#judge gallows

[dailydccomics]

The Dreaming (2018—2020) art by Bilquis Evely

#the dreaming #bilquis evely #dc comics #dora #merv pumpkinhead #balam #judge gallows #sandman universe #dc #vertigo comics #comic book art #these pages are so pretty omg

[zal-cryptid]

DC characters - Judge Gallows

#dc characters #dc #the sandman universe #judge #judge gallows #the dreaming #fan art #fanart #dc villains #old west #nightmare #dreams #dc comics #dc universe #dc vertigo

[goatsorcery]

buffalo wild wings commercial that jokes “haha no one can afford college” 😐

#huh #ive been seeing more and more ads that joke about things not being affordable #especially college #or comparing costs with student loan payments #gallows humor but the judge and executioner are making all the jokes

[flowersandbigteeth]

Looking for a saucy medieval tradition to weave into your historical romances? Have no fear, foot-of-the-gallows marriage is here! Basically, if a man was about to be hanged and a woman stepped forward and said “I will marry this man!” he was spared because it was was seen as like “oh, she’ll rehabilitate him so we don’t have to kill him.” Now, I heard this from tiktok, so I could be wrong, and it could just be a folk tale or something that rarely happened in actuality. Either way, it’s a cool troupe I think more people should use (and I myself will be using). I think it would work really well with Orcs and Elves!

This is such an intriguing idea! I had to try it. If you end up writing it, tag me, if you are comfortable! I'd love to see what you do with it ^_^

I keep getting Orc ideas, and I can't resist them *feral invasive Orc thoughts* （￣ ｗ￣）Ψ

Orc (Saber) x GN elf reader

Word Count: 6K

TW: discussion of hanging, bad mother, sfw Orc fluff, a bit of melancholy with a happy ending, nonsexual mention of private body parts in the context of bathing

“Goodness, what’s this all about?” you grumbled, clutching your basket closer to you as you made your way through the crowd. 

The stench of rotten vegetables and too many people lingered in the air. 

“It’s a hanging,” a helpful imp beamed, hopping on his tiptoes to see over the crowd. Why people gathered all around to watch someone die, you had no idea, but more importantly, the crowd was blocking your path home. Industrious vendors selling ale and popcorn wove through the throng to collect what coins they could from the event. In the capital, everyone had a hustle, and few left the chance to make some money at the table. 

“Out of the way!” You shouted, shouldering whoever was unlucky enough to be in your way. 

The voice of the city guardsman who was reading off a list of offenses to the crowd drowned yours out, but with a few well-placed shoves, you managed to make it to the front. You were looking around, trying to figure out how to get across the plaza, when you glanced up to see a familiar face. 

“It’s you!” you blurted as your eyes locked with the brilliant chartreuse irises of the Orc standing on the gallows. 

He gave you a wan smile, lifting his tied hands to wave at you. His straight nose was up in the air as if all the rabble around him should be fortunate to have the privilege of watching him die. The thick olive locs you remembered being long had been roughly chopped short around his ears. Still, even dressed in an ill-fitting prison jumpsuit, he had a regal air about him. His barrel chest was puffed, strong muscles peaking between the frayed fabric. 

“Fifty counts of robbery…25 counts of counterfeiting gold coins…seven counts of horse theft…”

The Orc you’d met before’s name was Saber. He’d helped you get your broken cart into town one rainy afternoon…, and then he’d also stolen your necklace, which you’d realized after he’d disappeared. 

“As per the King’s edict, If any citizen pledges to save this soul from the gallows by way of marriage, please step forth.” 

Though he was handsome, no one raised their hands to save him. Instead, they all booed. Judging by the rotten vegetables hurled at him, he seemed to have robbed almost everyone in the capital. 

“Aye!” you shouted, hiking up your pants to pull yourself onto the stage. 

The guardsmen’s eyebrows shot up when you’d straightened yourself.

“I’ll marry the sorry bastard.” 

“Are you sure? He’ll most likely rob you and run off. He’s better off dead.” 

“I have business with this one,” you informed him, snapping your fingers. “Come on then. Let’s get this over with.” 

The guardsman shrugged and jerked the noose off of his neck, a little disappointed. The crowd wasn’t happy either, hurling insults along with their vegetables. 

“Quiet! Quiet!” the guardsman shouted after shoving Saber forward for the “ceremony.”

He took a deep breath, jerking a notebook out of his pocket.

“Alright,” he began, snorting. “State your name for the record.” 

“(Y/N).”

“Lovely elven name,” he murmured as he jotted it down. “Now then, do you (Y/N) take this here, criminal, Saber Wintermaple to be your lawfully wedded husband?” 

You gave him a sharp nod. 

“I do.” 

He swung a lazy eye at Saber. 

“Do you Saber Wintermaple, take this kind elf to be your betrothed?” 

He gave you a bright smile. 

“I do.” 

The guardsman snapped the book closed, shoving Saber towards you. 

“I hereby declare you two duly betrothed under the King’s law. This Orc is your problem now, citizen. You’d better keep him out of trouble, or you’ll be up here next to him!”

He handed you the thick rope looped around the binding, keeping Saber’s hands tied, and waved you two off. The audience, bored without bloodshed, had already started dispersing, making it easy for you to tug Saber towards the road leading to the forest. 

“I didn’t know I made such a pleasant impression,” Saber said cheerfully, following you out of town.

You whirled around and jammed a finger in his face. 

“I wouldn’t describe it as pleasant. You owe me a gold necklace! Give it back, or you can work off the coin you owe me!” 

He chuckled.

“I’m fresh out of coins, little elf.” 

He scratched his chin and looked up, thinking. 

“I’m pretty sure I lost that necklace in a game of dice.” 

He shrugged. 

“You lost my only possession of any value in a game of dice?” 

You scrubbed your hand over your face, counting back from ten so you didn’t explode.  

“Maybe I should have let you die.”

Frowning, you looked over him from toe to head. 

“At least you look strong enough. I’m sure I can find something useful for you to do!” 

You stopped where the two of you stood in the middle of the trail and pulled a small charm from your basket. 

“I was going to use this on my coin purse since there was a thief on the loose, but it’s probably better applied to you!” 

You looped the charm around his neck, closing your eyes to whisper the spell. A gust of spirit wind, fluffed your hair as the magic twirled around Saber. When you opened your eyes again, there was a blue thread linking the two of you that only you could see. 

“What was that?” he asked, narrowing his eyes on you. 

“It’s a binding spell, so you can’t run off with my stuff again,” you explained.

His eyebrows jumped, and he tugged at the little talisman around his neck. 

“It won’t come off.” 

You nodded proudly. 

“Exactly.”

He took a moment to examine you carefully, tapping his chin again. 

“Interesting,” he murmured.  

“What? What does that mean?” 

He smiled and shrugged.

“Lead the way, spouse.” 

You sighed, turning and pulling him through the bumpy trail in the woods to your little home. When you’d fled your homeland to the Capital, you’d been lucky to find an abandoned cottage outside the city walls. It wasn’t massive, with only the basic living quarters, but it must have at some point belonged to someone’s Saber’s size, as the door and counters were much too high. You’d spent much of the money you earned selling charms and ointments, buying stools and ladders to reach things. 

“You poor thing,” Saber sighed as you passed through the magic barrier you’d cast to keep your home hidden from bandits.

“You don’t need to patronize me,” you huffed. “You’re the one almost hanged and run out of town.” 

He ignored you, looking around. 

“I feel kind of bad for stealing your necklace now that I’ve seen where you live. This place is a mess.” 

You examined your home, trying to see it through his eyes. Every available surface was covered in books, alchemy equipment, or ingredients. Even the chairs were covered in cast-off scrolls, books, or charms. 

“It’d be nice to have a workshop,” you admitted. “But that’s much too expensive.”

You straightened your slumping shoulders and lifted your chin. 

“No matter, you won’t be spending much time sitting down. I’ve got loads of things that need doing.” 

He gave you a sharp nod and held out his hands. 

“You’ll have to untie me if you want me to work.” 

Pulling a small blade from your basket, you sawed through the thick binding. Free to move as he pleased, he wrung his stiff wrists as he perused your living room. Occasionally he would pick something up, then put it down again, finally crouching to examine a bucket filled with water. 

“What are you doing?” 

He peered up at the leak in the roof that was letting rainwater drip through. 

“This needs fixing, or the roof will rot out.”

Pushing off of his knees, he turned to you. 

“How long have you been living alone?” 

You blushed, embarrassed. 

“I dunno, my whole life, I guess. The elven town where I came from didn’t have an orphanage or anything, so when I was old enough, I took off toward the capital. It took a while to get here…but here I am. I thought there would be more…I don’t know…opportunity here.” 

“How has that worked out for you? Living in a house clearly not meant for you and marrying a man on the gallows.” 

You gave him an indignant snuff. 

“At least I’m not a thief!” 

He chuckled, leaning against a bookshelf, rolling a gold coin on his knuckles. Your eyes narrowed on it, and you reached in your pocket to find you’d been relieved of your day’s earnings. 

“Hey! You stole that!” 

He laughed, revealing straight white teeth, and jingled the other coins in his pocket. 

“Don’t worry, I can’t get away with it, right?” 

You sucked in a deep annoyed breath. 

“I have things to do. Make yourself useful and chop some wood. It’s going to be cold when the sun sets.” 

“Whatever you say, spouse,” he replied, giving you a sarcastic salute as you dropped your basket and hurried to the kitchen to get started on dinner. 

What had you been thinking marrying a criminal? You paused for a moment, eyes growing misty. You didn’t really think he still had your necklace, did you? You let out a sigh just short of a sob. Were you really that lonely? Maybe it hurt that he’d been so kind to you, just to trick you. You should have been happy to see him hanged, yet the lingering magic that followed all elves had whispered that you ought to save him. 

But why? You weren’t in any position to support a husband. Though you’d instructed yourself on the knowledge of various potions and charms, you weren’t the only one. The city was teaming with Academy-bred alchemists who far surpassed your skill. They had access to rare ingredients and an army of assistants. You had to scrape out a living selling your wares far cheaper than the competition even to get noticed at the market. Hustling day to day, you certainly didn’t have the time or money to pretty yourself up to find a partner. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you grumbled, returning to chopping tubers for soup. 

A thick THWACK, drew your eyes out the kitchen window to Saber splitting logs across the lawn. He’d divested himself of his ratty shirt, and every thick muscle was on display as he lifted the ax over his head and dropped it down again. The logs felt apart like they were nothing more than twigs under his might. 

Your eye focused on the dark, wet slashes across his shoulder blades where his jailors had beaten him. He must have felt your eyes on him because he glanced up and waved. Blushing, you hurriedly pulled the curtains, returning to your task. 

Unable to get his injuries out of your mind, you felt bad for making him chop wood while he was hurt. When you’d plopped the tubers into your cooking pot, you gathered up some healing and numbing salves, making your way out the door. 

“Need something?” he asked, looking up from his task. 

“Sit down,” you barked. 

A thick eyebrow rose, and he tipped his head. 

“Why? Planning on lobbing my head off?” 

You wrinkled your nose at him. 

“No, of course not! You’re massive. How would I even go about burying your body? I can’t have a rotting corpse stinking up the place. Just sit!” 

He leaned his axe against the stump he was using to brace the wood and sat down on it. You dug in your basket, pulling out some cleanser to clean the wounds. Beside the big ugly gashes, Saber’s skin was a smooth, pretty green, the planes of his muscles sharp and defined. The first brush of your hand on his back made him jump. 

“S-sorry,” you muttered.

“‘Ts fine. Just not used to people touching me. Go on.” 

You spread the thick gel you used carefully over each angry line. 

“What do you mean? You’ve never had a partner before me?” 

He paused for a moment before he jerked his head. 

“I had a girlfriend once, but she left me.” 

“Why?” 

“Some noble offered her his hand and well…I couldn’t compete.”

He sighed. 

“She was happy to keep me on as her side piece, but I’ve got too much of an ego to be someone’s toy.” 

Your eyebrows jumped at his candor, but you just hummed, plastering clean wraps to his skin so the wounds could heal. His skin was warm under your fingers, making the tips tingle. When you were done, you found yourself tipping forward on your toes to peck the back of his neck. When you’d realized what you’d done, your ears burned, and you coughed loudly. 

“Sorry, ah…sorry,” you muttered, unsure what to say. “You’re…ah…going to have to sleep on your stomach, so you don’t make these worse.” 

He swiveled around to look at you, smiling. 

“Thanks, doc!”

“I’m not a doctor.” 

He shrugged. 

“What’s the difference?” 

“Ten years of special-”

You shook your head, realizing he was teasing you.

“I think that’s enough wood for tonight. Come inside. Dinner’s almost ready.” 

He grinned at you, his stomach grumbling, as he scooped up some of the wood he’d cut and tucked it under one arm. You wondered how much they let him eat in prison, worried he was starving. 

“What’d my sweet little spouse cook for me?” he asked. 

“Just some sweet potato soup. It’s not gourmet.” 

He frowned. 

“No meat?” 

You blinked at him. 

“You have all the money I made today in your pocket. How can I afford meat with those few coins?” 

He nodded, appearing to be thinking through the problem thoroughly. 

When you returned inside, you dipped the two of you bowls of soup, filling his twice as much as yours. You assured yourself it was because he couldn’t work without proper nutrition, not because you liked him. 

“So how far does this magic thingie let me go?” he asked as you sat down at the table. 

“Why, trying to run off?” 

He smirked. 

“No, why would I want to run away from you?” 

He chewed on a big spoonful of sweet potatoes before he continued. 

“I’ve got a cute little spouse who makes me dinner and kisses my cuts.” 

Your cheeks blew up in flames, and you choked on a mouthful of soup. You tried to retain your composure by quickly wiping your mouth with a napkin. 

“A couple of miles in any direction.” 

“Wow, didn’t think you’d give me such a long leash.” 

You shrugged. 

“I can’t be right at your side every minute.” 

He gave you the biggest puppy dog eyes you’d ever seen. 

“You don’t want me by your side every minute of the day?” 

Unsure if he was joking or not, you jerked your spoon at his soup. 

“Let’s…stop talking for a while. Eat up. You’ll need your strength.” 

While the two of you ate quietly, you did your best to keep your eyes on your bowl. Every time you happened to glance up, he was watching you with an odd smile on his face. Almost like satisfaction. 

You were relieved when you finally finished and could turn your back on him to rinse the dishes. 

“You can take the bed if you want,” you called over your shoulder as you stood on your tip toes to return the bowls to the cabinet. As your arm stretched, Saber appeared behind you, plucking the dishes out of your hand and easily placing them where they were supposed to go. 

“Where are you going to sleep?” he asked, extending a hand to help you off of the little ladder you were perched on. 

“There’s a couch in the living room.” 

He wrinkled his nose. 

“It’s covered in stuff.” 

You shrugged, trying to hurry past him. 

“I’ll clean it up.”

You found your feet swinging in the air as he picked you up and tossed you over his shoulder. 

“Wh-what are you doing?” 

“My spouse is not sleeping on the sofa. I never thought I’d have a spouse, so I’ve got to take proper care of you.” 

He patted your butt for emphasis. 

“Are you crazy?” you snapped, only not banging on his back with your fists because he was injured. “We can’t sleep together! We just met!” 

Your body bounced on his shoulder as he chuckled. 

“You weren’t concerned with that when you insisted on marrying me!” 

“They were going to kill you!” 

He flopped you down on your bed, caging you in with his big arms. His head dipped to drag the tip of his nose along the length of your neck. 

“So you do like me!” he whispered into your skin. 

“I do not,” you huffed, pushing his chest.

Though your muscles did nothing to move him, he rose so you could scoot out across the bed. You quickly scrambled into the bathroom to change into your pajamas. 

When you came back out, Saber was slipping off his pants. 

“What are you doing now?” You gasped, cheeks heating at the sight of the thick shaft hanging between his legs.  

