthur gargled.

“Hey! I said..” The ghost started.

“That I should pick which member of the team should die. I’m a member! And in case you haven’t figured it out...” In a flash of fire, Lewis dropped his human façade, revealing his skeletal form, suit and all. “I’d like to see you try kill me, since I’m already dead!”

The ghost paused before smiling again. “I can just destroy your anchor!” She grew more roots, aiming at him.

Lewis flinched for a moment. But only for moment. “That would just make me disappear. You said that one of us had to die, not disappear.” 

“B-but you...That doesn’t...!” The girl sputtered. 

Lewis laughed, “Aren’t loopholes just fun?” 

The corrupted ghost looked like she was about to explode. With an angry grunt, she slammed the rest of the team down onto the ground, releasing them from the roots. “Alright, alright! I’ll call it a pass!” She faded away. “You’re no fun!” Her voice echoed as she pouted.

Lewis and the deadbeats rushed over to the team. “Are you all ok?! Anything broken?!”

Arthur was too busy coughing and gasping to answer. Vivi on the other hand, “Owwww.” She moaned, rubbing her ribs and limbs. “I’m gonna have bruises for months!”

Mystery curled up and rubbed his muzzle with his paw. “This was humiliating.” He growled. “This exorcism better be super painful. Let’s get this over with before something else happens.”

Arthur finally caught his breath. “God dammit! If I get bruises too, Uncle’s gonna have a stroke and a hernia before I do!”

Lewis lit a flame near Arthur to investigate his throat. “Yeeeah, a bruise it already forming. But other than that, nothing broken?” He put his free hand on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur slowly stood up and moved his limbs around. Vivi and Mystery did the same.

“We can still move,” Vivi responded. “but it hurts a little.”

Lewis sighed, “Either way, the deadbeats and I will do the arrangement. You guys rest.”

“Fine, but I’m still reciting the words.” Vivi crossed her arms...and then winced since her arms rested on her ribcage.

“By the way,” Mystery laid back down, “that was some incredible quick thinking back there for someone of your attention span.”

“Ha.” Lewis rolled his eye sockets as he picked up the ritual stones one by one. “If there’s anything that I picked up from every horror movie I watched with Vivi involving deals with the devil, is that there is always a loophole in the contract based on certain word choices or in the fine print.”

“See?” Vivi turned to Mystery, smugly. “There ARE some accuracies in these stories!”

“But, what if she didn’t mix up the words or didn’t care about word choice. Would you have stood by your decision?” Arthur asked.

Lewis put down a stone in the assigned imprint. “...Yes.”

“But why would you-?!” Arthur started. Lewis turned around and glared at him. “Let me guess, you would’ve wanted me to pick you, right? Because you ‘deserve it.’ I’ve accepted that it wasn’t you back at the cave! Why can’t you?!”

Arthur lowered his head. “It...preyed on weakened feelings, right? So...if I had said something...”

“This was completely out of your control.” Mystery interrupted, sternly. “Hell, it took over me, remember? And I’m equivalent to that of a god!”

“And why should I pick someone that I love?” Lewis picked up another stone and put it down. “Why should I choose any of the ones that I love? Isn’t that obvious?”

Vivi smiled. “And you know that I would never, ever forgive if you did choose him.”

“That too.” Lewis chuckled. Arthur smiled as tears threatened to trickle down his face.

“If anything,” Mystery mumbled, “I should’ve-”

“Aaaaahhhhh!” Vivi pointed a finger at the kitsune. “Noooo! Don’t you dare go there, too! You’re my precious guardian pooch, and I’ll be damned if I lose you!” She scratched his ears. Mystery opened his mouth to protest her remarks, but succumbed to the blissful ear scritches and let it be.

“Aaaand done.” Lewis and his deadbeats floated back to examine their work. The little girl’s small skeleton laid in the center, surrounded by the ritual stones. Seeing her small frame made the team somber.

“God, looking at this now made me realize that I forgot this was just a kid who was dealt with the worst hand.” Arthur said.

“Yeah, poor thing.” Vivi sighed. “Lewis, you still got those instructions?”

Lewis fished out a piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to Vivi. Vivi scanned through it until she found the proper incantation. She recited the words as carefully as possible, making sure she doesn’t mispronounce anything.

There was a crash of thunder and an ear-piercing shriek, as a black mist hovered over the skeleton. The team stumbled back and ducked. Winds howled as the clouds above them formed a vortex high above the altar. It sucked up the black mist, leaving a small, glowing white orb. The orb began to rise up into the sky, and the cloud vortex dissipated. 

Silence. 

Then rumbling from the ground and the cracking and creaking of the trees; they were moving again, clearing away the dead ends and opening a path to the way out. 

Silence once more. The atmosphere felt lighter. Lighter enough to take a deep breath and savor it.

The curse has been lifted. The gang was free.

“....We did it. We did it!!!” Vivi laughed and hugged her boys.

“Oh thank God!” Arthur rolled his head back in relief.

“Now let’s scram. I’ve had enough of forests.” Mystery said.

The gang ran up the nearest path, with the living members fighting back the lingering pain in their legs, and they didn’t stop until they saw their bright orange van. They piled into it, collapsing into the back or onto the seats.

“Oh, vehicular transportation I’ve missed you!” Arthur almost cried, burying his face into the upholstery fabric.

“Another successful mission!” Vivi giggled.

“Alright, everyone settle, because I’m driving. You all still need to rest.” Lewis said.

“Ok daaaad.” Vivi teased before she leaned over from the back to give Lewis a kiss on the cheekbone. Arthur followed through after Vivi as he gave his keys to Lewis. Lewis blushed as he turned the ignition on. 

As they started to drive away, a young voice echoed into their heads:

“Thank you.” 

#solitaria-fantasma #msa-secretsanta-2020 #((I hope this suffices)) #lewvithur #the cursed forest #msa

[quinn-tessence]

Paint me like one of your French girls

Part 2

This goes out to all the artists in this heart warming Joker community, who still find so much inspiration in our beloved character. Thank you for sharing with us how you see Arthur/Joker through your eyes, your creative vision brings so much joy and comfort through these troubling times! 🙏🤡❤

Summary: you accept Joker's invitation against your better judgement, even after he'd broken into your home and caught you red handed. His rhetoric makes you fall into his degraded sense of civic duty. So does his sly but chivalrous demeanor, a different shade of the Arthur you used to know. You're in for a revelation that seals the deal.

Length: 7k ish, gradual build up

Warnings: a touch of Theodore Twombly, splashes of Arthur and heavy strokes of Joker, mentions of mental conditions, flirty fluff, oh smut, yes, yes, keep readin'

As his scent still lingered, the yellow street lights engulfed the room as you stood naked at the window, facing the portrait you'd painted. Maybe it had only been the light reflecting off its surface, but you could have sworn it was looking right through you.

Did this really happen? You thought to yourself as you stepped down from your high, hoping this had not just been one more of your self induced vivid fantasies. But the flammable cocktail he'd left lingering in your studio was a stark reminder.

Arthur had come at last, even if one year late, but it had been Joker breathing down your neck, intoxicating you with whispers of your most ardent desires. A butterfly in the path of a flame you were, the attraction to him primal, insatiable, frightening. Was this really Arthur? He was surely the Clown Prince of Crime, and that was not something sweet Arthur could have maneuvered while pumping himself full of antidepressants.

‘I'd put my mouth on you’ resounded against your temples, his purring whispers a delicious catalyst for a continuous pulsating sensation throughout the night. 'Cause that's how I imagine you every night' had been the least expected confession, had he lied to just get you hooked, he'd been successful. As you tried to drift away, you'd force yourself to resist the urge and keep yourself untouched for him. Agonizing as that was, how he'd stirred the embers in your mind had made any of your attempts futile. No substitute would do.

Tick, tock. You hadn't heard your bedside clock ticking for years, but today it was thumping, a metronome to steady your breath as you woke. The only sensible action was to take charge and keep yourself busy. He was going to get what he wanted, clearly he had made the alternative impossible with his mischievous schemes. But he had been thinking of you all night as well, and that was one aspect up to be exploited.

A few minutes to 9 PM, a pinup doll you'd never seen before was staring right back at you in the mirror. His spine tingling whispers had made you work on yourself on commission. He had one demand and it was up to you to fill up the rest of the canvas to impress.

The street was empty as you walked out on the dot. Swiftly, 3 SUVs pulled up in front of your alley, and your heart leapt to your throat.

Here comes the devil. Dashing. Elegant. Ravishing in that pristine makeup, green eyes piercing your whole body as he swaggered closer, his body ambling, almost floating on air. Your art made him no justice compared to the original. Any shades of color you might have painted before would pale in comparison to how they contoured him in the flesh, and the makeup uneven, yet always perfect. Smoke fuming from his mouth, his heels screeched the pavement as if to warn you danger is nearing, yet your knees grew weaker with each step he took.

He was… just as slim as you remembered, but somehow a bit taller. Instead of Arthur’s timorous gazes, a devilish smirk crowned his beautiful jawline enough to make you forget even your name. You couldn't help but wonder why the dress as his gaze systematically reduced any fabric covering your skin to irrelevance. The emerald green eyes had already made you whimper in silence, this wasn't going to get any easier.

‘Hi Y/N. Glad you decided to come tonight.’ An eyebrow twitch accompanied his words as a much needed release from hypnosis.

‘Hi, Joker. Not sure if I had a choice in accepting your invitation.’ An unmistakable vibration in your voice immediately made his deep, long dimples contour his well defined face. The sexiest dimples you'd ever seen in a man, you were certain.

‘Of course you did. You had one week to consider, and here you are. I must admit, you are your finest work of art so far. Is all of this for me?’

‘I have a date later and I thought I’d dress to impress. The fella seemed to have some serious intentions.' The thump of your heartbeat could easily be heard by his armed men keeping watch. Thankfully, they minded their business.

‘What a lucky fella. He'd better, or else I know a few guys who can straighten him up'

An eyebrow twitch followed by a tongue in cheek chuckle, he tried to distract your noticing by running a hand through his slick green hair, but his shy gaze fell to his feet. Hi, Arthur…

‘In this case, we'd better be on our way before we get all of us in trouble. A couple precautions before we go. I'll need to wrap this around your eyes to protect the location we're headed to. It'll be a 30 minutes drive. Sadly, I’ll have to jump in another car, for both our protection. If anything happens on the road, I’ll be the main target and my guys are sworn to keep you safe. But we took care of a few things and Gotham should be teeming with crime tonight, enough for us to have a safe journey. Are you ready?’ his hand extended, your primary instincts shameless traitors. As you touched his fingertips, you went all in.

You both hopped into one SUV, his proximity to you nerve wrecking, the warmth of his slender body radiating against your prickled skin. The way he had been staring into your eyes for a few seconds was making you question reality. Shutting your eyes as he wrapped his tie around them didn't help clear the waters.

‘Tell me if it's too tight.’

‘Wouldn't that be the point? Don't untighten it.’

‘Miss Y/L/N... Here you are, blindfolded in the backseat of my SUV, about to drive off with Gotham's most wanted. Knowing your inner circle, I’d have wagered they'd advise you to keep better company. Good thing I’m not a betting man.’

‘Well, a certain gentleman had made a promise last night, if I remember correctly'

‘Indeed he had. I'm not going to hurt you'

‘That was not the promise...' you forced the corners of your mouth to not betray your titillating reaction.

‘Wasn't it?’

An endearing giggle helped cut the tension in your core, but you gently startled at the feel of his fingers caressing your cheek and rushing over your lower lip, the ever present smell of nicotine flooding your nostrils, the lack of eyesight heightening your other senses. Somehow he made this feel like a dream.

‘See you soon'

A 30 minute drive with only the voice of Frank. Thoughtful touch, making you feel close to home even while venturing into a world of batshit crazy. Blindfolding you might have been for protection, but it served another more tantalizing purpose. And processed you did, but not at all did it help with the anxiety. If anything, Joker had poured gasoline on the bonfire he had started the night before.

The cars stopped and the door opened, your hand touched softly, you were descending from the car and carefully directed forward by his arms. You’d been right about his scent, and it drove you mad as he helped you watch your step.

‘Open your eyes'

The venue, a vineyard outside Gotham, with a manor and view of the lake. Breathtakingly elegant and conveniently out of police jurisdiction. A coquette set up on the front terrace in an open space foyer, the breeze rustling the flowers that dangled from it. As beautiful a venue, in reality he was still the center piece of this canvas, the white streaks of makeup, his green hair, the contrasts of his suit, that never ending cigarette. Unethical, dangerous, beautiful. What was he doing to you?

‘Welcome to my summer retreat. Glad you decided to join me, miss Y/L/N.’ He pulled a chair for you, elegantly inviting you to sit.

‘If we’re so intimately acquainted, why are you calling me by my last name?’

‘I like the taste of it on my lips. I like kitten more, but you know, pleasantries and all.’

He'd called you that before. Arthur was there, but Joker was clearly behind that lewd smirk and tantalizing choice of words. Tingles started running up your thighs without warning, in sync with the rhythm of his cues.

