#i saw a post that said something like you ever think of arthur and feel genuine grief

[daisydood]

yk those little scenes after his diagnosis when arthur just has to sit for a second and rest? i cried every. single. time.

we knew how his story was gonna end and so did he and those little moments tied it together so horribly well it makes me so sad

#im being deadass i sat there and cried like a baby #i saw a post that said something like you ever think of arthur and feel genuine grief #and YES??? yes i do its so sad #i need to stop thinking about this #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #dc speaks!! #arthur morgan #god the reservation missions were ROUGH for him

[fangirl-dot-com]

Chapter 6 - Ok It’s Happening! Everyone Stay Calm!

This chapter is going to span Tuesday night into Wednesday night. Nothing really happens in between the initial post and family dinner, so I tried to add some things to fluff it up. You finally get to read a bit of reader-lore. The next chapter, “Family Dinner,” will be posted Wednesday night. Enjoy and don’t forget to comment to be added to the tag list :D 

Arthur had to leave early Monday morning. You were sad, but were thankful that he was able to come spend a few nights with you. You almost forgot why you were in London in the first place. 

Oh yeah, to become one of the best freaking F1 drivers there ever were. You could see the TikTok edits now. You hoped there would be at least one with an Olivia Rodrigo song in the background. Or maybe Taylor Swift? The possibilities were endless. 

You were able to drive the car a few more times in the span of Monday and today. You really felt like you were becoming more familiar with it. One of the last times, they put you into the RB-19, just to get a feel for it for Vegas. 

Speaking of Vegas, something popped up on your Instagram that you just had to share with Vito. 

“Hey Vito, can you find me someone to marry while I’m in Vegas?” you nonchalantly asked while the two of you were having breakfast. He nearly spit out his orange juice. 

“Excuse me?” he responded while wiping his mouth with the nice cloth napkin. The brunch place was very high end. You ended up getting pancakes though, while Vito got something you didn’t even want to try to pronounce. 

“Well, there’s this Formula 1 wedding chapel, and I thought, how cool would it be to get married there while it’s up? So, I thought I’d ask to see if you could find me someone.” 

Vito took a deep breath before massaging his brow. He was “this close” to quitting. But he would never do that to you. Instead, he said, “Kid. You cannot get married in Vegas.” 

He thought you would have put up more of a fight, but you just shrugged and stuffed your mouth full of another bite of pancake. He shook his head as he tried to take another sip of his drink. The breakfast went well after that. You didn’t try to bring it up, but somehow, you would find your way to this chapel. Even if you weren’t going to get married. 

As the two of you walked out of the building, you angled your body to Vito. “So, what do I have to do?” 

He looked at his phone, “So you have to approve your helmet. And then we have to take some pictures for your post tonight. Tomorrow we have a flight to catch that will take us to Vegas. After, you will get settled at the hotel and then eat dinner with the team.” 

“Geez, that seems like a lot doesn’t it?” You opened the driver door to your vehicle. Vito had said that it was your time to drive. You wanted to argue that every other waking moment was spent behind the wheel, but you knee that he wanted to be the passenger princess for once. He said that was not the case as he couldn’t handle you picking Country Girl by Luke Bryan one more time.

He said he even heard the song in his dreams. 

You thought that was total madness. How could someone get tired of Luke Bryan. Maybe Daniel would listen to it with you at some point, if the two of you got close enough. Vito had walked around the car, got in, and started to buckle. 

Using the button to start the car, the engine came to life. You carefully backed out of the parking space and pulled onto the road. Per the request of the Vito and Mitch, you were to return to RB to go over some last-minute paperwork and things of that nature. 

Since the drive was so familiar by now, the time seemed to fly by even faster. You knew what you were doing. It was crazy to think that just last week, you were winning your F2 championship with no future plans. And now you were pulling up to headquarters like it was just another Tuesday. 

Time was weird like that. 

At the building, you almost cried when you saw your helmet. You wanted to make a joke, but decided against it. You could do that later over the radio in free practice one. It was everything that your little F1-loving heart ever wanted. The white and silver had a great contrast. But your favorite part was the glitter. You tried it on and had a couple of pictures taken. You let them know which ones were your favorites. 

You later found yourself in a conference room going over last-minute legal things. Vito made sure that you knew what you were getting into with a multi-year contract and how much it would damage you if you were to break it. You were still 100 percent with it all. You also discussed what picture you wanted to use for their official statement. You picked one that had been taken after your first F2 win of the 2023 season. You sheepishly smiled when they pointed out the Mercedes logo, but you told them that it was there since you had won a sponsorship to help pay for everything. You had no loyalties to the other British team. 

“All right, I think that wraps things up. Any questions, comments, or concerns?” one of the lawyers asked as he packed his things up. 

With multiple shakings of heads, he bid farewell and left the room. 

Now that it was just you, Mitch, and Vito, you spun your chair to face the two of them. You felt like a villain out of a movie as you put your hands together.

“Mitch, did you bring the special thing that I asked for?” you said in a darker tone, wanting to feel mysterious. 

She rolled her eyes as she got up and walked to a clothing bag that was laying on the end of the table. She brought it back over and laid it over your lap. 

You unzipped the bag and stared at the item. It was a vintage Red Bull bomber jacket. Just the sight wanted to make you cry. 

You stood up and carefully put the jacket on. You turned towards Mitch and Vito. 

“How do I look?” you asked. Now you were getting shy. You might be loud with people you were comfortable with, but you always put people’s opinion of you over anything else. They both had comforting smiles. 

“I think you were born to wear that jacket kid,” Vito said, with almost tears in his eyes. 

“Same here Y/n. You truly belong with us,” Mitch said as she gave you a hug. You let a few tears fall when doing so. It had been long since you really felt accepted somewhere. 

With your parents, you constantly wanted their approval, but never got it. That drove you to be the best at everything. People always told you to quit in F4, but you slowly rose above them as you entered F3. There, people told you that you, a girl, did not belong in F3. You were only 15 at the time. 

You proved them wrong as you became the first female to join the ranks of F2 two years later. You spent 3 years fighting for your hard earned right to be there. It got easier with the help of friends, but you always wanted more. One more chance to prove yourself. And you got that with the F1 seat. 

“Could we take a few pictures for me to post later?” Mitch and Vito agreed. You three found a nice spot on a hidden balcony. It basically looked like you were on the sidewalk, but you wouldn’t take that risk. It was too close and you had people right where you wanted them. 

You had grabbed an iconic can of Red Bull on your way out and cracked it open to pose with it. It took a good 30 minutes for you to get the pose correctly. 

While going through those photos, you spoke up. 

“Did you know that my first kart had the Red Bull logo on it. I loved that thing, even if I crashed it multiple times.” You chuckled at the memories. 

“What goes around comes around,” Vito muttered as he went through the photos. 

“Reminds me of that Taylor Swift sound on Tik Tok. It’s been a long time coming.” 

Mitch gave a playful scoff, “You should use that as your caption.” You hadn’t thought of that! Mitch definitely thought that you wouldn’t, but the look on your face showed her that you really wanted to do it. She, once again, rolled her eyes at your antics. But, she herself was comforted by your easy-going personality. She had only known you for a couple of days, but you were becoming very dear to her. 

You were becoming very dear to everyone. Every worker was amazed at your talent. A few even compared you to Sebastian Vettel and their very own champion Max Verstappen. But Mitch wouldn’t tell you that in fear of scaring you off. It was a big thing to be compared to the two legends, but you didn’t need that pressure on you. You already had been through so much. Vito had let Mitch know before of what has happened with past race strategists. She never wanted to be like what you’ve had to deal with. 

You now were beginning to explain the entirety of why Taylor Swift was re-recording her albums in the first place. Your hands were pointing at invisible objects in the air while Vito just stood and listened. Mitch thought it would be hilarious to see you and Max discuss race tactics. 

There was the Maxsplaining and the Leclerifying. Now you would be Y/n-strating (illustrating but with your name in front). 

“And that is why we don’t like Scooter. We’re gonna come for his ankles before he can come for ours. Mother never told us to be nice to him,” you gestured as you finished your rant. Vito looked bored to death while Mitch was just smirking at the two of you. You wondered what she was thinking about. 

Oh well. She could read your mind but you couldn’t read hers. 

When it got dark, you and Vito headed back to hotel to pack before you were supposed to be at the hotel. Riggs, Lacy, Mitch, and other personnel would be flying out with you. There would be no commercial flight, instead there would be a private plane for everyone. You couldn’t wait, since this would be the first time to fly privately. 

There was really nothing different to it until you actually got on the plane. Security was the same and the private lounge area wasn’t much different than the ones you had already been to. There were fewer seats on the plane, but everyone fit comfortable. 

You were excited that you didn’t have to pay for WIFI on the plane to watch your TV shows. There were a couple of Brooklyn 99 episodes that you hadn’t seen yet. Once those were finished, you told yourself that you’d take a quick nap and wake up way before you landed. 

That was a lie. 

You practically slept the entire way there, and was only awoken by the plane landing. You were excited to be back in the states. You hadn’t been in years. Texas would always be your favorite state though, since you lived there for 5 years when you were in your teens. You had begged Arthur and Ollie to go with you once, but they declined and you ended up not going. You couldn’t wait to drive at COTA. 

The nap really helped as you weren’t exhausted when you got to the hotel. Vito told you though that you had time to sleep before you needed to wake up the next morning. But the nerves were getting to you. 

At 9 a.m. Red Bull would be posting the statement. Which reminded you to do the same. You inhaled sharply as you picked the pictures on your Instagram. You were able to find a picture of your old kart, and you definitely used Mitch’s suggestion for the caption. You tagged Red Bull before posting and turning off your phone. You could deal with everything tomorrow morning when you had gotten a good night’s sleep.  

Well, that good night’s sleep was way too short for your liking. Your alarm sounded way too loud and interrupted the nice dream that you were having. It was something about marrying some dude at the F1 chapel. You just couldn’t get it out of your mind. 

You took a shower to at least feel better. The staleness of the plane air clung to you throughout the night. Should you have showered after sending the world into a panic? Yes. But did you? No. Your phone might as well have combusted last night. Turning on the front screen, there were thousands upon thousands of notifications. You simply swiped left and deleted them all. 

Opening your Instagram, it was worse. Your face was everywhere. Happily, enough, almost everything was a positive outlook. Only a few bad ones stood out, but you knew better than to look. While scrolling, you were interrupted by a face time request from Ollie. You quickly picked up and were met with the sight of his face. With jaw dropped, he just stared at you. 

“Hello to you to?” 

You pulled the phone away from your face as he started screeching. You just listened as he ranted for another 10 minutes before he went silent. 

“You done?” you deadpanned. 

“Uh, yeah. I think so.” 

“Ok good.” You went on to tell him about everything that happened in the past week. He definitely whined when you told him that Arthur knew before he did. He demanded that you tell him next time. And you told him that you hoped that there wouldn’t be a next time. You were determined to stay with Red Bull for as long as possible. 

After the phone call, you kind of just chilled around the room all day. Dinner wasn’t until later and you had time to get ready. 

After watching episodes upon episodes, you saw that you needed to get ready. With your trusty playlist, cans of hair spray, your makeup, and your curling iron – you were ready for the battle that was looking perfect for dinner. 

Each curl had to be calculated, each face product must be weighed to the exact suggested amount. Did you do either? No. 

You just did it how you normally did, and somehow you got it done. You took a quick picture and posted it on your story. The dress you picked was black. A long slit showed just enough leg, while there was only one sleeve. You paired it with some gold heals. You only hoped it wasn’t too much, but you wanted to make a good impression. Vito had gotten the go ahead from Christian beforehand. The restaurant was supposed to be of the upmost hoity-toity-ness and you hoped you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself. 

With a knock on your door, you knew it was time to meet the family.  

(Your story)

Tag List : @awekbachira @lightdragonrayne @leilanixx @angsthology @digitalizeduniqueness @topguncultleader @landosgirlxoxo @gods-menace @itsjustkhaos @thefandomswhre @alwaysboredsworld @vellicora @bintuabbas @sam-is-lost @empress-kimiko @assholeinatrenchcoat @kagatinkita @glitterquadricorn @zyonsay @tsukishimawhore @treehouse-mouse

#charles leclerc x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x driver!reader #max verstappen x reader #platonic grid x reader #arthur leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #formula 1 x you #lando norris x reader #ollie bearman x reader #oscar piastri x reader #logan sargeant x reader #alex albon x reader #george russell x reader #lewis hamilton x reader

[leclerc-s]

paint the town red - part ten

THE GREAT ADMIN WAR

series masterlist

HUNGARY 2024

charles leclerc i'm sorry seb! you can't be mad at me.

sebastian vettel charles, you told the internet i had a crush on mark

charles leclerc but you did?

carlos sainz and you told them about his almost make-out with max.

ollie bearman we all saw that coming. i was around for mexico last year.

tony stark are you sleeping with the enemy leclerc?

charles leclerc no.

harley keener oh boy wait until this guy finds out who he is sleeping with

charles leclerc shut your fucking mouth keener!

tony stark i promised pepper i would stop being annoying

arthur leclerc WAIT- IS HE- OH MY GOD!

tony stark WHAT THE HELL DID YOU GET FROM THAT?

ollie bearman OH MY GOD! HOW IS HE THE GENIUS?

bianca stark-potts oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.

biancastark_potts posted new stories

me & bae

for context, this is what he sent me at 7:30 in the morning.

carol danvers added one person

wanda maximoff so he's bae now?

bianca stark-potts no? yelena belova she loooves him

kamala khan oh my god this is the best day of my life.

yelena belova that is a child.

carol danvers kamala is not a child.

queen shuri how old is she?

kamala khan i'm 16!

riri williams by the way, who's bianca seeing?

queen shuri charles

riri williams HER DRIVER?

natasha romanoff now that i think about he is exactly her type.

pepper potts goofy? michelle jones will most likely blush when she calls him a pet name? wanda maximoff flirts with his childhood rival? queen shuri green eyes? natasha romanoff exactly.

bianca stark-potts when have i ever dated someone like him?

yelena belova SO YOU ARE DATING?!

bianca stark-potts NO STOP IT!

kamala khan but she likes him!

bianca stark-potts WHO LET THE CHILD IN HERE?

carol danvers i have never been this interested in someone's love life before.

kamala khan that's because you were in space for the longest time and are now dating an asgardian. carol danvers KAMALA! kamala khan i'm getting the feeling that no one knew that.

natasha romanoff WHAT? WHO?

bianca stark-potts 10 bucks it's valkyrie

carlos danvers 10 bucks bianca's dating charles but won't admit it because she's afraid that natasha and wanda will do what they did last time.

wanda maximoff it was something perfectly normal to do.

bianca stark-potts YOU BROKE INTO HIS HOUSE! natasha romanoff and he ended up cheating on you so really, no regrets.

michelle jones does charles know that harry was the one who gave you the dog? the same dog who loves charles very much and that charles adores?

kate bishop OSBORN?

bianca stark-potts not my brightest moment

kate bishop EVERYONE KNOWS OSBORN IS THE BIGGEST DICKHEAD AROUND!!

bianca stark-potts HE WASN'T A DICKHEAD WHEN WE FIRST STARTED DATING!!

kate bishop HE'S ALWAYS BEEN A DICKHEAD! HE JUST TRICKED YOU!

peter parker heeyy, guess what i just found out talking to red bull's media admin.

isaiah atkins peter if this another genius idea to wage war against the other teams i will tie you against our hospitality.

peter parker that is aggressive. but no bianca's going to hate this.

harley keener oh this is gonna be good.

peter parker guess who red bull invited to the next gp.

tony stark oh no. bianca stark-potts i knew this was going to bite me in the ass when carol brought him up.

charles leclerc what are we talking about?

harley keener oh boy, i can't wait to see how this one will go down.

bianca stark-potts HARLEY SHUT THE FUCK UP!

tony stark seriously hungary of all places? why not miami or monaco? hell texas or vegas would be a better place.

tony stark can't believe the dickhead said yes.