He glanced up, a slight smirk on his face as he folded his clothes. 

“I can't sleep in these prison clothes. I'll get the sheets all dirty!” 

You sighed, rubbing your eyes. He was right. He was filthy from sleeping on dirty straw in prison. 

“Come on,” you said, flicking two fingers at him. “You need a bath. You’re probably covered in fleas! 

Fortunately, your house came equipped with one large enough to fit Saber’s big body. With a flick of your fingers, the tub was filled, and with a few whispers of a spell, the water was hot. 

“Get in,” you said. 

Making himself comfortable, he looked back at you over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. 

“You tryin’ to watch? Naughty little elf!” 

You let out a long sigh. 

“No, I’m just going to ensure you don’t get your bandages wet, or it will all have been a waste. Supplies are expensive,” you huffed, picking up the sponge. “Now, sit still!”

Saber smirked but let you lift each of his arms as you scrubbed him. 

“So how did your old girlfriend take it when you decided you wouldn’t be your affair partner?”

He glanced at you, eyes ever thoughtful. His long look brought heat to your cheeks. 

“Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.” 

He shrugged, his jaw tightening. 

“She was rather smug. She spent her whole life wishing to elevate herself.” 

A long sigh slipped past his lips. 

“I could never make her happy. I lied, cheated, stole; whatever I could do…but she looked down her nose at all of it.”

Your mouth fell open. 

“I’m…I’m sorry. You don’t have to…”

He waved a thick hand, his warm palm gently landing on your head and lightly ruffling your hair. 

“Think nothing of it. It’s kind of nice to get it off my chest.” 

“So that’s why you're a crook? To make her happy?”

He smirked. 

“I was a crook. Now I’m a married man. I can’t get into trouble. I have a spouse who relies on me.” 

He pinched your chin. 

“Prison was difficult enough without knowing I was missing out on such a cute little face. Now, it would crush me.” 

Your cheeks burned even hotter, and you jerked your head away, grabbing the nearest towel and tossing it to him. 

“Careful, don’t jostle your bandages,” you wheezed before making your escape. “Whoever lived here before left some clothes in the chest by the door. They ought to fit.” 

You were so busy slowing your beating heart that you blew out the lantern and slid into your bed without thinking Saber would soon follow. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to feign sleep, when you heard his heavy footsteps approach. He paused for a moment, doing Goddess knows what, before he carefully laid down next to you. 

The mattress dipped under his weight, and your body slid into his. You heard him draw in a sharp breath as your warm forms pressed together. 

“Mind your wounds. Make sure you sleep on your side,” you whispered into the darkness. 

You felt him adjust slightly, and then a heavy arm draped over your waist. Despite yourself, it was warm and the weight felt nice. Comforting. Now that he’d used your soap, he smelled like home. His breath brushed the hairs on your neck and another arm slid underneath you to use as a pillow. You would have pulled away, but you’d never slept so close to someone before. 

Living on the street for most of your life, left you with scars. You didn’t realize how deep they’d cut you until Saber’s large body curled around yours. You felt safe. 

When you woke the next morning, the bed next to you was empty. Your heart thumped heavily in your chest, wondering where he’d gone. Had it all been a dream? 

The pile of dirty prison clothes folded and placed on top of a chest proved that it had not. 

Breathing slowly, in the meditation you’d taught yourself, you stretched your awareness out, reaching for the blue thread. Saber was half a mile from you. You wondered what he could possibly be doing. 

“Orc things, probably,” you muttered, making your way to the bathroom to clean yourself up. 

It wasn’t like he could run off; there was nothing in that direction but trees. Through the window, you could see the sun up over the tree line, telling you that you’d slept much later than usual. 

Usually, you’d have left at sunrise to sell your wares in the Capital market, but it was far too late now. Instead, you grabbed an apple from the kitchen and started fussing with your alchemy materials. Now that Saber was living with you, you were sure you needed to straighten up so he didn’t break something. 

Walking across the room, you automatically skipped around the bucket on the floor; only the bucket was gone. You frowned, but looking at the ceiling, someone had replaced one of the boards with a fresh one. Had Saber done that while you were sleeping? 

You huffed, returning to straightening your books. At least he’s putting himself to work. 

You were trying to remember the order in which a pair of books written in ancient elven were arranged alphabetically when the bell above your door jingled. 

Since your home was hidden with magic, the bell told you someone was nearby. It was a charm you rarely used. No one had any reason to look for you. The most it had rung was when you ordered a special cauldron or tomb and happened to have the cash to have it delivered. 

Curious if a traveler was lost, you put your books down and wandered outside. 

“Morning, spouse!” 

Saber’s voice made you jump when he appeared hauling a deer on his shoulders. 

“What’s that?” 

He shrugged the creature off of his shoulders. 

“Meat!” he announced proudly. 

You nodded at him, your eyes catching on his bare chest, glazed with a sheen of sweat. 

“Where are you off to?” he asked. 

“Someone is here,” you murmured, forcing your gaze from the sharp planes of his muscles to continue down the path. 

A shadow draped over you, and you glanced up to see him looming. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m going with you. It could be someone dangerous.” 

You shook your head but continued on your way with him in tow. 

“Helloooo? Helllloooo?” 

A female voice was screaming through the trees. When you rounded the bend, your eyes landed on an expensive carriage and a beautiful fairy shouting at the top of her lungs.  Her pink hair fell in glittering curls around her shoulders, and matching wings emerged from her back.

“Damn it! Saber! Where the fuck are you?” 

“Can I help you?” you asked as you stepped through your magic barrier. 

Her eyes narrowed, but not on you. She looked directly behind you. 

“Saber! There you are!” 

She grinned, fluttering her winds and flying past you. Irritation immediately pricked your heart as the woman threw her arms around him. Turning around, you found him looking at her with wide eyes. 

“Melody…what are you doing here? How did you find me?” 

“I’m here to see you, of course. I heard you were going to be hung, but an elf saved you! I asked around the market and was told you’d been taken here. I was so worried!” 

When she cupped his chin with her delicate hand, you crossed your arms, eyes narrowing. 

“Not someone. Me.” you interjected. 

You marched towards Saber and grabbed him by the arm. 

“Saber is my husband. Who are you?” 

She wrinkled her nose at you, ignoring your question. Her hand slid down Saber’s chest despite you. 

“Is there someplace we can talk? Privately?” 

Saber’s shocked face tightened. 

“I don’t think that’s an appropriate ask in front of my spouse, Melody.” 

She scoffed. 

“You’ve been married…what? 8 hours? Saber, I think I more than deserve a little of your time. Especially as the mother of your child.” 

Your jaw dropped, and your hand pulled away from Saber. It was true, you’d only known him for a few hours, but a child was something he ought to have mentioned. 

His brow drew, looking between you and her. 

“What child?” 

She huffed, frowning at you. 

“Fine…If you must do this, this way.” 

She turned to the carriage and yelled. 

“Nora, bring the baby!” 

A maid climbed out of the carriage holding a small whimpering bundle. You gasped as the woman presented Saber with a little green newborn. 

Saber’s eyes popped, his mouth opening and closing as the maid pressed the child into his hands. 

“This…he…is mine?” 

Melody nodded. 

“Yes, and it’s time for you to take responsibility.” 

He glanced up at her. 

“You want to get back together?” 

She let out a cruel but trilling laugh. 

“Oh heavens no. I need you to take him. Dante hasn’t seen him yet. He thinks I’ve delivered his child. I had the maids tell him I was recovering for the past month so I could sneak him out. If he finds out I’ve been carrying your baby this whole time, he’ll throw me out on the street!” 

Anger roiled under your skin. 

“So what baby are you going to present to him?” you demanded. 

She snorted as if that were a foolish question. 

“I’ll get a baby from the slums. Plenty of mothers would happily give their child the life of a Lord’s son without question.”

She fluttered her iridescent wings. 

“It only need be a fairy child.” 

You could see the pain and confusion settle on Saber’s face. Stepping between the two of them, you gently pried the bundle out of Saber’s hands, looking at his cute little button nose and glossy baby curls. 

“Of course, we will take him, but on one condition.” 

She glanced at you. 

“What do you want? Money?”

You let out a tight chuff. 

“No. We never want to see you again. If he is our baby, he is ours. Don’t think you can change your mind and come running back here looking for him or Saber. The second you step foot in your carriage, this child and my husband are dead to you.” 

Her eyes jerked to Saber. 

“Saber. You can’t mean that. Of course, I want to see you…Dante, however, can’t know. You understand, don't you? This is everything we've dreamed about! You ought to support me!"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"I grew up in the gutter, too," you hissed. "But I'd never treat someone the way you have treated my husband. He is too good for you and I won't tolerate you buzzing around us like a nasty fly."

She glared at you.

"He's my child! You're just jealous Saber and I have history!"

Saber's jaw locked, and he put his arm around you, giving her a disgusted grimace. 

“Have you named him?” he asked. 

She looked contrite but lifted her chin. 

“I…ah…it didn’t occur to me...” 

He nodded and glanced down at you, holding his child. 

“Then…I agree with (Y/N). You’ll never know his name. You’ll never see him grow. You’ll never return to ruin our peace.” 

“But Saber-” 

“Don’t say my husband’s name, either.” you snapped. “You thought you’d come here and drop all of your responsibilities in his lap and then keep stringing him along as a toy? It’s not going to work like that. You have your family, and we have ours.” 

You jerked your chin at her. 

“Make your choice. Either leave the child or be prepared to explain to your husband who he belongs to. Those are the only options.”

Her pretty face contorted into an ugly, wrinkled mask, and she lifted her skirt to turn on her heels. 

“Fine! It’s not like I want the child of a thief anyway!”  

Snapping at her maid, she hovered back to her carriage, and they disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust. You smiled down at the little baby, who’d managed to sleep through the drama. 

“Saber, I know I shouldn’t have spoken for you…I just- He deserves better than to grow up with the knowledge his mother believes him to be less than. Can you imagine him living as her secret? Sneaking around to hide him? If she passed him in the street, she’d ignore him to preserve her status. He’d be heartbroken. I won’t let that happen. I hope I didn’t overstep, but I’m not sorry for it.” 

He dropped to his knees, eyes wet, and pushed his head into your shoulder. His big arms wrapped around your waist, squeezing you tight.

“You said just the right thing,” he murmured, then turned his head to look at his son. “What should we name him?” 

You smiled at him. 

“Let’s talk it over over lunch.” 

The two of you walked back down the path together, both having a hard time keeping your gaze off the baby. He wriggled in his sleep, making you both see hearts.

“Maybe we should move,” you murmured. “Just to be sure…and to give him a fresh start.” 

He looked down at you. 

“You won’t miss this place?” 

You sighed. 

“No…this is just a house. We have a family now. He should grow up in a happy little town, not the capital…we’ll have to save for a few months, but I think we can do it.” 

“We don’t have to save. I have plenty of money.” 

You froze in your tracks, looking up at him.

“What? I thought you said you were broke?” 

He smiled down at you. 

“I meant I didn't have any coin on me. I didn’t just piss all of my ill-gotten gains away. I hid them. Follow me.” 

He tugged the two of you into the forest, walking quite a ways until you reached an oddly placed rock. Saber crouched down and uprooted a bush with a stiff jerk. Then he cleared the soil away, revealing a wooden chest. He turned the little dial a few ways until it clicked, and the chest opened with a creak. Your eyes widened at the hundreds of gold coins piled inside. He casually tugged the gold he’d lifted from you out of his pocket and tossed it inside with a metallic clink. 

“I think we can buy a nice place with this.” 

You were still completely confused. He rummaged around in the coins, producing the gold necklace he’d stolen. Standing, he fastened it around your neck with the nimble fingers of a thief.

“I thought you lost it gambling?” 

He shrugged. 

“I lied.” 

“Why did you keep it?” 

He gave you a long look.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. Something told me not to sell it.” 

“But…what about the rest? I thought you gave it all to Melody?” 

“I tried to…we grew up in the capital, in the same slums she wants to buy a baby from. It wasn’t ever about what I could provide her. She wanted to erase her past. She wanted a title…to be a lady, to be able to lift her nose at the very people she grew up with.

I started saving after she failed at her first attempt at seducing some highborn. At the time, I had this romantic dream that I could surprise her with a big house, start a business, and be the Lord she wanted so badly…but… as time passed, I realized I was already tainted in her eyes. She wanted the right blood attached to her money. It took me too long to be ready to pull away. Dante was the nail in the coffin, so to speak.” 

He tugged the chest from the ground, hauling it onto his shoulder before leading you back through the forest.  

“Even though I knew I wasn’t enough…I foolishly still loved her. I was a mess when he proposed. That’s why I got caught. I went on a bender that lasted most of a year…Fortunately, I never touched this. Maybe I held out hope since Melody still entertained my attention…but I got sloppy and ended up in jail.” 

His gaze dropped to the baby. 

“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn't have ever known about him. Anything could have happened to him if you hadn’t-”

He choked a bit, a couple of tears slipping down his cheek. You didn’t push him to finish his sentence. You knew what he was trying to say. 

“What about Arel?” you asked. 

“Arel? That sounds like an Elvin name.” 

You smiled at the little baby’s chubby cheeks. 

“It is…it means ‘treasure’.” 

He stopped, bending down to examine his son more closely. The baby’s eyes opened, and you saw that they were the same pretty chartreuse as his father’s. The two of them looked at one another in awe. 

“I like Arel,” he said, brushing a thick finger over his cheek. 

Arel’s big eyes grew wet, and he started to croon. 

Shock and worry bloomed on Saber’s face. 

“Is he okay?” 

“I think he’s hungry. I have some goat milk at home.” 

Saber straightened, and you had to almost jog to keep up with him, the two of you hurrying home to start your life as a family.

#orc fluff #orc husband #x reader #orc x reader #elf #monster boyfriend #monster romance #monster x reader #sweet asks #monster fluff #fantasy fluff #fantasy romance #fantasy #x gn reder #orc x gn reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #fluff #elf fluff #orc fic #orc romance #my ocs <3 #monster lover #my ocs #my oc character #original character #sfw monster fluff #sfw romance #sfw fluff

[unpopularly-opinionated]

I have such a extremely difficult time listening to judges speak. I swear, a judge could be trying Hitler of all people, and I’d still just become irrationally angry over how high-and-mighty judges act. It takes a truly special kind of world where we put in blatant narcissists in some of the highest positions of authority.

#random rant #and yes a specific trial prompted this #but no it's not just this trial #I've mentioned this numerous times before in the past #judges come second after politicians on the gallows as far as I'm concerned #quite frankly I'm not entirely sure the point of judges #trials should just be two lawyers presenting evidence for and against whatever #and a jury deciding based on that

[discount-shades]

Sleepy Baby Part 1

a/n: I got this in my head and couldn’t find another fic that mentioned it. This is the first fic I've ever written.

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin/reader

Warning: brief mentions of car crash and cheating

Word Count: 1100 ish

Summary: Jake must defend his call sign to a stranger, and he is on a timer. 

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You checked the timer on your phone for the third time, sighing at the 32 minutes remaining. One hour, every week, socializing with strangers. That was the deal you made with your therapist. 

Eighteen months after a horrific car crash killed your fiancé and childhood best friend your therapist suggested you ‘get back out there.’ It wasn’t just their deaths that you were working through in your twice monthly therapy sessions. It was the fact that she was blowing him when they crashed. You thought that was something that only happened in movies and tv shows.  Your grief was… complicated. 

So here you were at the bar of the week nursing a whiskey sour until the timer on your phone said you could go home. You surreptitiously glance around. Judging by the uniforms of the other patrons and the décor the Hard Deck was a military bar. You massage your temples and check your phone again, 29 minutes to go. 