‘Pleasantries are for strangers'

‘Oh! Well then. We already see eye to eye' the clicking of glass betrayed a slight tremor in his hands as he poured a little more wine than necessary.

‘Cheers, thank you for having me here. How could I decline the invitation?’

‘I didn't know if you'd accept the invite one year later.’

‘And yet you took the risk'

‘How could I not be intrigued by the artist who paints me as a primary subject? You can imagine my surprise when I found out you were the same Y/N from the pharmacy queue. Why did you move out?’ As gallant as he was, he sure knew how to cut straight to the point.

‘I... I wasn't in a good place, I needed to uproot myself. So I quit the force, moved out, became a full time artist and painted my view of the world. That gives me fulfillment, I had been searching for it in the wrong place, I guess.’

‘Can’t argue with that. Fascinating. Tell me more.’

‘How far back should I go that you don't already know?’ His eyes moved away for a second, then returned with an intensity to freeze one's bones to the core.

‘It would mean so much more if I heard it from your lips rather than my trusted informants’. ’

That sweet white wine was a dangerous catalyst to unleash to him your widest smile, comforted by the verified honesty of his stories and his sharing of turmoil at the world. He'd also been an artist, although his conditions had been a detriment to his success in a comedy career, and support for him nonexistent at best.

You were just as fluent in Arthur's tragic life as he was in your tumultuous one. You’d been reduced to tears in your late nights when processing his fall into madness and how helpless he had been. All alone. That utter feeling of pain and grief had fueled your inspiration through all those months. But now the makeup made him look younger, the furrows of life less visible on his skin, that deep sorrow hidden under a thick layer of overconfidence, and if that was what he wanted to show you tonight, the last thing you'd do was force him otherwise.

A couple hours flew within minutes, the food half nibbled, his elbows on the table, his eyes every shade of the sea amidst a storm, devouring your every twitch as you spoke. Each time you'd meet them, he'd watch you languidly, dissecting your every reaction, the corner of his mouth slowly arching his dimples into existence. You had already sunk deeply in the sight of him chuckling and occasionally strolling his delicate long fingers through his green locks. He was so real and close to the touch, his presence so electrifying, it gave you fever.

And yet he made you feel comfortable. It had been a long time since a man had done so well and so naturally, you had forgotten how sweet the shivers were. And here was Arthur, that once shy, flustering man, igniting fire after fire in your gut with each elegant note of his voice and moves of his slender body. You couldn’t tell if the spark in his eye was his, or a reflection of your flaming self.

‘My turn to share?’

‘Yeah maybe I should stop talking for a while now, sorry, I got a bit carried away.’

‘Nonsense. You're my guest, why would I have brought you here if I didn't want to hear your stories?’

‘Well if you insist, I could think up a few reasons… aaand here I go, I’m so sorry, that was a bad joke, I swear it's the wine speaking…', your hand went straight to your face in a desperate attempt to hide your tipsy embarrassment.

Typical of you to screw this up, atta girl, you thought to yourself, feeling how your cheeks had turned the color of your dress. You weren't lying, the wine had had a woozing effect, but you were drunk on him instead. As you shyly lifted your eyes, a hungry wolf was lurking beneath the painted blue diamonds, eyes as deep as an ocean, eyebrows creasing his forehead in long, deep wrinkles. It wasn't fair how the red razor sharp grin cut through his cheeks like furrows, his crooked teeth exposed enough to make you bite your lip in shame of your sassy comment.

‘That's… one description, but not the one I’d choose… When you come out from under there, I have a surprise for you. Come with me inside for a minute.’

That red dress suddenly shrunk tightly on your chest, the fabric a suffocating shroud for your skin. Guided through the gliding doors, an elegant galley of your work hung against a red brick wall. You felt a knot in your throat, your eyes watering.

‘This part of the house is my little sanctuary. Where I come to spend time with you, with how you see me through your eyes. I started collecting those the minute I felt alive through your art, immortal, legendary. You’re fueling my ego, you know?’

This was more of a shock than a surprise. A shock at your naivety than at his right to purchase your public art. He had kept all your thank you cards, even if you'd thought you'd written them for different clients. He called them your letters. They were to him, and about him, so he found it appropriate. Was this just incredibly romantic, or was it the schizoid paranoia from his official diagnosis?

Right then, the realization finally struck, and it struck with the sound of a thousand church bells between your temples. You’d shared such intimacy with him for months, and he’d been financing your bohemian lifestyle since you’d left the force. This was his big night, just as much as yours, it was clear as you looked into his eyes to see sweet Arthur from the pharmacy line. Yet his shy gaze betrayed anything but an expectation to cash in that cheque. You were ignoring all the red flags again, the rush of emotion rendering you incapable of clear thought.

And yet, your body was yearning to shed its covers and unravel your latest masterpiece to absorb his reaction through every pore, but you gave into your superficially cautious thoughts. As he stood next to you in admiration, he lit a cigarette and passed it over after puffing almost halfway. You’d never thought the sight of red marks on a cigarette would be the catalyst to set you ablaze in your choice of men, but you'd been ironically wrong. The very close presence of this clown felt nothing like fear and anxiety, even more so as he was fidgeting so sweetly. An adorable irrational fear of a possible rejection had kept a never ending cigarette between his lips, and your heart coiled at seeing a painted Arthur before you.

‘I hope you don't mind. If a fire broke out tomorrow I'd save these first. You saw me when I needed to be seen, and the way I needed to be seen. Your art is breathtaking. Nothing humbles me as admiring it.’

You felt as light as a feather as his hand extended once again, and carried you back to the foyer to pour the last glass of wine.

‘I gotta be honest with you, kitten. I’m not an easy guy to be around. My mind is a twisted place, and past treatments were … debilitating, to say the least. Fate took me off those by force, just to feel much better afterwards, ironically. I switched my treatment for a couple conditions in the meantime. You see, having difficulty distinguishing reality from imagination could be quite inconvenient in my line of business. Else, I'd be back in Arkham by now.’

For a deranged criminal, he was exquisitely refined. His posture, his attire, the cigarette between his fingers were radioactive. This deceitfully feeble man had once bashed in the brains of a man twice his size with a pair of scissors and a wall, the police records had been detailed enough to make your stomach churn. His slim, delicate body was a dangerous trap for those who questioned his ferocity and agility coupled with his multiple mental conditions. The 3 Wall Street guys had had no idea what a catalyst they were about to be. And yet, here he was. Delicate and gentle, maybe even vulnerable.

‘Back? Why back?’ you asked despite knowing every little detail.

‘Not an easily digestible subject, I’m sure you'd agree. That's a conversation for another time, but here I am, flesh and blood, thinking as clearly as daybreak. In most aspects.’

That wine must have had no effect on him, as he continued to control the conversation, steering it with refinement, clearly more cautious than yourself.

‘What aspects are not clear?’

‘Is this an interrogation, kitten?’ his wide gaze from under long eyelashes coupled with the pet name off his lips were utterly debilitating.

‘Not at all, I am intrigued. Please tell me more'

‘If the lady insists. What’s unclear? Well some minor details. Like my future, my life, the next target, evading the police, you.’ His emeralds confidently strolled along the lines of your face, particularly the curve of your lips. Not at all distracting.

‘I can understand the others, but me?’

‘You see me for who I want to be. I’m not always Joker, that's for my men, my criminal nightlife. You knew me before all this, and you paint that man wearing this Joker outfit. Sometimes I wish it were so, but most times I am convinced that it must be otherwise.’

He swallowed hard and emptied his glass.

‘So you see how your artistic depiction of me is what I want to see when I look in the mirror, not what they say on TV. It's kept me from going too far, it gives me a level of restraint that this Joker makeup laughs at, and I really prefer that to any straight jacket. I like this new man I’ve become, but I can't allow him to overwhelm the old me. Whomever that was.’

As he spoke, there was a sweet sadness to his voice that proceeded to melt you from the inside, furthering the utterly irresponsible, delicious plunge. He was forcing himself to smile even through the most painful truths, like a tic developed through years of practice, but his voice faltered here and there, trying to stifle his bouncing knee. All you wanted was to cup his cheek and caress him through the anxiety that had been crippling the body of both his whole life. He reached out for another cigarette before you could fulfill that thought.

‘I… am flattered, to say the least. I wasn't sure what to expect of tonight, but I will have another glass of wine, please. If there's any left in this beautiful vineyard.’

‘Coming right up!’

He danced nimbly into the kitchen, Sinatra serenading an audience of hanging grapes and the two of you.

Impressed was an understatement. Where was that psychopathic, vicious killer clown that all the headlines had been about for the past year, that your friends had tried to warn you of? Joker had been a gentleman so far, none of his known crimes had tainted that opinion of him, not even Murray to be quite frank. He wasn't half as ruthless as he had been demonized to be. How he spoke so caringly about his men, they were not just his goons, he trusted them, and they trusted him. This didn't make your coming here any wiser, not in the eyes of society. But your mind was already made up.

He soon returned with a new bottle, poured a glass and extended his hand.

‘Voulez vous danser avec moi, mademoiselle?’ That pristine makeup and red suit molded him into the most alluring devil coming to claim you. Speaking in French had sealed the deal.

‘Biensur, monsieur.’

Strolling you across the terrace on The Way You Look Tonight, leaning you onto his chest, his palm on the small of your back, gently intrusive. The warmth of his body engulfed yours, his cheek on your temple, he had you craving for a heavy dose. He was such a good dancer, you felt like a feather in his delicate arms as he turned you a few times then leaned you backwards to lift your thigh in a shy attempt to test your responsiveness. The innocence of his smile quickly altered into curiosity as his fingers brushed over your garter. A glimmering spark coated his devilish eyes and an eyebrow twitch marked the epitome of nonverbal cues.

‘Where did you learn French?’

‘From old movies on the telly. Unfortunately, my extensive knowledge of French will end here. I'd always fall asleep through the romantic dancing, so I don't know what comes next.’

‘What a terrible waste of a beautiful evening that would be…’

‘It would… But I've also prepared for tonight, kitten, in many ways.’ You whirled at his directive once again.

‘You did indeed. I appreciate the effort.’

‘Hah, I’m sure you do…' he chuckled to himself mischievously. 'I know I am putting you in an awfully strange position by being here and showing you all this. I'd like to know you're comfortable, all things considered. I wouldn't want to overwhelm you.’

‘Yes, how thoughtful indeed. Especially after how you left me last night.’

‘Ohhh yes, I did that, didn’t I?’

‘My dating rulebook had a few pages torn out, so I had to skip a couple chapters in my preparation. Perhaps you could fill me in on the content of those missing pages…’

He hadn't expected you to make the first move, the surprise in his eyes at seeing you instinctively biting your lip was palpable, but the tension in your core had overstepped any boundaries.

‘… I wouldn't want to drag you down. I'll catch up. What page are you on right now?’

As you spoke, you were dancing him inside the mansion, towards the main art room. Tantalizing him, your lips grazing over his, locking eye contact intensely, then shying away. His intrigue at your little game etched a smirk across his face, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your waist, very gently contouring the girdle holding your stockings.

‘I have an advanced edition. The page that cautions against wearing lace for a long time.’

‘Lace?… oh. Ohhh! I see! Yeah, I remember that. In the missing pages, they strongly advised removing all other clothes for easier access to the lace…'

Your back sensually turned to him, his fingers lowered your back zipper, the feel of burning wet lips on your neck snatched a deep moan from yours as a hum vibrated against your ear. In a swift second, you were in his arms being carried in front of his gallery, and as soon as the stilettos touched the ground, your dress was framing your ankles at his careful directive.

‘Oh... The advanced edition must have a copy of my journal in the writers' room’ his eyes gleaming, he took a step back to revel in the sight of his freshly lace garnished gallery.

‘Not really. Seeing how you wrapped me up in a tight bow, I found another way of adding a… touch… of myself.’

A wide grin across his face, he was visibly panting. His hands straight to the top of his teal shirt in a desperate attempt to get some fresh air. The light emanated from the frames of his portraits contoured your body as he approached with careful steps, as if a predator stalked its prey, strolling hungry eyes all over your curves.

‘And here I was, thinking I’d seen the best of you yesterday. Look at you… you're worth every damn risk in the book. Tell me, have you been a good girl last night?’

He slowly ascended the 3 steps leading to the art wall where you stood in your unholy red lace lingerie, stockings hanging from your girdle insolently. Your pedestal, that was. Colin was right, reality beats fiction every god damn time. If he only knew.

‘I clearly haven't. I should have called the cops on you. Yet you break in and rake me up with your mischievous whispers, you make me dress up for you and bring me here, to all this, and then claim you don't want to overwhelm me. You're acting like a gentleman but you're really a sneaky bastard, aren't you?’

Shamefully you put all the blame for your descent into his madness on him, as if you’d taken no part in this tantalizing game. In his ascent, he had gained the advantage right back, towering over you in all his colorful splendor. In that very moment, he knew you were his. The corners of his mouth arched so intensely that no amount of makeup could cover Arthur's arousing wrinkles any longer. He knew very well that he was the devil coming to claim what was his, and his gentle demeanor had shifted drastically to reflect that and scorch you. His inquisitive eyes onto the soft edges of the red brassiere, his tongue strolling over his lips lusciously, you were soon humming to yourself.