sebastian vettel what the hell is he upset about now?

peter parker oh it's great, bianca's ex boyfriend is attending the hungarian grand prix with red bull. peter parker the same one who gave her the dog we all know and love

bianca stark-potts PETER!!

ollie bearman i thought you said a friend gave you that?

harley keener oh it gets better. he asked her out with the dog as a gift.

charles leclerc oh.

charles leclerc would you look at that i suddenly have something to do with my brother.

arthur leclerc we do? charles leclerc yes we do

tony stark what's wrong with him?

sebastian vettel how do you not get it?

peter parker i'm also confused.

ollie bearman you're both hopeless.

ex-boyfriend huh?

harry and i dated but i never brought him up because he cheated on me. it's just- it's not important

he gave you a dog when he asked you to be his girlfriend.

i asked you out using a lightning mcqueen meme that you posted on your story.

and it was very adorable charles. i wouldn't change it for the world.

i'm not asking for you to do extravagant things like harry did. usually when he did them it meant he was cheating on me again.

a dog is not extravagant.

and what do you mean again?

it happened like four or five times each time with the same girl. the only reason i found out was because nat and wanda broke into his apartment.

they won’t do that to me right?

they might?

my apartment is a mess! they can’t break in with it like that!

glad to know those are your priorities.

are you kidding me, it’s black widow and the scarlet witch, they can’t see my messy apartment!

charles, it'll be fine. i doubt they'll break into your apartment.

but if they do?

they won't.

what if they do?

i'll talk to them.

bianca stark-potts

kamala khan that's so adorable.

michelle jones and they call this man a terror?

yelena belova he was a terror. i've seen the videos

natasha romanoff now i want to break into his apartment to see how messy it is.

wanda maximoff this is all the confirmation i needed to know that they are dating.

maria hill she warned him about you two breaking into his apartment. they're dating.

queen shuri i can't wait to see tony lose his shit over this.

riri williams i can should've seen this coming. he's exactly her type. america chavez you've been around less than me HOW DO YOU KNOW HER TYPE? riri williams i read the groupchat america!

hope van dyne i was in a meeting what did i miss?

hope van dyne OH MY GOD!! SCOTT OWES ME SO MUCH MONEY!!

bianca stark-potts YOU BET ON ME?

hope van dyne we bet that you would end up with a driver and we were right! scott thought it would be logan or lando. my money was on verstappen or charles.

alex albon all those in favor of max releasing the mad dutchman on this osborn guy

max verstappen why would i do that?

lando norris isn't it obvious? because she's dating the platonic love of your life

pierre gasly he's the platonic love of my life! yuki tsunoda do i mean nothing to you? pierre gasly yuki, no, it's not what it looks like!

george russell max just do as we ask! take him out!

oscar piastri as a date or murder? lando norris either works.

lando norris notice how he didn't argue that charles is the platonic love of his life.

max verstappen charles is not the platonic love of my life. it's daniel.

daniel ricciardo i'll take him out. i'll do it for vegas 2019!

charles leclerc NO! NO ONE TAKE HIM OUT!

charles leclerc WHAT'S THE FASTEST WAY TO CLEAN A MESSY APARTMENT?

pierre gasly WE'RE IN HUNGARY YOU IDIOT!

charles leclerc I AM IN DANGER OF IT GETTING BROKEN IN BY BLACK WIDOW AND THE SCARLET WITCH!! SOS!!

george russell WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT?

carlos sainz according to harley it's ritual to do with all of bianca's boyfriends.

max verstappen wait what does that have to do with harry?

charles leclerc oh so he's harry now? max verstappen christian said i have to be nice to him. something about him being some good investor but i couldn't care less charles leclerc take him out. max verstappen and why should i do that charles? charles leclerc ARE YOU KIDDING ME VERSTAPPEN!! HE- YOU KNOW- HE CHEATED ON BIANCA!! max verstappen and why is that important charlie? charles leclerc THAT'S MY GIRLFRIEND YOU IDIOT! THAT'S WHY!

max verstappen BOOM! I WIN! PAY UP LOSERS!

pierre gasly NO YOU CALLED HIM CHARLIE! YOU CHEATED!

max verstappen I TOLD YOU LOSERS I COULD GET HIM TO CONFIRM THAT THEY WERE DATING!

charles leclerc YOU MADE A BET ON ME?

carlos sainz it's not fair, they didn't let me participate because i'm your teammate

oscar piastri can i let it be known that i didn't want anything to do with this?

logan sargeant LIAR! YOU WERE THE BOOKIE!

charles leclerc I TRUSTED YOU OSCAR!

oscar piastri it was either bookie or they were going to make me flirt with peter and figure out if he knew something.

daniel ricciardo i'm back what did i miss?

daniel ricciardo OH COME ON MAX GOT HIM TO SPILL THE BEANS BEFORE ME??

alex albon there is no getting in the way of lestappen daniel. it's time we accepted that. bianca should too if she's going to date charles.

charles sat in his room, frowning down at his phone nothing was worse than a 'we need to talk text.' his stomach currently felt like there were a million bees buzzing around in there. the knock at his door startled him and he rushed to open it, being met with the sight of of bianca. she smiled brightly at him, causing the bees to subside a bit.

"you wanted to talk?" charles asked. bianca noticed the scared expression on charles' face and her eyes widened, quickly understanding what charles thought there talk was going to about.

“no! this isn’t that kind of talk, i swear,” bianca quickly said.

“then what is it about?” charles questioned.

“can i come in?” charles nodded, stepping out of the doorway and opening the door wider, allowing her in. bianca gave him a slight smile, before moving to sit on the couch in his room. she sighed, “i owe you an explanation about harry.”

“no, you don’t,” charles said, as he sat next to her. bianca laid her head on his shoulder. charles intertwined their hands, “i do, and it’s the least i can do. besides, if i learned anything from that relationship it’s that honesty is always the way right thing to do.”

“okay,” charles whispered. bianca sighed again, “i met him at some charity event my dad was holding, when i was a little girl, before he was iron man. os corp was stark industries biggest rival, it still is. but somehow we were friends growing up.”

“romeo and juliet,” charles muttered. bianca laughed, “funny, my mom said the same thing. we- we didn’t start dating until we were 17, both of our dads were against it, but norman. norman saw it as an opportunity to show the public that he and my didn’t hate each other. i was a business opportunity to him.”

charles frowned, "that's not very nice of him."

"well he turned out to be a supervillain on another earth who hated peter. so fingers crossed he doesn't turn out like that here."

"what?"

"that's a wild story for another time," bianca explained, "but i loved harry. he was my first everything, except kiss. i lost that one in a game of truth or dare at a party when i was 13."

"hmm, i was kissed in front of a swing set when i was 9."

bianca laughed, "i loved him charlie, and he used it against me. the girl's name isn't important, although, she was very much aware that harry was in a relationship with me. the entire time we were together he was with her. 3 years of my life down the drain, wasted on someone who was never even worth it."

"i'm sorry chérie (dear) ," charles whispered as he hugged her, bianca burying her head in the crook of his neck, "you should've never gone through that with someone like him. maybe it was a good idea to convince max to take him out."

"like a date? or like murder?"

charles shrugged with one shoulder, "it doesn't matter, either works. although, i think kelly might be upset over the date one."

"and christian would upset when max ends up in prison for murder."

charles laughed and bianca giggled softly, "he's such a connard," charles said.

"i don't know what that means," bianca admitted.

"asshole. it means asshole."

"good," bianca said, "because he is one."

"we should- non c'est bête (no, it's stupid)," charles cut himself off. bianca pulled away from him, "no, what were you going to say?"

"it is dumb," charles said as he dismissed his own thoughts.

"it's not," bianca argued, "what is it?"

"we should- we should go somewhere over break. like as a couple. that is what we are no?"

bianca smiled widely at him, "yes we are, and we should. where are we going?"

"oh," charles said, surprised, "i did not think you would say yes. i have not thought that far ahead."

"it's okay. we can go anywhere. i don't mind."

"well i'm glad we are a couple because i accidentally told a few other drivers we were dating."

"charles, i called you bae, and wanda immediately caught on."

charles laughed and bianca smiled at him. she curled into him, laying her head on his chest. the stark-potts girl yawned, "can i take a nap?"

"yeah," charles whispered, "you can take a nap. i think i'll nap with you."

"i'd like that." bianca whispered as she closed her eyes.

SPA 2024

biancastark_potts posted a new story

il mio cuore, i do speak italian, despite what people think. (my heart)

liked by biancastark_potts, olliebearman, joaquintorres and others

scuderiaferrari it's a rainy one here in spa but we're glad to end the first half of the season on such a high note. it's another double podium for the ferrari boys. see y'all after the break! next stop: zandvoort!

tagged: charles_leclerc, carlossainz55

view all comments

username this has literally been the best mid season ending ferrari has had in who knows how long.

username LET'S GO FERRARI!

username FORZA FERRARI SEMPRE!

harleykeener LET'S FUCKING GO!

↳ harleykeener is this what red bull felt like last year?

charles_leclerc that's caption is not written by peter and i know it.

↳ peterbparker ISAIAH GROUNDED ME AFTER THE INNOCENT WAR I WAGED!

↳ charles_leclerc at least he didn't tie you to the hospitality like he threatened.

redbullracing free peter! he did nothing wrong but have some fun!

mclaren free our boy! he did nothing wrong!

mercedesamgf1 free our fellow admin! we were having fun!

username isaiah let our boy out of prison!

biancastark_potts and we've got another amazing half to go!!

joaquintorres can't believe i wake up so early to watch men go vroom in odd shapes.

↳ samwilson you're literally in the air force

↳ joaquintorres literally shut up samuel!

username this has been the highlight of the season besides charles winning monaco and carlos winning spain.

series taglist: @elliegrey2803 @bingewatche @arkhammaid @sunflower-golden-vol6 @lorarri @ironspdy @mypage-myfandoms @be-your-coffee-pot @celesteblack08 @vellicora @enchantedthoughts @stopeatread @hobiismyhopeu @lilsiz @alessioayla @niniluvsainz @au-ghosttype @six-call @embrosegraves @justtprachisblog @bionic-donut @nichmeddar @landonorizzz @unluckyyoshi @jamie-selwyn @cool-ultra-nerd @kami10471633 @int3rnetgf @fernandoswarcrimes @skynel09 @arieltwvdtohamflash @brekkers-whore @camdensreg @mycenterfold @dear-fifi @chiliwhore @nothaqks @nataliambc @jensonsonlybutton @octopussesarecool @trouble-sistar @raizelchrysanderoctavius @meadhbhcavanagh @emilyval1 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @mgmoore @blushmimi @vroomvroommuppett @scarletwidow3000

strikethrough means i couldn't tag you

click here to be added to the paint the town red taglist

¡leclerc-s speaks! okay, i needed to give bianca an ex but i could not be bothered to come up with a face claim or name for him so i just went with harry osborn. i know technically the osborn family doesn't exist in the main mcu universe but in my world they do. i also googled a fan cast for harry osborn and the most popular one was timothee so i went with him. please ignore any typos in this, i made this on no sleep because insomnia is a bitch.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

#leclerc-s #paint the town red series #f1 instagram au #f1 x oc #f1 oc #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 #formula one #f1 fic #formula 1 fic #f1 x female oc #charles leclerc x female oc #marvel social media au #f1 x marvel crossover

[youjustgotpersassied]

A comprehensive compilation of why Severus Snape is an awful person that doesn’t deserve redemption, pity, or any kindness ever (not in any particular order):

- He is obsessed with the Marauders when they are younger, and tries to compare their antics to the actions of very real, blood supremacist, dark magic-using bullies that Snape was hanging out with and found amusing. (Edit: I’m adding that I’m not saying James and Sirius were right in their actions, I’m simply pointing that Snape wasn’t either. This post isn’t about the marauders, this is about Snape)

(DH, The Prince’s Tale, p673-674, Arthur A. Levine Books edition)

“‘They sneak out at night. There’s something weird about that Lupin. Where does he keep going?’ ‘He’s ill,’ said Lily. “They said he’s ill—’ “Every month at the full moon?’ said Snape. ‘I know your theory,’ said Lily and she sounded cold. ‘Why are you so obsessed with them anyway? Why do you care what they’re doing at night?’”

- Snape was very clearly trying to out Remus and actively trying to prove his case about knowing Remus was a werewolf. (More on this later)

-Calls Lily a mudblood, and then tries to excuse his actions. Then Lily says “...you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?” Snape says absolutely nothing to defend himself on this statement, so we can only assume that it is accurate and he commonly uses a slur to describe other students around him.

-We know Snape invented Levicorpus, which we later see James use. How do you think James learned it if not because Severus had used it on him or another student before? We even see Snape use Sectumsempra on James. Sectumsempra, aka the spell capable of cutting someone open and leaving them to bleed to death. This is the kind of experimentation Snape did with Dark Magic.

-Snape was willing to sacrifice the life of a BABY without a second thought until he discovered that the child was Lily’s. Even after this, he prioritizes Lily’s life and isn’t concerned whatsoever about the life of Harry, who at this time is less than a year old.

-If Voldemort had decided that Neville was the Chosen One instead of Harry, Severus Snape would still be a death eater. He didn’t think being a Death Eater was wrong in any way- it wasn’t until he was directly affected by a childhood crush did he reconsider. James and Lily Potter fought for the light because they believed in the light. Severus Snape fought against the dark because the dark had offended him. Had Voldemort gone after the Longbottoms instead, Snape would have lived and died as the most loyal Death Eater in history. Edit: I understand that we can say ‘if’ all day long. The point here I’m trying to make is that Severus Snape is only supporting the light side because it benefits him in this situation. I’m simply pointing out that he’s selfish by nature.

-The prophecy states that the child will be born to parents that have thrice defied the Dark Lord. So therefore Lily in some way defied Voldemort 3 other times. And only now Snape wants to save her? No. It has more to do with the guilt he’s feeling for telling Voldemort about the prophecy. It wasn’t her death that phased him as much as how he’d feel if he caused her death.

-Snape hates Harry simply for the fact that Harry looks like his father. Have you ever considered how Harry would’ve been treated if he’d been a girl that looked like Lily? Edit: I AM NOT INSINUATING ANYTHING PEDOPHILIC. I am making the point that when Harry come to school, Snape saw him and recognized his childhood bully, and instead of making the mature decision and not making judgments about Harry beforehand, he just assumes that Harry will be like his father was in school. If Harry had looked like Lily, Snape would’ve been more inclined to favor him the way he did Draco or Pansy. Not in a creepy way, just in a confirmation-bias kind of way.

-Severus snape once intended to publicly kill a student’s pet as punishment for getting a potion wrong. This pet was also a gift to Neville from his Uncle for getting into Hogwarts- something that his family didn’t think would happen because he wasn’t “magic enough”. So to him- Trevor is a reminder that he is a wizard and that his family is proud of him. Then Snape wants to kill him because Neville got a potion wrong, reinforcing the idea that Neville isn’t “magic enough”.

-When Snape covers for Lupin's class (told you we’d be back here), Snape taught the DADA class and made all the students write essays on how to kill werewolves so that Lupin would have to read these when he came back from going through an incredibly painful time.

-Snape did everything in his power to get Remus fired despite the fact that Remus had spent 16+ years pretty much homeless and without a job.

(OotP, Percy and Padfoot, p302, Arthur A Levine Books edition)

“‘I know she’s a nasty piece of work, though—you should hear Remus talk about her.’ ‘Does Lupin know her?’ asked Harry quickly, remembering Umbridge’s comments about dangerous half-breeds during her first lesson. ‘No,’ said Sirius, ‘but she drafted up a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years ago that makes it almost impossible for him to get a job.’”

Edit: So let’s do some basic math here. This happens in Order of the Phoenix. The anti-werewolf legislation was written two years prior. This would’ve been during or around The Prisoner of Azkaban. Why would somebody randomly write a piece of legislation like this? Let’s just say that there was a teacher that was outed as a werewolf and people were not happy about it. That would give pretty good reason for someone to write a piece of legislation that would make it hard for a werewolf to get a job. Not just Remus. Every werewolf. Who outed Remus to the wizarding world at large? Severus Snape. So for anyone suggesting that what I wrote below is as good as fanfiction, maybe actually read the books and pay attention to smaller plot lines.