“Need some company while you wait for your date?” You glance to your left at the southern drawl. An unfairly handsome man in a uniform with green eyes is looking down at you and you stare a little too long. “I’ve been watching you check your phone,” he explains, “he’s an idiot to keep you waiting.“ 

“I'm not expecting company,” you roll your eyes at him. “But thank you for assuming I’m being stood up. It was definitely the vibe I was going for.” You take another sip of your drink so you have something to do with your hands. 

A slow smile breaks out across his face. “In that case I’m Hangman.”

“I'm sorry your parents hated you.”

At your deadpan response he chuckles. “It’s my call sign,” he explains smugly. “I'm a fighter pilot.” He is easily the most attractive man in the bar and he knows it, and there is something about his inflated ego that makes you want to pop it. Just a little.

“Hangman like the spelling game?” you ask and he nods and brushes your arm, leaning into you.

You hum noncommittally, cocking your head as you look at him. “You know some schools discourage playing hangman.” You tell him. “They don’t want to encourage violence in children so they play Sleepy Baby instead.”

“Sleepy Baby?” He asks in confusion, leaning back.

“Yeah, you draw a baby in a crib instead of a man on the gallows,” you grin at his scandalized expression. “You could change your pilot name to Sleepy Baby, so you don’t scare the children and all.” 

“Darling, you are the only one I’d let call me ‘baby’.” You laugh at his smooth recovery. “What’s your name, beautiful?” He is charming despite his ego and his intense stare is giving you butterflies. 

“Tic-tac-toe.” 

“Imma call you Hugs and Kisses and you can call me Baby.” You can’t help but laugh at his confidence. 

“So if you are not waiting for anyone why are you always checking on your phone?” The pilot sits down beside you leaning forward again so his knees brush against yours. 

You contemplate your answer before deciding that fuck it, you will be at another bar next week and will never see the handsome pilot again so might as well be honest. “My therapist has suggested that I should ‘socialize with adults that are not coworkers or the children I work with.’” You explain. “So one hour a week I must socialize.” You wave your hand vaguely at the bar. 

“Are you one of those teachers banning hangman?” He asks in mock outrage, graciously glossing over most of your explanation. 

“Child Activity Coordinator at a local library actually, but yeah I’ve been know to play a few rounds of Sleepy Baby.” You say with a shrug.“ Some parents get upset at certain things and it’s easier just to avoid it than die on the hill of hangman. Plus there was one little boy who would cry when the man was hung so it was best to avoid the tears.”

“He would cry every time?” The green eyed pilot has a fond smile on his face. 

You nodded. “I mean the same kid also cried when someone stole his imaginary kitten so some things can’t be helped but sometimes it’s just easier to avoid it.” You said with a grin remembering the moment. 

“It’s hard to believe we live in a world where imaginary kittens aren’t even safe.” He shakes his head solemnly and you burst out laughing. The unexpected arrival of the cocky pilot has been a delightful addition to your evening. 

“So one hour a week?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. “How much time do I have left?”

You check your phone, “you have 17 minutes, Flyboy.” You grin. “So what made you join the AirForce?”

He looks offended. “Darling, I'm a Naval Aviator.” 

You blink blankly at him. “I was genuinely not aware the Navy had pilots.” 

“The navy has aircraft carriers,” he grins “who do you think flies the planes?”

“Honestly, I never thought about it and I think I just assumed it was a Navy / Air Force cooperation situation.” You trail off still thinking before shrugging. “I guess you learn something new every day.”

“I could teach you something else,” he sends you a flirty wink.

“I think I’ve reached my knowledge quota for the day,” you laugh back. “But what did you learn today?��

“That my call sign breaks the heart of little boys and their stolen imaginary kittens, and I could use a therapist that suggests going to a bar.”

“Good news Sleepy Baby, I don't think you needed the help to make it here.”

You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket notifying you that your hour is up and a not so small part of you is disappointed. You pull your phone out and hold up the timer to the pilot in front of you. “That’s time.”

“Can I get your number?” He asks hopefully as you gather your purse and finish your drink. “We could spend the full hour together next time, therapists advice on socializing and all.”

“I’ll pass this time, but next time, who knows?” You say as you stand, feeling a little sad that you will never see him again. 

“As long as you remember, Hugs and Kisses, I’m in the Navy.” 

You look up at him grinning. “Don’t worry, I’ll remember.” 

As you leave you walk by the jukebox glancing down and see the perfect song on the track lists. You hit the number grinning to yourself as you walk to the door. 

When you reach the exit you turn around and find the green eyed pilot has made his way back to some others in uniforms at the pool table. “Hey Baby,” you call out over the noise of the bar. You grin when he looks up eagerly as the Village People begins to play over the jukebox. “This song’s for you!”  You shoot him a mock salute as you walk out the door. 

#jake hangman seresin #hangman #hangman/reader #jake seresin #top gun fanfiction #top gun x reader #topgun maverick #top gun hangman #top gun maverick #hangman top gun

[boosoonhao]

highways: in defiance

hoshi x reader 6.7k words dystopian au sexism and totalitarian regime warning

soonyoung figures out, quite early into your marriage, that you’re a pretty impressive actress. actress is not the world he should use, really; the female form of the masculine ‘actor’. one doesn’t use feminine forms of occupations anymore. but when he looks at you, at the massive shift in your attitude once the wedding is done and over with and you’re both situated in what used to be soonyoung’s home – it is still soonyoung’s, for all intents and purposes; you’re not allowed to own property, after all, but your presence is so huge, so imposing that it feels shared nonetheless – it’s the feminine form of the word ‘actor’ that comes to mind.

he’ll grant you that; that tiny, private nod of respect. illegal and dangerous as it might be, he can’t quite help it. in retrospect, that’s probably the first sign of what the high judges would call ‘suspicious influence’.

during the pre-marriage sessions; recorded meetings in dull, grey rooms at the center of the golden circle, you had seemed like the perfect picture of the kind of woman soonyoung’s supposed to be with. agreeable, pretty, good genes. demure, but not without personality; nothing of that dead, distasteful glare that seems a genetic trait of people from the middle districts.

where you’d been reserved but susceptible during the interviews, you are now cold; eyes shimmering with visible disdain as soonyoung comes in during the quiet, soft yellow hours of the morning. there’s a layer of sweat hidden beneath his trained exterior, a smell of gasoline sticking to his fingers. he glances at the clock right above the entrance to the living room. 5.15 in the morning. he hadn’t expected you awake already, had thought he’d be able to slip inside unnoticed and wash the evidence of his illicit nightly adventures off before falling under your scrutiny.

you’re observant, he’s noticed; quick to pick up on his habits and his preferences. you make him breakfast, cook him dinners; coffee ready on the table every morning, even though he can tell that you despise it. that your fingers twitch with the want to dunk the hot liquid that you’re not allowed to drink yourself right in his face.

he wonders if you think he’s cheating; that his nightly escapades are of the sexual nature. ‘men are creatures of the flesh’, soonyoung’s father used to say. ‘if denied their right in the home, who can blame them for seeking satisfaction somewhere else?’. soonyoung thinks this was meant as a jab towards his mother, who meant that women had one job, and one job only. in any case, the idea never sat right with him. not even now, not even when you sleep fully clothed at the very edge of your shared bed.

and if you do think that’s what he’s doing; do you care? does the slight downwards pull of your lips come from the idea of him entangled with someone else during secret meetings in the night, or does it come from the disdain of the walls that surround you on every side like a lavish, pretty jail cell?

soonyoung can’t tell which option he’d prefer.

(he can’t even tell if any of them are preferable at all.)

____________________

the scariest thing about you, soonyoung finds, is how outspoken you are. he’d heard about it, of course; about the silver tongued rebels of the middle districts. he’d always questioned it; like, would they not be easy to spot, easy to pluck from the normal people and place in their proper places of gallows and cells? evidently, such a line of thought was too simple, too idealistic; here you are, right in front of him, speaking in tones that could only be described as vulgar, illegal.

this thought, soonyoung admits with reluctance, is strangely exciting.

“you smell like whisky,” you murmur when soonyoung comes home from meeting his three closest friends. drinking alcohol is frowned upon, for sure, but not illegal. not for him. still, he feels a sort of guilt tug at his spine. a magical power of yours, that; making him squirm and question everything he’s been so sure of before. you divert your gaze, stare out the window. your voice is nothing but a murmur when you open your mouth again; “must be nice.”

bitterness does not make itself scarce in your expression, nor in your tone, and soonyoung’s jaw tightens. “do you want some?”

he surprises himself by being completely serious. you twist your head back to look at him, watches as he produces a half full bottle of burning, brown liquid from the bag slung over his shoulder. looking for the signs of a test, no doubt; for any traces of challenge. you blink, surprised to find none, soonyoung supposes. he steps quickly over to the cabinet, finds two glasses there and sits himself down on the chair left of yours. you do not take your eyes off of him, not as he shifts to make himself comfortable, not as he pours the liquid into the two glasses.

the only sound in the room is that of whisky being poured, the only smell the strong stench of liquor. he’ll break this one law, he thinks, without giving it too much of a thought. you’ve already presented your cards, already complained and opposed, already made yourself vulnerable. he hopes, with a thud of his heart, that you won’t make him regret this lapse of judgement.

you hum, reach for the glass, twirl the liquid around in the clear glass. “might as well,” you relent at last. “maybe alcohol is what it takes to make this district survivable.”

soonyoung chokes on whisky.

“you’re quite bold,” he murmurs, not without reluctant admiration in his voice. “what’s to stop me from reporting you to the enforcers?”

you tilt your head, watch him with dangerous eyes. “ah,” you breathe, lean your head against the knuckles of your hand. “to the rebellious future enforcer choi seungcheol?” you tap your fingers against your cheekbone, lip curling into something not quite – but close, very close – a smile. amber liquid swirls around the glass, splashes against the rims in something that soonyoung can’t describe as anything but a show of power. “or to boo seungkwan, future brainwasher in command?”

it could be a coincidence that those are the names you choose to mention, of course, but there’s cleverness visible in the arch of your brows, and when you sit back upright in the chair, it’s with the intimidating, powerful aura of any high judge soonyoung has ever met. people used to say – at least people say that people used to say – that men went for women who reminded them of their mothers. of course, people don’t say it anymore; men do not go for women at all, they let the soulmate system choose for them. but in that moment, soonyoung thinks he understands what people used to mean.

“leverage,” you tell him, chug down the last bit of whisky in your glass, looks very little like the image of a ‘proper lady’ that soonyoung has grown up with. you put the glass down on the flat surface of the table, bring your hands up in front of your face, curl your fingers into a fist and flick your wrists in a gesture that soonyoung recognizes only because he’s done it himself countless times. “vroom vroom,” you add, as if he needs the audio to understand what you’re implying. a shiver climb soonyoung’s spine, makes his head tingle. “that’s why you’re not going to report me to the enforcers.”

he stares, throat thick with something that feels a hell of a lot like fear. it’s not something soonyoung feels particularly often, not since he lived with his parents. not since they shut down his dance studio and interrogated him for suspicions of rebellion. he hadn’t been one, then. sometimes he wonders if that was what did it. maybe he’ll ask what you think; you seem to be an expert on the subject of resistance.

“don’t look so shocked,” you murmur, tone a hair’s breadth from mockery. “you always smell like gasoline.”

____________________

“my mother wants to have us over for dinner,” he tells you, watches as you try to keep your emotions under wraps. soonyoung might not have known you for very long, might not actually know you very well at all despite your name tattooed at the top of his wrist, but he recognizes your tells, by now. a twitch at the edge of your lips, a quick, tense rise of your shoulders. to your credit, you do not break eye contact.

things have been… different, since the evening he shared his whisky with you. for one, soonyoung can’t quite help looking over his back when he leaves to ride his bike, can’t help the feeling that you’re always watching. and second, you’ve been far less hostile, though still as loud and assertive in your trash talk. he wouldn’t call it friendly, would hesitate even over ‘amicable’. but he feels it is a win, nonetheless. third, it happens again. it becomes a pattern. for weeks, soonyoung shares his whisky with you, until the bottle is empty and the distance returns.

he knows this, though; there is no mistaking the wave of absolute disgust that paints your otherwise pretty face at the mention of his mother.

he imagines what she must represent to you; a woman born in freedom, who willingly, gladly traded her — and in some small part, every other woman in palatium’s — rights away for a place in the new elite. soonyoung’s father was a nobody before; barely even worthy of living in the high district. soonyoung’s mother, on the other hand, created the soulmate method of marriages. for that, she’s allowed some small, secret perks. books, food, alcohol. clearance to the golden circle. except, soonyoung suspects, it’s not as secret as the elite might think.

“why are you staring at me?” you question at last, defiance blatant and on display in both your tone and your expression. “surely i, the subservient wife, have no say in matters like these.”

“you’re anything but subservient,” soonyoung mutters, mostly to himself. the glare you shoot him is enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand. he clears his throat. “i can make up an excuse,” he tells you; the reason he brought it up in the first place. a choice. soonyoung is starting to realize that even in his perpetual state of nodding his head and playing along, he’s taken his freedom for granted. “if you don’t want to go.”

you inhale through your nose, stare at soonyoung from your position by the kitchen counter. in truth, soonyoung had considered not even bringing the invite up, had considered just politely declining the offer and continue putting the inevitable encounter off. but then he’d remembered the bitter commentary you’d made during one of your illicit evenings of soft buzzes and heated almost-arguments; the biting comments about your lack of choices.

he kinda wishes he could have presented you with a better one.

“no,” you tell him, quieter than he expects. he never seems to quite get used to the few and far between moments where you don’t seem to get sick at the mere sight of him. “no, it’s fine,” you sigh, drag a hand through your hair, can’t seem to settle on somewhere to look. “let’s just get it over with.”

____________________

he catches you eyeing the bookcase in the hallway of his mother’s home; something that looks like a cross between envy and resignation ghosting over your features. he wouldn’t even have noticed, had he not been looking for it.

he hopes no one else notices.

“soonyoung, darling,” soonyoung mother enthuses, brings her arms around his neck to envelop him in a bone crushing hug. to the uninitiated onlooker, it must seem like a heartwarming reunion; a mother and a son together again. soonyoung knows better, though, has been on the receiving end of his mother’s overbearing affection enough times to know the truth behind it. soonyoung’s mother might not have a whole lot of power, despite her innovative ideas and her rows and rows of books, but she sure knows how to assert it.

the word for it used to be ‘matriarch’, he knows. of course, that word has disappeared into the box of forgotten things, just like ‘actress’ and ‘queen’.

“it’s good to see you again, my boy,” she goes on, pats soonyoung’s shoulders with long fingers, their nails painted red. a bold move, that, considering nail polish is supposed to be outlawed. then again, rules never seemed to work the same way for the people residing in the golden circle. “and your wife is here as well,” she says at last, notes your presence as one would make note of a new haircut, a new pair of shoes. specifically, a less favorable haircut. soonyoung clears his throat uncomfortably. you refuse to respond.

(it’s the start of a very slow, very painful dinner.)

soonyoung’s mother, despite her active role in the marriage, seems adamant in her blatant ignoring of your presence.

“how’s everything going so far?” she asks, eyes trained right on her son. soonyoung feels the need to hide, to fill his mouth with potatoes and steak and hinder himself from being able to talk.

“it’s going fine, mother,” he replies vaguely, cowers from her inquisitive glare. he glances instead to his right, where you’re picking at your own food, eyes fixed on your maltreated potato. soonyoung’s mother hums, as if that answer has something secret hidden between the words that only she understands.

“it’s been three months,” she goes on, swirls a glass of something that looks like red wine between her fingers. “can i expect grandchildren soon?”

never one for small talk, that woman.

soonyoung hears, somehow, how you stiffen in your chair, the very mention of children a sore, taboo subject between the two of you. you’ll talk, at length, about the unfairness of society and your distaste for the inner circle, but you tastefully avoid subjects that pertain to your marriage, or the expectations that come with it. a part of your newfound almost-amicable relationship, soonyoung suspects.