‘I… I am about to fuck you into next month. I hope you cancelled your plans, pussycat.’

His bluntness made it clear that Arthur had left you at the mercy of this clown, yet every atom of your body craved him.

‘How gallant… What about your criminal activities?’

‘I'm taking a small vacation. My men will shake things up enough to keep your buddies doing overtime. As for being a gentleman, I’m done with that for tonight.’

‘What if I say no?’

‘I made sure you wouldn't do that last night’

The moment you felt his ragged breath against your skin, you melted away in his arms, like gold in a fire pit. You gave in completely to his hungry lips trembling as he kissed you, his whole body as tense as a string, savoring you with heavy gulps. The intensity of his grip, the weight of his body, the shivers in his flesh betrayed the end of a painful anticipation that he'd yearned for. The bitterness of his makeup was the first shock, the second was his body weight heavy against you, the third the most unnerving, ohhh la la! If one lit a match you'd both combust in flames.

‘How about we skip the pleasantries, mm?’ he whispered in between heavy gulps of you, far from asking for permission.

The taste of his mouth, a mélange of cigarettes, wine, bitter makeup, each flavor made your limits become optional. Lace was suddenly no longer a threat for your breasts, as his fingers bared your chest for his delight, quickly followed by his painted thin lips. Something about him made you feel like a dangerous woman. Devouring you whole, shoulders, neck, breasts, his makeup brushed faded color tracing his steps, little moans escaping his throat at the taste of your skin. To your left, a full gallery of your ardent attempts to bring him back. You’d been afraid for so long to articulate your feelings for him even to yourself, always denying the possible realization of this moment. But his warm tongue strolling along your navel was a check mate to your insecurities, and now your body was his canvas, painting you in shades of Joker.

As he got on his knees, you felt yours would weaken in an instant, the heels of your stilettos working their way to penetrate yours.

‘I think we should take the advice in the rulebook and avoid exposure to lace for too long, don't you?’ his nimble fingers removed the lace panties and his tongue invaded your core before you could object. As if.

Fuck yesss… you exhaled a touch too loudly.

‘Oh dear, where are your manners, young lady?’ as if he wasn't speaking with a mouthful.

The sight of his green hair falling over the red jacket, his wide eyes pinned on yours, his mouth gobbling at you had been your usual suspects for the past year. But you'd imagined Arthur under the makeup, and these darkened eyes betrayed another beast altogether, a hungry, voracious beast. A surprisingly crafty one, within seconds he'd made you purr uncontrollably.

An outpour of sensation washed over you, body and mind together feeling so sensual and wanted, he was controlling your body with his tongue even as he knelt before you. You’d been intoxicated by the smell of cologne, cigarette and faint gasoline, your finger tips tracing the freshly applied white makeup and green dye on his temples. Soon enough, the slick bastard was maneuvering your clit, exposing and tasting it to his own pleasure. For a second, he moaned as he lost himself in your folds, the sounds of him enjoying what he was doing to you made you pulsate on his tongue. He'd rattled you down to your heels, you were panting so hard you were afraid you would tumble.

‘Joker… I’m gonna fall…’

‘Now now… let me finish this first, then you can fall for me, kitten.’

It hadn't even crossed your mind to make that connection, but you were once again red-handed. You couldn't help but let out a silly school girl giggle as he got up and lifted you in his arms, so much stronger than his slim complexion let see, carrying you to the large sofa, gently laying you in a corner.

‘Is this better?’

Your eyes the size of two full moons, you nodded.

‘Keep those devils on, will you?’ winking at the red soles of the Louboutins you'd chosen for the occasion. You nodded once more with beggar eyes.

‘The taste of you… mmm how I’ve yearned for it… I wasn't joking about your cancelled plans. Don't say you weren't warned' he whispered as he kissed you, his taste and yours mingled on his lips were an aphrodisiac. You nodded obediently one last time.

Kneeling once again between your thighs, he proceeded to unbutton his vest, then his shirt, yet maintaining eye contact. Damn, that new treatment must have been making miracles. You had never been intimate with Arthur before, but you couldn't miss that it was Joker in between your thighs. You’d be shamelessly lying if you said you didn't want him to take you just like this, a painted, deranged clown that had been stalking you for months, the danger an essential part of the thrill.

As he bared his chest, a deep purple covered part of his left ribcage underneath the teal shirt, his nightlife trade in violence etched onto his body, causing you to frown with genuine concern. That must have been why he seemed to flinch and change course at the thought of baring his body to you. In his own time.

You trembled as his warm breath spread over your clit, sinking his tongue in whatever he'd made of you already. The intense eye contact would be enough stimulant to answer your burning curiosities, but he had his to satisfy. Savoring each slurp, he was masterfully tensing you up like a guitar string ready to pop at the next twirl, and those diamonds around his eyes only served to plunge you into the ferocity of his curious gazes. You were a ball of ache to feel his flesh slither inside you, tongue, fingers, cock. The thirst you’d felt for him for so long was strikingly visible in your quivering body and four octave moans, his palms strolling across the red lace all the way up to your breasts. How insatiable he was in his exploration, each touch a stronger confirmation that you were really, finally his.

A soft stroke of his tongue over his lips yanked you out of any distraction, an uncontrolled twitch of your knees betraying a futile instinct of self preservation. Your reflexes had been off by around a year, though. You whined and moaned and shivered under his velvet lips as he strolled them down your breasts, your ribs, your belly button, feeling the jolts in your body and reveling in them as he hummed. Each kiss he carefully peppered onto your prickled skin sent you into a maddening spiral, your core a backdraft aching for him to extinguish. How ironic. You had grown up petrified of those nightmares of a dreadful clown chasing you down to eat you whole. Who would have thought these terrors would develop into consuming yearnings 20 years later?

The high that came with his virtuosity made the fabric of reality feel hazy, your fingers tangled in his green hair an anchor to the real world, where it seemed as if your body had been designed for him to unlock. With each feathery stroke he'd have you yearning for more, contorting in lust as he tasted you for his own pleasure. Your fingers on his white temple, he seemed intrigued by the beggar look staring right at him, so he buried his tongue deeper.

‘This tastes exactly how I imagined it…’

This hungry wolf kept on controlling your whole body through his tongue, slurping each drop of pleasure he brought. The narcissist in him was feeding off each reaction he ignited, reveling in the fact that he was the cause of all this hot mess, and you were falling like rain on a scorching mid summer day.

‘You rascal... Is this your MO, you threaten your prey 24 hours before the inevitable?’

‘I usually take ‘em by surprise'

Fire and ice collided in your core into an outwash of sensation and your eyes drowned in the back of your head as he gentry filled you up with one finger ‘Ohh… right there…’. It was too much to bear as his tongue played with your flushed bud and his finger stroke at your deepest well of intense pleasure. Never would you have thought Arthur capable of pleasuring a woman so exquisitely, but here he was, proving you wrong in the most delicious way you'd never imagined.

He was an artist after all, a nimble dancer who was born with music in his veins. And what is dancing than making love set to music? How he constantly drained you of every drop of pleasure with his skillful tongue, as if he'd finally found his vocation. The tenderness of his touches betrayed a long lasting want for you in his arms, a haunting want that he'd finally captured and was now close enough to taste.

‘Oh God, this is too good, please keep going' your voice had turned into beseeching cries.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yes, please…’

‘Mmm… Right here?’

‘Y… yes… don't stop please', the words poured out as if coming from the sweetest place of ecstasy, the beggar look and pulsating muscles a dead giveaway.

‘Come for me, pussycat, and look at me as you do...’

His command to come for him tipped you off the edge instantly, he had released the hold on the leaning rollercoaster, his tongue twirling and stroking your flushed bud. His piercing eyes gleamed as your skin went aflame and you combusted in his mouth harder than you’d ever had before. Your mind was devoid of thought as you let yourself sink into his fervent caresses. He held you down as you bucked and convulsed in blissful agony pinned onto his finger, he sank his nose and tongue into your cunt, prideful for making you come so soon. You felt flushed, ravaged, trembling from all joints, your eyes in the back of your head unable to contain their fluttering any longer. His starved frenzy had eased into careful strokes with a soft tongue, comforting you through the dwindling climax.

‘Whoa, hello there, pussycat… how I love hearing you purr like this for me’

He climbed up to you gently, the widest, proudest grin imaginable etched on his face as he smacked his lips. The lower half was smudged enough for his mouth to be visible under a glistening coat of you, and there it was. The scar that you'd specifically left out of the composite sketch. It was very old, a part of him, his face branded uniquely. As much as the clown costume spewed fire down your spine, you so badly wanted to see Arthur without it once again.

‘Joker…’

‘Yeah?’

‘I'm gonna…’

‘Come again?’

His nimble fingers were skillfully riding you fast towards another orgasm, your core still highly sensitive after your first one.

‘That's it kitten, give this joker what he wants. You're so damn beautiful, I want all of you'

His savory whispers lifted you to your peak, then his lips kissed you through your implosive ecstasy as your whole body quivered under his. The taste of you on his lips should be his new cologne from then on. After he’d seeded those thoughts the night before, it wasn't at all surprising how your body overreacted to his touches. Murmuring softly in your ear, he slowly released the grip as you descended from the second high. Your palms caressed his jawline, the feel of paint covering his skin a contradiction you'd never felt before. But here he was, teaching you what you didn't know how.

‘There there, I’ll let go now'

‘No, don't, please. Give me more…' You begged, commanding respect as the highly virtuous, dignified lady you were in that moment.

His smile as wide as on Christmas morning, his eyebrows raised, a chuckle exulting his whole body, he clearly hadn't expected that reaction so soon. Cat's out of the bag now.

‘Well well well… Look at you beg!'

‘I didn't beg…!'

‘But you will'

You should have known better than falling into that again, but you were too distracted with unbuttoning his red pants and finding the real culprit for your sleepless nights. If you'd known Joker from so many accounts, this had not been in any police record. But boy, it should have been, you wouldn't have thinned your art exhibitions to avoid being found, what a ridiculous thing to do!

With a swift motion, he was already in between your thighs. Lowering his white briefs and positioning himself at your glistening entrance, he was massaging with the tip, testing your sensitivity. This surely wasn't the same gallant gentleman who'd wooed you so far, this was another animal who was toying with his food, and you had willingly stepped into his lair.

‘Is that a threat or a promise?’

His eyes squinted in the dim light, a smug smile to his ears and your whole body jolted at the feel of him entering you all the way down, groaning with eyes in the back of his head.

‘Knowing me, what’s the difference?’

You molded so well on him as he filled you up and some more, his arms locking you down for his pleasure. Careful and gentle at first, his knees deep in the couch the more he'd bury himself into you, his face immersed in your hair gulping your scent, his tongue nibbling your ear.

‘And now I’m inside you. All the way inside you', his hand caressing your jawline, shyly brushing over your gaping mouth before kissing you.

Releasing yourself to him had been the epitome of the most ardent desires clawing out of you progressively. You‘d craved each and every word he was whispering in your ear as he was having you. His size filled you all the way in, you must have been molded to him or else you could not fathom how you'd never felt so awash as you did with Joker. He was going there, working exquisitely to get his little prize again, and it was terrifying how familiar he had become with your sweet spot in under an hour. Perhaps you'd anticipated this moment for months on end that his slightest touch would just keep you hooked in a state of blissful tension. His slim body felt heavy over you, his sharp pelvis bones grinding against your inner thighs, his protruding ribs over yours.

And yet he was so beautiful, no other man had ever awakened such riveting feelings inside your gut so effortlessly. The amount of torment this man had felt throughout his life, and yet he was still capable of making you feel such heart warming bliss in his arms. As he'd wrapped you around him tight, his palm on your cheek, his forehead to yours, it was clear you weren't just tonight's fuck. He had longed for you, and you were finally his. And his you were.

‘I'd asked myself so many times why you kept painting me, and what would you think about when you did that… Am I on the right track?’

You were a broken record of enticing approvals, your mind and body in ecstatic agony. This was not the same man from Pogo's Comedy Club, or the same man on the police car for that matter. This man was phlegmatic, charismatic and gallant enough to be a dirty flirt, and so goddamn dashing in his suit and makeup. Everything about him was such a contradiction it was driving you rabid.

Getting plowed you screamed and panted heavily, your core soaking him whole. His strokes were taking you to the edge, had they been delicate so far, now they were progressively vicious as he heard you whimper. Your mind was a sweet void, a deep abyss of shivers and tingles shrouding you in free fall, your dry lips pleading him to keep going.

As he bit his lips, his facial features turned aggressive, his eyes dark with lust. You moaned as he laid you down and fucked you hard and deep, hitting your sweet spot rhythmically, your cries fuel to his ego. The sneaky bastard was grinning at the sight of his kitten crumbling under his pleasure, so damn proud of himself.

‘You've been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?’

Your five senses were invaded by his forehead sweaty onto yours, his eyes a hypnotizing flood of green murky waters, the smell of ammonia and cigarettes filling your nostrils, his husky voice whispering softly as his cock rummaged your sweet spot.

‘You want to be my precious little slut doll, don't you? Come for me.’