-When Snape tells everyone that Remus is a werewolf, he’s not just telling students or their parents. He’s telling the wizarding world. Because of this, Dolores Umbridge wrote a law that made it almost impossible for Remus to find a job. So not only did he ruin Remus’s life. He ruined the life of Every. Single. Werewolf. in the UK.

-Neville Longbottom’s greatest fear is Severus Snape. Not the woman who tortured his parents into insanity, not the worst wizard of all time, not even any of his other followers. His TEACHER. And this is at an age where Neville doesn’t know everything about Snape and all he’s done. That speaks VOLUMES.

-Condones and takes part in bullying a CHILD when Hermione had enormous teeth EXTENDING PAST HER CHIN growing because of a hex, Snape says, “I see no difference.” After this, Hermione permanently modifies her teeth.

(HBP, Snape Victorious, p160, Arthur A Levine Books edition)

“‘I was interested to see your Patronus.’ He shut the gates in her face with a loud clang and tapped the chains with his wand again, so that they slithered, clinking, back into place. ‘I think you were better off with the old one,’ said Snape, the malice in his voice unmistakable. ‘The new one looks weak.’”

-Mocks Tonks when her Patronus changed when she fell in love with Remus despite the fact that his changed to match Lily’s.

-“Snape took the page bearing Lily’s signature, and her love, and tucked it inside his robes. Then he ripped in two the photograph he was holding, so that he kept the part from which Lily laughed, throwing the portion showing James and Harry back on the floor, under the chest of drawers…” She was laughing at her husband and son. People she loved dearly enough to give up her life and Snape took that and cut them out of it so he could pretend she was laughing for him. Her love in the letter was for Sirius who was the best man at her wedding and her good friend in the order. Snape took that so he could pretend her love was for him. This isn’t romantic. It’s creepy. Snape feels entitled to Lily’s love even though he’s done nothing to deserve it.

-The ONLY reason Snape protects Harry is that he’s under an obligation to by Dumbledore (who is blackmailing him, so Snape doesn’t have a choice). Snape isn’t doing it because he wants to. He’s doing it because if he doesn’t, Dumbledore could sell him out to Voldemort and he’d be killed.

-Again, when he kills Dumbledore, it’s not out of the kindness of his heart or his care for Dumbledore. It’s because he’ll be killed or severely punished if he doesn’t.

-Snape may have done good things, but it isn’t because he wants to. It’s because he doesn’t have a choice.

Essentially, at his roots, Snape is a self-centered blood supremacist who bullies people and only does good things when being threatened and emotionally abuses children because he can’t get over somebody he was attracted to in middle school and is perfectly fine killing adults and infants alike when it’s in his best interest.

I’d like to say that much of this is heavily borrowed or inspired by other writers on this app. I have tagged every user I have access to. However, if you see anything you have written on here or anything please feel free to message me or leave a comment. :)

@sadgaywerewolf @mrsmarymorstan @jamespotterwearsglasses @lance-the-kanto-dragon-master @coffeeinanebula @warmhappycat @pleurocoelus @madamebomb @thefingerfuckingfemalefury @whoopsrobots @harrypotterconfessions @beekeepermarycatherine @honeybadgersdontgiveashit @tonksnymphadora @barricadeponine @jadedlights07 @dobbysclothes @hogwartsandrec @kago-make-dean-some-pie @prongsmydeer @girlswillbeboys11 @siriusblaque @upsettingthedementors @marauders4evr @maxxiegalaxy @ghost-of-bambi

#harry james potter #harry potter #professor snape #snape content #hate Severus snape #lily potter #lily evans #Lily Evans potter #james potter #jily fandom #neville longbottom #luna lovegood #hermione granger #draco malfoy #albus dumbledore #albus percival wulfric brian dumbledore #jk rowling #the marauders #marauders #sirius black #remus lupin #werewolves #wizards #witches #magic #sectumsempra #voldemort #bully #halfblood Prince #anti severus snape

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Part Eight: Summons

First Installment: Here.

Last Installment: Here.

Current Installment: You are here!

Author's note: Inspired by the 1950s short story "The Man Who Came Early" by Poul Anderson. Red Sail Hall Present Day

“Don’t you dare,”

Arthur’s hand froze over Cromwell’s skull as Rhys slapped his fingers away and down and snatched up bone, gripping the jawless head by the temples and pulling it from reach. Arthur went to take it from him, but they froze as Matthew rolled over from his place and bundled into a quilt. When he didn’t wake, Rhys snapped his gaze back to Arthur, and he found himself being dragged from the study with its electric faux fire and his son draped over the sofa, sleeping like the dead. They were suddenly in the hall, and he found himself pinned against the wall by his brother’s forearm. “You are not waking mother again.”

Arthur thrust the arm away but found he couldn’t move Rhys. He’d always been denser, compact and heavy like a lead ingot. “I don’t need to. I only need the skull and the spring.”‌

“For what? You delusional bastard. Do you fancy you can open a portal?‌ You can barely make a curse box without me, much less this deep in your cups. And you are not sullying her grave with that man’s bones.”

“I have Alfred to consider. Don’t pretend you have the—”

“It’s my name he bears, you bloody bastard. How Saxon do you think Jones is? Hm? All of your children are as much us as they are you. Including Alfred.”‌

“Would you be reasonable?”

“No.” Rhys was very close, a spring force as he stood straight.

“Since when do you—”

“Since you rolled out of a bloody fairy ring and into my lap.” He prodded Arthur towards the stairs. “I am not letting you run off half-cocked because it’s easier to hurl yourself into a void than feel a fucking emotion. This isn’t you tossing yourself into a ship and running; this is a paradigm shift in the universe, you daft cunt.”

“Rhys—”

“May Mother strike me dead before I‌ lose two nephews and a brother at once,” He was very close now, and sometimes ‌Arthur remembered why there was a dragon on every flag his brother used. “You are a grown fucking man with four grown children. Take a fucking avomine, sleep more than thirty seconds, and we’ll make a move in the fucking morning. Go.”‌

Burial Mound, Cumbria The Next Morning

Matthew knows he is dying when his uncle’s arms catch and hold him and he doesn't care. He has bled to death more than once. His shoulder had nearly been torn from his body once; a lobsterback cavalryman had broken an infantry formation he’d been caught in trying to run from the cannon fire. The bare faces of his arm bones saw the sky that day. He never ran away from a fight again. He was a century older when a gaping cavern of flesh appeared where his belly once was. A‌ piece of shrapnel severed his spine and his jugular. And blasted a hole through his front. This is worse. This is much worse, but Alasdair kisses his head, and Matthew stands, blank and unmoving.

He has said goodbye to the two who were once his siblings, and he hopes the squeeze they gave him isn't the last good thing he ever feels. Now he is without them, standing before the ruins of a chapel. Trees soar to the sky, older than most in England, but spaced like the posts of a palisade. He can hear running water and whispers. Aunt Brighid is there. Father asks her something. Softer than he ever does, and she stands tall.

“I‌ wove the spells into his cradle, I‌ will not damn him to a grave so far from home. And the past is another country.”

His father is not often speechless, but the novelty is not enough to stop the bleeding. There is no trace of red, but he wishes it would be over, that it could all seep into the earth and let him go—anything to make the silence end. Even a scream will not pierce it now; it lays so thick over his thoughts. He is dying. Uncle Rhys lights a torch, then two more. Even here, lifting light, Matthew is redundant. He can only follow as his father and uncles follow their sister, lingering behind as she walks ahead. Alasdair, Rhys, and last, Arthur. Perhaps the first time in a thousand years his father has not led. His uncles carve sharp shapes into old indentations softened by exposure. His father cuts his hand and presses blood into the runes until it drips into the furrows and inks their carvings into contrast with the darkness. Matthew cannot read the shapes. His aunt sings, and he does not understand the words. As he always has, he clings to the tree line and watches others do their work. Something in him wants to die. Something in him knows his will, drowning in silence that will not let him hear his own voice anymore.

A woman’s figure appears. His father’s mother, but not his grandmother. Her time is too far gone for him to know her now if he ever did. Matthew’s hands are shaking now. They speak more words he does not understand. The Welsh vowels and little pieces of Scots Gaelic he can hear refuse to make any sense. He knows Gaelic the way he does his French, as natural as breathing, but he cannot put meaning to sound, and nothing makes sense. He wishes he would bleed to death already.

Then, Life.

His world broke open with a song. He doesn’t know which one. Something about a republic and grapes of wrath: the chorus is the laugh of North America, showing teeth and soaring like the sky. Alfred. A‌ branch nearly takes his head off as he smashes through the trees towards the sound. More laughter. His world was born from a bolt of it centuries before. The pool of a spring lap at the stones of the edge, and the water sings in his brother’s voice for a moment before Matthew realizes the sound is below the water. There is no bottom of the pool; the stone edges descend into a black abyss. He would not have understood the depth of it even a moment before Alfred cut himself free from their reality. Kneeling, he touched the edges of the stone and knew the rounded channels locking into place were his uncles doing, the same dry stone construction of a broch.

“Mattie,” Alfred spoke, only barely damped by the water. A week without Alfred and he'd lost more love than Francois had given him in 150 years. Just a thread of it wound around his heart, hearing his name on the piano notes of his brother's laugh and pulled him forward.

He dove.

#hws england #hws canada #my writing || cacoethes scribendi #the dangeld axe to grind: the viking age time travel au

[koco-coko]

When the World Exploded - - Vincent x Jean - Ikemen Vampire Fic

-> His eyepatch was off, and yet the world didn’t end. In fact, it began anew.

Tags/Warnings <--> Angst then Fluff, Lots of Cuddles and Kisses, Soft and Slow, Bad Cooking, Hidden Relationship, Beginning of Relationship, HEAVY SPOILERS for BOTH suitors, Main POV: Jean D'Arc, HEAVY Exploration of Depression, Passive Suicidal Ideation and Religious Guilt.

Word Count: 5,005 (Around 12 pages)!

A/N <--> this originally started as super fluff but boy oh boy I forgot how messed up these two were. Still super fluff but wow I may have gone a little overboard. So please don't force yourself to read this if you're really sensitive to these things, promise I won't be hurt by it <:)

i think they might like this: @azulashengrottospiano @natimiles @weirdwriter69 (lots of interaction with the jean x vincent posts so i thought i'd tag sorry if you didnt want to be)

Jean never expected to be here. Jean didn’t expect to be alive. Jean didn’t expect much of anything, really.

So imagine his surprise to remember that a blonde painter had arms tightly wrapped around his waist and kept drawing him closer into the scent of dry paint and sunflowers, a hint of pancake batter mixed in there, too.

Jean tried to move away, only to have the arm around him tense and pull him further in. A small hum came from the sleeping painter, his head resting on back of Jean's neck. He couldn’t help it when an uncomfortable shudder went through him. His lips were so close to his ear, the beating of his heart right against his back…

Sure, they agreed beforehand but he never expected this. A part of him wanted to escape. It was all too much, too new. Yet Vincent wouldn’t let him get away, and maybe that was for the better. Despite the blank face and cold demeanor, he was sensitive to many, many things. A case of touch-starvation didn’t help the fact. After a momentary inner conflict, Jean let out a deep sigh and dug his face into the pillow beside him. He could do it. He fell asleep like this once tonight, he could do it again.

He came to learn that there were a lot of firsts when being revived as a vampire.

It was the first time he ever felt attracted to someone, let alone a man.

It was only when Vincent started painting outside more often that Jean started feeling… things. Tingles in his stomach whenever he saw the man paint a dark night sky with swirls of light. Shakes when he caught glimpses of a notebook filled with anatomy practice and fencing positions, all suspiciously bearing a resemblance to Jean. It could be argued that a few were Napoleon, though. The lines were messy enough. These sensations started following him around the mansion, too. At the dinner table, he always felt lighter when he heard Vincent giggle at something Arthur said. Eventually, a simple greeting smile sent a shiver through the poor soldier’s body and all he could do was scuttle off into the piano room. 

Vincent was too radiant for a sinner to handle, he deduced. It seemed logical at the time. Jean’s chest was always empty and Vincent always had light to bring to someone. The world was a better place with Vincent in it and it was worse with Jean. That was just how things were. Jean was ready to accept that over… Well…

“Can I paint you?”

It was the first time anyone ever asked… that. Jean had been avoiding Vincent, more than usual, but one late night out of his room for a bottle of Rouge led to them meeting again. Vincent was already coated in paint, perhaps from a late night project, filling one of his paint cups with fresher water.

Jean was a frozen statue for a while, but when Vincent’s smile slowly faded, he suddenly came to. “Why me?” he asked, quietly.

Vincent looked to the side, the enthusiasm of the initial question trailing off. “I’ve never seen anyone like you?”

So unclean, full of sin and guilt?

“So… pretty?” 

Jean shifted on his feet uncomfortably, staring at the painter in front of him with wide eyes.

Vincent was quick to catch his mistake. “In a manly way! Very male-orientated. But beautiful and elegant, too! So, um, beautifully handsome? Does that make sense?”

Not at all. Jean felt his entire mind and body shut down, then come back, then shut down again. 

Beautiful? Handsome? Was this some sick joke?

“You didn’t drink that, did you?” Jean asked, shyly pointing to the paint-stained cup in his hands.

Vincent glanced down at it, then backed up. “No, I don’t believe so,” he almost chuckled, “Why would you think that?”

“You don’t seem in your right mind,” he responded. “I’m none of what you have described me as. I would suggest getting your eyes checked in the near future.” Jean turned to make his exit, bottle of Rouge in hand.

Vincent’s lips went ajar, blinking in disbelief. Then, he laughed. Jean froze. It was almost insulting to hear that. “Well, I don’t think so. I don’t know you too well, sure, but you seem nice.”

Those words sent butterflies through him.

Whenever Jean looked in the mirror, all he saw was a husk of a living being. He couldn’t say human anymore. He was ugly, inside and out. He longed for life, for warmth, comfort, yet every time it faced him, he ran away. God put him on this Earth to suffer in an endless cycle, yet he couldn’t break his piety to such a cruel deity. 

It was something he’d slowly started to accept– the emptiness was a part of his life. If death came to face him, like a fool, he’d fight it, only to realize that victory meant waking up to another day, only after the fact.

Then, an angel descended upon him. It smiled with bright light, with hair as gold as a halo and beamed at him with kind, blue eyes.

“I guess I’ll just ask again,” the angel asked, “Can I paint you sometime?”

Who was he, a mortal man with sins too heavy to weigh, to deny the messenger of God?

It was the first time he ever ‘modeled’ for someone. 

He never stopped by Vincent’s room for the specific purpose of sitting in a chair for hours on end (when they did try, it was so unpleasant that Jean almost fainted), but he visited on occasion.

Instead of modeling, Vincent would simply follow Jean around at random times with a sketchbook in hand, capturing moments of life in a still, pencil-drawn image. At the end of the day, when the stars twinkled in through Vincent’s window, Jean was invited in and the two chatted about the scenes the blonde had drawn.

“That’s not me,” Jean would say each time, “That man is too pure to be me.”

And every time, Vincent would shake his head and chuckle. “You should really start being nicer to yourself.” Vincent would then quietly whisper to himself, “Rich, coming from me of all people, but the advice still stands.” 

Jean never tried to respond to his extra comments, until one late evening– “Perhaps we both should.”

Vincent’s expression was unreadable as he silently flipped to the next page.

It was the first time someone tried to cook for him. Keyword: tried.

Everyone in the mansion began to notice that the most polar opposites of the mansion had so suddenly gravitated toward each other. Napoleon was surprised when Vincent first appeared at their sparring matches as a regular guest, but now? Why, now he was surprised not to greet him.