“only time will tell,” he murmurs, feels two sets of intimidating female gazes heavy on him. he takes a large gulp of his whisky.

she hums again. “she’s not getting any younger, you know. the true purpose of the woman is to provide the man with a child.”

soonyoung doesn’t dare looking over at you. he’s sure the expression he’d find there would be enough to make him sweat. he’s always known that his mother was a bit of an extremist, even as far as the elite goes. he knows his mother is the very definition of a true believer. somehow, these things had been much easier to ignore before. he opens his mouth – to agree? to protest? he doesn’t know – but his mother chooses that moment to address you, finally, directly.

“isn’t that right, dear?” she asks sweetly. the following silence feels sort of like a death sentence. soonyoung wants to intervene. he doesn’t.

“of course,” you reply, voice flat and submissive in a whole nother way than how he’s used to. your subservience has been a mockery, before, a sort of inside joke on soonyoung’s expense, a proof of your opposition. there’s nothing of that present now, and when he finally manages to force his gaze over to your seat, your face is deathly pale. you still have not touched your food, but you still have the distinct expression of someone with a bad taste in their mouth.

you do not speak again the rest of the night.

____________________

after the dinner at soonyoung’s mother’s, there’s a tangible, heavy silence hanging over the kwon jr. household. you won’t speak to him, not when he buys a new bottle of whisky and tries to lure you into the sitting room to join him, not when he starts dropping small hints about his adventures during the night.

not even when he wakes up extra early to try – and horribly fail at – making you breakfast do you say a word to him, though you do push him aside to try and salvage the burnt eggs stuck to the dark pan on the stove. soonyoung feels helpless, in a completely unfamiliar, overwhelming sort of way. he’s always seen himself as a pretty empathetic person, even when being empathetic was not a good thing to be. he buried it when he had to, but it was always there, tucked inside his ribcage.

he’s not sure ‘empathy’ is enough to adequately describe how he feels as he watches you flitter around the house like a ghost.

it seems to boil over inside of you, five days after the dinner. he returns from watching mingyu fight in the underground, the smell of gasoline and of cigarettes sticking to his clothing and tugging at his skin. he loosens his tie and slinks up the stairs towards the bedroom. he doesn’t expect you to be awake.

you twist your head around when he enters, look at him with the same dead sort of gaze that has been haunting him for days and days now. the familiar feeling that’s not quite empathy, that tastes an awful lot like guilt, tugs on his chest. he used to think you were very loud. maybe that’s just another one of those things he took for granted.

you rise from your side of the bed, dressed only in your pale, white nightgown, and take a few determined steps towards him. you grasp at the front of his shirt, fingers doing quick work of his top buttons. soonyoung panics at your sudden aggression, takes a rushed, clumsy step back, but you only follow, wordlessly, keep working on the buttons of his clothes.

“hold– hold on,” he stutters, tries to grasp at your hands. you only press further, until he’s backed up against the door, eyes focused on the shirt and on the skin revealed by every button you undo. “what the hell are you doing?” your head snaps up at that, gaze hard and mouth set in a thin line. soonyoung feels exposed, vulnerable, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“my job,” you reply, with a voice that sounds both eerily like your own and someone else’s entirely. you grip at the fabric of his shirt, try to pull it off of his shoulders. soonyoung’s own fly up to wrap around your elbows to stop you. “a woman’s only purpose is to provide her husband with children, and all that.”

“i don’t–” soonyoung starts, doesn’t quite know how to continue the sentence. i don’t think that. i don’t want that. somehow he doesn’t think any of the options would be particularly soothing, despite his efforts. your fingernails dig into his clothes, make crescent moons along the skin of his chest. it looks like you can’t decide whether to cry or to scream.

“do you know what happens to women who refuses to sleep with their husbands?” you ask, a sort of pathetic, fragile stuntedness to your voice. your fingers are still tightly clutched at the front of his unbuttoned shirt. they shiver; in fear or anger, soonyoung doesn’t know. “they get sent to the lower districts, branded for being ‘barren’.” soonyoung circles his hands around your wrists, tries to pull your hands away. your grip at his clothes tighten, and you stare him right in the eyes. “of course, most of the time it won’t come to that, because men have the habit of taking what they want whether the woman want it or not.”

there’s no word for it anymore, but the old one, the one that starts with an r, still echoes in the back of soonyoung’s head. he feels sick, feels the impulse to push you away from him and run away. his throat feels thick, mouth full of ashes.

“that won’t happen to you here,” he says, voice kept stable only by the conviction with which he says it. he presses his thumbs into your skin. your head is bowed; in shame or in disbelief, soonyoung can’t know. “nothing you don’t want will happen as long as i’m here.” he lets go of your wrists and they fall limply to your side. he takes hold of your face, feels ridiculously bold for doing so, guides your face up so you can see how much he means what he’s saying. somehow, he feels more honest than he’s done ever before. “i swear i’ll do anything to make you happy.”

in the old time, the time when you married someone you loved rather than someone whose genes matched your own, they used to have these beautiful ceremonies. soonyoung remembers overhearing talks about them during meetings when he was a child. something he always was especially entranced by was the concept of ‘vows’, of promises to keep and to honor. they got scrapped for something far more technical, of course, but the idea was especially appealing to soonyoung. this one will have to do, he thinks. there’s not a lot more he can promise, considering the circumstances. your eyes are wet. he finds that he wants to press his lips to your forehead.

he doesn’t. instead, he says, “i’ll sleep on the couch tonight. please get some rest.” and he leaves the room. he hears a sob through the door, and he swears something inside him cracks painfully.

and that is why he ends up in front of his mother’s bookcase once again a mere week later.

____________________

“what’s this?” you ask when he puts the book down in front of you on the table. soonyoung feels strangely disconnected to his own body; almost as if he’s standing in the corner of the room, watching himself present you with the book. people have gone to jail for less than this; people have been hanged.

but then, he participates in illegal races at night, attends betting matches in the underground once a month. he tells himself that’s why despite the rush of fear coursing through his veins, soonyoung does not hesitate once to give you the worn paperback. “it’s a book,” he replies lamely; knows it’s a mistake as soon as the words fall out of his mouth.

“obviously,” you bite back, the exclamation almost more a hiss than a word. soonyoung knows better than to talk down to you, by now, but he finds that old habits are hard to break. and you’ve been tense ever since visiting his mother, too, much easier to anger. he wonders if you still hear her words in your head when you close your eyes. the thought makes him nauseous. “what am i supposed to do with it? fold paper cranes?”

soonyoung blinks, gaze falling down to where your fingers lie curled and interlaced with each other on the surface of the table. you have pretty hands, he notice; prettier than he would have expected from the middle district. “can you?” he looks back up at your face, finds you squinting in his direction as if you’re loathe to even look at him. “i mean–” he amends, clears his throat. sits down on the chair on your left, folds his hands. he can’t quite look you in the eyes. “you want to learn to read, don’t you?”

you blink; scrunch up your nose as if in disbelief and mouth pulled down in a very distinct frown. soonyoung thinks you might be trying to play down how true his assumption is, but the light dust of red that appears at your cheekbones give you away. soonyoung feels awkward, as if his mouth is full of syrup. “i’ll teach you,” he tries, desperately needs for you to react in any way at all. when you don’t, he swallows, breathes out heavily. “if you want?”

it seems as if you’re silent for an eternity; trust still non-existent and doubt still lingering in every corner of your shared home and in every line of your face. hesitant fingers reach out to touch the front of the book, almost as if you’re afraid of breaking it. there a small twitch at the edges of your lips that might be a smile.

“thank you,” you whisper, and something in soonyoung’s chest seems to bloom.

(it becomes a routine. soonyoung points out letters, pronunciations, coaches you through the longer words and sentences. sometimes you’ll make attempts at reading entire pages out loud, eager to learn and thirsty for knowledge. sometimes he’ll read to you in bed, almost too distracted by the new sort of closeness and the way your eyes flit over the pages to even know what he’s reading.

it’s just a simple novel; a story he’d been obligated to read multiple times in school, but you eat it up, entranced by every word. one night you fall asleep with your head against his shoulder. that night, he’s supposed to meet up with seungcheol, mingyu and seungkwan for a race.

he finds that he can’t quite get himself to move.)

____________________

you’re a quick learner. much quicker than soonyoung was, much more proficient than he could ever hope to be. he tries to tell himself that the sense of pride that comes with your impressive learning curve is an innocent thing. tries to tell himself that the way he leans back and focuses fully on your voice, on the way your fingers clutch at the coarseness of paper doesn’t have anything to do with the soft tingle in the pit of his stomach.

“they work so hard to maintain this intellectual high ground over the lower regions,” you rattle on, uncaring for the fact that soonyoung can’t keep up even if he tried. probably you could make anything and everything into an hour long rant, he thinks, but not without affection. “‘the poor can’t be smart, they lack the education’, ‘women can’t be equal, can’t have any substantial thoughts; they can’t even read!’” you run a finger along the spine of the book. when soonyoung follows your finger, he notices that it’s shaking. your words sounds an awful lot like what he used to learn to be treason when he was a child; but then soonyoung is starting to realize that you commit treason with every intake of breath, every twitch of your brow.

then maybe he’s a traitor, too, for being so engulfed, so committed; for the way he hangs on to your every word as if they were holy. he’s surprisingly okay with that thought.

“but the elite are the ones keeping education away from us,” your finger stops moving, and soonyoung forces his gaze up to your face, pauses at the pinkness of your cupid’s bow, at the arch of your nose. every day, he’s finding details in your face that he wants to jot down in his journal, commit eternally to memory.

“honestly,” he murmurs. “even without the education, you’re probably ten times smarter than me.” it’s easier now, to spill sacrilege from his lips, to disregard his teachings for these secret truths between a man and his wife. sometimes he has to look over his shoulder before saying them, too scared of a housekeeper peeping or an enforcer storming the doors. it’s more worth it each time he does it; genuine smiles painted on your features as a reward for his morsels of genuiness.

you hum quietly, something dangerous flickering in your eyes. “that’s actually a pretty popular theory.”

“that women are smarter than men?” soonyoung finds the claim far less outrageous now than he would have six months ago. it’s impossible to be as staunch and sure as men are supposed to be in their own superiority, when he is so overexposed to your brilliance.

“no,” you reply with a laugh. “that i’m smarter than you. specifically.”

a joke, soonyoung registers. like the ones his father used to tell at dinners and during house parties. though, kwon sr. used to prefer the jokes about sex traitors, about women in high positions. soonyoung’s mother’s lip used to be very tight during these loud retellings. soonyoung finds that he prefers your joke; one that’s private and that puts you on a pedestal rather than pushes you down, that makes you refer to him as a friend rather than someone you’re stuck with.

he also finds that he wants to kiss you. that feeling he buries.

____________________

“soonyoung,” you murmur one night, quietly and carefully from your side of the bed. the divide has gotten smaller, for sure, but there’s still something invisible and terrible that seems to keep you sleeping with your back against him, that keeps him from daring to reach out and touch your hair while you sleep. he opens one eye, peers at you while you twist around in the bed to face him. he can barely make out your silhouette in the darkness, but he still knows exactly what you must look like.

“what is it?” he prompts when you seem to be hesitating. you exhale, and he feels the air on his face, resists the urge to shiver.

“you said–” you pause, shift slightly on the bed. he thinks you’re embarrassed, somehow. “you said you’d do anything,” you don’t finish the sentence, don’t need to. maybe the word ‘happy’ is too foreign on your tongue. soonyoung’s skin tingles. “did you mean it?”

“yes,” he replies, doesn’t even stop for a second to reconsider. truths never used to fall out of him so easily before. nothing is quite like before, he feels, with a sort of terrifying warmth at the pit of his stomach. you must be gathering up the courage to ask for something, he realizes. “is there?” he asks. “something i can do?”

silence. for one, two, three– “take me out,” you whisper, almost reluctantly; as if you have to force the request out of your mouth. “on your bike.”

soonyoung sits up, and you follow; the bed jiggling under the sudden movements. his first thought is to refuse, to protest. too daring, too dangerous, too many risks. but as his eyes adjust to the darkness and he’s able to see your face more clearly he sees the uncertain, bare expression that lingers there, and he finds that refusal is an impossibility. so instead, he whispers back, “okay. now?” watches with delight as the tension leaves your body and is replaced by relief.

“please.”

(he holds your hand as he drags you after him to the garage where soonyoung and his friend keeps their bikes, can’t help looking back every so often to remind himself how your fingers intertwined looks. something scary, something amazing sizzles underneath his skin. he knows what it is, but somehow he can’t quite remember the name.)

he doesn’t take you to the underground where the nightly fights are held, nor does he show you the streets everyone use for races. somehow, he doesn’t think that’s what you’re really interested in, even with how much you’ve probed him about it. instead, he takes you to a secluded hill, his private, secret little spot. it’s not much; nothing really is anymore, but it’s more than the house, more than the dull, brown walls you’re used to staring at.

your neck cranes backwards as you take in the sight; bends so far back that soonyoung has to instinctively put a hand at your back to make sure you don’t fall over. the stars are bright, here; twinkling and clear and alive in a way that soonyoung haven’t been able to spot anywhere else. sometimes you’ll gasp, or inhale as if you haven’t been able to breathe for months, and when you turn to thank him, the shimmer of your eyes seem to outshine every star in the night sky.

(love, he realizes, as you’re holding onto him, arms wrapped securely around his torso as you head back to the garage. the feeling is called love.)

“soonyoung,” you call after him when you’re back in the house, stopping in the middle of the hallway. soonyoung swears he’ll never get used to how his name sounds in your voice. he turns around, takes note of the uncertain look in your eyes. “i’m–” you frown, take a step towards him. for a moment, you seem to weigh your options, to ponder how to go about whatever it is you’re trying to express. an inhale, an exhale. “ah, fuck it.” and then–

then your lips are on his, his face pulled forcefully to meet yours. your fingertips claw at his face, body pressing itself against him, and for a second soonyoung thinks his brain might have exploded. you tug at his face again, urge him to either respond or pull away.

soonyoung chooses the first option. he grabs your hips, digs his fingers into the fabric of your clothes and pull at your body as if he’d die without the contact. your mouth opens, tongue slipping out to lick at his mouth, and soonyoung groans, feels the vibrations of it through his whole body. he takes a few steps, presses you against the wall, and you bite down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. soonyoung can’t decide if the sensation is painful or pleasurable, he can’t remember his own last name. all he knows is that you rotate your hips, grinds against him in a way that makes him dizzy.

“upstairs,” you pant, and soonyoung takes the opportunity to explore your neck; bites and nibs at your skin and relishes in the reactions it gives him. your exhales are loud, shaky, and your fingers burrow into his shoulder in what seems more like a steadying action than anything else. “bed,” you add, as if you’ve forgotten how to construct proper sentences.

here, soonyoung falters. “you don’t have to–” he says, voice hoarse with something he can’t describe as anything but ‘lust’. another sin to add to the tally, he supposes. he pulls his head back, searching your face for anything to imply that you’re acting out of a sense of obligation. he finds your cheeks; reddened beyond anything he’s ever seen before. he finds your mouth; already swollen and hot pink against your skin. he finds your eyes; wild and alive and more than ever reminding him of the night full of stars.

he does not, however, see any doubt. still, he feels the need to reiterate; “i don’t expect anything.”

you laugh, at that, a breezy, easy thing that sounds almost like a symphony. you take his face between your hands, squish his cheeks and press a chaste, quick kiss to his lips.

“i know. i want to.”

and there’s something in the almost prideful way you say that, that you emphasize the word ‘want’, that makes soonyoung think he couldn’t ever deny you anything.