Oh god… a new set of pleasure waves rushed through your flesh progressively. Something about the way he cursed sent you into a spiral, how it tipped you over into another outpour of muscle spasms. Under tight grips, he fucked you the way you needed to be fucked, fast and hard, without a pinch of mercy, his cock growing stronger under your spastic contractions, Arthur must have left the building completely. You slowly shed every ounce of ecstasy as he trailed his eyes down your body, his breath ragged, his voice purring little silent curses.

You're here, really here, you're mine, all mine, his voice whispered right before his sea green eyes disappeared in the back of his head and you felt a strong throb rushing through you as he spilled himself into you, shuddering, panting, gasping for air. His moans in pleasure were an aphrodisiac you’d never believed you'd get a taste of. But here it was, and all you wanted was to savor it at your discretion again and again.

As he descended from his high, his body felt heavy and his heart galloped against your chest, yet his lips still lingered on your skin, peppering it with red traces of himself. Joker had ousted the whole world from your senses, leaving only himself under your skin, his embrace the safest shelter for both.

‘If you only knew…’ he whispered as he lay his face to rest in the nuzzle of your neck ‘… just how many times I’ve played this in my head, kitten… If there's one good thing out of my condition, it's that my imagination can be blissfully vivid.’ His fingers deciphered your face gently, grabbling the warmth of the skin. ‘But every time I’d wake hopeful, you weren't there. And that's when it was most cruel and bitter…’The faltering of his voice played the piano tiles of an innocent, tormented concerto that filled the room despite the windy night.

‘But I am here now, Arthur'

‘You are… yes, you are…’

The sweetness of his soft lips deliciously covering your face until reaching your mouth, he'd been right when predicting your fall for him, and what a rhapsodic fall he'd triggered. The silence of his tight embrace said more than you'd ever dared hope for, but a playful hum lingered in his throat as the words murmured indelibly.

Someday when I’m awfully low, when the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way you look tonight

His husky voice gave you shivery prickles, and a chuckle escaped you remembering the direction of Sinatra's lyrics, what a master of anticipation Arthur had become.

*Knock knock*

Arthur's voice froze in an instant, your heart almost bursting into his palm, he placed a finger over your lips to shush you.

A voice with a British accent apologized for the intrusion and set your mind at ease, but had clearly set Arthur on edge. By his puzzled reaction, he had meant his promise of a vacation and an interruption couldn't be a good omen.

‘Ahhhh shit, Gary! He wouldn't bother unless it was important. Stay here, kitten, I'll be right back. COMING!'

Untangling himself from you proved difficult for both as he kissed your lips one last time while tucking himself back into his pants. You'd covered half your face with the first pillow to stifle your giggles as he stumbled putting his shoes on, seemingly willing to greet Gary with his lower face smudged in a most decadent mixture of you both.

‘Arthur… that suit won't cover the lower half of your face, you know?’

An eyebrow twitch stopped him in his haste to ponder at your hint, the realization of it spreading a most endearing smile of the night onto his face. Your heart coiled at his complicit chuckle of needing to put Joker back on as he'd forgotten him for a second.

Two minutes later he bowed gracefully, his makeup shamefully half applied over the initial mess.

‘Gary's my best man, he's seen worse of me. But what’s a valiant knight to do if not protect his sweet damsel's virtue?’

A wink and a quick peck on the lips, so comfortingly as if you'd known each other for ages, and off he went.

As he will, undoubtedly…

#joker #joker x reader #arthur fleck #Joaquin Phoenix #joker fanfiction #joker fanfic #joker x y/n #joker x you #joker joaquin phoenix #arthur x you #arthur x reader

[dustedmagazine]

Dust, Volume 7, Number 7

What are Grandbrothers doing to that piano?

Greetings from under the heat dome, where shipments of vinyl are melting mid-journey and even the coolest of cool jazz sounds a little wilted by the time it reaches your ear. We are sitting in the shade. We are drinking lemonade and iced tea. We are looking for the window fans and lugging old air condition units up from the basement. We are, perhaps, headed to the community pool for the first time since our kids were young, though also, perhaps not. In any case, we are still getting through piles of recorded music, even in this heat, and finding some gems. Here are dispatches from the furthest reaches of Japanese psych, European free jazz, self-released indie folk, Irish lockdown angst, Moroccan raging punk and lots of other stuff. Contributors included Mason Jones, Jennifer Kelly, Bill Meyer, Tim Clarke, Bryon Hayes, Jonathan Shaw, Arthur Krumins and Chris Liberato. Stay cool.

Yuko Araki — End of Trilogy (Room40)

End Of Trilogy by Yuko Araki

These 16 tracks whoosh past in just 35 minutes, with most of them clocking in around two minutes in length. Many don't reach a conclusion: they simply end abruptly, and the next one starts. Araki manipulates electronics to create whirling, sizzling atmospheres of confusion, sometimes fast-moving burbles of percussion and synths, at other moments pushing distorted hissing and confrontational tones to the front. The aptly-named "Dazed" begins with a cinematic feel, then its galactic drones give way to static and metallic scrapes. "Positron in Bloom" is like a chorus of machine voices shouting angry curses into space, and "Dreaming Insects" sounds as if the titular creatures are being pulled downstream in fast-moving rapids. Oscillating between menacing and humorous, End of Trilogy's bite-sized pieces of surrealist electronics are never boring.

Mason Jones

 Alexander Biggs — Hit or Miss (Native Tongue Music Publishing)

Hit or Miss by Alexander Biggs

Alexander Biggs blunts sharp, stinging lyrics in the sweetest sort of strummy indie-pop, working very much in the Elliott Smith style of sincerity edged with lacerating irony. “All I Can Do Is Hate You” finds a queasy intersection between soft pop and tamped down rage, Biggs murmuring phrases like “I want you to fuck me til I can’t say your name,” but melodically, over cascades of acoustic guitar. “Madeline” is the pick of the litter here, a dawdling jangle of guitar framing knife-sharp lyrics about romantic disillusionment. “Miserable,” sports a bit of lap steel for emotional resonance, demonstrating once more, if you had any doubt, that very sad songs can make you feel better somehow. Biggs is good at both the softness and the sting, and for guy-with-a-guitar albums, that’s what you need.

Jennifer Kelly

 Christer Bothén 3 — Omen (Bocian)

Omen by Christer Bothén 3

Dusted’s collective consciousness has spent a lot of time considering Blank Forms’ recent publication, Organic Music Societies, which considers Don and Moki Cherry’s convergence of artistic and familial efforts during the 1960s and 1970s, as well as the two archival recordings by Don and associates, which shed light upon his Scandinavian musical activities. All three are worth your attention, but their liveliness is shaded by the awareness that almost every hopeful soul involved is no longer with us. But Christer Bothén, who introduced Don to the donso ngoni and subsequently played in his bands for many years, is not only among the living, he’s got breath to spare. This trio recording doesn’t delve into the African sounds that bonded Bothén and Don. Rather, the Swede’s bass clarinet draws bold and emphatically punctuated melodic lines, driven by a steaming rhythm section that takes its cues from Ornette Coleman’s mid-1960s trio recordings. This music may not sound new, but it’s full of lived-in knowledge and vigor.

Bill Meyer

Briars of North America — Supermoon (Brassland)

Supermoon by Briars of North America

New York-based trio Briars of North America take patient, painterly, occasionally cosmic approach to folk music. With “Sala,” Supermoon sounds like a backwoods Sigur Ros. A falsetto voice intoning a made-up language arcs elegantly over sustained waves of electric piano. Soon after, the album touches down into more grounded guitar-and-cello territory on pieces such as “Island” and “Chirping Birds,” which bring to mind Nick Drake, albeit less contrary or withdrawn. At the album’s midway point, the listener is carried into the aether with the eerie sustained brass and wordless vocals of the eight-minute “The Albatross of Infinite Regress.” A similar space is explored at the album’s end with the 12-minute “Sleepy Not Sleepy,” as strings and warbling synthesizer tones intermingle with the return of the made-up language. Though the band’s more conventional vocal-led songs, such as “Spring Moon,” are decent enough, Briars of North America touch upon something expansive and ineffable when they explore their more experimental side.

Tim Clarke

 Bryan Away — Canyons to Sawdust (self-released)

Chicago-based actor, composer and multi-instrumentalist Elliot Korte releases music under the moniker Bryan Away. His new album, Canyons to Sawdust, begins with what feels like two introductions. “Well Alright Then” is a Grizzly Bear-style scene-setter for wordless voices, strings and woodwinds, while “Within Reach” sounds like a tentative cover of Radiohead’s “Pyramid Song” that runs out of steam before it had the chance to build momentum. The first full song, single “The Lake,” gets the album up and running in earnest with its melancholy piano and string arrangement spiked with pizzicato plucks and bright acoustic guitar figures. Half Waif lends her vocal talents to “Dreams and Circumstance,” another highlight featuring some lovely interplay between guitar arpeggios and drum machine. One pitfall of exploring romantic musical territory is the risk of sounding a tad saccharine, and the weakest links in the album, companion tracks “Scenes From a Marriage” and “Scenes From a Wedding,” have the kind of performative tone you’d expect to find on the soundtrack of a mainstream romantic comedy. Elsewhere, though, Korte’s judgment is sound, and there’s plenty of elegant music to be found. Fans of Sufjan Stevens will no doubt find a lot to like, and it’ll be interesting to see where Bryan Away ventures next.

Tim Clarke

 Jonas Cambien Trio — Nature Hath Painted Painted The Body (Clean Feed)

Nature Hath Painted the Body by Jonas Cambien Trio

On its third album, the Jonas Cambien Trio has attained such confidence that it’s willing to mess with its signature sound. The Oslo-based combo’s fundamental approach is to stuff the expressive energy and textural adventure of free jazz into compositions that are by turns intricate and rhythmically insistent but always pithy. This time, the Belgian-born pianist Cambien also plays soprano sax and organ. The former, stirred into André Roligheten’s bundle of reed instruments, brings airy respite from the music’s tight structures; the latter, dubbed into locked formation with the piano and jostled by Andreas Wildhagen’s restlessly perambulating percussion, expands the music’s tonal colors. The tunes themselves have grown more catchy, so much so that their twists and turns only become apparent with time and repeat listening.

Bill Meyer

Ferran Fages / Lluïsa Espigolé — From Grey To Blue (Inexhaustible Editions)

From Grey To Blue by Ferran Fages

When discussion turns to a pianist’s touch, it’s tempting to think mainly of what they do with their fingers. But it must be said that Lluïsa Espigolé exhibits some next-level footwork on this realization of Ferran Fages’ From Grey To Blue. Fages is a multi-instrumentalist who functions equally persuasively within the realms of electroacoustic improvisation and heavy jazz-rock, but for this piece, which was devised specifically for Espigolé, he uses written music and an instrument he doesn’t play, the piano, to engage with resonance and melody. The three-part composition advances with extreme deliberation, often one note at a time, turning the tune into a ghostly presence and foregrounding the details of the decay of each sound. This music is so sparse that the shift to chords in the third section feels dramatically dense after a half hour of single sounds and corresponding silences. The elements of this music have been sculpted with such exquisite control that one wonders if Catalonia has looked into insuring Espigolé’s feet; her way with the piano’s pedals is a cultural resource.

Bill Meyer   

 Grandbrothers — All the Unknown (City Slang)

All the Unknown by Grandbrothers

The duo known as Grandbrothers hooks a grand piano up to an array of electronic interfaces, deriving not just the clear, gorgeous notes you expect, but also a variety of percussive and sustained sounds from the classic keyboard. In this third album from the two—that’s pianist Erol Sarp and electronic engineer Lukas Vogel—construct intricate, joyful collages, working clarion melodies into sharp, pointillist backgrounds. The obvious reference is Hauscka, who also works with prepared piano and electronics, but rather than his moody beauties, these compositions pulse with rave-y, trance-y exhilaration. If you ever wondered what it would sound like if the Fuck Buttons decided to cover Steve Reich, well, maybe like this, precise and complex and shimmering, but also huge and triumphant. Good stuff.

Jennifer Kelly

 id m theft able — Well I Fell in Love with the Eye at the Bottom of the Well (Pogus Productions)

Well I Fell in Love With the Eye at the Bottom of the Well by id m theft able

Al Margolis’ Pogus Productions imprint has cast its gaze toward the strange happenings in Maine, netting a mutant form of electroacoustic wizardry in the process. Scott Spear is the one-man maelstrom known as id m theft able, an incredibly prolific and confounding presence in the American northeast. He draws influence from musique concrète and sound poetry, but adds a whimsical spirit, a tinker’s ingenuity and the comedic timing of a master prankster to his compositions. Sometimes this leads to the bemusement of his audience, but he tempers any surface madness with an endless curiosity and a playful sense of the meaning of the word music. Well I Fell in Love with the Eye at the Bottom of the Well ostensibly came to be via Spear’s desire to create a doo-wop tune. Only Spear himself knows whether this is fact or fiction, because it is clear from the opening moments of “Shun, Unshun and Shun” that this disc is full of sonic non-sequiturs, amplified clatter and delightful mouth happenings that are as far removed from doo-wop as possible. The madness is frequently tempered with beautiful moments: a broken music box serenades a flock of chirping birds in the middle of a mall, Spear hypnotically chants at a landscape of crickets, flutes pipe along to the patter of rain on a window. As one gets deeper into the record, the sound poetry aspects become more and more pronounced, such as on “The Curve of the Earth” and the closing piece, “Purple Rain.” Those seeking a humor-filled gateway drug into that somewhat perilous corner of the sonic spectrum would be wise to pop an ear in the direction of this frenetic assemblage of sound.