Mozart was the most confused, of course. A soldier and a painter? Really, what would they ever want to do with each other? Jean was such a recluse, too. What did Vincent say to him that made him stray from his hideaway room and weapons shop? Theodorus seemed to share this sentiment, trailing behind his older brother like a guard dog.

Still, it didn’t surprise anyone when Vincent wanted to make something for Jean’s birthday.

It did surprise Sebastian that same morning to find the kitchen in shambles. Vincent stood in the middle of it all, a fire blazing inside the oven. Apparently, he had tried to make a batch of macarons. 

It took the help of half the mansion to salvage what they could. When Jean was presented with burnt yet somehow undercooked macarons, he just… stared at them.

“How did you know I liked these?” he asked, trying to ignore the smoke coming from the kitchen area.

Vincent’s smile was drenched in embarrassment. “Ah, well, whenever we go to your shop together, I always see you looking at the macarons in the window displays. So, I just assumed you liked them. Glad you do! I would’ve looked silly if not…”

“Thank you.” Jean practically cut him off before he could say anything else. To show his gratitude, he took one from the pan and tossed it in his mouth. Vincent cringed.

The soldier’s eyes burst open with shock. It was so… mushy and crunchy and… How in God’s name could something like this even be created? It was a crime against pastries everywhere. 

“Sorry,” Vincent mumbled, “I’m not really a sweet’s fan, so…”

That was all it took to convince Jean to push through, swallowing the macaron (could you even call it that?) with much strain. 

“Don’t be. It’s the thought that matters,” Jean said, taking the tray from Vincent. “I… I’ll cherish this forever.”

Jean was looking down at the floor shyly, but he swore he saw a pink color grow on Vincent’s cheeks.

Later that night, he found a portrait of himself waiting by his door. In his critical eyes, it was too divine to look anything like him, but the distinctive stroke style made Vincent the clear painter. A note was attached to the bottom, reading:

“Happy birthday! Sorry for the macarons this morning. Maybe after you close your shop tomorrow, we can go to a bakery and get some non-burnt ones! We could bring them home for a tea party, if you’d like!

Also, I think I finally had enough sketches of you to make a painting, so here’s the finished thing! I hope you like it. I’d like to make more, if you’re comfortable with that

– Vincent Van Gogh”

Unfortunately, Jean wasn’t the most literate. He enjoyed the fact that with paintings, written words were unnecessary. It was a walk of shame to bring the note to Mozart so he could read it for him.

It didn’t completely miss him, though, despite his usual density. Vincent wanted to paint him more. An invitation for more time spent together.

When the fact hit him, Mozart had to double-take the smile he saw on his friend’s face.

It was the first time he ever kissed someone. 

Now, granted, he didn’t remember that until the next morning’s hangover passed. 

Jean was known to be insanely lightweight, so why he was given a glass of wine- no one knows. Unfortunately, his drunkenness often made him very… touchy. So when the mansion had a banquet drawn long into the night, Jean was practically laying on top of Vincent (much to Theo’s ire).

So, Vincent offered to bring Jean back to his room. His strength was only one factor in it, but Jean’s touchy-feely state made it a slight struggle to bring him into the room without losing his balance and being blinded by Jean’s clinginess. 

Vincent has an arm wrapped around Jean as they make their way into his empty room. “Jeanie!” Vincent yelped, “I’m trying to put you to bed!” Through his struggle, he was laughing. Drunken Jean thought it was the most adorable thing in the world. It also didn’t help that Vincent was feeling a bit tipsy, too. He couldn’t stop himself from giggling at the absurdity of Jean’s actions even when he was worried for him.

When Vincent finally managed to get Jean into his room without tripping over his feet for a fourth time, he was content to call it a night. Unfortunately, Jean did not. He latched onto his arm and wouldn’t let go. 

“Wait,” he whispered in a hoarse voice, “Please stay.”

Vincent couldn’t tell if it was the wine getting to him or not, but something made his cheeks grow red.

It was hard to remember the rest. Vincent tried to coax Jean into bed, but he refused, instead wrapping his arms around Vincent and locking him in an embrace.

It was a stupored dance, rocking back and forth as the painter tried to keep the soldier on his feet and not knock the two of them over. Not that he minded, though. The closeness was… oddly welcome.

“C’mon, Theo is going to worry if I don’t go back soon! I promise we’ll see each other tomorrow!” Vincent said, taking steps towards Jean’s bed.

Jean pulled back against him, his head leaning on Vincent’s chest. “But I want you here now.” 

How could the pure angel say no to such a shy request? It’d break poor Jeanie’s heart to force him off!

The swaying continued, Jean moving closer and closer, until…

What was it Arthur said? ‘Drunken words were sober thoughts?’ Did that translate to actions, too? 

The mens’ lips met, for just a brief second, but long enough for Vincent’s to turn into a living cherry. 

They stared at each other for a moment, lust and liquor made Jean’s gaze cloudy, just as it fogged his mind. Vincent was more aware, but maybe he was hazy, too. 

Jean went in again, losing all semblance of balance, leaning all his weight onto Vincent as his knees bent and only the tips of his toes remained dragging on the ground.

If he was a sinner, so be it. He couldn’t take it anymore– the strange pulses of his heart whenever Vincent smiled in the sunlight or told him he was beautiful. He was looked down upon by Heaven’s eye, so what was the point in searching for salvation any longer?

The devil named ethanol overtook Jean, but maybe it claimed Vincent’s heart, too. He didn’t even stumble, catching Jean’s weight and slowly easing into the second kiss. And the fourth. And the seventh.

When the eleventh finished, Vincent suddenly gained consciousness again and forced Jean into bed, running off soon after. Jean was too drunk by then and passed out before he could realize what he’d done.

When day broke the next day, Jean was alone in his bed. No memory came to him until 10 A.M. 

What in God’s name had he done!? What sweet temptation overcame him? He was never drinking again, surely! His heart beat out of his chest with images and sensations flashed by him. With Vincent? He had stooped so low as to share affections with a man!? An innocent one, at that! He couldn’t believe he had even dared to touch the painting angel, tainting him with fault and impurity. God almighty, damnation was all he would receive. He’d turned his back to God thousands of times, but this had to be it. The Holy Spirit would claim him at any moment, banishing him to the pits of hell. Forgiveness was fully out of reach. Why did he have to be revived? He should’ve suffered on that stake, right where he belonged.

Jean locked himself in his room for weeks, only answering when Mozart came to drop off a bottle of Rouge. The pianist would try to speak, only for the door to be slammed in his face. The few glimpses residents did catch of him weren’t all too uplifting, either: Jean, knelt over his bedside with a rosary, muttering the Hail Mary over and over as if he would face judgment at any second. He only left to go to the weapons shop. Jean would avoid Vincent like the plague, or in his case, a harsh blaze. 

Vincent didn’t fare much better. He was more shy and nervous around the mansion, his paintings became more chaotic and surreal. He tried to ignore it, push down every bit of emotion that started to rise in his chest, but… the unfinished paintings spoke for themselves. Lilly fields, the brandish of a sword, a fire burning sweetly in a fool’s chest.

Vincent felt his hands shake when he flipped through his sketchbook, only to find the same thoughts circling him. His chest felt like it would explode. He didn’t think anything of it when they first grew close to each other, but things were different now.

It was the first time anyone ever told him that.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

The sword fell from his hands with a loud clatter. Jean was a statue in the middle of the weapons shop while Vincent stood by the door, his hand on the knob.

The store was closed, but Vincent had been gifted a key a while ago. Vincent brightened any room he stepped in with such a radiant light that Jean felt blinded by it. Except… Even with the sunset behind him, illuminating him like an angel, Vincent appeared to him as a normal man.

He was impure, too. He sinned. He felt. Vincent wasn’t a big fan of that last one. 

“You’re mistaken, monsieur.” Jean’s words cut like a sword; through the air and through Vincent’s heart. Vincent clutched his chest. “Whatever… this… is, it is not love. Lucifer is tempting us. We must not give in.” Jean picked the blade from the floor and placed it back on the rack, his brows knit. He kept his back turned to Vincent. He couldn’t even stand to look at him anymore. He was trying to resist the call of lust, after all. “There is nothing to love about me. Do not let the devil fool you, Vincent.”

Vincent’s head was filled with new feelings, but he knew this one too well: Hurt. It felt like Jean had just struck him in the heart with no remorse. Jean had always been blunt, a bit cold and dense, but this was cruel! Vincent’s fingers curled in, his fingernails stabbing the palm of his hand.

“Why not?” Vincent demanded. Jean wasn’t used to a harsh tone from the painter. “I-I…” Vincent practically trembled as he tried to force the words out. “Why do you get to decide what I’m feeling?”

Jean swallowed hard. He… He never thought of it like that. God was the only judge, why was he deciding for the painter? He opened his mouth to speak, but Vincent cut him off as he stepped closer.

“I love you, Jean. And, sure, maybe I don’t have the best grasp on feelings yet, but I know I love you.” Vincent’s declaration was made and there was no going back. It was a bit scary, pouring the beatings of his heart in front of Jean, but it had to be done. “You’re not going to convince me I don’t. I’m sorry.”

Jean was… silent. His violet eyes were wide, but there were unreadable emotions going through him. Vincent couldn’t bring himself to gaze at Jean for more than a few seconds. Not yet. He had no idea how the soldier would react. He was always so cynical, so shrouded in mystery, but that only made Vincent want to show him the sun even more.

“Why?” Jean parroted Vincent’s previous question. “What is there to love about me?” His voice cracked. As much as he tried to hide it, tears were being forcibly choked and swallowed to save his pride.

Vincent’s shoulders slowly slumped as the tension melted. Oh, what wasn’t there to admire. “Well… You’re strong.”

No I’m not, his mind argued.

“And you’re very kind. You’re always so thoughtful and thinking of others.”

It can’t be true.

“I can only dream to be as selfless as you, really!”

That was a blatant lie. What kind of game was he pulling? Only then did Jean’s thoughts stray. Vincent would never lie so openly. Was there truth in his words?

“I like spending time with you, too. You’ve always got something fun to say, when you do talk. And I like it when we go places. You keep talking about that field of lilies, so I think we could go there next!”

His mind’s voice couldn’t think up a retort in time.

“And… Well, I said it when we first met, right? You’re beautifully handsome. That’s something to enjoy, too,” Vincent giggled nervously, “Not as much as the other things, though! More of an added bonus.”

Vincent peeled his eyes off the floor to meet with an unseemly sight. Saint Jeanne D’Arc, staring him right in the face, with a hand over his mouth and tears rolling down his cheeks. It was sacrilegious to watch.

“Hey, don’t cry, Jeanie,” Vincent whispered, moving right in front of Jean to wipe his tears with his thumb. His hand lingered on the man’s cheek. 

Jean felt as if he couldn’t breathe right away. Love? Nonsense. It wasn’t for him. He wasn’t even supposed to be alive! How could someone so gentle and considerate say all those things about him? This had to be some sort of trick or illusion. A dream, even.

Jean’s fingers intertwined with Vincent’s, not letting the painter’s delicate hands leave his face anytime soon.

He was just waiting to wake up from this dream. Waiting patiently. Waiting… and waiting.

It never came.

When he opened his eyes, Vincent was still there, sky blue eyes lovingly locked on him. 

Vincent’s smile was soft. Anything harsher would blind Jean. “We’re vampires, Jean. I think God has bigger things to worry about. Maybe he can let this one slide.”

It was overwhelming to be blanketed in the holy light and Jean’s tears kept falling. This time, with a shy smile on his face.

It happened naturally. The gap between their faces drew shorter and shorter, their bodies fit together perfectly, and Jean’s hands felt comfortable on Vincent’s waist.

It was reserved, at first. Neither had any idea how to navigate a kiss with the other, but it was more natural than Jean had expected. It was… warm. Vincent’s thumb ran his across Jean’s eyepatch. Involuntarily, he drew back. They both used that as a minute to breathe.

Surprisingly, Jean was the one who initiated the second kiss, and this one was much more passionate. Their tongues collided on this one, messily and sloppily. Neither had any clue how to do this, but that was part of the enjoyment. It was slow, sensual, simply taking their time to explore each other. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t have to be. Jean and Vincent backed away from each other entirely content, their foreheads pressing against the other. A dopey grin enveloped the soldier’s red face. He was certain the blonde could hear just how loudly his heart pumped in his chest.

It was the first time he felt so happy.

The days at the mansion were almost tolerable now. When no one was around, a chaste peck on the cheek or forehead would be shared. Usually Vincent was the one to find Jean alone in the library, but occasionally Jean walked by his room and left a kiss on his cheek. 

Theo and Mozart noticed how they would disappear together first. Soon enough, everyone else caught on. Most of the mansion went to Arthur and Sebastian for answers, but both refused to tell. Sebastian out of not wanting to admit the amount of intel stored in his Oh no– They Didn’t! journal, and Arthur because he thought it’d be more fun for everyone else to figure it out themselves. Being the detective he was, Vincent sighed in relief when he heard he hadn’t told anyone. These feelings, this relationship… It’s all so new and they needed to take it slow. Being outed so soon would only spell disaster, especially in this century. Besides, Jean was already suffering from the judgmental stares from his little brother across the dinner table.

So, for the meantime, tea parties were kept in lonesome meadows and their most intimate moments were behind locked doors.

It was the first time he had a picnic. 

They promised to go to the lily field, when they had the chance. Vincent was captivated the moment he saw a sea of white petals blowing in the wind, glowing under the light of the moon. Jean didn’t interrupt his pause, allowing him to absorb the beauty around him. 

A blanket placed under them, a stiff breeze moving Vincent’s blonde curls in such a way that Jean couldn’t tear his eyes away. His head rested on the painter’s thigh while he sketched the field in front of them, grinning as his mind’s eye was put to paper. 

He looked down at Jean, breathing softly as he admired him. Vincent chuckled as he ran his fingers through his partner’s navy hair. “This is nice,” he whispered, not wanting to interrupt the still of the night.

The moonlight hit Vincent in such a way that he looked as if he descended from heaven, his features chiseled by God himself. “It is,” Jean responded, closing his eyes to properly enjoy the sensation. 

“We’re really lovers, aren’t we?” the blonde vampire asked softly. “It’s hard to imagine it in the mansion, but here… It feels real.” A pause hit Vincent before he continued, a romantic sigh leaving his lips as he took the moment in. “We should go see the sunflowers next.”

Jean’s eyes fluttered open and he watched Vincent attentively. There was a distinct longing in his eyes as he stared over the waves of flowers.

He couldn’t help himself. Jean cupped Vincent’s cheek in his head, bending awkwardly to plant a kiss on his lover’s jaw.

It was the first time he said those three words.

“I love you.”

It was the first time he took his eyepatch off in front of someone.

It had taken a full year for Jean to open up to the idea of taking his eyepatch off in front of Vincent. When they said they were taking it slow, they meant slow. Molasses envied them. They both had a lot of issues within themself, so moving too fast would only cause even more problems. This was far more safe and comfortable, and for them, that mattered more than anything.

It was a planned event. Theodorus wouldn’t be home for a few days on a business trip and Mozart was completely overtaken by a burst of creativity. Melodies filled the air each night, perfect for the inexperienced lovers. The stars had aligned for them to finally have a chance to sleep together and maybe sleep in, if they were lucky. 

Sitting on opposite ends of Jean’s mattress, Vincent observed the empty room around him with slight dismay. The many paintings gifted to his lover were the only decorations on the walls. Otherwise, the place looked like a jail cell. At least Vincent's cell had a nice window and some paint stains on the floor. This was a topic for another day, though. 

Jean sheepishly cleared his throat. A fabric eyepatch sling was laid across his open palm, extending it out for Vincent to take. He feared if he held it any longer that he’d put it right back on. 

Vincent was instantly enamored with Jean’s face. He came to know of Jean’s execution, of how he covered himself so thoroughly to hide the scars that coated him from his feet to his face, but finally being able to see some, the dead skin surrounding his blind eye and the burns that brushed his usually glove-covered hands… He was so beautiful. 