____________________

soonyoung stares. he leans on his arm, fingers splayed against soft linens and body cushioned by thick duvets. on the other side of the bed, you’re sleeping.

before – that is to say, before you realized that soonyoung was not your enemy, that he could even be your ally – you used to sleep with a body language so tight and rigid that soonyoung sometimes wondered if you ever actually slept at all. fully clothed in your heavy dresses and knotted corsets, arms stiff and legs curled at the very edge of the bed. it almost felt like sharing sleeping quarters with a heavy, big stone.

the sight that now greets him every morning before he has to leave to perform the mundane tasks that are expected of him, is something almost bizarrely opposite; something that makes his head spin even when he’s seen it time after time after time. your arms are stretched across the bed, reaching for the warmth of the space that soonyoung occupied mere minutes ago. sunlight puts an impossible sort of glow over your exposed skin and makes the back of soonyoung’s neck tingle. he reaches out, curls a lock of your hair around his finger.

a calculated mistake, so to speak. your eyes open. a slow, lazy action; even waking up has become a completely new, changed thing, unrecognizable in contrast to the eyes-wide-open, fully alerted way soonyoung has become accustomed to.

for a moment you just watch him, impassively; eyes barely open and fingers clutching at the white linens right by soonyoung’s thigh. you do not lean after his touch, nor away from it. this new, tentative closeness between you feels fragile at all times, and soonyoung worries, not for the first time, if he’s crossed a line.

“are you staring at me?” you ask, sleepiness tugging at your vocal chords. the sound makes soonyoung’s chest tighten with something he doesn’t quite recognize. it’s a warm, fuzzy feeling. the tip of soonyoung’s tongue tastes of the same illegal, dangerous thing that seems to surround everything involving you. soonyoung feels a surge of courage sizzling through his veins, lets his hand disappear fully into the mess of your hair. your eyes flutter close, a low rumble of a hum slipping past your lips.

“yes,” he admits, his thumb flitting along your cheekbone. your eyes open again, observe him carefully. soonyoung has known, probably ever since he started teaching you how to read, ever since you started letting your guard down and your mouth speak freely, that he is in love with you. he’d told you as much; that he’d do anything to ensure your happiness. he feels it now, though, harder and clearer than ever before in the pale sunlight and the soft glow that surrounds you both. it almost feels like peace, like freedom. “i love you.”

you inhale, raise your hand to glide along his thigh and reach for his burgunder tie. the silence feels overwhelming. and then you tug, almost forcefully enough to make soonyoung fall over you. he has to catch himself with his arms, cages you in between them, and your fingers reach, clutch at his face. he feels your breath over his mouth, and the anticipation is almost as deliriously wonderful as when your lips finally connect with his own.

the first kiss you shared, technically, was at your wedding. it was a standard procedure sort of thing; a nod back to other times where marriages were a free, voluntary thing. just the barest touch of lips against lips. you’d grimaced afterwards, and soonyoung had pretended not to noticed.

the second time– soonyoung can’t quite stop thinking about the second time. he finds that he struggles to put a name to it, to the rush of emotion and stress and confusion and relief, to the mess of it all. it had been a beginning, he now knows, though at the time he’d felt so overwhelmed that he’d thought it was an ending.

this; this lazy, casual press of lips, makes every nerve underneath soonyoung’s skin do somersaults. your arms wind around his neck, he lets himself fall against your body and against the softness of the bed, noses squished together and fingertips itching to touch. your own fingers move to ruffle his hair, to undo every attempt he’d made at making himself look presentable before leaving the house. he finds that he struggles to care.

“soonyoung,” you murmur, just a hair’s breadth away from him. he feels the vibrations of your voice through his entire body, shivers with the way his name sounds coming from your mouth. “i’m not–” here, you falter, and soonyoung’s throat feels constricted. you watch him, for a moment, fingers gliding along the skin of his face as if you’re trying to commit every line to memory. “i’m not bringing a child into this world.”

soonyoung’s breath stutters. even with the vagueness of the statement, the meaning is clear. he might have been the one to teach you how to read, but you’ve taught him how to read between the lines. hesitation twinkles in your eyes when soonyoung fails to immediately respond. he leans back in, presses his lips against yours; quickly, with an intake of breath. “i guess,” he murmurs, peppers your face with kisses. his hand clutches at the fabric of your shirt, right above your stomach.

“we have to make some changes to it, then.”

#svt imagines #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios

[sleepymccoy]

It's strange to me that we have Christmas songs but not Easter songs. So I've put together an Easter playlist for the season! Here is a link to it on Spotify

And here's my thinking for each song, I hope it makes you chuckle. it's only slightly sacreligious

Breadline by Warumpi Band and Wine, Beer, Whiskey by Little Big Town are The Last Supper, where Jesus has his buddies eat his flesh and blood in what must've been a super normal meal for everyone

Then there's a bit of betrayal! Judas by Lady Gaga and Money by Lime Cordial are Judas selling Jesus out. Then we have No No No by TheFatRat is the denied thrice thing that I don't really remember.

We've got Kiss by Prince followed by Red Right Hand by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, as Judas betrays Jesus with a kiss then feels guilty and kills himself

Now we move onto the Pilate and Herod stuff with Good Morning Judge by 10cc, followed by Whip It by DEVO (thinking about Jesus getting whipped to DEVO is the most sacrilegious this gets imo lol) and Won't Go Down Easy by JAXSON GAMBLE cos Jesus doesn't let up despite the thrashing

Then we've got Camel Walk by Southern Culture on the Skids, which is Jesus carrying the cross through town. You know, carry shit like he's a camel! Sure! Aaand Hammer and Nails by The Bones of J.R. Jones as he's strung up on the cross.

We move into more straightforward religious music with The Lord's Prayer by Sister Janet Mead, and a cover of Chop Suey by Robyn Adele Anderson which ends with Jesus yelling at his dad (God, not Joseph. I hope Joseph visited Jesus on the cross).

And then we have Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen as Jesus calls out to his mum for help, followed by Sign of the Judgement by Cassandra Wilson cos no one comes to help him, and he dies up there to Gallows Pole by Led Zeppelin

Hey St. Peter by Flash and the Pan is a nod to Jesus being dead but being turned away from heaven or whatever admin happened to bring him back. By Myself by FIDLAR is kinda how I reckon he'd've felt just hanging out in a cave being left alone by everyone. It's a mess for Jesus right now, rock bottom. Then This Year by The Mountain Goats cos it's actually a hilarious resurrection song

Jailbreak by AC/DC for when he gets out of the cave. Boys in Town by Divinyls cos our main boy is in town again, but he is absolutely on the way out. Spirit In The Sky by Norman Greenbaum as he returns to heaven and There's A Light by Shirley Ann Lee to remind us there's some real religion going on, and I assume that Jesus and God start getting along again eventually

And then wrapping it all up with Chocolate Jesus by Tom Waits, because chocolate really is what it's all about now

#Easter #playlist #song rec #I've been having so much fun with this

[snowblossomreads]

Attention

Summary: In where [Y/n] is feeling a bit needy due to her husband paying his work more attention than her.

Pairing: Judge Turpin x FemReader

Tag(s)/Warning(s): Cockwarming, Penetrative Sex, Begging, Pet Names, some Dom/Sub vibes (it's Turpin of course)

Word Count: 4.1K

A/N: HAHAH Thought you've seen the last of me didn't you?? This plot showed up at my door step and beat me up thanks to @slytherinsight221 💖💖💖. Turpin seems like the type to enjoy some cockwarming when doing work so here we are. Please enjoy and feel free to scream at me how it made u feel : )

Enjoy!

MDNI!

The great Judge Turpin of London was a very busy man. From the many trials he had to preside over, to the equally as many death sentences he had to dole out.

A very busy man indeed.

And a very cold man at that as all seemed to want to avoid him lest they face his wrath and be sentenced to hang on the gallows just like the many poor souls before them.

Yet there was one who saw beyond this. One who got to see the occasional gentleness in those eyes that seemed to always be stormy. One who got to listen to the soft roll of thunder that was his voice as he whispered sweet nothings into her ear before they retired to bed.

The Lady [Y/n] Turpin.

The judge's young wife who at first had been as afraid of the man as so many others when the betrothal to him was offered. Though offered was not really the correct word as it made it sound like she had a choice in it.

No, it was more of a transaction, her hand in marriage and in return her family would be spared poverty and shame after it was found that [Y/n]'s father had been running a scheme and using the family's business as a cover-up to sell counterfeit goods to the members of London's high society.

A done deal the moment it was offered and she was married off to the man and whisked to his home merely weeks after the arrangement.

Frightened she had been of him at first, scared and nervous from all the terrible things she had heard whispered about him.

‘A cruel man that one. Who puts children to death for petty things like taking a piece of bread?’

‘Mhmm and did you hear about his ward?’

‘No, what about her?’

‘Heard she run off with some poor bloke from the docks. When the authorities found both of them and brought them back, he sent the poor lad to the gallows and the ward to live at some convent!’

Learning that he had sent his former ward’s lover to a penal camp and her to a convent just for running away had her stomach in knots.

And once they were legally wed, the fear in her seemed to grow as all her things were loaded up into a carriage that same day and brought to his- their home.

To say she was terrified was an understatement as she knew that as his wife, it was her duty to be subordinate to him. That night and every night from thereafter. But especially on the night of their marriage.

Yet when it was time to consummate the union she had been taken aback that he did not force himself on her. No the very opposite, instead a chaste kiss was placed on her hesitant lips, and in that deep rumbling voice of his he had stated that,

‘Not until you are ready shall I know all of you and you all of me. I am not ignorant of my reputation and I will not let them stain our marriage bed.’

That night they went to bed, with her still untouched yet her heart beating wildly as she lay awake. He would not touch her until she was ready. Something about what he said made her heart beat a little faster and not because she was frightened.

And he kept true to his word. Only chaste kisses on her forehead, her lips, or cheek, or the back of her hand whenever he felt like it.

It was not a wonder that it only took a matter of weeks before she submitted herself to him with the patience and gentleness he showed her. And dear lord she asked herself almost every day afterward why she had hesitated.

Even if he had been her first, she knew that no other man could measure up to the pleasure that he had brought her over and over. He made her make noises that she didn't think she could.

Touched her deeper than her fingers ever could when she was curious at night in her own bed when she was in her parent's home.

And his gravely baritone voice next to her ear with his groans and moans as he filled her both with his cock and seed made her wonder how she had lived without him for so long.

Night after night they would make love when he wasn't tired from the draining duties of his profession. Slow, fast, hard, soft, he took her many ways yet all of them were as pleasurable as the time before.

She had even confessed her love to him when they were in the throes of passion and she had never been so sore the day after. Pretty bruises littered her hips where he had held her tightly and her cunt ached from the pounding it had endured.

From that day on she allowed herself to be spoiled by him. To be loved by him and to love on him whenever they could and whenever he had time.

But again, time was what he had so little of these days due to the increase in cases the court was hearing. And along with that came the smidgen of neglect [Y/n] felt when all they seemed to have time to do was give each other morning kisses and good night kisses.

He wasn't the type of man to pass up pleasure now, but there hardly seemed to be time for it now with how quickly he would fall asleep the moment he laid his head down on his pillow.

How dare that man withhold the pleasure of their marriage bed from her though! It was an irrational thought and it wasn't at all his fault with how busy he was but she was needy and she needed him.

And that is how she found herself standing on the other side of the library which was also his office in their home with little more than a chemise that she had slept in. It was a Saturday morning and while he didn't need to go into court it seemed that he had brought his work home. 

Again.

But this time she would have none of it she thought as she knocked on the mahogany door. Once he saw her wearing almost nothing and wandering the house for all to see, she was sure he would teach her one of his 'famous' lessons.

"I thought I instructed that I be left alone?"

His harsh words filled the air as [Y/n] opened the door to find him sitting at his desk, papers scattered about the tabletop. Though when he looked up to see who it was, the harsh lines on his face relaxed when he realized it was her. Yet when his eyes raked over her form, she could see him become tense again as he eyed her with a sharp inhale.

"Ah, but I see it is my sweet little wife who has come to visit," he hummed, a twinkle coming alive in his eyes as [Y/n] approached his desk, going around the corner to stand by him.

"Indeed, and I hope you would make an exception for my interruption," she replied back to him before leaning down to press a kiss against his cheek.

One that was a bit prickly. Though she did love how it tickled against her face when they were near and she couldn't help but giggle at the feeling of the scratchiness.

"Always my dear, you are quite more interesting to look at than all these cases," he spoke while motioning his hand towards all the papers splayed about, "and it puts me at ease knowing you are safe and where you belong."

That had her raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, and where is it that I belong?" [Y/n] teased, a little simper playing on her face as she watched his expression morph into something devious.

There was a glint in his eyes as he looked up at her, his thick fingers wrapping around her wrist and pulling her closer to him. His other hand going to stroke her side causing a shiver to run up her spine as he scooted away from his desk just enough that [Y/n] wormed her way between those strong thighs of his. Thighs she quite enjoyed being able to sit on whenever she had the chance.

"Where else do you think you belong other than by my side," he purred, fingers brushing against her, causing her dress to hitch up a little.

"There are quite a few other places I think I belong, sir," she answered back, a coy look on her face as her body reacted positively to his touch as goosebumps danced across her skin. "Yet I fear that you have not had enough time recently to indulge in such activities."

This had him smirking as his hand left her wrist and joined the other in holding her waist, turning her around to face the desk before pulling her down to sit on his lap.

Even with the layer of clothing she wore she could still feel the excitement growing in his trousers and she couldn't help the moan that left her lips as she pushed herself back on him.

"Now if I did not know better, I would ask where my sweet innocent wife has gone," he said, gripping her waist a little harder to keep her from moving around as he felt himself grow more excited. "Yet it seems we aren't so innocent."

Of course she wasn't, not with him as her husband. She had lost her innocence to him both physically and in thinking long ago and she would gladly let him take it again but that was beside the point. 

The point was she needed him, and preferably in the next few moments or she feared she would explode with the desire that was rampaging around in her.

"Richard please," his name left her lips in a whimper as she twisted her body slightly just to see his face. A smirk on those thin lips of his that were so kissable. Damn, this man!

"I've missed you, you haven't touched me in weeks. Each night I go to bed dreaming of you my love. Thinking of how you feel on me, in me," she confessed, the urge to bury her face against his shoulders strong but not as strong as the thrumming in her stomach that yearned for him "Please I need you my love."

Her last sentence came out as a desperate plea as she leaned back against his chest.

"Hmm, well I do consider myself to be a fair man," Richard purred, leaning up and nipping at [Y/n]'s ear lobe as his hands trailed up to squeeze her breasts causing her to whine and shudder. ”A deal then. Shall we my love?“

"Mmm yes anything, anything Richard please," [Y/n] sighed as he pinched and squeezed her pebbled nipples through her gown sending a tingle down her spine and right through her core that was burning with need for him.

"There is some work yet to be done and I cannot delay it any longer so the deal my sweet, if you can sit still in my lap until I finish I'll be yours to do with for the rest of the day and tomorrow."

That was all? Surely that couldn't be all-

"I see the wheels working in your head little one and yes that is not all," he purred in her ears. He knew her too well. "Not only will you stay still on my lap, but as punishment for interrupting my work, you shall do it while keeping me warm."

"Warm? Richard I-," her question was interrupted by her squeaking as her husband pushed her forward just a bit making room for him to undo his trousers.  

The sound of buttons popping caused her to look back, hands gripping the desk to keep her steady as she watched him free his cock from its confines.

The thick organ strained against the cloth before it was freed to lay heavy on his stomach as he pushed the waist of his trousers down just past his hips.

Ah, warm him. So that's what he wanted.

"R-Richard my love, darling, you know what you do to me," she mewled out as she felt the bottom of her dress be lifted to expose her and her hips dragged back towards her husband's lap. "I do not think I will be able to sit still if you are inside me."

"Really," he drawled huskily as he gripped his cock and began to slide the head of it against her exposed slit that had already begun to wet itself at the mere thought of her husband. 