Bryon Hayes

Mia Joy — Spirit Tamer (Fire Talk)

Spirit Tamer by Mia Joy

Mia Joy turns the temperature way down on gauzy Spirit Tamer, constructing translucent castles in the air out of musical elements that you can see and hear right through. The artist, known in real life as Mia Rocha, opens with a brief statement of intent in a one-minute title track that wraps wisps of vocal melody with indistinct but lovely sustained tones. The whole track feels like looking at clouds. Other cuts are more substantial, with muted rock band instruments like acoustic and electric guitars and drum machines, but even indie-leaning “Freak” and "Ye Old Man,” are quiet epiphanies. Rocha sounds like she is singing to herself softly, inwardly, without any thought of an audience, but also so close that it tickles the hair in your ears. Rocha closes with a cover of Arthur Russell’s “Our Last Night Together,” letting rich swells of piano stand in for cello, but tracing the subtle, undulating lines of his melody in an airy register, an octave or two higher. Like Russell, Rocha sets up an interesting interplay between deep introversion and presentation for the public eye; she’s not doing it for us, but we’re listening anyway.

Jennifer Kelly  

 Know//Suffer — The Great Dying (Silent Pendulum Records)

The Great Dying by KNOW//SUFFER

It’s not inaccurate to describe The Great Dying as a hardcore record. You’ll hear all the burly breakdowns; buzzing, overdriven guitars; and grimly declaimed vocals that characterize the genre, which since the mid-1990s has moved ever closer to metal. But Know//Suffer have consistently infused their music with sonic elements associated with other genres of heavy music. Most of the El Paso band’s 2019 EP bashed and crashed along with grindcore’s psychotic, sprinting energy. The Great Dying is a longer record, and it slows down the proceedings considerably. There are flirtations with sludge, and even with noise rock’s ambivalent gestures toward melody: imagine Tad throwing down with a mostly-sober version of Eyehategod, and you’re more than halfway there. As ever, Toast Williams emotes forcefully, giving word to a very contemporary version existential dread. But there’s frequently a political edge to the lyrics on this new record. On “Thumbnail,” he sings, “I swallow what must be hidden / Hoping assimilation makes me whole / The whole that everyone thinks I am / Smiling under this mask knowing / I’m not hiding my face in public.” “Assimilation” is a loaded word, especially on the Southern Border, and it’s no joke walking around in public as a proud black man anywhere in Texas. Wearing a mask as you walk into Target? P.O.C. stand a chance of getting shot. Know//Suffer still sound really pissed off, but the objects of their anger seem increasing outside of their tortured psyches, located in the lifeworld’s social planes of struggle. That gives their grim music an even harder charge, and makes Williams’s performances of rage even more powerful.  

Jonathan Shaw  

 Heimito Künst — Heimito Künst (Dissipatio)

HEIMITO KÜNST by Heimito Künst

The debut album from Italian experimental instrumentalist Heimito Künst, recorded over several years in his home studio, uses an array of electronic and primitive instrumentation to create an overall woozy, dark atmosphere. From groaning, atonal slabs of organ, like a detuned church service, to murmuring field recordings and scrapings, these seven tracks are less like songs and more like unsettling journeys through sound. Pieces like "Talking to Ulises" blend quiet Farfisa tones and a wordlessly singing voice in the distance. Ironically, although the final track is titled "Smoldering Life", it's unexpectedly brighter, with major-key synth notes over the cloudy sound of a drum being bashed to pieces before ending with an almost gentle, summertime feel.

Mason Jones

Jeanne Lee — Conspiracy (moved-by-sound)

Conspiracy by JEANNE LEE

Lots of 1960s and 1970s jazz reissues offer beautiful music, but few redefine how liberating improvised music can be. Conspiracy, originally recorded in 1974 by Lee on vocals with an ensemble that includes Sam Rivers and Gunter Hampel, falls into the latter category without feeling forced. It combines sound poetry, the conversation of spontaneity, and grooves that don’t stay on repetition but still get ingrained into your brain somehow. Best digested in a contemplative sitting, the album demands you give your whole attention to the direction of the music and words mixed with extended vocal techniques. The sound shifts from a full-on medley of flutes, drums, bass and horns with voice, to more minimal experiments. The recording is clean and uncluttered, even at its busiest. A lushly enjoyable listen.

Arthur Krumins   

 Sarah Neufeld — Detritus (Paper Bag)

Detritus by Sarah Neufeld

Sarah Neufeld’s third solo album grew out of a collaboration with the Toronto choreographer Peggy Baker, begun before the pandemic but dealing anyway with loss, intimacy and grief. The violinist and composer works, as a consequence with a strong sense of movement, underlining rhythms with repeated, slashing motifs in her own instrument and pounding drums (that’s Jeremy Gara, who, like Neufeld, plays in Arcade Fire). You can imagine movement to nearly all these songs. “With Love and Blindness” rushes forward in a wild swirl of strings, given weight by the buzz of low-toned synthesizer and airiness in the layer of denatured vocals; you see whirling, bending, graceful gestures. “The Top” proceeds in quicker, more playful patterns; agile kicks and jumps and shimmies are implied in its contours. “Tumble Down the Undecided” has a raw, passionate undertow, its play of octave-separated notes frantic and agitated and the drumming, when it comes, fairly gallops. This latter track is perhaps the most enveloping, the notes caroming wildly in all directions, in the thick of the struggle but full of joy.

Jennifer Kelly

Aaron Novik — Grounded (Astral Editions)

Grounded by Aaron Novik

Aaron Novik is a clarinetist with an extensive background in jazz, klezmer, rock and in-between stuff, but you wouldn’t know any of that from listening to this tape. Its ten numbered instrumentals sound more derived from the sound worlds of 1970s PBS documentaries, Residents records of similar vintage, and Pop Corn’s fluke hit, “Pop Corn.” Recorded during the spring of 2020, when Novik’s new neighborhood, Queens, became NYC’s COVID central, it manifests coping strategy that many people learned well last year; when the outside world is fucked and scary, retreat to a room and then head down a rabbit hole. In this case, that meant sampling Novik’s clarinets and arranging them into perky, bobbing instrumentals. The sounds themselves aren’t processed, but it turns out that when recontextualized, long, blown tones and keypad clatter sound a lot like synths and mechanized beats. There’s a hint of subconscious longing in this music. While it was made in a time and place when many people didn’t leave the house, it sounds like just the thing for outdoor constitutionals with a Walkman.

Bill Meyer  

 Off Peak Arson — S-T (Self-released)

Self Titled by Off Peak Arson

Presumably named after the Truman's Water song — a fairly obscure name check, indeed — Off Peak Arson hail from Memphis, TN. Their debut EP's five songs are less reminiscent of their namesakes than of heavier, noisier bands like Zedek-era Live Skull, Dustdevils and Sonic Youth. Which is not a bad thing at all. The four-piece leverage the dual guitars to nicely intense effect, and with all four members contributing vocals there's a lot going on, at times blending an interesting sing-song pop feel with the twisty-noisy guitar. The band have a way of finding memorable hooks amidst sufficient cacophony to keep things challenging while also somehow catchy. Keep your ears open for more from this quartet.

Mason Jones

 Barre Phillips / John Butcher / Ståle Liavik Solberg — We Met – And Then (Relative Pitch)

We met - and then by Phillips, Butcher, Solberg

In 2018, ECM Records issued End To End, a CD by double bassist Barre Phillips which capped a half-century of solo recording. You might expect this act to signal the winding down of the California-born, France-based improviser’s career; after all, he was born in 1934. And yet, in 2018 he played the first, but not the last, concert by this remarkable trio, which is completed by British soprano/tenor saxophonist John Butcher and Norwegian percussionist Ståle Liavik Solberg. Recorded in Germany and Norway during 2018 and 2019, this CD presents an ensemble whose members are strong in their individual concepts, but are also committed to making music that is completed by acts of collective imagination. The music is in constant flux, but purposeful. This intentionality is expressed not only through action, but through the conscious yielding of space, as though each player knows what openings will be best occupied by one of their comrades.

Bill Meyer

Round Eye — Culture Shock Treatment (Paper +Plastick)

“Culture Shock Treatment,” the lead-off track from this unhinged and ecletic album, swings like 1950s rock and roll, a sax frolicking in the spaces between sing-along choruses. And yet, the gleeful skronk goes a little past freewheeling, spinning off into chaos and wheeling back in again. Picture Mark Sultan trying to ride out the existential disorder of early Pere Ubu, add a horn line and step way back, because this is extremely unruly stuff. Round Eye, a band of expatriates now living in Shanghai, slings American heartlands oddball post-punk into unlikely corners. Frantic jackhammer hardcore beats (think Black Flag) assault free-from experimental calls and responses (maybe Curlew?) in “5000 Miles, “ and as a kicker, it’s a commentary on ethno-nationalist repression (“Thank…the country. Thank…the culture”). “I Am the Foreigner” hums and buzzes with exuberance, like a hard-edged B-52s, but it’s about the alienation that these Westerners most likely experience, every day in the Middle Kingdom. This is one busy album, exhausting really, a whac-a-mole entertainment where things keep popping out of holes and getting hammered back, but it is never, ever dull.

Jennifer Kelly

 So Cow — Bisignis (Dandy Boy)

Bisignis by So Cow

This new So Cow record is a mood. Specifically, that mood during the third and “least fun” of Ireland’s lockdowns, when you head to your shed and bash out an album about everything that’s been lodged in your craw during a year of isolation — including, of all things, the crowd at a Martha Wainwright show (on “Requests”). And while sole Cow member Brian Kelly might have dubbed the record Bisignis, the Old English word for anxiety, it’s his discontent that takes center stage. “Talking politics with friends/Jesus Christ it never ends” Kelly sings on early highlight “Leave Group” before employing a guitar solo that could pass for some seriously fried bagpipes to help clear the room. This album takes the opposite approach of The Long Con, the project’s 2014 Goner Records one-off where So Cow made more complex moves towards XTC and Futureheads territory but obscured its greatest weapon: Kelly’s deadpan wit. And while a couple of these songs overstay their welcome with their sheer garage punk simplicity, others like “Somewhere Fast” work in the opposite way and win your ears over with repeat listens. “You are the reason I’m getting out of my own way,” Kelly sings, and in doing so has produced the project’s best full-length in a decade. So what? So Cow!

Chris Liberato 

 Taqbir — Victory Belongs to Those Who Fight for a Right Cause (La Vida Es Un Mus)

Victory Belongs To Those Who Fight For A Right Cause by Taqbir

In our super-saturated musical environment, another eight-minute, 7” record of scorching punk burners isn’t much of an event. But the appearance of Taqbir’s Victory Belongs to Those Who Fight for a Right Cause (the title is almost longer than the record itself) is at the very least a significant occurrence. The band comes from Morocco and features a woman out front, declaiming any number of contemporary socio-political ills. So there’s little wonder that the Internet isn’t bursting with info about Taqbir; you can find a Maximumrocknroll interview, some chatter about the record here and there, and not much else. It must take enormous courage to make music like this in Morocco, and even more to be a woman making music like this. The long reign of King Mohammed IV has edged the country toward marginal increments of cultural openness — if not thoroughgoing political reform — but conservative Islam and economic struggle are still dominant forces, combining to keep women relegated to submissive social roles. And the band is not fucking around: their name is a Moroccan battle cry, synonymous with “Alu Akbar!” Their repurposing of that slogan in support of their anti-traditionalist, anti-religious, anti-capitalist positions likely makes life in a place like Tangier or Casablanca pretty hard. The songs? They’re really good. Check out “Aisha Qandisha” (named for a folkloric phantasm that ambiguously mobilizes the feminine as murderous and rapacious monster): the music slashes and burns with just the right dash of melody, the vocals go from a simmer to a full-on rolling boil. Taqbir! y’all. Stay safe, stay strong and make some more records.

Jonathan Shaw

 TOMÁ — Atom (Self-Release)

Atom by TOMÁ

Tomá Ivanov operates in interstices between smooth jazz and soul-infused electronics, splicing bits of torchy world traditions in through the addition of singers. You could certainly draw connections to the funk-leaning IDM of artists like Flying Lotus and Dam-Funk, where pristine instrumental sounds—strings, piano, percussion—meet the pop and glitch of cyber-soul. Guest artists flavor about half the tracks, pushing the music slightly off its center towards rap (“A Different You featuring I Am Tim”), quiet storm soul (“Outsight featuring Vivian Toebich”), falsetto’d art pop (“Catharsis featuring Lou Asril”) or dreaming soul-jazz experiments (“Blind War featuring Ben LaMar Gay”). Thoughout, the Bulgarian composer and guitarist paces expansive ambiences with shuffling, staggering beats, roughing up slick surfaces with just enough friction to keep things interesting.