Jean was self-conscious under his gaze, actively forcing his left hand not to cover his eye. Fortunately, Vincent reached out and traced the burnt lines of his face before Jean could. His breath hitched, a short quivering running down his shoulder. “Sorry,” Vincent mumbled, now caressing the side of his face. “I just… I should paint you like this sometime. If you’ll let me.” Briefly, Vincent’s eyes wandered to his torso, before gazing back at the head of his lover. He held his cheek so tenderly.

Jean’s bashfulness melted under the tender gaze of the older Van Gogh. He took his wrist in his hand and planted delicate kisses against his palm. Vincent giggled coyly. Ah, that sound was more beautiful than any hymns the angels could conjure up. “I’ll think about it, monsieur.” He was thankful the attention to his scars ended there, although slight brushes and kisses against his eye were common as they laid next to each other. Any comments on its state would’ve left Jean a mess of regret and self-hatred. Vincent was careful about that, as Jean was with Vincent’s emotional status. It was an equal trade.

The evening was quiet, lulling the two to sleep easily. At first, they had fallen asleep with their hands locked together, not all too close to each other. Vincent knew just how overwhelming physical affection was for Jean, even after a full year in this relationship. Jean was the one who set the pace when it came to touch. He didn’t mind that. 

Apparently, his unconscious state did. Jean awoke in the middle of the night to Vincent’s head tucked against his neck, arms around his waist and his back pressed against the painter’s chest, their fingers still intertwined with each other. His face dug against the pillow under him, hiding the scar from the dark nighttime. 

Sometimes, he could feel the eyes of God staring at him, judging him for every sin he’d committed. When that happened, he’d spend several days in the city church, ultimately failing to build up the courage to enter the confessional. He was sin incarnate, no Father could offer repentance for that. 

The urge to run overcame him. To be so close to another living being was too much… but the scent of paint and sunflowers granted miracles to Jean. His muscles slowly unwound and he found himself falling into the arms of rest once again. The strong arms around him kept him tied to reality and away from the dark thoughts of his wandering mind. 

Every time Jean fell asleep, he dreaded the coming morning. The cycle of a torturous, unwanted, wrongful existence continued. 

But with Vincent here… Things were different. A small flicker grew in his heart. If he could make it to tomorrow, he’d get to see Vincent smile. Oh, and perhaps he’d get to spare with Napoleon, and then play with Cherie… then he could… And then...

Suddenly everything felt worth fighting for, if only for a day.

He had taken his eyepatch off, and the world still turned.

#ikevamp vincent #ikevamp jean #ikemen vampire #ikemen series #ikevamp #ikevamp jeanne #suitor x suitor ikevamp #vincent x jean ikevamp #ikevamp fanfic #jean x vincent ikevamp #vincent x jean #jean x vincent

[coltermorning]

Wanted: Day One (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Arthur needs a good take for the gang and decides to go after the bounty on your head.

Author’s Notes: I needed to flesh this one out to get the ending how I liked it so there will be a few chapters. Told from both your and Arthur’s pov and set just before the Blackwater massacre. Also this doesn’t feel like high or low honor Arthur but a good in between so I didn’t tag it.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, eventual smut, enemies to lovers

AO3 Link

~

Wanted: Day One

Word count: 4822

The Van der Linde Gang had come to rely on two things and two things alone: hard work and money. All else came down to that. Dutch could claim it was family, faith, or whatever else he dreamed up all he liked, but Arthur knew better. He knew the bigger their gang grew, the harder it was for anything but those two things to drive them. That that, above all else, was what they needed to stay together and survive. He may have preferred the old ways when it was just the four of them, doing some good here or there, but those days were long gone. Now it was bring in money or die trying. And when Arthur stumbled across a particularly nasty bounty posted on Blackwater’s board, he figured he would have to do just that.

He and Hosea had been scouting out a scam on their own, letting Dutch and the others plan their boat robbery. It was nice working with Hosea—simpler, somehow. The man was sharp enough to make Arthur feel a fool time and again, but he felt he could take a back seat and let Hosea run things, something he normally couldn’t trust others to do well. And with this came an unusual calmness, a sense that he wasn’t doing enough. He always had to be going, running, finding a lead. So, when he rode into town and saw a brand new bounty poster, he couldn’t resist swinging off his horse and seeking it out.

The poster was for a shocking amount of money—a thousand dollars. Stranger still was that it was a lone soul, and that it was a woman. He read on to see the many crimes committed. It was nothing he hadn’t done himself which made him wonder what the price on his head would be. The amount still seemed high to him, but maybe committing as much murder as was mentioned tended to up the stakes. He pocketed the poster and went to mount his horse.

“I’d be careful with that one, mister,” said a voice from the porch of the Sheriff’s. Arthur looked over to see a deputy, a grave expression on his face. “Almost didn’t put that poster back up, how many people she done killed already.” When Arthur didn’t flinch at the threat, the man went on. “They all take that poster down, all as cocksure as you, and none of them’s ever come back. I’d think long and hard on that if I was you.”

“Why put it back up then?”

“We figure someone’s bound to catch her sooner or later. Get lucky more like. You think you’re the man for the job?”

Arthur chuckled. If anyone was, he was. It took a fellow degenerate to smoke one out. “I guess. Against my better judgment,” he mumbled.

“Well good luck then. I tip my hat to you.”

Arthur nodded at the deputy and turned his horse, heading for camp. He would need a few things before he tried his hand at this bounty, namely to tell everyone where he was going so that if he really did get in a bind, they could find him.

Upon reaching camp, Hosea sought him out and told him a few new details about the job they were running. It would be a week still until they could do it—it didn’t hurt to plan as well as they could in the meantime. After settling on that, Arthur made way to his tent to load up on ammunition. He put his bandolier on which drew Dutch’s attention like a moth to flame.

“You look like you’re preparing for war, son. Where’s the fight?”

Arthur pulled the bounty poster out of his satchel and handed it to Dutch. “Real nasty reputation on that one,” he told him. “I ain’t taking no chances.”

“No. Rightfully so.” Dutch finished reading it over and handed it back. “She sounds nice. Hell, may even fit in with our bunch.”

Arthur chuckled. “You ain’t kidding. Too bad she’s worth so much or I’d consider it.”

“You need another gun?”

“No,” Arthur said quickly, knowing this type of outlaw and that having anyone with him would just slow him down.

“Fair enough.” Dutch turned to go back to his tent, sighing as he went. “Good luck then. Do try to make it back in one piece.”

“No promises,” Arthur muttered.

With this, Arthur made for his horse, checking his weapons as he went. All was as in order as it could be, and the only thing remaining was the ride. Arthur mounted up with confidence, knowing what it would mean for the gang to bring in this much money. He would outsmart this bounty target if it took days and all his might to do it.

Barely out of camp, Arthur steeled himself and let determination take over, ready for the fight, ready to unknowingly go after none other than you.

~

Twenty days. It had been twenty days since you last saw a soul—a bounty hunter you’d left dead in the dirt. So far, you had put down five since coming to the wind-worn canyons of Hennigan’s Stead. It was the perfect place to evade capture. There were no trees, no cover for bounty hunters to hide in, nothing but the wide open. Sneaking up on you was not an option, and anyone bold enough to approach you outright would die for it. This was a game of strategy, and strategy was something you were deadly good at. You had booby trapped the paths at your back, sat yourself up at high vantage, and left the rest up to your skill and your sense. All that remained was luck, and with all the preparation, it had leaned in your favor every time.

As you sat at the campfire cleaning your revolver, you pondered how long you would stay here and where you would go next when your horse’s head snapped to attention. You looked to where it looked, down the canyon path below. Nothing and no one was there. It would be difficult for someone to hide there seeing as it was just after noon and the sun and shadows were currently working in your favor. Plus, you didn’t hear a horse—didn’t hear anything for that matter. You chalked it up as one of those gila monsters your mount hated so much and went back to cleaning your weapon. You didn’t completely wave away the threat though. Doing so would be unwise and the very thing to get you caught. You therefore shifted around the fire so that you faced where your horse still looked, rapt with nerves.

Minutes passed by, and the animal went back to standing with its leg cocked and its head bowed. You moved on to your rifle, cleaning it with precision, counting the ticks you had marked into its grain with your knife—one for each man put down. You didn’t ever think that would be something you prided yourself in, but life could certainly harden a woman. Your circumstances had forced you into your wayward nature, and you weren’t ashamed of it a bit. That is, as long as you weren’t caught. Meeting your maker was certainly something you had pushed far down the road, not intending to think about it if you didn’t have to.

Just as you finished with your gun, you heard a rock skitter down the path at your back and whipped around, glad once more for the daylight. The path rounded the corner behind you, so if anyone was around the bend, you wouldn’t be able to see them. You moved silently, flattening against the canyon wall at your back and moving steadily up the path, gun raised. You didn’t know how anyone could have gotten past the lines you had tied across the path farther up, especially not without alerting you. You were beginning to think this was your paranoia at work and that some snake or lizard waited just around the corner when you stepped around it, preparing to shoot.

You brought the gun away from your shoulder when you saw what lay in the path: absolutely nothing. No animal, no bounty hunter, nothing. How the rocks could suddenly start tumbling down the path on their own, you didn’t know. But you were suspicious enough to find out. You raised your gun again and made for your camp when you heard the quiet crunch of rocks underfoot. It could have been your horse shifting its weight, but you weren’t taking any chances. You rounded the corner again and felt your heart skip a beat when your gaze landed on a man standing just behind your horse, patting its neck like it was his own.

“Don’t touch the horse or I kill you where you stand.”

“You would have done that already,” he quipped. “If you could.” You noted he stayed standing just behind your horse, his legs behind its legs, his head behind its neck. Unless you wanted to kill your own horse, you didn’t have a proper shot. Not to mention shooting a gun this close may startle the animal enough for it to get in the way. You cursed yourself for letting this happen and held your gun steady.

“How’d you get up here?”

He chuckled, continuing to pat your horse fondly. It leaned into his touch, unaware of the danger. “Those lines you got drawn across the way reflect the sunlight. May want to reconsider where to put them during the day.”

You narrowed your eyes at his arrogance but pushed on. “Then how’d you get around me?”

“Climbed.” You hated the simple answer, especially for not thinking of it. A man of his height could easily catch the lip of the canyon just above your heads and pull himself up. He had probably watched you walk up the path just as he walked down it one level higher.

“Clever.” It was all you would give him. He was brave for coming here in the day, and it had paid off, as he had avoided your traps. But beyond shooting you where you stood, he didn’t have a way to catch you alive. You would put a bullet in him before it got to that.

“Was that you on the canyon floor?” you asked, stalling. You needed a better plan than what was unfolding now. The only problem was that he got more time to plan too, learning your nerve all the while.

“Yep. Backtracked when I realized you had the high ground.”

“How? You never saw me.”

“Saw the smoke.” He looked at you, one eye barely visible from behind your horse. And damn him for that temptation because your finger was itching to pull the trigger, but you still couldn’t guarantee your horse’s safety. “A word of advice. I know most bounty hunters are too stupid to go after their targets in the daylight, but it has its advantages. Learn to work against them.”

You felt anger rise in your belly at his patronizing tone, like he wasn’t about to try to capture you and have you hanged. “Yeah, well some have tried. They’re all dead.”

“Not all of them,” he said lowly, holding your gaze as he hid like the coward he was. You noticed the pair of guns climbing up his back into the sunlight. A fat load of good they would do him strapped to him. It was the likely sidearm you couldn’t see that worried you. But if he hadn’t shot you yet, he wouldn’t. He wanted you alive, and he must not be a good enough shot to try to disable you. You considered running for the path at your back and killing him when he pursued. In fact, that was looking like your best option when he spoke again. “Don’t think about bolting or I’ll shoot. Just come quietly. Don’t nobody need to get hurt.”

You adjusted your aim, wondering how your horse would react if you shot this man’s hat off his head to prove a point. For the brim of it was nearly all you could see of him, sticking out past the shining coat of your mount. “I’m still debating putting a bullet in you. The horse’ll live.”

“And if you kill it? For pride?”

“Not for pride. For survival. And if I did, I would just go find yours. I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.” That gave you an idea.

On a whim and before he could decipher your plan, you fired near enough but not at him, your gun louder than a cannon in the close quarters and with the resounding echo bounding off the canyon walls. Your horse reared in fear, but instead of lining up a shot on the now coverless man, you were already long gone, rounding the corner as fast as your feet would carry you. You heard him curse behind you and start in hot pursuit.

You ran faster than you ever had and followed the path upward, spotting a lone horse standing up the way. You ducked under the wire you’d planted, careful not to graze it, and turned when you got far enough away. You had spun around just in time to crouch as the man shot straight at your head. Taking you alive didn’t seem to matter anymore, and your aim suddenly became crucial as you raised your gun toward the wire he was nearing and fired right back. He was close enough for you to see his eyes widen in fear when he realized your plan. It was too late for him to do anything about it—the familiar snap of wire resounded, your bullet ripping straight through it. The man leapt backward as your rigged dynamite blew, the explosion louder than anything yet. You prayed your horse was okay but didn’t turn back to see the damage, too busy running for the man’s spooked mount. It was staying in place but only just, prancing as if its tether to this world was nearing its end. You jumped on its back and dug in your spurs hard, only looking back when you were well on your way. You saw enough dust rising to mean you had probably taken out the entire canyon path. You let out a laugh in triumph as you spurred the horse harder and let it fly.

~

Arthur was madder than a hornet and twice as vengeful when he finally got the horse calm enough to mount it. He spurred it hard, rounding the now dangerously narrow path out of the canyon, shooting through the dust clouds still forming. He couldn’t see where you’d gone, partially because of the dust in his eyes and partially because his head was still spinning from a blow to the skull. He knew the warm dampness at his temple was blood but ceased to care as he pursued you, angry with himself for getting close enough to that wire to let it blow him up along with the canyon. At least the horse was unscathed, and it was a good one besides—fast and sure-footed. When he topped the hill, he saw a speck in the distance racing toward the ranch he had passed on the way in. If its unbridled speed was any indication, it was his horse. And he owed the woman atop it a damn killing.

Arthur was at the ranch in no time, searching it up and down for signs of you. He didn’t spot his horse until he reached the other side of town, seeing its familiar coat flash in the sunlight as his mood soured further—it had no rider. He demanded the person nearest to explain what had happened. It was a boy worried sick about his new horse that had just been stolen.

“Was it a woman?” Arthur demanded as he dismounted, preferring his own horse.

“Yes, but…well, she was dressed funny.”

“What color’s the horse?”

“A bay, sir. Are you gonna bring it back?”

Arthur was already riding away when the boy finished his question. He hit the path and flew, pushing his horse hard. Once he had a better vantage, he spotted you. And what a sight you made as he felt the satisfaction of victory overcome him, knowing he would have you captured soon enough. For the horse you had taken liberty to must have been green—it was bucking higher than any he had seen before, snapping in half in its attempt to get you off its back. He had to hand it to you though, you were sticking to its back like you had grown straight out of it when he finally caught up to you. He got his lasso out and was setting his sights on you when you noticed him.

“Forward, damn it!” you yelled at the animal. Then, “Leave me alone you bastard! Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Arthur laughed at this. If it weren’t for the stunt you had pulled in the canyon, he may have even admitted he liked your daring.

He began swinging the lasso above his head, readying it with a big enough loop to go over your shoulders. He would need your arms trapped with no chance of reaching the gun at your hip. When the horse came down again, as stationary as it would ever be, he threw the rope. It went straight over your head. As the horse bucked, Arthur pulled hard, separating you from the animal with enough force that you wouldn’t fall underneath it and be trampled. The horse continued its bucking but moved away, far enough for Arthur to dismount and run to you. He flipped you over, noting your joining with the ground had knocked the breath out of you. Good. It was easier to work when his target wasn’t throwing insults left and right.

You let out a strangled cough, looking over to the horse still bucking like mad. Arthur smiled and continued his work, tying your hands tight behind your back. “You know, I reckon you nearly had that horse broke.”

You didn’t respond, still heaving in breaths. Arthur moved on to your feet, tying them just as tight.