A little moan passed through her lips as her legs automatically widened for him causing the tip of him to slip just past her folds. "You would deny your husband the pleasure he so deserves because you simply cannot sit still? Is this what you are saying to me?"

"No!" She squeaked out head shaking left to right as he began to pull her down to take her seat upon his strained arousal. "No never my love I would never deny you I just-!"

"Good, then I believe we have our deal."

No sooner had he said that did he fully pull [Y/n] down on his waiting cock that slid into her with almost no resistance.

"Richa- oh my lord!"  She cried breathlessly as he breached passed her lips that sucked him in hungrily as she sunk completely down onto his lap.

An absolute cunt stretcher* he was and she was more than happy to have it stretching her open as she took him to the hilt moaning at how full she felt with him inside of her.

Beads of sweat formed on her forehead as her fingers grasped at his thighs. Her head fell back on his shoulder as she felt him wrap one arm around her waist. His thick fingers stroked her belly lovingly causing her body to shutter and her hungry opening to squeeze at the thickness that filled her completely.

"O-oh oh Richard, my love," [Y/n] panted out as her cunt rippled around his cock that held her open as he shifted in his seat making himself more comfortable while he reached to grab one of the papers that were haphazardly sitting on his desk.

"Mmm that's it my little love, stay just like this for me," he hummed, his baritone voice thundering in her veins as he rocked teasingly against her causing her to whimper and tense at the pleasure that licked at her insides. "Such a good little wife for me. So obedient," he purred as she trembled in his arms while her body ached and begged for more. Yet he held her still on his cock, whispering sweet and lewd things to her ever so often as he looked through some case findings she presumed.

"Mmm, so very warm, and tight just as one should be for their lord husband."

"Ah, ah no moving my little love, what did I tell you about that."

"Oh did you like me touching you right there my sweet? Your little bud has always been so sensitive when you have me settled inside you."

Oh god this man, her husband, he was so filthy. The words he spoke were absolutely lust-inducing as she sat as still as possible on his lap trying to control the spasms inside her each time he uttered those words into her ear.

She was sure his lap was drenched by now as her insides clenched around him. Rapid breaths of air left her lips as she tried to calm her racing heart as he shifted again to grab another piece of paper on his desk.

This torture, this delicious torture seemed to go on forever as he went about his work ignoring her need that was dripping out of her at some point.

Sometimes he went as far as leaning over her body to write something down on a piece of parchment and causing his cock to slide deeper in between her drenched folds. Leaving her moaning and whimpering as her body demanded that it be allowed more of him.

"Oh Richard please, please," she begged softly, tears filling her eyes at the burning in her stomach that protested at the pleasure that was being withheld from it.

Trying to turn her head to at least gaze at him hoping her wet eyes would convince him to give her more, she was only met with him grabbing the sides of her jaw and gently turning her face forward.

"Eyes front sweet one," he purred, in command of her as usual, though she could hear from the husk of his voice that all of this abstaining was also affecting him as he shifted once again in his seat causing him to brush against a sensitive spot in her core. "Almost done and then I can indulge you till your heart's content. Be a patient wife for me just a little longer."

She was trying to be patient, she was. But it was impossible when her sex was impaled on him and aching to milk him of his seed and to release her own desire onto him.  But she would be patient as he asked her to be. As it was her duty as his wife to obey him in all things as their vows had stated.

So she sat. Her thoughts ebbing and flowing trying to find something else to focus on other than him inside her.

She tried to take interest in the many books that were shelved in the library, but her mind quickly wandered to the vulgar and graphic content that many of them displayed. Pictures of men and women writhing against each other in the throes of pleasure. Stories of orgies and debauchery in the middle age. The fantasies of men and women alike in many of those books

All things and more were stored on the shelves, some she had even read herself at the behest of her husband. Some he had read to her as they indulged in the pleasures that the book instructed them on.

It only made her needier, made her body softer as she relaxed into her husband's hold. Her fingers played with the large hand on her belly as an inaudible sigh left the man behind her. His member twitching in interest and leaking as he felt her velvet inside begin to flutter at the thoughts in her mind.

"Thinking of something pleasant little one?" He groaned, feeling his body slowly losing its grip on the control he had as he placed the paper he had down.

He had long ago stopped focusing on the many piles of papers on his desk, too busy being enamored by her wet heat that suckled on him. In honesty, he couldn't help that he enjoyed how she submitted to his more sadistic nature and teasing tendencies when it came to her. The control she allowed him over her was something he craved and enjoyed as in life you were either doing the controlling or being controlled and he quite preferred the former.

"Mmm you Richard, always you my love. My darling husband, my protector, my everything." Her words came out as a dreamy slur as her brain became hazy from the prolonged waves of pleasure that had not yet been allowed to reach its peak.

"My what a good and patient little wife you've been for me," he whispered, moving his hips a little and causing her to keen softly at the simulation of her insides that fully reawakened in an instant. "Keeping me warm, and thinking of me the entire time. How sweet you are. So sweet that I believe you are owed a reward. Would you like that my love?"

"Yes please sir," she begged sweetly, turning her upper body and looking at his cloudy eyes with her own lust filled eyes, "please I've been good and still for you my darling please."

A gentle smirk grew on his thin lips as he leaned down and pressed them against her own, his hands going to dig their fingers into her side causing her to whine into the kiss at the electricity that shot up her spine.

"Indeed you have been very good," he hummed, pulling away from her face, "and I shall give you your reward."

No sooner had the words left his lips, [Y/n] found her hips being guided off of his cock only for him to pull her back down on his lap with such force that her entire body tensed and a loud shout was forced past her lips as his cock slammed deep inside her.

"Yes oh Richard my love yes!" She sobbed loudly as he guided her up and down his slick shaft. 

His prick was wet with both of their arousals as the wet sounds of their flesh smacking against each other echoed around the room without resistance.

"Such a wonderful little wife I have," Turpin groaned into her ear as he lifted his hips up to meet her as she slid down his cock causing him to hit that spot deep inside her over and over. "So good for me, so obedient for me."

Her body writhe in pleasure as her mouth went slack and her upper body fell forward grabbing onto the edge of the desk as she allowed herself to be opened and explored by her husband. A guttural growl rumbled through his chest at her display and his hips stuttered only for a second before he was getting out of his seat and pressing her against his desk, his body laying on top of her as he began to piston himself inside of her.

Wails and sobs left her lips and it was music to his ears as his cock pulsed and began to leak seed into her. The feeling of having his thick body laid upon her and rewarding her sent her into a tizzy as she pushed her hips back to meet his thrusts each time.

Having him cage her in made her feel safe, and loved. Cared for, desired and it sent a rush of warmth into her belly that she couldn't stop as she began to gush around him.

"Oh Ri-Richard!" She breathlessly squeaked out as her body began to spasm uncontrollably. 

The sloshing of her cunt increased in volume as he began to pound into her faster, feeling his own release approaching as her insides squeezed him over and over until,

"Darling," he hissed out, hips stuttering as cock began to spill inside of her. Hot pulses of his seed spurted out and drowned her cunt with his release.

The warm feeling of him emptying himself into her and burying himself deep was all [Y/n] needed as she herself felt her body go absolutely limp as she released the arousal that had been building up inside of her.

Her fingers gripped the desk and her legs shook as she spilled around her husband moaning an elongated and breathless,

"Sir~." As her upper body lay smushed against the desk with the weight of the man on top of her.

It was oddly comfortable, well to her it was having him and his spend inside her while he covered her body with those strong thick limbs of his. Yet it was taken away much too soon for her liking as her husband slipped out of her with a slick noise. A little moan left her as the thick shaft stimulated her sensitive folds on its way out.

A kiss was placed on her damp neck as she lay bent over, the sound of fabric being straightened before Richard was helping her upright herself.  She couldn't help the dazed smile that was on her lips as he turned her to him. His gray locks were messy and along with his disheveled clothes there would be no guessing what had just happened between the two if any of the housekeepers were to walk in.

Yet she didn't care about that as she wrapped her arms around his shoulder and pulled him down so that their lips could meet once more and she could taste the salt on them.

No, all she could care about was the satisfaction running through her veins as he indulged her in a deep kiss, their tongues lazily dancing with each other as his arms came around her waist to hold her close.

A/N: I wrote this in like a span of two days I think which might not be a lot of some but it is for me haha! And also about the lil '*' if anyone saw that haha. Apparently cunt stretcher was a word back in the day and i was like oh yeah Turpin would use that / i'm sure it would accurate to describe him like that so I did :)

Anyways I hope that was a good time for you all please do leave words of thirst if you enjoyed it haha!

Also tagging @clowns-in-the-night as a reminder haha!

#judge turpin x reader #turpin x reader #judge turpin x you #turpin x you #judge turpin #blossoms writing

[static-radio-ao3]

@jegulus-microfic // september 2 // prompt: piercing // words: 1008 // non-sexual nsfw; genital piercing

The doorbell jingles overhead when James pushes the door open, stepping inside nervously with Remus at his back. It was a drunken bet that has them currently standing in a tattoo- and piercing parlor. They stand for a moment, matched expressions of fear etched across their faces, as if staring down the gallows.

“Hi, uh,” James says, scratching at the back of his head, “piercing appointment at 2 PM for James Potter?” The guy behind the desk looks bored, feet propped up on the desk and brown hair messy from his hands running through it. He drags his eyes over James’ face and his mouth quirks in a lazy smirk; he’s probably judging James for daring to walk into this very establishment. He raises one unimpressed, pierced eyebrow before jotting something down in the ledger and handing James a form to fill out.

He fills in the required information. Beside him, he faintly hears Remus saying, “Lupin, tattoo appointment at 2 PM with Sirius Black,” but Remus’ voice is rapidly drowned out by the pounding of his own heart between his ears. Stupid bet and stupid Remus and stupid James for landing him here.

A moment after he hands the sheet of paper back to the judgmental receptionist, and the most beautiful man he has ever seen in his entire life steps out of one of the rooms.

“James?” He calls out. Oh God. Oh, dear God. This beautiful specimen is going to pierce James’ dick. He nods once to steel himself and walks over to the man, shaking his outstretched hand. "My name is Regulus. You can just go ahead and take off your pants, and then we’ll get started."

James feels his hands shake as he takes off his jeans and underwear, moving to settle on the table set up in the middle of the room. Once Regulus confirms the specifics - a Prince Albert with a barbell at the base - he pulls up a chair and. Well.

“Does it hurt?” James blurts out. But before Regulus can answer, he says. “Oh well, obviously, ha! You're about to stick a needle in my dick. Of course, it’ll hurt. Am I rambling? I feel like I'm rambling. Sorry, I'm really nervous. I ramble when I’m nervous.” Shit, his palms are clammy. He wants to wipe off the sweat on his jeans, but his jeans are lying on a chair across the room, folded, with his underwear tucked in between the folds discreetly.

"It hurts a bit, but it shouldn't be too bad,” Regulus tells him. “If it really hurts, let me know, but this part is really the worst of it.”

James tries to force himself to relax. He has a skilled, competent, confident piercer handling it. Handling him, to be more precise, but James doesn’t let himself think about that too much for fear of the blood rushing south. Although he is fairly sure he is too nervous to get anything up, really. His eyes roam Regulus’ face; his focused eyes and pinched brow, the way his mouth has flattened into a thin line in concentration.

”How many piercings do you have?” James asks, desperate to distract himself. “Seven?” He counts a barbell through Regulus’ eyebrow, a ring through his lip, three earrings on one side and two on the other.

”Ten, actually,” Regulus says, eyes flitting over to James’ for only a moment before he refocuses.

James frowns, going over Regulus’ piercings again. “Ten? But- oh.” He immediately nips that line of thought in the bud, unwilling to imagine for even the slightest moment where else Regulus might be pierced.

The distraction proved to be enough, because Regulus informs him that he’s going to do the actual piercing bit now. James hums in acknowledgment, ignoring the way his voice cracks a little. He keeps his eyes on the ceiling, pretending that the only reason tears spring into his eyes is because he is staring into the bright overhead lamp and not because his dick is being stabbed.

“Why would anyone pierce their dick?” James wonders out loud.

Regulus huffs out an amused breath, “Why are you?”

James is silent for a moment, a little embarrassed. “I lost a bet,” he says eventually. He’s not sure why he is still trying to impress Regulus. The man is holding his flaccid penis while James is trying not to cry, he’s fairly sure this is rock-bottom.

“Oh,” Regulus says mildly. “Well, you’re not the first one. And many before you have chickened out before I could actually start, so I think you’re doing quite alright.” Regulus moves to grab the barbell that goes at the end of the piercing. “As for your question; looks good and feels good.”

“Huh?“ It takes James a moment to recall his question. “Oh! I see. Good for me or…?”

Regulus simply winks at him and pats his thigh to indicate that his work is done. He turns around to tidy up his workstation and, presumably, give James some privacy as he awkwardly shuffles his way over to the chair to tug on his clothes again.

James hasn’t the faintest why Regulus is trying to give him privacy, considering the fact that they were quite up close and personal only moments ago; James could feel Regulus’ breath ghost over his dick. He suppresses a shiver.

He listens to the aftercare instructions, but his mind is blank. All he can think of is ten ten ten ten Regulus has ten piercings ten ten-

“Maybe I could see those other piercings sometime,” James says before he can lose his nerve. Then it hits him that that was a wildly inappropriate thing to say, and just as he’s about to retract his statement, Regulus winks at him and says. “Sure. And maybe I could show you all the ways those piercings can feel good.”

James leaves the parlor with a blush his on his cheeks and a slip of paper with Regulus’ phone number on it. Remus walks out with a dopey smile, a new tattoo, and a piece of paper of his own.

#jegulus #regulus black #james potter #jegulus microfic #my writing #james x regulus #regulus x james #starchaser #mil's microfics

[slashingdisneypasta]

Spotify Wrapped Prompts !

Sorry it took me a week!! 😅 But here they are, for those of you who requested in the comments section ^^ (Those of you who requested in the ask box, I will answer you individually cuz its just easier ^^ )

Some are much longer then others. Some are just sentences. Its just whatever came to mind regarding to song! And no, I'm not giving you the song XD Just a line or two. If you wanna do sleuthing that's your prerogative but its mostly country and I know that's not everyone's cuppa tea 😅😅😅 Without further ado- here we go!

Included down below; Professor Ratigan (3), Judge Claude Frollo (6+7), Bill Sykes (13), Percival C McLeach (14), Wheezy Weasel (39), Hades (66) and Jafar (77).

3. Professor Ratigan Prompt 🎶'If you go down, I'm goin' down too'🎶

"You are my husband. If you go down, I go down with you. There are no if's and's or but's about it."

"My dear... That's not going to happen."

"I know- I know." Do you? You should, because he's so smart and you trust him, but still there's a nagging itch in the back of your mind telling you that one of these days one of these things is gonna fail. Taking a deep breath, you squeeze his hands in yours. "I just... want you to know."

With one of those dark and sinister smirks on his face, Ratigan gives you a kiss on the forehead; speaking lowly only to you. "Then we'll go down together, hmm? Two burial plots side-by-side~ "

6. Judge Claude Frollo Prompt (Fem Reader) 🎶'Jezebel, you're bound for Hell.'🎶

You're a woman who murdered her father's lover (You couldn't bear for your mothers heart to be broken) and find yourself under the judgment of one Judge Claude Frollo.

Will he send you to the gallows for your crime? Maybe not, if you keep flirting with him from across the courtroom.

Bat your eyelashes, Smirk those pretty lips, Make sure he gets a good look at your legs when you shift in your chair, do all these things in order to survive. Maybe you're only doing it to survive, maybe you actually like it. The way he looks at you.

7. Judge Claude Frollo Prompt 🎶 'Don't lie, I know you think about it in the back of your mind' 🎶

You're just a secretary in the office and the judge has made it quite clear what he wants from you. You refused him steadfast, of course, because you have dignity. And you're saving yourself.

But you cant stop thinking about it. What it might be like to say yes.