Jennifer Kelly  

 The Tubs — Names EP (Trouble In Mind)

Names EP by The Tubs

“I don’t know how it works” declared The Tubs on their debut single, but they’re diving right in anyways on its follow-up, Names, with four songs that explore the self and self-other relationship. Their cover of Felt’s “Crystal Ball” tightens the musical tension of the original in places but still allows enough slack for singer Owen Williams to stretch the lyrical refrain — about the ability of another to see us better than we see ourselves — into a more melancholy shape than Lawrence. Of the EP’s three originals, Felt’s influence is most obvious in George Nicholls’ guitar work on “Illusion,” especially when the change comes and his lead spirals off Deebank-style behind Williams while he questions his connection to his own reflection. “Is it just an illusion staring back at me?” “The Name Song” is the longest one here at over three minutes, and in a similar way to The Feelies, it feels like it could go on forever, which might prove useful if Williams adds more names to his don’t-care-about list. “Two Person Love” is the best track of the bunch, though, with its classic sounding riff that swoops in and out allowing room for the chiming and chugging rhythm section to do the hard work. The relationship in the song might have been “pissed up the wall,” as Williams in his Richard Thompson-esque drawl puts it, but The Tubs certainly seem to have figured out how this music thing works.

Chris Liberato

 Venus Furs — S-T (Silk Screaming)

Venus Furs by Venus Furs

Venus Furs sounds like band, but in fact, it’s one guy, Paul Krasner, somehow amassing the squalling roar of psychedelic guitar rock a la Brian Jonestown Massacre or Royal Baths all by himself. These songs have a large-scale swagger and layers and layers of effected guitars, as on the careening “Friendly Fire,” or hailstorm assault of “Paranoia.” A ponderous, swaying bass riff girds “Living in Constant.” Its nodding repetition grounds radiating sprays of surf guitar. You have to wonder how all this would play out in concert, with Krasner running from front mic to bass amp to drum kit as the songs unfold, but on record it sounds pretty good. Long live self-sufficiency.

Jennifer Kelly

 Witch Vomit — Abhorrent Rapture (20 Buck Spin)

Abhorrent Rapture by Witch Vomit

Witch Vomit has one of the best names in contemporary death metal (along with Casket Huffer, Wharflurch and Snorlax — perversely inspired handles, all), and the Portland-based band has been earning increasing accolades for its records, as well. They are deserved. Witch Vomit plays fast, dense and dissonant songs, bearing the impress of Incantation’s groundbreaking (gravedigging?) records. Does that mean it’s “old school”? Song titles from the band’s previous LP Buried Deep in a Bottomless Grave (2019) certainly played to traditionalists’ tastes: “From Rotten Guts,” “Dripping Tombs,” “Fumes of Dying Bodies.” And so on. This new EP doesn’t indicate any significant changes in trajectory or tone, but the songwriting makes the occasional move toward melody. See especially the second half of “Necrometamorphosis,” which has a riff or two that one could almost call “pleasant.” If that seems paradoxical, check out the EP’s title. Is that an event, a gruesome skewing of Christianity’s big prize for the faithful? Or is it an affective state, in which abject disgust somehow builds to ecstatic transport? Who knows. For the band’s part, Witch Vomit keeps chugging, thumping and squelching along, doling out doleful songs like “Purulent Burial Mound.” Yuck. Sounds about right, dudes.

Jonathan Shaw

 yes/and — s-t (Driftless Recordings)

yes/and by yes/and

This collaboration between guitarist Meg Duffy (Hand Habits) and producer Joel Ford (Oneohtrix Point Never) is an elusive collection of shape-shifting instrumentals. Each piece is built around Duffy’s guitar, yet the timbre and mood tends to switch dramatically between tracks. The album’s run-time is fairly evenly split between dark, atmospheric pieces, such as “More Than Love” and “Making A Monument,” and hopeful, glimmering miniatures, such as “Centered Shell” and the wonderfully titled “In My Heaven All Faucets Are Fountains.” “Learning About Who You Are” looms large at the album’s heart, as nearly eight minutes of hazy, wind-tunnel drone pulses and reverberates across the stereo space. Despite the variation in tone, each track stakes out its own territory in the tracklist, and it’s only “Tumble” that comes across as an unrealized idea. While it’s only half an hour, yes/and feels longer, its circuitous routes opening up all kinds of possibilities.

Tim Clarke

#dust #dusted magazine #yuko araki #mason jones #alexander biggs #jennifer kelly #Christer Bothén 3 #bill meyer #briars of north america #tim clarke #bryan away #jonas cambien trio #Ferran Fages #Lluïsa Espigolé #grandbrothers #id m theft able #bryon hayes #mia joy #Know//Suffer #jonathan shaw #Heimito Künst #jeanne lee #arthur krumins #sarah neufeld #matthew liam nicholson #aaron novik #off peak arson #barre phillips #john butcher #Ståle Liavik Solberg

[sennextheassasinkingoflight]

Mornings

Cursed (Tv 2020) Fanfiction Cross posted at Ao3 Rated T and up for suggestive themes 

Lancewain 

SUMMARY:  Gawain just wants to spend the morning in bed cuddling with his lover. That shouldn't be to much to ask now that the war is over. After seven years of living with Lancelot he may just get what he's after.

CEREMONY SCRIPT PULLED FROM https://greatofficiants.com/medieval-wedding-ceremony

I

Lancelot was always awake and dressed impeccably before Gawain. Normally the man had breakfast ready, whatever form it had taken for the day. It had been this way since Lancelot had been released from the makeshift prison he had been kept in and into Gawain's custody. That had been quite the fight, but ultimately Merlin and Gawain in turn with The Red Spear had managed to get the others to agree. There simply weren’t enough fey to kill one of their own, and definitely not enough Ashfolk to go killing him either. Especially if he truly had chosen to take sides with the Fey. He had one warning though, if he started anything, finished anything, killed a Fey or caused one undo harm he was done. Executed on the spot. Thankfully it had never come to that. It may have had to do with his lack of a weapon except when training. Though they all knew he could kill them if he truly wanted to. Perhaps it had to do with Squirrel being attached to the man and looking up to him, voting that he had changed and would be a good man. Perhaps it had to do with his own fascination and attraction to the man, loath as he was initially to admit the last part. Whatever the cause or reason for his change of heart Lancelot had changed. Today was not very different in that regard. Lancelot was awake over an hour before it was strictly necessary, even despite the fact that they did not have patrols today. In fact, the only things that needed their attention today, were those things that they decided to do. It was their day to rest, among some others. It was important, with rebuilding after the official end of the war for them to remember to take proper rest. There was always work to be done, food to be grown and harvested, building and temples to be erected.

Some clans were reduced to so few that they had congregated with other clans too small to sustain themselves well. Gawain was confident with Arthur and Guinevere ruling in Uthers place and sending out word that the Fey were safe in the kingdom that those numbers would increase steadily and gradually as they proved that it was indeed safe. But as with all things it would take time. There were still bands of paladins and those loyal to Cumber who sought to bring down the Fey and wreak havoc on the people of Britannia.

For now though, the two of them had fallen into a kind of domestic cohabitation, as often occurred in the case of two lovers. For that too is what they were now. It was strange to consider. They had been enemies, had nearly killed one another so often in those early days that Gawain often found himself confused as to how he could now sit across the table from the Ashman and sip tea and eat eggs like it was the most natural event that could unfold. Gawain yawned, earning a smirk from Lancelot.

“And what shall we do this afternoon?” “It’s far too early to think about that now.” Gawain rubbed the sleep from his eyes and yawned again.  “Why do you insist on getting up so early?” “It’s only habit, and much as I love you I do enjoy the quiet of early morning.” Offered Lancelot in response and Gawain's heart hammered harder in his chest. A smile gracing his lips.

“Are you certain it’s too late to go back to bed?”

Lancelot only smiles fondly and kisses his forehead before he leaves to help out in the kitchens as is his Saturday morning routine. He isn’t required to but he enjoys doing so and according to Kinna he is one of the best bakers they have.

II

Gawain roles over with a groan. He doesn’t even know what time it is, only that his lover is no longer in their bed. He curls himself around Lancelot's pillow and breathes deeply. A chuckle wakes him slightly further from his sleep. “I thought I was the one who did the scenting?”

Gawain groans again, “Come back to bed and we’ll find out.”

It's such a sweet offer of a challenge but Lancelot has patrol this morning. He desperately wants to do just that, but he has a duty to attend. The war may be over but that doesn’t mean they are completely safe. There are still rogue groups of Paladins and Cumbers men roaming around looking for Fey to execute. “I can’t. You know this. I’ll be back this afternoon, and we can do something then.” He leans down and kisses the top of Gawain's head and the knight smiles, burying himself further into the warmth left in places of bedmate. He knows they have duties to attend to even if he’s only half asleep, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting the morning to drag on just a while longer. After all, their home is the only place Lancelot feels safe enough to be open and forward with him. He rolls onto his back and reaches out a hand, it's only a moment before the rustling of fabric from the former monk getting dressed ceases and a sword calloused hand takes his own. He feels the press of lips against his and sighs happily. This would have to do. “Born in the dawn,” He starts, words slurred by the call of sleep. ‘To pass in the twilight.” Lancelot's voice finishes on the edge of his consciousness, his hand is squeezed. It's the last thing he knows before sleep returns to him.

III

Gawain sighs. The bed was empty and cold when he woke this morning and it frustrated him to no end. He wished he could get the older man to understand that sometimes you could take a morning off. That it was okay to have a slow morning where you relaxed. Cuddled with your lover even. There was far more to the physical side of a relationship than sex. And while the sex was very good, sometimes Gawain just wanted to be wrapped up in the others embrace knowing that he was loved and taken care of. He was certain that Lancelot needed that too. It was more than quick kisses, and the brush of fingers on bare skin, or the feel of a supportive hand on his shoulder that he craved. The problem was that he really didn’t know how to express it in a way that Lancelot would understand. Beyond that the man had had the same pattern for the last six years, and Gawain wasn’t sure he could break him of it even if they both wanted it.

He leans down and pulls on his boots, he has a meeting with Arthur early this afternoon and it will take him and the others a few hours to reach the castle. Lancelot will not be coming with them, instead he will remain in the village, because that's what it is now, not a camp to help protect it and to be available to assist its members in whatever way necessary. He and Percival are very capable of this task, and Gawain knows they won’t return to find the village in ruins. Still he wishes that the Ashman was coming, if for nothing else than the quiet companionship that he offers.

They haven’t had much time together since Gawain was deemed Elderman of the village. He is not the elder of the village but he is the one everyone goes to and he can’t seem to get away from it. He knows it is in part due to the part he played in the rebellion and because of his status as both Fey Knight and Knight of the Round Table. And yet he is beginning to loathe the position, just as he loathed being the Green Knight. It was taking away from the time and the energy he could spend with his lover and their son and the other people in his life that mattered. He knew it would likely settle as the turmoil around them slowed and peace returned to the land but for now it put things like being joined to the bottom of the list and so he still hadn’t asked. He wondered if they were married if Lancelot would be inclined to spend his mornings in bed with him.

IV

Lancelot had been made a Knight of the Round Table and so had Percival, though a bit young he had proven himself time and time again worthy of the title. That had been what the meeting was about a few weeks ago. The ceremony had been arranged for this morning, and so it came as no surprise to Gawain when he felt Lancelot leave their bed before the sun had even begun to turn the sky the yawning grey of dawn.  He lets out a defeated sigh and turns his back to Lancelot's side of the bed. It's the complete opposite of what he usually does, but even now, half awake and over tired, despite a night of sleep, it hurts him that Lancelot insists on getting up instead of spending just a little extra time with him.   “Gawain? You smell upset.” He hears Lancelot say as he feels a dip in the bed. He only lets out a slight grunt and shifts his arm under the pillow he's using drawing it closer to himself in turn with his knees. He feels defensive and he isn’t awake enough to process his actions. “Tell me whats wrong?” “It’s nothing. I'm just not ready to be awake yet.” He isn’t sure his words make sense to Lancelot, they feel heavy and odd in his mouth. “Then go back to sleep. I’ll wake you at sunrise.” The voice that responds is gentle and understanding and he wants to tell him that he should be angry at him for lying but instead he nuzzles his pillow and yawns. He lets sleep slither silently around him again and painfully ignores the fingers running through his hair, and the knuckles that caress his cheek, and his shoulder. He falls into a fitful half slumber as Lancelot readies himself for the big day. When the ceremony takes place, Gawain feels guilty for having been upset with Lancelot this morning. He’s dressed in his new surcoat and cloak. Percival is dressed similarly though sporting colors that are a mix of his and Lancelots, though the crest is his own. He smiles, pride swelling in his chest as Arthur knights them both but does not give permission for them to rise. He nearly misses his cue. Percival snickers at him and then smiles at Lancelot with a nod. He can see the confusion in those stunning blue eyes as they track him stepping forward beside Arthur. As Gawain steps forward he can’t help but smile, he takes the blade from Arthur and stands before the two most important men in his life.