“Shouldn’t have switched. You’d taken mine and you’d be on your way to freedom by now.”

“Screw you,” you said on an outward breath, falling into a fit of coughing after you managed the words.

He smirked and double checked his work before taking your gun from your hip and your rifle from your side—it had fallen away from you when you came off the horse. When he had both secured, he lifted you, making you grunt when he slung you over his shoulder. “You’re coming with me. Got a sheriff in Blackwater who wants to meet you.” When you didn’t respond to the jab, he lowered his tone. “And if you ever try to pull another stunt like the one in the canyon, you’re a dead woman. Mark my words.” There was still no response when he lifted you onto the back of his horse. He sighed in annoyance and made sure you still had a pulse. You did—your silence was just formed from spite, it seemed. He’d certainly seen it before, though he couldn’t say he expected it from you. All he knew of you so far was the fight you had in you, and if he had his guess, he would have thought you’d be kicking and screaming for your freedom by now. But maybe he was wrong. Or maybe you were planning something worse and he would have to kill you after all.

Arthur got on his horse, proud of his work despite the brief interruption in his pursuit. Leaving the bucking horse to tire itself out, he made way for Blackwater, thinking if he made good enough time, he’d get there by nightfall. That boy could get his own horse as far as he was concerned, especially since it was only down the road a ways. Arthur couldn’t risk letting you escape again besides.

It was only when he had gotten about an hour down the path and nearly into West Elizabeth that you spoke. “You leave my horse back at that ranch?”

Arthur had been rather enjoying the silence and serenity of the ride and let his annoyance be known. “Yes. And don’t start. I don’t wanna hear it.”

After a beat, in a tone more statement than question, you said, “You’re taking me to Blackwater?”

“No, I’m just in the habit of tying folk to the back of my horse for a joy ride. Of course I’m taking you to Blackwater. What the hell you think this is?”

You mumbled something Arthur couldn’t decipher, though your tone was bitter enough for him to take a good guess.

“Excuse me?” Arthur turned to look at you, wanting you to say it to his face.

You met his eye, and he saw the defiance in your gaze fade as soon as you saw the dried blood in his hairline. You barked a laugh instead. “That canyon rock get you good? That why you’re in such a pitiful temper?”

“Watch your mouth,” he snapped. “I can still bring you in dead you know, and dead’s a whole hell of a lot easier on me.”

“You won’t,” you shot back. “You want all that money for yourself. Greedy bastard.”

“You keep it up and I won’t give a damn either way.”

“Yeah you will,” you mumbled, nearly low enough for him not to hear. But he did hear, and he was growing tired of listening to you—tired of being in your presence. The money would feel much better in his possession than you would. With that thought and without another word, Arthur kicked his horse up into a lope, determined to get you off his hands as soon as possible. It only took two more insults of yours for him to knock you out cold in the meantime.

After long enough that his back was sore and his horse was sweating, Arthur watched the town of Blackwater come into view. It was already dark but hadn’t been for long. That was no matter—the sheriff would be right pleased with himself to have you in his jail cell no matter the hour. So, with a long breath born of fatigue, Arthur pointed his horse toward town.

He had barely crossed into Blackwater when he heard an almighty commotion from a nearby bush, the sound so sudden his horse jerked away from it. He looked behind him and found you gone. Arthur roared his anger and swung down with gun in hand, gaining on the bush when he saw you leap out the other side of it, hopping along with your feet still tied together. He would have laughed if he weren’t so angry, the sight downright ridiculous. He holstered his gun and retrieved his lasso once more, letting you make it a ways before he roped you just for the sake of crushing your hope further. As soon as the rope fell over you, you hit the ground like you had before, grunting in pain when your back met the dirt.

“What exactly was your plan?” Arthur said with amusement as he gathered the rope’s slack and stood over you.

You met his eyes with a hatred so deep he changed course.

“Don’t go looking at me like that. You made your bed, and now you’re gonna lie in it. Ain’t my fault it happened this way.”

“I thought you said you’d kill me. Or was that all talk?” you snapped. He understood then. You’d been escaping in the hopes that he’d shoot you dead then and there.

“What, are you scared of a little law? Of a noose around your neck? How is me killing you now any different?”

“It ain’t about-” You stopped and clamped your mouth shut tight in defiance. Not understanding this, Arthur ignored it and picked you up once more, throwing you over his shoulder.

“I’m walking you in this time. No funny business or your head’ll meet the back end of my gun.”

“I’m staring at the back end of something else right now and contemplating ending it all myself.”

“Very funny. Now shut it. That’s the last warning I’m giving you.”

You stayed mercifully quiet as Arthur carried you all the way to the Sheriff’s, his horse following dutifully behind. He somewhat expected the same deputy from before to be there, shocked that he had been successful. In fact, he was expecting something of a hero’s welcome but was met instead by a dark, quiet jailhouse. He looked around, dropping you on the ground but not leaving your side. He wasn’t foolish enough to let someone else steal the prize he had nearly lost his head to capture.

“Sheriff’s gone,” came a voice from Arthur’s right. He looked over to see a man leaning against the building, cigarette burning lowly in the darkness.

“Where’d he go?”

“He and his whole outfit’s been tasked with transporting them Portriss Brothers up north. Won’t be back for five days, he said. Would be longer, but he don’t trust this town to remain civil.” The man chuckled. “I don’t blame him. It only takes a minute for this whole place to turn to hell, no matter how civilized folk claim to be.”

Arthur ran a hand down his face. It was hard enough to keep you tied up for an evening. Five days was another story.

“Who you got there?” the man asked.

Arthur looked down at you, debating whether or not to tell him who you were. It was likely someone would try to steal you off him if he did.

“Girl I caught stealing horses,” he murmured, turning toward the direction of camp and wondering whether he should take you there.

He heard a laugh at his feet and looked to you, seeing the snide smile on your face and realizing what it was for. He reached for his gun to give you a quick blow to the head, but before he could, you beat him to the chase. “Name’s Y/N Y/L/N, fella.”

“The one whose posters have been up for months now?” the man responded, an excitement in his voice Arthur didn’t care for.

“That’s the one,” you answered. Arthur looked down and met your eye, deciding not to use his sidearm. He brought his boot down on your ribs instead. Hard. At contact, you let out a loud grunt of pain and rolled onto your side, your teeth gritted.

The man spoke again, his excitement making his voice louder and louder. “She’s worth what, a thousand or so?”

Arthur took a long breath. The goddamn things he got himself into. He pointed his gun at the stranger. “Keep your voice down and don’t tell nobody about this. Or I will find you, and I will kill you. Is that clear?”

The man threw his hands up. “I didn’t mean nothing by it. Honest.”

“Get going,” Arthur threatened, not flinching in his hold on the gun.

The man was smart enough to round the corner without another word. Arthur took in his surroundings, making sure no one else was around to hear just who he had tied at his feet. He didn’t see a soul and quickly holstered his gun before picking you up.

“Bastard,” you gritted out. He may have broken a rib or two with that kick if your pain was any indication.

“You deserved it,” he shot back. He threw you over his horse once more and mounted, deciding camp would have to do for the few days the law was gone. “I’m taking you with me until the sheriff gets back.”

“How kind,” you spat. Arthur thought he could hear a smile in your voice despite the venom in those words. It made him angry, and he decided then and there these five days would be hell for you. There would be no chances for escape, no getting a rise out of gang members. No, you would be spending five days tied to a tree with nothing but your guilty conscience as company. It wouldn’t be long until you were begging him for food and water besides, and he fully intended to use that to his advantage.

Arthur began forming a plan as he got closer to camp, wondering how long it would take to get you to crack. He was particularly skilled in doing so, and if he was lucky, he would be successful in fewer days than it took for those lawmen to make it back. If he was really lucky, he would have complete silence out of you in no time. Arthur grinned at the thought as he rode on, the night pushing in on all sides.

_________

Part two is here.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing

[queerofthedagger]

hey, mona! saw your December gift ficlet post <3

how do you feel about dialogue prompt 44 for merthur? 👀

Ahh hey Fyre, thanks for the prompt!! I think it might've got a little softer than intended, but I hope you'll like it! <3

Fortune Favours the Bold

“If you die, I am going to kill you,” Merlin says as he checks the buckles of Arthur’s breastplate for the third time.

Arthur would be more exasperated if it wasn’t the first tournament since his coronation. The mourning period had been followed by winter, and once spring came around, he had been rather busy with the revelation that his manservant was, in fact, a sorcerer. Or warlock, actually—Merlin still fusses, so what does it matter, really.

“Such trust in me,” Arthur teases regardless, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be fine; it’s a friendly tournament, not a match to the death.”  

“You’ve said that about approximately every other tournament, too, and half of those did end with attempts on your life, so—”

“And yet, here I am. Thanks to you.”

It still isn’t easy to admit these things, but Arthur has been trying to be better about it; once he got beyond the sharp burn of betrayal and secrets, the magnitude of how much he has to thank Merlin for hit him like a punch.

If the slight wrinkling of Merlin’s nose is anything to go by, he can tell. It is pathetic, really, how a gesture so small threatens to make Arthur’s heart burst out of his chest.

“Yes, well, you could still be careful,” Merlin says, his fingers pressed to the buckle sitting over Arthur’s heart. “Make my job easier and all that.”

He is smiling, though, and Arthur swallows. He had been meaning to wait a little longer, to let them settle back into their lives, let Merlin get used to his new role, but—

But. Arthur has never been a patient man, and if he has learnt one thing through all his years as a knight, it’s that all you ever have for certain is the moment you’re living in.

He has never been a patient man, but he does pride himself on his bravery; this might just be the most courage he has ever needed to scrap together for anything.

Curling his fingers into Merlin’s neckerchief, he tugs lightly. “I might not let you put enchantments on my armour for tournaments—and I know that you ignored that order—but how about something to bring me luck?”

Merlin blinks at him, lips parted slightly, and Arthur forces himself not to step away, not to turn this into a joke and laugh it off (and regret it for the rest of his life, because he would. Inevitably, he would).

“Arthur—”

“A favour. You’re familiar with the concept, I know you are.”

In the dim light of the tent, he can see Merlin swallow, his eyes dark.

Outside, the horns blare, and it seems to finally startle Merlin out of his shock.

There is still a question lingering in his eyes, but he is beginning to smile, too, happiness unfurling slow but certain.

“Alright,” he murmurs, fingers trembling as he unties his neckerchief.

Arthur’s throat is dry as he watches Merlin wrap it carefully around his arm, the red fitting snugly against the colours of his armour and cloak.

“There you go,” Merlin says, sounding hoarse.

They are still standing too close, and the air is bristling between them.

Arthur inhales, and squeezes Merlin’s wrist between them. He exhales and says, “Thank you; see you on the other side?”

Merlin laughs, the tension breaking. Arthur can tell, though, that something has shifted between them yet again.

It is hard to say whether it is less or more terrifying than the last few months; it is as simple as breathing to know that they will be alright.

✨December Gift-Ficlets ✨

#bbcm #merthur #merlin fic #merthur fic #december gift-ficlet #mona's writing

[elliepassmore]

Starling House review

5/5 stars Recommended if you like: dark academia, sentient houses, curses, found family, street smart vs. fantasy smart

I was very excited when I saw people starting to post pics of this book that included footnotes and fun 'non-narrative' bits. I really liked Ship of Theseus and while this book is very different from that one, I think the footnotes and wikipedia article elements are kind of similar, which I liked. Another thing I liked is that, despite having footnotes adding onto the story, the story itself is very easy to comprehend and isn't dense or bogged down in details. I definitely sped through this one!

Opal is a fun character to read from because she's definitely been hit hard by life but is still determined to do right by her brother. She's a good balance of cynical and hopeful and I liked her sharp edges. Opal has definitely got street smarts, which go a long way in protecting her, but even with those she's still unable to resist the thrall of the Starling House. Imo, that house does her just as much good as she does it, and while Arthur does play somewhat of a role in her being happier and more put together, I think the house and feeling like she has a place she belongs is a big part of that as well.

Arthur was a harder character for me to get into the mind of. He's got his own dark past and is haunted by both the literal death of his parents as well as by the greater secrets and mysteries of Starling House. He's more remote than Opal is in his feelings, so I didn't feel as in tune with him, even toward the end of the book. Part of that might come from the fact that, while Opal feels everything despite being street savvy enough to hide it, whereas Arthur is a bit more emotionally closed-off and his studious nature doesn't really lend itself to opportunities that would open him up to others. That being said, I think I did like his character overall and he mirrors Opal quite well. Arthur's also actually quite funny at times.

Jasper, Opal's younger brother whom she has custody over, did frustrate me at times, but I also understand where he was coming from. In a town where nothing is free, even clean air, he has a hard time feeling like his sister taking care of him since their mother died is anything other than something he needs to pay back. At the same time, the love between Jasper and Opal comes through clearly and I absolutely love their relationship with one another and getting to see just how much they each love each other. It's hard to remember at times that Jasper is just 16, but then it shines through in moments of teenagehood, like when he doesn't want to come home from a friend's house.

Bev is the woman who runs the motel Opal and Jasper live in, and she's a bit of a trip. She has a harsh demeanor, but it's clear she cares for both of them and her love language is just insults, lol. Charlotte, the local librarian, is the opposite of Bev and is pretty cheery, though she's willing to go balls to the walls when needed.

One of the central themes in this book is family, and I loved seeing how family trauma played out differently for Arthur and Opal while also being so similar. Opal only ever knew her mother, and their little family unit bounced around from car to motel, never quite having a stable place to call home. Despite the challenges that came with a free-spirited mother, Opal clearly loved her parent and was devastated by her death, though she willingly fought to keep her brother. On the flip side, Arthur knew and loved both of his parents but clearly felt bogged down by the pressures that come with Starling House. When his parents died, he was also devastated but took up the mantle of responsibility with resentment. Both Opal's and Arthur's actions are primarily driven by their familial responsibilities, and it shows in vastly different ways.

Beyond that, I really liked how the family theme encompassed taking care of one another and how family isn't always the one you're born into. None of the characters in the book live as an island, no matter how much they might think otherwise, and I liked seeing how much they relied on each other and how selfless they could be when it came to one another. Found family is something the Starling House itself seems to call for, and you can definitely see how Bev, Charlotte, Jasper, and Opal make up their own little family, and how slowly Opal and Arthur begin including each other in that 'found family' circle.

Overall, I enjoyed this book and think it was a great read for the end of spooky season. I liked how it was dark academia without being too bogged down in itself and I really loved the characters and their relationships with one another!

#book #book review #books #book recommendations #fantasy #bookstagram #booklr #bookblr #bookaholic #bookish #book addict #dark academia #starling house #alix e harrow #sentient house #found family

[leonscape]

"Writer's Block"

Pairing: Reader (2nd person) x Le Comte Warning! This fic contains suggestive/NSFW themes. Reader is a romance author. Established relationship with Comte. Note: This is my first time writing for Ikemen Vampire, my first time writing Comte, my first time writing in second person, and my first time writing something on the spicier side I am very scared to post this!

Word Count: 1342

Without realizing it, you let out your hundredth sigh of the day as you hung the sheets to dry. Sebastian suggested taking a break from writing to allow your mind to refresh itself, but you couldn’t just do nothing. Doing chores around the mansion was relaxing compared to sitting at your desk, hunched over, and having a mental breakdown because you can’t figure out the right words to describe a scene you’ve been stuck on. And it wasn’t like you can press backspace and everything would be erased like nothing happened. Piles of crumpled papers littered the desk and spilled onto the floor.

Another sigh escaped your lips as you hung the last sheet. Standing back to take a look at your work, you weren’t prepared for Arthur’s sudden appearance from behind. 

“What’s with that frown?” Arthur asked. 

“Arthur!?” you blurted. 

“I was on my way to get some coffee but I saw you standing out here,” Arthur said. 

“Oh, I see. Well, let me brew you a fresh pot of coffee.” Arthur followed you back inside and you prepared some coffee. 

“You still haven’t answered my question.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “Is there something bothering you? Is it Comte? You know you can always come to me if you ever need a shoulder.” 