You know perfectly well that you shouldn't but with every day that goes by, your resolve grows thinner and thinner.

13. Bill Sykes Prompt 🎶'Thirty-one, waiting tables. She has They have a voice of an angel. Out of money and power. She only sings in the shower'🎶

You were working a dead-end job, living a dead-end unloved life until Bill Sykes walked into the diner you wait at. He walked in at the stroke of 4 in the afternoon, when you were supposed to leave- so, you weren't happy about it that day but had to go help him.

It was a curse at the time but now he has you singing at beautiful clubs and you have a penthouse and you don't have to wait anymore. People love you.

And yes he scares you sometimes- but the terrible man can be undone by your voice.

14. Percival C McLeach Prompt 🎶'I like em unavailable; guess that's just me.'🎶

You have a long history of going for the Wrong Guy. They're wrong because they're always taken already, a fact you only discover after the fact.

Now here's this guy- a rugged Australian guy from the middle of the outback. He's older and kindof uneducated and kind of brash but he always takes his hat off when he talks to you and opens doors for you, and... you're developing feelings for him.

He's completely not your type- you don't think he's ever dated before, and he definitely wouldn't have the sense of subtlety to pull off cheating. He wants you to be his one and only.

He thinks you're amazing. He thinks you're smart, funny, interesting, and beautiful. You feel kind of... greedy... finally having someone who just wants you.

But you're gonna make the jump. Whatever happens, happens. But at least this one truly wants you.

39. Wheezy Weasel Prompt 🎶'It's genius It's gonna be awfully rough on those children'🎶 This one's a little different! You got a Newsies Song, The Bottom Line (My favourite) so I- obviously- had to do something sticking with that theme XD

NewsiesAU!

Imagine you're in the position of Joseph Pulitzer's secretary (Hannah's character). You only got this job to be a help to the Toon Patrol (Wheezy, especially ^^). In this position you could easily sway the writing in the papers in the patrols favour, striking out any bad press. Yes, they would still get a bad reputation via word of mouth but it would be unofficial. Good notoriety in the papers would at least offer them some mystique.

This is hard enough on you. You hate deceiving people. You hate what the Toon Patrol do! But you love Wheezy, and you have to help him.

When Joseph bumps up the price of the papers, making life so so much more difficult for the newsies- the poor children, - to do their jobs and earn enough money to even feed themselves- you go home overwhelmed and in tears.

Wheezy's there to gather you in his arms and glare at Smartass when he sighs at you (How silly you are (Its just business)). He never wanted you to do this job! He never wanted you to be apart of this crap.

And now here you are sobbing because you're so stressed out and so sad- and- he's gotta get you out of this. He will get you out of this.

66. Hades Prompt 🎶'Dressed to kill'🎶

Imagine being a indebted servant to Hades along with Meg except you don't do a whole lot of the... communications work, that Meg does. So you don't have to look as nice all the time. You're often in the underworld with Hades helping him strategize and doing paperwork-type stuffs. You're closer with Hades then Meg is but it has never been a flirty thing, with you two. Just friendly. He's grown to actually like you- he's happy when you're around- you can calm him down when he's starting to lose his temper.

And honestly you like him, too. Despite the indenture. Somehow.

One day by some miracle Hades is in such a good mood, he lets you and Meg go for the day. You can do whatever you like but be back by sunset or he'll be pissed.

So you take the opportunity to wear something prettier then usual! Why not??

... When Hades sees you both leaving, that's when the penny finally drops.

He loves you.

How the hell did this happen!??-

77. Jafar Prompt (Fem Reader) 🎶'He don't know it 'cause I sure don't show it. When I kiss him goodbye and I wish him good luck'🎶

You try so hard to hide it; pretend like you're the perfect wife and you have no secrets. When you kiss your husband goodbye before you separate for the day, him going to the kitchens to work and you to laundry rooms, you look like the perfect young couple.

No one expects a thing.

Except you're truly being courted by a tall, dark, devastatingly handsome man you cant tell a soul about. And your husband, likewise, has a gentleman of his own to hide.

At night Jafar will meet you in the gardens where no one but the princess and the Sultan are allowed to roam, except they're asleep when you slip by. You're all his then and, truly, you're all his all the other hours in a day.

And he's all yours ^^

-But you cant tell a soul.

These are all Free to Use if you want ^^ Please tag me if you do use them! I so so wanna read them! ^^

Thank you so much for participating! ^^

#Spotify Wrapped Prompt Event #Spotify Wrapped x Reader #Spotify Wrapped x Fanfiction #Jafar x reader #Disney Jafar x reader #Hades x reader #Disney Hades x reader #Wheezy Weasel x reader #Percival C McLeach x reader #Bill Sykes x reader #Sykes x reader #Judge Claude Frollo x reader #Frollo x readeer #Professor Ratigan x reader

[thegoatsongs]

I wanted to do a list of death flags that each Dracula character had but once I started with Jonathan it already got too long despite trimming it... So here's a list of how death-bound Jonathan is, will make a different one for all the others

J Harker's Mortality-coding

🏴 “The first [letter] should be June 12, the second June 19, and the third June 29.” I know now the span of my life. - He extends his life span beyond June 29, when he was supposed to die.

🏴 Dracula, a dead man, wears his clothes, bringing death.

🏴 I determined that if Death came he should find me ready.

🏴 Becomes the chief mourner of his father figure, later of his wife.

🏴 Dracula took lives on land and sea because of his actions.

🏴 I would sell my soul to do it.

🏴 May God judge me by my deserts, and punish me - He's the only one who asks for divine punishment for his actions.

🏴 Physically "transforms" into an old man overnight.

🏴 Vows to follow Mina to eternal undeath.

🏴 Warned of God's punishment by Mina and Van Helsing for his blasphemies.

🏴 The only one shown writing his Will, the only one whose Will we know the contents of.

🏴 Described while hunting as dark, cold, silent- while the men with him are called fervent, lively, and excited.

🏴 Declares We should stand or fall by our act - and that he is ready to face the gallows.

🏴 Mina: It took all my courage to say good-bye to my darling. We may never meet again.

🏴 Returns to the place where he was condemned to die, on a boat on a dark river.

🏴 Three times he writes goodbye, three times heading to his likely death.

#Plus his parallels with Lucy in the first half of the book. #that's what i've noticed while reading at least scenes that got ringing bells #the rest of the cast have some too for sure though nowhere as many #i think the one with the second most death signs is van helsing followed by arthur #but will see #dracula daily #jonathan harker #dracula #mina harker #there's good and bad subverting expectations and this was the former to me

[clarinartiste]

Character analysis: the gargoyles as a reflection of Quasimodo

[This is based on the interpretation that the gargoyles are Quasimodo’s imaginary friends, and that their traits can give us some insight into Quasimodo and his own mind and personality]

Part Two: Hugo

Of the three gargoyles, Hugo is the most fun-loving. At the beginning, when Quasimodo looks out at the city below, Hugo says “Hey Quasi! What’s goin’ on? A fight? A flogging?” As we see later during Quasimodo’s humiliation during the Festival of Fools and Phoebus and Quasimodo in the gallows in the Court of Miracles scene, many of the Parisians derive pleasure from public displays of mockery, torment, degradation, and death. And it’s a reflection of history too, a lot of medieval people viewed these kinds of things as sources of entertainment for them.

Being as sensitive and caring as he is, Quasimodo most likely would NOT enjoy those kinds of public executions or displays of torture—in fact, I imagine they would disturb and horrify him. I think that Hugo saying this line is more of a generalization of what the people of Paris find entertaining, rather than what Quasi himself does.

However, what Quasimodo does find entertaining is the Festival of Fools. It’s a joyous celebration with bright colors, confetti, drinking, and merrymaking. Hugo enthusiastically says, “All right, all right! Pour the wine and cut the cheese!” Victor mentions, “Watching the Festival of Fools has always been the highlight of the year for Quasimodo,” and Laverne emphasizes Quasimodo’s long-standing desire to join the festivities, saying, “What good is watching a party if you never get to go?”

Quasimodo deeply craves fun. He clearly wants to be part of this celebration—to seek that kind of freedom and enjoyment with the Parisians. During the part where the gargoyles encourage Quasimodo to join the festival, they come up with different reasons that he should attend. Being his imaginary friends, I interpret this as Quasimodo trying to overcome his own doubts. Hugo juggles the wooden figures and exclaims that there will be “Wine, women, and song!” and “Bobbin’ for snails!” He says “Playin’ dunk the monk!” while dunking Victor with a bucket of water. It shows a cheeky, playful sort of attitude towards religious authority figures like monks, and it also reminds me of Clopin’s line “It’s the day we mock the prig and shock the priest” with his Frollo puppet.

(side note: I also wanted to bring up the part at the beginning where Victor chastises Hugo, “That’s what you get for sleeping with your mouth open” and Hugo sarcastically retorts, “Heheh… go scare a nun.” Also, encouraging Quasimodo to go to the festival, he quips, “No, the Pope. Of course, you!” while putting the wooden figure of a clergyman into Quasimodo’s mouth. This might be a bit of a stretch, but I read that Victor Hugo’s original book has some anti-clerical elements, as he felt disillusioned with the institution of the church at the time he was writing it.

Religion can be a very beautiful, inspiring, and wonderful thing. But unfortunately, some people will weaponize faith for their own personal ambitions, and corruption in churches and other religious institutions is a real issue. Perhaps Hugo the gargoyle lightly poking fun at these clerical figures is a subtle nod to that same concept in the book? After all, in this movie, Quasimodo is raised by a cruel man who claims that the horrific crimes he commits are all in the name of God. Even though Frollo is a judge and not an archdeacon in this adaptation, I feel like the point still stands)

Anyway, back to Hugo and his antics. He loves to have fun, acting unabashedly goofy and outrageous. He plays card games (“I’m losin’ to a bird!”) he crushes on Djali, and he messily eats food and smokes a sausage. Hugo is never afraid to get silly, which is especially prominent during “A Guy Like You.” Using things to imitate curly hair, getting dizzy and seeing double, dangling wooden figures in the gallows (some dark humor), acting as a barber and giving Quasi an over-the-top wig, grinning suavely while pretending to be the head of the muscular statue, getting his horns stuck, and dressing up like Esmeralda.

(look at Quasimodo’s amused smile here :)

Throughout the song, Hugo calls Quasimodo “kid” a lot as a reassuring, affectionate term, and he tries his best to hype him up and make him feel good. Quasimodo and the gargoyles bounce on a cloth like a trampoline, again showing Quasimodo’s strong desire to have fun.

Going back to the point about the Festival of Fools, and Quasimodo being fun-loving, it makes sense why he would want to join. The boisterous revelry, bright colors, singing, dancing, and hedonistic nature of the festival must be incredibly appealing for someone like him. Being isolated in the bell tower for twenty years has really taken a toll on him. His upbringing under Frollo is very strict and ascetic—the alphabet lesson emphasizing sin (abomination, blasphemy, contrition, damnation, eternal damnation)

When Quasimodo absentmindedly says “festival,” he betrays his true desires, and Frollo quickly notices. Realizing his slip-up, Quasimodo becomes more anxious and stutters, “F…f-forgiveness.” But Frollo sees right through him, and he presses, “You said… festival.”

With a look of regret and worry in his eyes, Quasimodo covers his face with his hands. He unsuccessfully tries to reason with Frollo, who swiftly and sternly shuts him down.

Hugo is loud and unapologetic—and, deep down, I think that this is what Quasimodo wishes he could be to Frollo. But Frollo has been an imposing figure to him all his life, and he does not feel like he can stand up to him (until the film’s climax)

I also wanted to point out Quasimodo’s internal resentment towards Frollo. At their lunch, when Frollo asks, “Shall we review your alphabet today?” Quasimodo looks down and mutters, “Oh…yes, Master, I would like that very much.” His tone has a very subtle bite of sarcasm, hinting at his bitterness. But Frollo doesn’t pick up on it, and he continues speaking to Quasimodo as normal. In fact, I don’t think it occurs to Frollo to even consider that Quasimodo is being snarky here.

In the grape scene, when Frollo realizes that Quasimodo helped Esmeralda escape, he loses his temper and thunders, “You idiot! That wasn’t kindness, it was cunning!” He violently grabs Quasimodo by the tunic, shaking him and yelling “Think, boy! Think of your mother!” Then, after calming down and clearing his throat, he says, “But what chance could a poor, misshapen child like you have against her heathen treachery…”

With his condescending attitude, Frollo consistently underestimates Quasimodo’s intelligence. He treats him as though he is lesser—and, fundamentally, I don’t think he really sees Quasimodo as a person. Frollo believes that Quasimodo is incapable of thinking for himself, and so he imposes his own beliefs on him. In “Out There,” he sings, “I who keep you, teach you, feed you, dress you” while holding Quasimodo’s face, demanding that Quasimodo be grateful towards him. Ultimately, Frollo assumes that Quasimodo isn’t capable of free thought or free will. And, in his own cruel and twisted sense of self-righteousness, he sees himself as a “savior” to someone he perceives as below him, devaluing Quasimodo because of his physical deformity.

And, VERY understandably, Quasimodo resents Frollo for this. Even if he does not outwardly show it much, he has been accumulating a sense of bitterness for all the years that Frollo has mistreated him. I believe that Hugo is representative of Quasimodo’s desire to disobey Frollo. When encouraging him to go to the festival, he says with a mischievous smile, “Who says ya gotta ask? You sneak out… and ya sneak back in.”

“You could wear a disguise! Just this once. What Frollo doesn’t know can’t hurt ya.” Suggesting that Quasimodo not tell Frollo about his escapade, he encourages him to assert his independence.

Later, in the dialogue leading up to “A Guy Like You,” Hugo holds a deck of cards and says, “If I know Esmeralda, she’s three steps ahead of Frollo and ask out of harm’s way.” He holds up a three of hearts when he says the word “three,” and flips it. When he says “Frollo,” he holds up the joker card.

The implication here being that Frollo is a joker, a buffoon, a fool. It’s a subtle and impudent jab at him that suggests that while Quasimodo might fear Frollo for how controlling and cruel he is, he doesn’t entirely respect him as a figure of authority. Through his imaginary friend Hugo, Quasimodo lightly makes fun of Frollo as a way to “get back” at him, coping with how horrible he is.

I also wanted to explore how Hugo reflects Quasimodo’s feeling towards Phoebus. After Quasimodo forces Phoebus to leave the cathedral, Hugo congratulates Quasi and says, “The nerve of him! Snoopin’ around here, trying to steal your girl!” and “Way to go, lover boy!”

He really encourages Quasimodo and raises his hopes of being with Esmeralda. Later, when talking about Esmeralda, Victor says, “Knights in shining armor certainly aren’t her type”—alluding to Phoebus—and Hugo adds, “And those guys are a dime a dozen! But you, you’re one of a kind.”

In “A Guy Like You,” he constantly references how Quasimodo is unique. He sings, “A guy like you, she’s never known, kid” and “You’ve got a look, that’s all your own, kid.” Hugo also tries to elevate Quasimodo’s self-esteem by comparing him to other guys (read: Phoebus). He knocks around wooden figurines hanging from ropes, singing,

“Those other guys that she could dangle / All look the same from every boring point of view!” (also, this might be kind of a stretch, but the figures being blonde and having shoulder-length hair might be a little reference to Phoebus too haha)

Hugo positively affirms again to Quasimodo, “You’re a surprise from every angle / Mon Dieu above, she’s gotta love a guy like you” (side note: I love the ringing of the bells on that second line, something about it sounds so sweet :)

Immediately after the song, Esmeralda brings an injured Phoebus to the bell tower and she asks Quasimodo to hide him. The kiss scene happens, and Quasimodo quietly cries, broken-hearted. But he still helps hide Phoebus, and after the grape scene with Frollo, Quasimodo expresses doubt about himself, bitterly saying, “She already has her knight in shining armor, and it’s not me.”