He begins voice strong and clear in the air as it echos into the courtyard, “A Knight of the Fey is one with the land,

enduring as the the Great River,

and as true as Arwan’s bow.

We are born in the dawn,”

He swallows, watches as the reality of his words settles on the two infront of him and knows that his anger this morning was pointless and unnecessary. He watches as Percival swallows, tears ready to fall from his eyes as they did all those days ago. And Lancelot, sweet broken Lancelot can’t stop the tear that follows the tracks of his people or the shuddering breath he takes just before he and Percival answer in tandem, “To pass in the twilight.”

V

It is the morning of their joining, seven years to the day since Lancelot came to them. And while he would love to be wrapped up in the man and  in the comfort and warmth of their bed it is not to be. Only, he is upset that he hadn’t been able to spend the night in Lancelot's arms, Percival had insisted on him staying over going on about bad luck or some such thing. So he had, it couldn’t hurt to spend the evening in Percivals company. He knew the boy probably needed it as much as Gawain realized he himself did. So they drank and sang songs and spoke about a great many things, including the girl who had Percivals fancy. This morning came with a slight hangover and the absence of his lover but it was the furthest thing from the worst morning he had ever had. He was brimming with excitement and buzzing with energy and could barely sit still long enough to eat breakfast. Percival shook his head at him and then they were getting ready. Gawain would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. The day went by incredibly fast between losing himself in his thoughts, getting ready, and the influx of visitors he had. But not once did he catch sight of Lancelot. It is just before noon that their vows are to take place. As the time approached Gawain felt the nervousness return tenfold. He was a warrior, a knight, he should not be nervous about this and yet he was. It would not change anything about the way he and Lancelot loved one another, but it was important and he didn’t want to mess it up. He approached the dias from the left as they agreed. Lancelot would come from the right. There was no need for traditional aisle walking. And yet as they approached the stage on which the ceremony would take place, the rest of the world died away. In a moment he was reminded of just how spectacular and stunning the man he loved was. Dark curls hung just past his ears, sunlight shining where it was laced with blond. Blue eyes like the depths of a still lake surrounded by the marks of his people. He loved those the most of all Lancelot's features. They were striking and fierce as war paint, and as sad as heartbreak, and yet when Lancelot smiled they reminded him of life and love as they did at this very moment. When they met at centre stage he could not hold back the smile on his lips. He did not know for certain the last time he felt joy like this, but he would not soon forget this day. When he met Lancelot's eyes, he found the same sentiment reflected back at him.

After a moment the officiant, Elder of the Skyfolk, spoke. “Say thy vows if thou gives them freely.”

And so they did, they spoke boldly and truthfully. With passion and love. They promised as all do to be faithful and true and to be present always and forever and more. They promised to keep no secrets, to reconcile all heartaches, to be slow in anger and to be just in their actions. They swore to cherish, to love and be united as equals in all endeavors. When they had finished proclaiming their promises to one another the officiant spoke once more a smile on her face. “Join hands.”

So they did with barely a glance, so well in sync their eyes could hold conversations mid battle, or mid marriage. The people watching them didn’t matter, the sun to bright and hot didn’t matter. What mattered was this moment in which they told the world they had chosen one another, and told each other they meant every whispered word of endearment and parise and love.  No one spoke as the Elder placed the three cords over their hands, the burgundy cord to symbolize romance, partnership and happiness, ivory for peace, sincerity and devotion, and gold which represents unity, prosperity and longevity. And finally he spoke out

“As this knot is tied, so are your lives now bound. Woven into this cord, imbued into its very fibers, are all the hopes of thy friends and family, and of thyselves, for a new life together.

With the fashioning of this knot you tie all the desires, dreams, love, and happiness wished here in this place to your lives for as long as love shall last.

In the joining of hands and the fashioning of a knot, so are your lives now bound, one to another.

By this cord you are thus now and forevermore bound to your vow.

May this knot remain tied for as long as love shall last. May this cord draw your hands together in love, never to be used in anger.

May the vows you have spoken never grow bitter in your mouths. As any child discovers when they are learning to tie their own shoes, the first move is to cross the ends.

The cross creates the (X), which is the symbol of partnership and union. As your hands are bound by this cord, so is your partnership held by the symbol of this knot.

Two entwined in love, bound by commitment and fear, sadness and joy, by hardship and victory, anger and reconciliation, all of which brings strength to this union.

Hold tight to one another through both good times and bad, and watch as your strength grows.

I shall now remove the cords.

Thou hast pledged troth of thy own free will and have been bound together by the ritual of the cords.

May it be granted that what is done before the gods be not undone by man.

Before I proclaim you joined thou must kiss three times on cue,’ Lancelot raised an eye brow and Gawain only shrugged too enamored by the man in front of him to care that it was ridiculous. Besides what did it matter if they kissed thrice now, there was certain to be many more this day, and the days to come.

“Once for luck, Twice for Love and Thrice for Long life. By the Power Vested in my by the Realm I now pronounce you married.”

The day ended in dancing and laughter and glee.

 +1

It was the morning after their wedding and Gawain woke to the familiar feeling of Lancelot leaving their bed. He sighed, assuming the other simply needed to relieve himself. It was their first morning wed, surely he would stay in bed and cuddle with him. It had to be obvious that they weren’t meant to do anything today, anything that didn’t involve the other and staying squarely in this bed. Unfortunately, the familiar sound of fabric rustling removed any traces of sleep from Gawain as he sat up abruptly in their bed. "What are you doing? We could keep cuddling." The words leave him before he can process what it actually was he intended to say. He ducks his chin embarrassed and can feel Lancelot's eyes on him, as though he’s being seen for the first time. Slowly the man responds, voice uncertain.

"Not if I'm going to walk around this camp properly dressed."

"You mean boiling to death and looking gloomy. Why do you have to start getting dressed an hour before sun up anyways? Besides that you realize no one expects us to leave this house today, let alone this bed. We just got married. Come lie back down!"

His demand is met by shock and surprise as they settle on Lancelot's features and then turn to a blush as he shifts embarrassed. Gawain can’t help but laugh, of course this man wouldn’t think of something like that, not that he could fault him. His upbringing certainly didn’t lend to romantic inclination. He stares as the dark haired man shifts uncomfortably on the other side of the bed.

"it takes that long to lace my surcoat...." and now it's his turn to be taken aback. “What?” “It takes an hour to get the damn garment on.” Lancelot says louder and much more upset than Gawain thinks he should be. He can’t help the cackle that leaves him as he shifts in the bed to more fully face his husband .

"Come back to bed for half an hour."

"It's like you don’t even listen."  Lancelot sighs and shifts his clothing around.

“All this time, that's why you haven’t stayed in bed with me in the mornings.” He groans, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Listen, if you decide that you have to get up and get dressed and do things, which I think you'll find you won’t, I'll get up with you and it will take half the time. Now come back to bed so I can kiss you senseless."

In the span of a few seconds the air is knocked from his lungs as he is pushed back against the mattress and his pillows, Lancelot's nose pressed into his neck and their bodies pressed firmly together. His brain, it seems, takes too long to process what just happened as Lancelot whines against his ear,

"Well what are you waiting for?"  It's all the permission he needs as he rolls them to the side and pulls him close, kissing him passionately in the process.

#Fanfiction #Cursed TV 2020 #Writing #Fluff #Lancewain #Lancelot #The Weeping Monk #Gawain #The Green Knight #5+1

[adamantiumdragonfly]

What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others.

|| Ida L. Hale ~ Agent Themis || Character Study ||

Taglist

@julianneday1701​ @junojelli​ @wexhappyxfew​ @jamie506101​ @pilindieltheelf​ @trashgoddess600​ @sunflowerchuck​ @easyroses​ @easy-company-tradition​ @kmorecoffee​ @vintagelavenderskies​ @fandomscenariosforyou​

Legacy is what is left. Born, lived, and died. When the final breath is taken, the legacy is what is left behind. A scar across the world showing generations to come what you did, who you are. It marks your moment in time. 

The Hale’s home was one such legacy. Firmly affixed to the same street in the same family’s hands for seven generations, the grand house on Belgrave Square was a scar onto its own. White, magnificent, and home. 

Ida had spent her whole life there, with the exception of a few months out of the year where they would travel to Scotland for a holiday at the estate. She had learned to walk there, learned everything that a well to do daughter of reasonable wealth ought to know. And there she learned of her family’s legacy. 

It was displayed proudly on the gold wallpaper in the parlor, in the shape of seven portraits. Grandfather, great uncles, and uncles occupied that place of honor, championing for the Hale name: one that meant success and strength. Military careers and political achievements. Their legacy was deeply steeped in English history, like the tea they drank in this very room, strong and dark but still well loved. Like their family gatherings for small pastries and that hot beverage, Ida had been taught early on how to act and behave. Like a good daughter and a good girl should. 

She would offer the tea, as a good hostess would. Ida would sit neatly, primly, like a good girl should. Ida would always smile and nod along with her father’s not so gentle pressure of the recent eligibility of certain family friends. Because a good daughter would marry well. 

Even in the 1930s, with women’s vote a fresh memory and the progression of the world, some things hadn’t changed. Legacy was the currency in which the elite dealt and Ida didn’t have any of her own. She could borrow from the pocket of her father and of her brothers. Daniel and Everett had power to spare. Sons of Colonel Arthur Hale were enough to grant them anything they desired, opening doors that would turn away Ida, though they bore the same name. 

She knew that this was a fact of life. She also knew she had to further the legacy of another, by giving life to another family’s future while never seeing a mark of her own. The portraits were of men: fathers and sons. But the mothers were never shown. Nor the daughters. The key to their continued life and they were not shown in a single frame. 

What would it take for her to be in one of those frames on that wall? Perhaps on a wall of her own? Ida Louise Hale with a legacy like her father’s but one that wouldn’t be stamped out like a spark. One that would last forever and ever. Like her father’s. Like every other Hale in history. 

It wasn’t academics or career. Even the eccentric choice she had gone with. Everett and Daniel had been called up, pushing a pin into this chapter of the Hale timeline. Marked with their bravery in 1939. They joined the Army and the Navy before the war had started, when it was just starting to brew. Ida hadn’t done it to be like them. She had joined the SOE to become better than them. Some women would become nurses and some would keep the homefires burning but Ida had spent too long staring at her great-grandfather’s military uniform to not snatch up the first opportunity of service. 

A man at a party had found her in the corner, in a deep conversation with a friend in French. Ida could acclimate to climates and atmospheres in the social scene, a skill that her mother had passed on. It was survival for women. 

“You speak French well,” The man had said. 

“I should hope so,” Ida had laughed, in that bell-like tone that was trained into her. Lillian Hale had taught her how to be a good hostess and an even better flirt. Women didn’t have a legacy but they did have appearances and character. “My parents spent a fortune on a tutor.” 

The question had turned into an invitation with the blink of an eye. An office in Whitehall, then on a train to Scotland where her life of reasonable comfort and ease was replaced with grease and long runs in the fog. But being remembered for more than the life you brought had a heavy price. Sweat dripping down Ida’s back and fingers calloused from the sharp metal of the gun was the payment due. 

Gone were the smooth hands that had never worked for more than charity, replaced with hands deft with guns, radios, and paper bound secrets. Her mother had spoken of the holidays she had gone on in France as a child but the world described to Ida, wrapped up in blankets and tucked neatly in her bed, wasn’t the one she walked with caution. Paris was only three months occupied but the curfew wasn’t quite the glittering city Lillian had described. 

The gardens were still lovely, just as her mother had promised. Flowers still in bloom in mid-August though the heat was nearly unbearable. The gray uniforms must have been stifling for the Germans but Ida’s blue skirt and blouse would keep her cool. She sat on the bench beyond the lilac bushes, waiting for her contact who had promised to meet her in a cafe down the road. There was no point in arriving early, not when meeting anyone to pass information was dangerous enough. 

Pigeons flitted around her feet, an ever present pest in Paris, gobbling up what crumbs remained from some kinder pedestrian’s birdseed. Ida didn’t like to feed the creatures, who were sure to swarm if food was in sight. Ida had grown used to them, almost, in the nearly six months she had spent on the continent. Dropped in Belgium and traveling on foot to Paris, Ida had only the guise of a student and the orders to establish a network of contacts. 

The sea of feathers parted in wake of a man, around her age, walking confidently towards her. His posture gave a sense of youth and enthusiasm that was furthered by the look in his eye. He marched straight towards her, never a foot wavering. 

There was nothing menacing in his gate that would suggest a Nazi secret police or someone with an intent to harm. But he never wavered. The man sat beside her, ignoring the pocketbook and stack of books between them, the universal sign for occupancy. 

He smiled at her, bright and almost as unwavering as his march towards her. She raised her eyebrows. 

“I believe there is a less crowded bench over there,” Ida said, pointing to the other side of the park. 

“Two isn’t a crowd, is it?” He said, eyes twinkling. “And there are no pigeons over there.” 

Pigeons. Of course, he chose to sit directly beside her for the bird watching.