“No thanks. And no, it’s not that. It’s writer’s block,” you told him. 

“Why didn’t you say so earlier? As a fellow writer, we should help each other through these things!” Arthur’s smile was bright and mischievous. “Do you want to know how I overcome writer’s block?” 

“Uh… sure,” you agree, hoping that it’s actual advice and nothing stupid. 

“I usually enjoy the company of a pretty lady,” Arthur said. And it was something stupid…

You sighed deeply once more, “This is why I didn’t ask in the first place.”

“Well, it's better than what Dazai does. He just goes in and out of the windows more frequently. But you missed my point. You should do something that you enjoy doing. Go out, have some fun, and have new experiences,” Arthur explained. 

“It’s not like I don’t have any inspiration. I’m having trouble describing a certain scene and I’m not sure why. Nothing I write on paper makes sense or feels right,” you told him. 

Arthur seemed to be in deep thought but as soon as an idea popped into his head, he snapped his fingers and his face lit up. “Have you tried reading your sentences out loud?”

“Of course, that’s why I feel like they’re a bit off.” You frowned and Arthur mirrored your expression as he wracked his brain for more solutions. 

“Hmm… Maybe you should act it out? If you can put yourself in your character’s situation, then maybe you can have a better understanding of what’s happening and you’ll be able to write it better,” Arthur suggested. “All right, I’ll be your scene partner. So tell me about the scene.” 

You panicked as you stuttered an excuse, “It’s a complex scene and you need lots of context to really understand and I can’t explain it all right now. And besides, you write mysteries so I don’t think that you’d be able to act it out.” 

“Nonsense! I’m not a complete stranger to romance… Unless it’s a scene you can’t act out because you’re too embarrassed.” You didn’t give any response, but the blooming red hue on your face answered Arthur anyway. “Ah, so that must be it. I wonder what kind of naughty scene you’re writing.” 

Again, you didn’t say anything but that gave him all the information he needed to discern the truth. You ignored him and continued to brew the coffee, even though there wasn’t much to do except awkwardly stand there and watch the water filter its way through the coffee grounds. “Then why don’t you just ask your lover? I’m sure he wouldn’t have a problem doing dirty things to you so that you can write them down,” Arthur chuckled. 

“I can’t just ask him to do that,” you mumbled. 

“Sure you can, in fact you can ask him right now!” 

You whipped around to see Comte standing in the doorway with a gentle smile on his face. “Is something wrong, ma chérie?” 

“Comte! How long have you been standing there?” 

“Not long. I smelled coffee and I thought I’d ask for some before everyone else does,” he answered nonchalantly. 

Theo strolled into the room too announcing his intentions, “I smell coffee.” 

“It’s not for you, it was brewed for me,” Arthur told Theo. 

“Does it have your name on it? No? Then it’s for everyone.” Theo took more coffee just because Arthur was being stingy. Then he disappeared like he was never there. Comte politely held out a mug and you filled it with a generous amount. 

“This coffee was supposed to be for me,” Arthur sulked. 

“Does it have your name on it? No? Then it’s for everyone,” you repeated Theo’s words. “Besides, you could always brew more.” 

Arthur refused to brew it himself claiming, “You make the best coffee.” 

He frowned and Comte chuckled, “You’re a skilled coffee brewer, mon amour.” Arthur took his coffee to go, grateful for what he could receive. Comte lingered a bit longer, sipping his coffee while gazing at you. “Did you want to ask me something earlier?”

“Arthur and I were just talking and he was just teasing,” you replied.

Comte was not satisfied with your answer and he slid closer to you. “That’s not what I asked,” his voice dipped down into a seductive whisper. “You can ask me anything.”

“Arthur and I were just talking about writer’s block and he suggested I act out my scene so I have a better idea of how to write it,” you explained. 

Comte hummed, “So, tell me about this scene.”

“Well, the male and female lead spend an intimate night together when they reunite for the first time in years,” you told him.

“I see.” Comte smiles. “Would you like to act out the scene with me?”

“Are you saying you want to help me?” 

“Why wouldn’t I want to help you?” Comte closed the space between you two. “I’m at your command. Direct me in any way you need me and I’ll do my best to follow your instructions.” 

“Well, how about pinning me against the wall?” you asked him. 

Without question or a second thought, he pushed you up against the nearest wall. “Like this?” He was gentle and graceful with his movements and with the way he held you.

While it was enjoyable, it didn’t really capture the emotion of the scene. “It was good, but shouldn’t it be more… rough?”

He took a few steps back and you took a few steps forward. This time, he was a bit more rough and assertive. You were sandwiched in between the wall and his body while his hand hit the wall with a dull thud. An unexpected kabedon was a pleasant surprise, but it just didn’t feel right? “ I’ll just take this scene out because I’m not good enough to write that kind of scene,” another sigh escaped your lips. “Thanks for trying to help.”

You walked away from Comte feeling defeated. But he wasn’t about to let you go just yet. He grasped your wrist and pulled you back toward him and suddenly you were back against the wall. His frame eclipsed your own as his forearm leaned against the wall and his leg blocked your path. “You shouldn’t say that about yourself,” he whispered in your ear, “you’re an excellent writer. Don’t limit yourself, believe in yourself. You are enough and your skills are enough.” 

His smile is encouraging and his golden irises are burning with love and passion. “Thank you.” You smile back at him. 

“Now say it. Say you’re good enough to write this scene.”

“I’m good enough to write this scene,” you repeat. 

“Good, because when I’m done with you, you’ll have no problem writing the scene, ma chérie.”

#ikemen series #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire comte #ikevamp comte #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevamp fanfiction

[ghostswrites]

Dear big ears,

Don’t get on me. You know they’re huge, but that’s okay. I like to nibble them. Do you miss me yet? I miss you so much. It’s painful. They talk in myths and legends about how, when you are parted from your one, it will be like you lost yourself. I never paid much attention to my tutors when they talk about it, but I wish I had.

Then I could put these feelings into words instead of just writing that without you, my world is less bright. I feel as if I’m walking with a limp, like a part of me is missing.

I wish you could see it here, Merlin. Most of the media like to think Africa is just dry, red, nothing. While it is dry and red, it is also so very green. As we flew over the Congolian rainforests, I never saw so much green in one area. It’s huge! It’s full of so much life, Merlin. I want to show you someday together.

Even now, I see and are told things that I want to share with you. Always thinking ‘I have to tell Merlin’ I’m sorry that we aren’t able to keep in contact much. I know we said it would be like I never left, and that turned out to be a lie.

But I have to do this. I have to help these people give back what I can. Not because I’ll get brownie points or just want to help the common folk, but because I’m able to. I hold this status and money. I can really do something. Something that will help others.

My mother told me before her death to give everything you can to people and more. That we had opportunities most people don’t have. We need to help others, so we can build a better world for all. I want to help others as much as I can.

Even when the monarchy is dismantled. I know you’re waiting for that part. I will keep doing this, and you will come with me. Not only that, but I’ll help build and you could teach everyone art. I would even bring supplies. There is a little girl here who mixes her paints from minerals naturally found here.

I wish you could see it. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before, and I know you’d just go bonkers.

Well, I must go and get this off to be posted before I can’t for another three days. I miss you, Merlin, and await my return.

Love, Arthur

#merthur #fanfiction #bbc merlin #merthur fanfic #arthur pendragon #merlin emrys #snippet #my writing #wpita #modern royalty au

[red-dead-do-over246]

Omg I need more of your writing 🥺 can I have #99 with jealous Micah?

YES💖 Thank you!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Flowers

Micah sees you giving flowers to some other members in the gang. He takes the situation and blows it out of proportion.

#99 “It kills me to think about you having a life with someone else.”

Flowers.

Micah didn’t understand why people saw flowers as such a wonderful gift. I mean, they were growing everywhere and weren’t exactly an expensive find. Just some little colorful, sweet-smelling plants that were scattered around the countryside, picked up in a bunch, and given to someone who always seems to be overjoyed by the gesture. 

It made Micah sick.

Yet he never wanted a bouquet so badly. 

You’re a very giving person, so you tended to give gifts to a lot of the camp members. However, with little money, you left to picking bunches of flowers. Micah would witness you giving them to Jack, which didn’t bother him. But then he saw you giving them to people like Arthur, then to Dutch, and even to Kieran. Everyone seemed to be getting your flowers.

Only one thought went through Micah Bell.

Why not him?

The outlaw liked to believe he didn’t care, and he acted like that at first. After all, he thought flowers were a weak and ridiculous gift. Still, they were from you. That alone made him want flowers so damn badly. But he had his reputation to consider, and not only that, but he seemed to be the only one who never received your flowers.

It made his blood boil in a jealous rage, but he was not about to throw a hissy fit over some flowers.

In front of the others.

“Y/N...c’mere for a second.” Micah beckoned you over one evening. After seeing you give Sean some flowers, he’s had enough and wants to get to the bottom of this. You wasted no time in coming over to the blonde, who was casually leaning against one of the hitching posts. 

“Is there something you need?” You asked kindly. That was another thing that confused him. You were nice to him and not scared at all, so it just added to his list of questions as to why he wasn’t getting any flowers. 

Micah just casually fiddled with his knife, avoiding your eyes.

“Yeah...some flowers.” He said, causing you to start and fiddle with your hands. Did he actually notice this? Micah was pretty observant, but you didn’t expect him to care so much about these little things. He wasn’t the flowers type, when it came to giving or receiving.

“Flowers? I didn’t-” You started to say, but he cut you off by sharply looking up and into your eyes, quickly sheathing his knife as he pointed an accusing finger at you.

“Why are all the others receiving them while I’m forgotten?” He practically growled, looking almost betrayed. You couldn’t stop the guilty look from coming on your face. Micah actually looked hurt, and you wanted to explain, but he kept talking.

“Do you prefer them over me? Prefer Arthur?” His voice was laced with jealously, especially towards Arthur whom you’ve given a lot of flowers to. Micah didn’t want to sound jealous, but he couldn’t help it. You could hear it and didn’t understand it. Micah never seemed to care at all.

“Micah...why do you care?” You asked him, and Micah just balled his fists.

“It kills me to think about you having a life with someone else.” He confessed quietly, still looking pissed. You were shocked into silence because not once did you ever think that he was interested in you.

Well, in that way. In an actual romantic way.

You were wringing your hands, unsure of what to say. However, as you did this, Micah had also calmed down. On that note, he realized what he practically confessed. All his instincts were telling him to flee, even though he deemed that as being a coward. But Micah wasn’t ready to talk about his feelings. Ever. But before he could, you started to speak again.

“Hey...just because I give someone else flowers doesn't mean I want to be with them...” You told him softly, causing Micah to peek at you out of curiosity. 

“What are you trying to say?” He asked slowly, unsure of if he was reading your words correctly. Could it be possible that you returned these feelings that he kept for you?

You fiddled with your hands, eyes darting about, before reaching into your pockets to grab something. After a bit of a struggle, you finally pulled out something that appeared to be a flower. Made of paper. It had folded red paper for the petals, and what appeared to be some sort of newspaper for the stem.

You held it out to him.

“Real flowers always die in the end...for someone I really care about...a flower that will never die...” You said with a slight smile. It took Micah a couple of seconds, but he eventually took the “flower” from your hands in a delicate manner.

“I...” He didn’t even know how to respond to that. Seeing Micah so speechless made you giggle, and before he could even think of anything, you walked off. He watched you for a while before looking down at the little paper flower.

He couldn’t stop his heart from swooning, and he never realized how much power one little flower could have over him.

From then on, no matter the comments people made, Micah made sure to have it pinned on his shirt where you could see.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x reader #rdr2 #micah bell #micah x reader #micah bell x reader #rdr2 micah bell

[hchollym]

However unlikely it is now all I can think about is Percy losing it at his parents one day after Fred is dead. Maybe it’s a snide remark from Arthur about how Percy must not be hurting as much because he was gone.

(I hc Percy was separated from most of the family during the war and the twins went with him)

And something in Percy snaps. One moment he’s tense and tired and wants to go home, to his home, and the next he’s whirling around and yelling.

(These are all hc’s but but wouldn’t be surprised if it was canon)

Yelling how his father would have no idea how hurt he is. How he lost more than a brother (he doesn’t say son, I don’t think Percy would ever use those words to describe his feelings but he Knows he was the third parent). How it was him who changed the dirty diapers. It was him who rocked him to sleep. It was him who taught Fred (and George) how to walk, tie their shoes, talk, write, read it was him who calmed the tantrums and the tears.

And Percy keeps getting louder, he’s on a roll now. It’s not just Fred and George anymore, it’s Ron and Ginny too. Because he did all of that and more for them. He raised them. He was there when his parents weren’t. He had to deal with the worst part of attitudes and being screamed at because they felt more comfortable with him than them.

And his parents will never have those memories. Will never have to wake up every day with them and then remember that he’s dead. His brother who he raised, who he was there for nearly every second up until the preteens hit, is dead and all Percy can see is that tiny bubbly baby and not the 20 or so something year old. When his mind takes him back to his brother dead on the floor, because he was there and he let it happy and that pain might just be the worst of all, he saw a smaller and younger Fred. A Fred who shouldn’t have been out fighting, a Fred he would play with and help get dressed and eat.

And maybe in this already unlikely situation his siblings aren’t home or maybe they are. And they slowly make their way towards the yelling, first upset at Percy because doesn’t he understand everyone’s grieving? Hasn’t he done enough? But Percy doesn’t notice and he keeps yelling and they hear what he’s saying.

Or

Percy goes stiff and let’s out a sigh and imagines saying all this, almost let’s himself do it. But instead he walks away.

Sorry this turned into an almost fic like writing

😭 You're breaking my heart, anon. 💔

I agree that Percy would never refer to his younger siblings as his kids, but he knows that he was a third parent to them, so the feelings are the same. 

Like you said, Percy is the one that helped raise them (more than Arthur), and it’s my headcanon that this was especially true for Fred & George, because Percy likely took care of them most of the time while Molly focused on the youngest two.

However, I don't think Arthur would make a comment like that. I think Arthur is painfully aware that Percy picked up his slack, which is partially why their relationship deteriorated so badly - there's a lot of resentment, guilt, and shame involved.

I could see Bill saying something like that though (I've said before that I think Bill resents Percy the most for leaving), because he is hurting and lashing out, and then I can see Percy turning around and absolutely losing it on him (like I said in this post - Percy would definitely blow up at Bill).

Percy would probably let out all of his frustrations about how Bill was the "great big brother" who never actually did anything; he left as soon as possible, and it was Percy who did the actual work of being the eldest brother, so Bill has no room to talk. Then, Bill would probably go off on Percy about how at least he was there in the war when their family needed him most.

It would be a terrible, ugly, painful confrontation that would leave a lot of the family members feeling conflicted, but I actually think it would be a good thing for Percy (in the long run), because I think some of the younger siblings would realize just how much Percy did vs. Bill while they were growing up, and that might help mend their relationship (at least somewhat).

Thanks for sharing! 😊

#Ask me #anon ask #percy weasley #percy weasley defense squad #Weasley family dynamic #Weasley family critical #Hp #My thoughts #my headcanons

[gayskogul]

Wip snippet

Thank you for the tag, @renaultphile I have to admit that I'm not working on any writing for TC right now, sorry girlies, but I am working on something just as homosexual! It's the story of a young Paladin-in-training, and the fledgling Cleric who has been made to tutor him in the ways of the magic. So, stay tuned if you like fantasy and knights and magic and homoerotic devotion! I've a bunch of chapters written already but I'm not keen to start uploading bits until I have a whole act ready to go, but I plan to start posting these stinkers up on Ao3 very soon! Anyway, this is a snippet from an early scene that I quite liked.

[5-ish mins reading time]

“It’s really quite a simple trick,” said Arthur, spreading his cloak out underneath him on the tree stump. “We learn to do it early on in our training. You just have to open yourself up, and really…” Arthur noticed a wave of confusion sweep across the other man’s face. “You can feel the Light, can’t you?”