But his compassion wins over—he cares about Esmeralda so much that it overpowers his resentment towards Phoebus. Of course, he still feels really hurt after seeing Esmeralda and Phoebus kiss, and so he acts bitter and quarrelsome around Phoebus. I really appreciate this because I think it makes Quasimodo more real and believable as a character. Yes, he is a very sweet and sensitive person, but he’s also capable of being jealous and petty, and I feel like that contrast makes him really interesting.

Phoebus pats Quasimodo’s back and asks, “Truce?” After hesitating, Quasimodo says, “Well… okay,” with a forceful pat on Phoebus’ back (right where the arrow struck him)

Phoebus grimaces in pain, and as they head off to follow the map, Quasimodo utters a simple “sorry.” Phoebus grumbles, “No you’re not.” It’s a funny exchange, and another example of Quasimodo being bitter. Like I said before—although he is an overall kind and gentle person, he also has moments of spite, and I think these add some wonderful nuance to his character.

In conclusion, as an imaginary friend, Hugo reflects Quasimodo’s sense of humor, his fun-loving nature, his desire for independence, and his potential for irreverence. While Quasimodo is overall a very loving and gentle person, he also harbors resentful feelings towards Frollo, and a grudge against Phoebus (the latter fading away as the two develop a stronger trust and friendship :)

#quasimodo #victor #hugo #laverne #gargoyles #frollo #phoebus #character analysis #the hunchback of notre dame

[discount-shades]

Dead or Alive Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Chicken Run

A/N: I think I am going to give gold stars out to the people who get the references to other westerns in this series. 

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader 

Warning: Western themed violence. Law inaccuracies.

Word Count: 2000 ish

Summary: We meet the reader. 

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“You have been found guilty by a jury of your peers and I sentence you to be hung by the neck until you are dead.” You flinch at the crack of the gavel as the judge bangs it down on the teacher’s desk in front of him. There is no courthouse in Pine Creek, just a schoolhouse, a church, and a saloon. 

The judge decided that it would be an affront to God to hold the trial in a church and refused to set foot in the saloon so here you sat, squeezed into a child’s desk off to the side of the little one room schoolhouse. A jury of your ‘peers’ gathered off to the side had declared you guilty of horse theft. All of them were men, and all of the had refused to believe that you only stole the horse to escape a boss that was going to rape you. 

It didn't help that your previous employer owned the Hanging Dog Ranch. Half the town worked for him and the other half depended on his business. There was no way you would get a fair trial in this town. 

When the railroad had bypassed the town to go south, Pine Creek had started to fade with only a stagecoach connecting it to the outside world. The only thing keeping it from becoming a ghost town was the Hanging Dog Ranch. 

One of the deputies grabbed you by the upper arm and began to drag you out. In the doorway you passed Pete and Bradley being marched in. The second trial of the day. They had been a part of the bank robbery that happened the day after you were arrested. You remember hearing the sound of gunshots from your cell. All of the Hanging Dog Ranch’s payroll had been stolen by the rest of the gang but two of the robbers had been caught.

They would be getting the same fate as you. The gallows in town had already been built, three nooses hanging above one long trapdoor. The newly sawn boards bright against the weathered store fronts outside the Pine Creek Sheriffs’ Office. 

The men had been sharing the cell next to yours for the past few weeks waiting for the judge to finally make his way to town. As far as robbers went they were a decent sort. You had been on the wrong side of the law, and morality for years, and you could tell the difference between good and bad men regardless of the law. Your parents died from consumption when you were young, leaving you to fend for yourself. The world isn’t kind to pretty girls with no one to look out for them. 

But you survived. You had done what you needed to do to get by. You had thought that working as a cook’s helper and general maid in the big house on a prosperous ranch would be your chance to leave your past behind and get on the right side of the law. How wrong you were. 

The deputy puts you back in your cell. The only concession for you being a woman was a sheet that could be hung for privacy if you needed to use the bucket in the corner. You sit on the wooden shelf that served as a bed. When the deputy left you pull your knees up and muffle the sobs into your skirt. You were alone in the jail and so you finally allowed yourself to cry. The small part of you had been holding out hope that you would be found innocent had flitted away when you had seen the freshly built gallows on the way to the makeshift courthouse. 

At the sound of footsteps on the boardwalk out front you dry your tears and take a deep breath as the numbness sets in. You were going to die. Well you were always going to die, everyone does, but your fate had become very immediate. The footsteps fade as the person making them carries on.

It doesn’t take more than ten minutes for the sheriff and deputies to bring in the other two men who would be joining you tomorrow. Ten minutes to sentence two men to death. Their faces are grim as you meet their eyes. “You too?” you ask and they nod. 

“It was nice knowing you.” Bradley says with a ghost of a smile. “I wish it was under better circumstances.” You let out a little laugh nodding before the sheriff snaps at you to be quiet. The night guard usually allowed you to talk but when the sheriff was in the jailhouse he demanded silence. You lay back on the bed and drift into an uneasy sleep.

You awake when darkness falls. The night guard brings you all some food and you eat quietly. Bland stew from the boarding house, it’s not much of a last supper. You eat mechanically. More so for something to do than for any real hunger. The meals the past few weeks had been more regular than any time in your life. Even working at the big house you had only been fed twice a day. Here you were guaranteed three solid meals a day until your execution. 

You set your empty bowl on the gap in the bars for the deputy to collect and return to your bed. You talk with Pete and Bradley quietly all night. Telling stories from your lives, all of the coulda, shoulda, wouldas. With dawn comes the return of the sheriff and breakfast. Lukewarm porridge, but unlike every other morning there is a dollop of brown sugar on top. 

The churning in your gut makes it impossible to eat. If it had been the same as every day before you are sure you could have forced it down but the added sweetener makes your stomach clench. Another signal that your time on this earth is limited. The hanging is set for 10:00AM. This is your last meal and you can't even eat it. You quietly set the still full bowl on the ledge and return to your bed.

As it draws closer to 10:00 you can hear the crowd gathering. The sky that you can see through the bars of your cell window is blue and cloudless. More than a few voices carry through the window. “It’s a great day for a hanging,” a faceless voice calls out. Any day is a good day for hanging if you are not the one being hung you think bitterly.

At quarter to 10:00 you are ordered to put your hands through the slot they pass the food through and one of the deputies firmly ties your wrists together while another ties Pete and Bradley’s in turn. 

Ten minutes left. The deputies lead Pete and Bradley out first with you following meekly behind. You walk through town to the jeers of the crowd. Many lost money when the bank was robbed and a woman hanging is uncommon enough that people were willing to travel to see it. It was one of the reasons the judge insisted the sentence be carried out so soon. He didn’t want a huge audience. 

Stumbling on the steps you stoop to hold up your dress with your tied hands as you ascend the gallows to stand behind the last noose in the row. The rope is coarse and brown and you can’t help but think of how it will feel around your neck. You tune out the voice reading the charges against the three of you, barely registering when they say your name. Your eyes fixed on the rope as it twists and moves gently in the faint breeze. Would your body move the same way?

You don’t notice the steady rumble of hundreds of hoofbeats until the screams begin. You glance away from the rope to see hundreds of shorthorns stampeding through town. Gunfire draws your eyes from the cattle to the people on horseback, their faces covered by bandanas. The sharp scent of gunsmoke fills the air as they fire causing the cattle to scatter, the whites of their eyes showing as they bawl in fright. The Hanging Dog Ranch brand on the right rib of every animal. 

A man on a black horse leading two riderless horses slows as he leads them past the gallows. Pete and Bradley dash for the horses, fighting off the deputies as they run to jump on the riderless horses. No one is watching you, so without thinking you follow. You throw your bound hands over the head of the man on the black horse, knocking his hat off in the process and revealing a head of blond hair. 

“What the hell?” You hear him curse as he tries to throw you off. Clutching the fabric of his shirt, you feel your nails digging into the flesh beneath. 

“If you throw me off I’m taking you with me!” You yell in his ear as he curses, struggling to keep his balance with you hanging off his neck. Scooting forward, you flatten yourself to his back. He curses again and threads one arm through yours so one of your arms is over his shoulder and the other is curled under his arm. Now if one of you fell, it was inevitable that the other would fall as well.  His heart is pounding against the palm you have pressed to his chest. 

Bradley and Pete are now on their horses and all the riders whoop and begin firing at the deputies as they follow the herd, galloping out of town. 

“They are going to form a posse and follow us!” You yell in his ear glancing back at the town of Pine Creek.

“They’ll have a hard time without their horses.” The man in front of you shouts back and motions to the open doors of the livery stable and the horses you see galloping free from the burning building. The townspeople are frantically running to put out the flames. In a town where everything was wooden and connected by wooden boardwalks, fire spread fast. 

A few miles out of town the riders slow at a crossroads. Your body is already aching from the quick getaway. “So did the nooses bring back any memories, Hangman?” Bradley asks and you can feel the muscles of the man in front of you tense. 

“Remind me why I saved you again, Rooster?” He growls while pulling out a knife and sawing at your bindings. 

“New friend there, Hangman?” The voice of a woman startles you and the smallest rider pulls down her bandana to reveal her face, everyone else following suit. “Can’t even save people from the noose without trying to find a girl.”

“It was a hitch in the plan.” With a final tug you feel the bindings give way. “Now get off.” He reaches around to pull you from the saddle.

“Wait, you can’t just leave her here!” Bradley exclaims as you clutch the shirt of the man in front of you. “They’ll find her for sure.”

“Not my problem.” The man in front of you grumbles and he resumes tugging on your arm.

“Hold up Hangman,” Pete says in a calming voice. “We’ve got to take her with us. She was going to be hung beside us, she’s good people.” You can’t help the snort that escapes you. Being declared ’good people’ because you were in a cell next to someone was a first. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. “Who’s she going to ride with?” Everyone looks around uncomfortably. 

“Well she is already on your horse,” the woman says with a grin. “Come on, everybody split up. We’ll meet at the Hard Deck, she better be with you, Hangman. ” She spurs her horse and gallops away, everyone else following her lead and scattering in different directions. 

The man on the black horse doesn’t move. You tentatively introduce yourself and he doesn’t respond leaving you wishing you could have rode with Bradley or Pete. After a long silence he finally gathers his reins. “Sugar, you owe me a hat.” With that he gives his horse a nudge and takes off down the narrow trail that leads into the mountains. 

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin/reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman #hangman/reader #top gun hangman #top gun fanfiction #topgun maverick #topgun hangman #hangman topgun #topgun #western!au

[alynnl]

I have one more Great Ace Attorney AU that I actually came up with as I was actively playing through case 2-3 (Return of the Great Departed Soul.)

My notes aren't quite polished enough to share the long version, but I have a few key ideas I can share.

It all started with a question. "What would happen if Albert Harebrayne got kidnapped and held for ransom?"

And Barok van Zieks gets the ransom note

Only the demands aren't for money, but instead for Van Zieks to get a guilty verdict in an upcoming trial

Kazuma has gone off on "personal business" so he's not Van Zieks's co-counsel this time around

Ryunosuke and Susato are the opposing counsel, of course

The trial is a murder trial because in Ace Attorney, it's always murder

In this case, it's the murder of someone who'd been recently reported missing

The defendant is a young Italian stage magician who was just making his debut (who I really want to come up with a pun name for)

Herlock Sholmes is there. He's been investigating a string of missing persons cases in the background

Stage magic + missing persons cases = a great idea for a title. Adventure of the Great Vanishing Act

After a very stressful first day of trial and additional investigation, Ryunosuke and Susato approach Van Zieks because they know he's not himself

It takes some effort on Ryunosuke's part, but Van Zieks comes clean about the ransom note, and how he doesn't want to lose one of his friends the day he was supposed to get him out of England to save him from the Reaper's Curse

Sholmes arrives and he's heard everything. And he reassures everyone that he can rescue Albert, since he's close to cracking the missing persons case

There's a major moment (reminiscent of Farewell my Turnabout) where Ryunosuke, Susato and Van Zieks agree to prolong the trial as long as they can to give Sholmes enough time to get Albert out of danger

I'm floating the idea of Iris being Sholmes's investigation partner during that part of the story because you can't have a Dance of Deduction solo

Albert takes matters into his own hands and sets off a small explosion (on purpose this time) just to let people know where he is (when in doubt, blow something up!)

This explosion tips Sholmes off to his location, and after a brief reunion, the Great Detective whisks Professor Harebrayne away to the Old Bailey

Ryunosuke and Van Zieks have given it their all in the courtroom. Van Zieks has no doubt that the young magician is not guilty. Sholmes hasn't arrived yet, but there is no other way to stall the trial. He knows he couldn't live with himself, nor would Albert forgive him if he sent a perfectly innocent young man to the gallows

"The Prosecution... Rests."

Ryunosuke can't come up with anything else either. "The Defense... Rests."

Mere minutes before a verdict is called, there is a last minute "Hold it!"

Sholmes arrives, with Albert in tow. "Forgive my tardiness, ladies and gentlemen! I had a very important promise to keep!"

The Judge asks why they're even here, since the trial seems to have reached its logical conclusion

Sholmes goes on to suggest that the proceedings can't end here, since it's possible that the true culprit behind the murder and the vanished Londoners might be sitting in the gallery.

Ryunosuke suggests that both Albert Harebrayne and Herlock Sholmes testify, since they are both important witnesses. "We have a survivor and... The Great Detective who discovered one of the culprit's hideouts!"

Van Zieks agrees to let them testify. He looks at Albert in particular when he mentions he fully supports the idea.

Their testimony and evidence (including the ransom note sent to Van Zieks) point out the actual mastermind

The culprit is desperate (and perhaps foolish) enough to try and attack the witnesses. Sholmes gets Albert behind him, and quickly has the suspect on the ground with a single blow.

The bailiff takes him away, much to the relief of everyone present.

When there's once again order in the court, the Judge finally calls a verdict of Not Guilty for the young magician, who can hardly believe what just happened in his trial

I'm still working on the post-trial scenes. (As much as the other scenes.) But I have a few details worked out.

The young magician will go back to Italy, both to escape the Reaper's Curse and reconcile with his family

Van Zieks doesn't directly thank Ryunosuke and the others but he recognizes their abilities. And he knows when they're in the courtroom, the truth will be brought to light

Albert apologizes profusely to everyone, feeling like he's just caused them all a great deal of trouble once again

Ryunosuke gets the feeling of de ja vu as he gives Professor Harebrayne the reassurance that none of this was his fault at all

Van Zieks can tell how tired Albert is and offers to take him home. "You need food and rest. You've been through a lot, Albert."

Ryunosuke is completely taken aback on how gentle Van Zieks sounds. He accidentally says this out loud and receives an icy glare in return

Barok and Albert share supper together at the professor's home. They also share a conversation.

Barok isn't proud of the way he first responded to the ransom note

Albert tells him "I might have acted the same way, if I was in your shoes."

In the very end, it's seen as the best thing for Albert to leave Britain after all (in this AU he was trying to stay to prove a point.)

Barok quietly agrees. Then he humbly asks Albert to write to him once he's reached Germany, and mentions that he will keep in touch.

At Baker St, Ryunosuke, Susato, Iris and Sholmes are having their own supper. Sholmes excitedly explains how he found a notebook with details about the other missing Londoners in the same building he found Albert Harebrayne. Since then, the rest of the citizens have been returned home

Ryunosuke couldn't believe how tough (and how personal) today's trial became, but he knows as long as he has the others to help him, he can overcome any challenges in the courtroom

Everyone at Baker St. shares a toast with Iris's tea, to victory and unbreakable bonds

#Lynn's writing #The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles #TGAAC #DGS #Adventure of the Great Vanishing Act #TGAA fan case #bullet points version #Barok van Zieks #Albert Harebrayne #Herlock Sholmes #Ryunosuke Naruhodo #Benbaro #Harebaro #Farewell my Turnabout inspired