 Ida shifted. She had been used to overeager men at social gatherings and had learned how to read them in Scotland during training. This one offered no ill will that she could recognize, just a set of brown eyes that were melting in the August heat. He was handsome, in an endearing way. But Ida was still suspicious. 

“Are you a student?” He asked, not missing a beat despite the steady look Ida was leveling. She wasn’t a mean spirit by nature but she didn’t have time to engage in pleasantries with a Parisian, not when she would meet the key to establishing a network in France for lunch in a few minutes. 

“Are you?” She asked, speeding up the small talk script that was known to everyone and all too familiar to her. Ida had spent hours working on etiquette as a girl and had memorized every rule in the book. She also knew when to break them. 

“Yes, at the University of Paris,” He said. “I’m Marc, by the way. A pleasure to meet you?” 

“Is it?” Ida asked. Was it a pleasure when he had sat on her bench, encroaching upon her solitude and started to inquire about pigeons.

“Yes, it is. That’s why I said it.” 

“And your name is?” He pressed further, refusing to take silence as an answer. He didn’t seem to understand the subtle social cues. Ida would have to be more direct in her approach. 

“Louise,” She said, smiling just as brightly as the grin he had offered a few moments before. Marc blinked, as if shocked by her sudden switch. His mouth hung open as she tossed a lock of hair over her shoulder. “Tell me, what brings you to my bench?” 

“A beautiful girl,” he said, grinning again. 

Ida glanced around. The park was empty other than the man beside her. “I don’t see her, shall I keep you company while you wait?” 

“That would be very kind of you,” 

Ida turned back to face the pathway, letting the slight breeze blow the hair off the back of her neck where it clung with sweat. She was flushed, by the heat, not this man’s presence. She was frustrated by him, that’s what this was. Ida had one job in Paris: establish a network of contacts and informants who were ardently Anti-Nazi. Once that was done, she would have a functioning legacy that would continue to provide information to help the war. That was it. That was her plan. 

But this Marc didn’t want her to have a plan, it seemed. He kept chattering, trying to compliment her in a thousand different ways. Her watch was nearing noon and she wouldn’t have much time. 

“Oh look,” Ida said quickly. “Here comes your pretty girl now,” 

She gestured toward a small blonde, who hastened up the path towards them. 

“That’s my sister,” He said, chuckling at the girl. 

“Enjoy your family, catch up,” Ida said, standing and gathering her books to leave.  “ I would hate to interrupt.” 

He touched her arm, stopping her from running down the path of the gardens towards the cafe where Genevieve De Gualle was sure to be waiting. “You never answered, are you a student?” 

“Yes,” She said, allowing a small slip. Why was she telling him her legend? A stranger off the streets who wanted to watch pigeons and flirt shamelessly? “At the University of Paris.” 

It was all a lie. Papers provided by the British government made a good cover but not the truth. Marc didn’t seem to care, just grinning again. His smile was too bright and his enthusiasm continued to rise, the longer he looked at her. 

“I’m sure I’ll see you around, Louise,” He said. 

“I’m sure you’ll try,” She said, and against her better judgment, she smiled. Ida turned and marched out of sight around a lilac bush.

#ida hale #marc klein #engraved in stone

[braeslae]

Rayd vs Samson (OC Short Story)

Some context first, Rayd’s power system is inspired by Luffy from One Piece (Gear Second) and Jugo from Naruto.

I walk through the damp cold air of the underground ruins hoping to see my goal soon. My glasses wet from the moisture lingering in the air and my legs tired from a days worth of walking. I finally decide to rest on a rock protrusion that somewhat resembled a seat. I begin to sigh as I remove my glasses and message the bridge of my nose. I wasn't at all prepared for a trek like this but as usual, I sensed adventure and a chance to learn something new and made the foolish decision to chase it unprepared. All I had with me were the clothes on my back (which amounted to a gray tee-shirt, black cargo shorts, and my running shoes), my school bag with some snacks, a map of the area, a magazine detailing the ancient history of Wales, my phone, wallet, and a folding knife.

I finish lamenting my excitable nature and replace my glasses onto my face. I force myself to stand and begin walking through the corridor of jagged stone and soon reach an opening to a massive room with what looks like an ancient temple that seems to have been untouched for ages. I walk towards the temple in the middle of the giant chamber and arrive at a large marble door and push it open to reveal a single room with a coffin-sized pearl chest in the center surrounded by lit bronze braziers. I walk towards the chest hoping to find my prize for the trip. Carnwennan, King Arthur's legendary dagger that he used to cut the black witch Orddu in two. My leads in search of this ancient weapon have taken me here.

I place my hand on the top of the aged pearl finish and begin to lose myself in thought. In that contemplative moment, I felt a heavy rumble coming from the chest. The chest burst open splintering into thousands of fragments as a large fist shot through the side of the box and was planted into my gut in what felt like a split second. Before I knew what happened I was sent flying headfIrst into the doors of the temple with such force that they shattered On impact sending shrapnel flying for several meters from where I landed outside. After a moment to register what happened, I slowly lift my head up to see a monster of a man brushing what's left of the chest off of his broad shoulders.

Luckily I managed to harden my skin just in time to prevent any serious damage to my organs. I lift myself off of the ground and begin to analyze my enemy. He seemed to be roughly six feet and build like an elephant with muscle that was nearly tearing his shirt. He wore a black t-shirt, black cargo pants, black boots with fingerless gloves that also sported what I can only assume was his favorite color. Now finished dusting himself off he starts walking towards me with heavy beats as his boots slam into the ground. Why is he here? What does he want? Where is the dagger? All valid questions, however, the enemy seems more focused on fighting than talking it out. I decide to accept his challenge and walk towards him as well.

When we're only about a foot or so from one another I decide to try and probe for any information I can get. "Who the hell are you and what do you want?" Silence. "Fine..." I say under my breath. I jump into the air to match his height and harden the skin on my left shin, with all the force I can muster in the air my leg connects with his neck. "Gotcha!" I yell victoriously. A smile creeps onto the man's face as he sends another giant fist into my body sending me through the wall of the temple. Ready this time I come back faster and jump through the dust left behind after his attack and send a barrage of punches towards his face and neck. He shakes them off fairly easily and tries attacking again with a right jab. I manage to avoid the assault by ducking and quickly increase the muscle mass on both arms and legs. With that power I shoot myself up with all the power I could muster and blast his chin with my right uppercut.

My attack sends the man soaring into the roof of the temple and beyond. I feel my body relax as it reverts back to normal. "Geez, I'm gettin' rusty". I say to myself. Only a moment later a figure crashes through the ceiling again and lands a few yards in front of me. "I can see why they have so much trouble with you"! The figure exclaims. I look closely to see the man from earlier standing in front of me glaring at me with what I think was excitement. "My name? THEY call me Samson"! The man yells at me. "Geez, you're really something ya know? Most people couldn't stand after an attack like that". The man now known as Samson stares at me waiting for another round of battle. I sigh as I run my hand through my hair trying my best to fix it. "Oh well, guess you aren't givin' up huh"?

I bend over to untie my shoes and then kick them off. Samson looks on with confusion as I continue and take my socks off and throw them where my shoes now lay. "Alright then...If you don't wanna tell me where the dagger is now, maybe you'll tell me after I kick your ass"! I exclaim as small jets made of my hardened skin form on both elbows, knees, and heels. "I hope you're ready"! I yell as I send a burst of heat through the Jets to prepare them. "You talk too much, COME"! Samson responds. I take that as my cue and rush him by sending a wave of heat through the jets. I appear in front of him much faster than before surprising even myself.

Samson also seemed taken aback by my newfound speed and wasn't able to block my attack in time. I firmly planted my fist square into his face and forced a strong burst of heat through my elbow. My attack finally appears to have affected him since he was sent flying with blood pouring from his nose. "Damn"! Samson cursed to himself as he regained his footing. He looked to where I had been only to see empty space and a cracked floor. Before he knew it another powerful blow was sent into his side. "GAH"! Samson had lost his breath and was left gasping for air. Once again I appeared in front of him staring up at him. Now able to breathe again Samson notices "You seem pale...this power, it must take as much as it gives". He begins to smile widely with bloodied teeth. "Hahaha, now I see, you've never actually used this technique, right? So you had no idea about what kind of drawback it'd have"! As he cackles to himself I send my foot into his chin with a gust of hot wind. Samson collapses, breaking the marble where he falls.

Seems like he's fallen unconscious. I release the jets on my body and revert back to normal again. My body feels heavier now. "Tough bastard". I say to myself as I lean against what's left of one of the temple walls. "Hmm wonder who THEY are...and what the hell do they want with me..." I think to myself. I put my socks and shoes back on and stand to notice a hole above me large enough for people to get through, almost as if it was made for that purpose. "Either way, those a-holes have my dagger"! I wander out of the cave into the starry night of Wales clutching my gut. "Time for another adventure I guess".

#oc #short fiction #story

[redemptionbaby]

imagine a witch au where you need to complete some sort of ritual to strengthen your powers... only thing is having sex with someone is part of the ritual. cue you asking arthur to lend you a helping hand. (maybe he’s always pined for you? maybe this is incubus!arthur? whatever floats ur boat)

G O O D A S K. Format might be terrible cause I’m on mobile lol I didn’t mean for this to be a ficlet

Demon!Arthur Morgan

Arthur liked getting summoned by you. He liked it a lot.

You used him for all manner of things. Well, used is perhaps the wrong word. It was more like you employed him.

Sometimes you needed heavy lifting. Sometimes you needed an escort to a dangerous grove for ingredients. Sometimes you needed his blood or his hair, or ashes dusted from his horns.

And goddamn. It was like he was a pizza delivery boy, and you were someone’s sweet fucking grandma. Always so nice, always payed him more than he needed (in offerings), always had snacks and candies for him, always invited him to stay for a little while.

He loved watching the fluffy skirt of your black dress bounce while you ran up the stairs to fetch your ingredients. The way you were so sorry to trouble him, but it never really was any trouble to him when it was you asking. He loved how you humored him, even when he asked for a kiss as payment.

Suffice to say, he had it bad.

So you might imagine his surprise when he responded to one of your routine summonings, only to find that his sigil had been drawn on the floor of your bedroom.

He had never seen it before either. The ceiling was littered with herbs hanging to dry, the shelves lined with crystals and bottles that projected moving images when the sunlight shone through them, raw magic dyes splattered on the writing desk.

Not to mention a bed full of plush pillows that smelled. Just. Like. You.

Being a naughty demon, Arthur probably would have started searching through your laundry hamper if he hadn’t heard you coming in.

You could see the sharp glint of his long canines as his mouth hung open, observing you. You were wearing just a little night dress, and the teasing expanse of your skin combined with being surrounded in your scent wasn’t helping him keep his cool.

“I... need your help with something. Please? If you’re not busy.”

“You should know by now pumpkin, I ain’t ever too busy for you. How can I be of service?”

You could feel his eyes roaming over you while you sat on your bed and nervously drew your legs up.

“Well, the time has come for me to advance my abilities and, in order for me to do that I need, uh, help.”

“Yer gonna have to be more specific, little witch.”

“I need someone... to fuck me!”

He could see it coming from a mile away, but it still knocked the wind out of him and kickstarted his fiery heart with passion. He could feel his body getting hotter as he advanced upon you with his cloven feet against your wooden floors, and you almost began crawling backwards onto the bed.

Arthur grasps your chin and forces you to look up at him, and he starts breathing ever so slightly harder as his feelings for you seize in his gut when you make eye contact.

He plants a chaste kiss to your lips, something not so uncommon, which takes on a whole new meaning with your proposal.

“And what would you be willing to pay in exchange, hun?”

“Anything I have to offer.”

“Anything?”

“...anything.”

He furrows his brows and looks away, as if he’s about to cry.

“You really should be careful with that word, darlin’. Demons like me’ll take advantage of you.”

“Maybe I want to be taken advantage of.”

Arthur commends you. You’re nothing if not brave. He takes you by the shoulders and pushes you down gently, crawling on top of you, kissing up your neck and against your cheek and temple, inhaling deeply. He speaks softly into your ear.

“I’ll do this for you, baby, on one condition. This can’t just be a one time thing. And I don’t mean I want a contract. I want more. I want your love, your life, anything else you can throw at me, for the next eternity.”

He rises, looking down at you and awaiting your answer. You raise a hand to his cheek, and he can’t help but lean into your touch.

“Like a marriage?” He laughs lowly.

“Yeah. Somethin’ like that.” Arthur found himself silenced by the way you stroked your thumb over his bottom lip, staring at him with a fondness he’d never known. If you rejected him now, he’d die, he was sure of it.

“I think I can live with that. If you do well in bed, that is.” He could sense the nervousness behind your voice. Like you were almost worried he’d take you seriously, and his feelings would be hurt. And that’s what he loved about you.

“Sweetheart, you’ve got another thing coming. Get ready to say goodbye to yer loneliness, little witch.”

What you said next erased all of his doubts completely. Any doubts that you might not love him, that he wouldn’t be good for you, that you’d just end up another master grown tired of him.

“I was never lonely. I’ve always had you.”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #writing #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #demon au #fantasy au #witch au #au #gold star ask #drabble