Oliver bit at his lower lip. He nodded, after a moment. “I think so, yes. Sergeant Wheatley—the practice instructor, that is—said that I wield it in combat. But off the training field…”

“Nothing?”

Oliver pushed a brown lock of hair back from his face, a twinge of frustration in the gesture. “Not even a glimmer.”

Arthur took the leaf that had fallen from the poplar branches above them, then held it in his hand, palm up. He focused for a moment, reaching out for the Light, then let it wash over the leaf. With a barely audible puff, it floated a couple of inches above his outstretched hand.

“Do you see it?” asked Arthur. “The Light.”

Oliver craned his neck, eyeing the leaf warily, as if it was some monstrous enemy upon the battlefield. After a long silence, he murmured, “No.”

Arthur felt his heart sink into his stomach. Had the Order made a mistake? The leaf did a sudden nose-dive, plummeting as the spell fed off of his momentary doubt. But he bolstered the enchantment, steadying it before it could drop to the floor and become lost amongst the foliage. “Look closer. Try again.”

Oliver shifted closer, leathers creaking as he bent down at the waist. “Hold on…” he breathed. He squinted at it for a moment, then nodded. “It’s hard to see, but yes, I think that’s it! Little threads of… is that the Light? You can really see it?”

“Good,” said Arthur, relief making the word come out sounding choked. For most people, those would not be visible. Not that they were visible per se, but those with some attunement to the Light were able to sense it. It was a sixth sense of sorts. Oliver’s ability to perceive them meant that he was indeed familiar with the magic, and had most likely been told the truth that he’d used it in his sparring, and most importantly, this wasn’t a waste of time for everybody involved, the poor lad included. 

Arthur released the spell. The leaf flopped back onto his hand. “Now that you saw how it’s done, have a go."

Oliver stared at the leaf. His brows knit together in concentration, and he pressed his lips together so forcefully that they went white. A minute passed. Then another. A crow called in the distance, and was answered by a flight of unimpressed-sounding wood pigeons.

Long-held breath exploded out of him. He turned away rigidly. “I can’t.”

Oliver looked like he’d just been in a fight, all tense and coiled up like a spring. The sight made Arthur frown. That just wouldn’t do, he thought, idly running a finger across the edge of the leaf.

“It’s alright. Not everyone gets it right away.” Arthur put his chin into his hand. He rolled the stalk between the ends of his fingers. “Let’s try something else. What do you know about spells?”

A blank look was all the only response he got.

“I see. Then have you ever managed to purposefully channel the Light?”

Oliver shook his head glumly. “I don’t think so.”

“What about when you’ve done it whilst fighting? When you use it then, how does it feel?”

“I’m not sure. But when I’m paired up with some of the other recruits—the ones who cheat, or fight dirty, or the ones I know that bully the younger boys, everything feels… different.” Oliver sat up straighter. He shook his head, as if clearing it of cobwebs. “Each step is more certain. Each sword form feels like it’s always the correct one to use, like... like it would be impossible for it to miss. Winning the bout would be something pure and correct. I think that might be the Light: searing hot and sharp, and full of purpose!”

The words were stirring. They'd made Arthur inadvertently lean closer to the other man. He subtly clawed himself back into a more relaxed posture before Oliver could notice. Of course, the answer sounded like one a paladin would give, and certainly some of the more zealous priests too. But there was more to it than that. The Light could be burning hot, but it could also be a soothing warmth. He wondered whether Oliver had realised that, surrounded as he was by people who were so devoted to the art of battle. His gaze swept across the newest bloodstain on the squire’s trousers, and an idea came to him.

“Hold out your hand,” said Arthur, “the one you pricked on the briarthorn.”

Oliver gave him a curious look, but obeyed. Slowly, he reached out his hand and uncurled his fingers, one by one. They were long and knobbly, and his thumb jutted out awkwardly. There was still a spot of bright crimson at the tip of the ring finger, and a darker patch where blood had mixed with the dirt on his hand and dried there.

Arthur had proved that Oliver could see the Light. Now it was time for a different experiment. “Alright. Close your eyes,” he said.

“What are you up to?” asked Oliver warily.

“Do you trust me?”

There was a long moment of silence. Grey eyes flicked up to bore into him for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, Oliver cocked his head slightly and said, “I do.” He shut his eyes. Thick lashes caught the sun.

Arthur brought his heels to the tree stump below him, using the motion to counterbalance leaning forwards to reach out to the other man. “In a second,” he said quietly, “I’m going to touch your hand, if that’s alright.”

“Understood.”

In the soft, calm voice that he reserved for the more delicate procedures, Arthur continued. “After that, I’m going to try something. I want you to focus on how it feels.”

Oliver hummed an affirmative.

“Alright. No peeking.”

By now, Arthur had cast healing spells countless times throughout his training, on many hundreds of different people. But this time, for the first time in years, he was nervous. It could have been some reticence at calling upon the Light to heal so superficial a cut—it was indeed wasteful to heal such a small pinprick. Or perhaps some lingering anxiety from being uprooted from his home so suddenly and sent across the continent. It could have been a fear of upsetting the young paladin again and wiping away the softness that had spread across his face when his eyes shut, and looked so at-home there. Regardless of its cause, healing magic required a particular state of mind to be effective, and the way his pulse had decided to quicken was not helping.

He took the outstretched hand. When his fingers brushed against Oliver’s palm, a tremor run through the other man.

“Sorry,” said Oliver, smiling. “I wasn’t quite expecting it yet.”

“Oh. Apologies.”

“It’s alright. Go on. Please.”

If one were to observe the elegant skin of Oliver’s face, his neck, and his arms, one might be convinced into believing that his hands would be just as fine. This was not the case. In fact, it was quite the opposite. There were bumpy calluses on his palm, hardened little hills and valleys worn into his hand by years of hard work, and recently long hours of combat drills. It was undoubtedly a strong hand, but it had an unspoken gentleness about it. The paladin's hands were quite pretty in their own way, he thought.

Despite his trepidation, it only took a moment for Arthur to reach out to the Light. He was very practised at it by now, after all, and it took little effort to open himself up and let the radiance fill him. He focused his efforts down, and pushed them gently onto the little snag on the skin of Oliver’s finger pad, where another crimson teardrop had blossomed. He imagined tiny threads of the Light and willed them to weave the skin closed. It took a couple of seconds to take effect. He knew it had worked, because Oliver’s brows rocketed upwards, becoming lost behind his fringe.

“You felt that?”

“Uh-huh,” replied Oliver. His lips remained parted slightly.

With his thumb, Arthur wiped the drop of blood away from the cut. The skin underneath was perfectly whole. “And?”

“I see what you mean. It went all warm, like a good blanket, or… or like sitting right at the edge of a campfire. I didn’t know it could be like that.” Oliver cracked open his eyes, looking directly at him.

Arthur shifted on his seat under the weight of that gaze. He looked away. “Good as new,” he said, dropping the hand quickly. He rocked back on his tree stump, suddenly eager to put distance between them.

Oliver flexed his hand, wiggling the fingers. “Yeah. Thanks,” he said, touching the spot where the cut used to be.

“You’ve never felt the Light like that before?”

“No. Not like that. It's beautiful. How do you…?”

“It takes some… getting used to."

-------

#wip #writing #wip snippet #warcraft oc #gay gay homosexual gay #it's fanfic in the sense that they're all my own characters that i've plopped into the wc3 world #so u dont have to know anything abt that universe to enjoy the gayboys :) #this is like. the first conversation they have with each other lol #yall know im a stickler for a homoerotic healing scene #This is not the end of the scene but i will spare yall the debate they launch into abt the nature of holy magic and its use as a tool of wa #gayskogul writes

[boxmorelover232]

Batman: The Brave and The Bold Theory - The Atlantis Crowning

Note: If this gets good reactions, I may make more in the future.

So, this came to me as I was thinking about Orm Marius (AKA Ocean Master) and his relationship with his brother. Albeit, I was thinking up potential storylines with him for my other story, but that's not important right now. I was rewatching the episode "Evil Under The Sea," taking screenshots of Orm at all stages possible and enjoying the episode when I saw something I hadn't noticed on my first watch. See if you can spot it below:

Did you see it?

As Atlanna (the [presumed] then-Queen of Atlantis) approached her sons, Orm and Arthur (AKA Aquaman), they stood with confident smiles. Orm's confidence stemmed from his certainty of becoming the next king, and Arthur- Well, I'm not sure, but knowing him, it was probably just him being glad to be there.

As Atlanna gets closer, Orm closes his eyes (probably to relish the moment) and Arthur turns his head toward his older brother. And that's the thing that inspired me to write this post.

When Arthur turned his head toward Orm, he smiled at him. It may be my weird sleep schedule talking, but I think this indicates that Orm AND Arthur were certain that Orm was going to be the King of Atlantis that day.

Now, take a look at these images:

When Atlanna goes up to Arthur, he's shocked as the crown is put on his head. While this happens, Orm opens his eyes at the lack of a crown on his head and turns to his side to see what happened. I think this happened because he saw his mother from his peripherals and the head turn was an instinctive decision. But take a look at his expressions.

In picture 1, Orm's eyes are still closed and smiling - likely still expecting the crown to be placed on his head. Picture 2 has Orm open his eyes when the crown wasn't placed on his head and his smile dropped, likely indicating he felt something was off. Picture 3 has Orm look to his left (our right) and sees what happened; he may also be glaring or squinting at what happened, but it's difficult to tell which it is.

And how do the two brothers react?

Arthur's confusion turned to joy, beaming at becoming the next Ruler of Atlantis...

While Orm looks shocked in the first image, and betrayed in the second. Based on his gaze and everyone's placements, it's likely he's looking at his mother for an answer to his unspoken question.

But does he ever get it?

Not that we've seen depicted in the flashback. Instead...

Atlanna hands her youngest the Trident and the decision is finalized for all to see.

Now, granted, this could be a simple summary of events for us, the viewers, but seeing as there's nothing that contradicts the assumption (I kinda stopped watching the episode so I could write this down; if I'm missing something, don't hesitate to let me know) it stands to reason that Atlanna never gave an answer for her decision,

Well, perhaps not in that moment. Or to Orm...

"She loved you, but she gave me the throne because she knew you couldn't handle the power."

That's what Aquaman said, anyway. Now, since we've yet to create the technology to cross into the amazing world of TB&TB (and I'm not in any position to do a lot of late-night research [I'm trying to tire myself out and get to bed]), it stands to reason that Atlanna saw something in her eldest that made her uneasy, such as a thirst for power, and so gave the title of King to her youngest.

Seems fairly simple, yeah?

Except...something feels off about this as well.

If Orm's power lust was the whole reason for Atlanna's decision...why didn't she just tell Orm in the first place? Why didn't she express her concerns regarding Orm's behavior to her son? Why were Orm and Arthur at the ceremony smiling? Better yet- Why was Arthur smiling at his brother in the first place????

Why did they both think that Orm was going to be the next King, if Atlanna knew that it'd be Arthur???

Maybe I'm missing some things, but something just doesn't seem right. I can't be the only one here who thinks it's a little sus how things played out.

The only reason I can think of for Atlanna's behavior (that doesn't involve my personal headcanons) is favoritism. We don't see much of Atlanna or Orm, one's implied to be dead and the other a one-appearance-only character, so we don't get much characterization after this point. However, it doesn't go against anything that's been presented to my knowledge. I say as I've yet to even watch all the way through the Criss Cross Conspiracy.

Regardless of the reason, that little detail of Orm and Arthur's expression in the flashback got my gears turning. I may be right, or wrong, or some flavor of both, but it's a little food for thought for all the overthinkers out there.

Anyway, I hope everyone has a great timezone, and I will see you guys later! 🐟👑🦑

#Theory post #batman: the brave and the bold #Batman: The Brave and The Bold Theory #Arthur Curry #aquaman #orm marius #ocean master #Atlanna #theory #analysis #media analysis #fan theory #speculation #Late Night Thinking

[sugdenlovesdingle]

I’m out with Emmerdale. I really didn’t think that show could reach the bottom of the barrel as much as they already have but they actually exceeded themselves. From what I have seen and, it was just one comment so it might be a supposition from the writer of that post is that Marshall was axed, which i would agree with what we know now. Notably due to the apparition of the aunt, we never heard about, of course it was supposed that he had other family than his father but why did she was never mentioned in any of the storyline he got. Now, if he got axed, I seriously won’t understand why, the actor wasn’t the actor of the year, he didn’t smash Emmerdale with his storyline and honestly him and Arthur could have been way better than they were, but he was a promising addition. I scoffed at the article that announced his departure after they said the ship was being compared to Heartstopper, I wished they had just an ounce of what Heartstopper got. I agree with the post you answered : what was the point of their storyline, how can they get together and then we hear nothing for months (because of the actors having exams) then they are back and they have a fight out of nothing and we are being told it’s been like this for quite some time and now departure. It just doesn’t make sense, it’s not a coherent story ( we know the writers suck but…) which also is the reason why I am thinking of the actor’s asked to leave. I mean at that age, he might not know what he want and decided acting was not for him. Also, I immediately thought about it when I saw the news and I hope it’s not the case but he might have had pushback from his classmates or others for playing a gay character or Emmerdale pushed back because they got told off by somebody that having a gay couple below the age of consent is not possible, especially with the ongoing issues in England with people pushing the lgbtq being gr**mer who lure children. Maybe also there has been criticism because the show is too “crowded” with lgbt character and of course Emmerdale being who they are decided to clean up just like they did when they killed Lawrence, Finn, made Kasim leave in an previous era. There is this new couple with Nicky and Vanessa is coming back so…

I am sorry, it was longer than what I intended it to be but if it’s Marshall that bite the dust, when there are dozen of others characters that should just leave, than Emmerdale is just the dumbest, most incoherent show that I might have ever come across. The funny part (that is actually very sad) is that the picture of his departure had the most intimacy, him and his supposed boyfriend had, since his introduction.

Let it all out anon, tell me how you really feel. 😉 Yeah the whole Marshall thing is stupid. I saw an article from DS though that suggested that this might have been the plan all along (based on a quote from one of the terrible trio). That the whole point was to have Arthur experience his first heartbreak... but then there are other ways they could have done that... and have them actually act like boyfriends. Alfie is 15 (thank you Google) and I'm guessing the kid who plays Marshall is too - even 15 year old actors can play a couple. Ok they can't throw them together and have a drunken one night stand (that's probably what they'll do with Nicky and Suni) but there are other ways to portray a couple than just sex. I think they get compared to Heartstopper because they're young - even though the Heartstopper boys are older (the actors - not sure how old the characters are supposed to be). But it does show how you can tell a romantic relationship story without throwing the characters into bed together. They would have to be careful (for lack of a better word) on how/what to do with them as a couple but I'm sure they could have come up with something in between random hook ups and what they actually got. And I know Alfie's mum is very involved in everything Emmerdale, and I'm guessing the kid that plays Marshall's parents/guardians are too since he's under age... so between the parents, the actors, the writers, and the terrible trio, i'm sure they could have come up with something that everyone was comfortable with and still gave us more of a story than whatever the hell this was. I don't think it's got anything to do with the facebook bitching. I saw comments about Suni today too - how Emmerdale needs to look at actual Yorkshire villages because that's not how it *really* is. Apparently brown people don't exist in Yorkshire - who knew! Just wait until they find out he's into guys too. But emmerdale has never given a shit about what's being said on social media and stuff. The only time I remember them ever addressing a reaction to a story was when they announced Laurel having an abortion after finding out the baby had down syndrome. People still bring that up and that was actually really well done (for a change). As for the show being too crowded - they can't seem to hang onto their actors for more than a year these days... Naomi, Marcus, Marshall, all left or are leaving. Liam Fox/Dan is apparently doing panto this year and hopefully at least leaving temporarily... and they just brought in Charles' parents and gave his dad an aneurysm so he's living on borrowed time too. If they really wanted to do a clean up they should bring back Meena and let her get rid of some dead weight. (not going to happen but a girl can dream)

#Anonymous #emmerdale