This is the best comic I’ve seen in months, I won’t allow any protests
Tag: fic
There’s an old legend that a birthmark
or defect indicates the spot where you
received a fatal wound in your past life.
In some cultures, people mark their dead
with soot or paste so they can recognize
them when they are reborn, which has
inspired several researchers to spend
their lives documenting hundreds of case
studies that allegedly reflect this belief. Source Source 2 Source 3Put how you died in the tags
With the monster slain, they continued forth on their magical duckventures.
My website – My Facebook page – See me on LINE Webtoon!
satya
Congrats on the 500+ followers <3 Do you still take prompts? If so, how about some Merlin/Eggsy Fluff? Love Eggsy being kinda a switch in your works, and love him dominating Harry, but I also love him melting Merlin's composed exterior and giving the silently watching eye some well deserved attention and snuggles :3
“Made you a timetable,” is the first thing Eggsy says after marching into Merlin’s office and thrusting a colour-coded printout in his face. “I know you like timetables. Blue means you fucking sleep and you don’t argue. Pink means eat something. Red’s work, yellow’s home, orange is overtime if you absolutely have to. You look like death, me and Harry’s worried about you.”
Gently he begins to stroke Merlin’s headachey temples with his cool fingertips, and Merlin against every natural impulse leans back in his desk chair to rest his head against Eggsy’s broad chest. Somehow, the world doesn’t end.
*
He bins it, of course, because it’s patronising, but the intention was good even if the execution left much to be desired. There’s a curious tenacity to Eggsy’s fussing now he’s settled, now he knows he’s not only Harry’s but entirely Merlin’s as well. All the earnest care he took of Harry in their first few weeks of learning one another shifts like a tidal wave, and he seems to spend half his downtime now running around HQ bringing sandwiches, tea, clean jumpers.
“I’m fine,” Merlin insists one evening, and Eggsy kisses his forehead gently and says, “Yeah, getting there.”
*
The voices sound hazy, distant, like a conversation in a dream or several rooms away.
“Ain’t seen him sleep like this before.”
“He crashes every now and then like an old overheated computer.”
“Sure he’d fucking love that comparison, Harry.”
“Well, he made it himself and it seemed to fit.”
“He does too much. You all gotta give him a break. He ain’t actually a machine, even if he’s as smart as one.”
He becomes aware of their warmth, slowly: their arms around him in bed, and the quiet breath of their whispers touching his face like soft little kisses.
“Why the fuck’s he in there?” Eggsy asks, pushing past Tequila, towards the two way mirror. Emotions rush through him, faster than he can identify them.
Harry Hart is alive.
And he’s being held like some kind of prisoner.
“He’s dangerous,” Tequila replies bluntly.
Then, all Eggsy feels is anger. “Fuck that, I want to see ‘im,” he glares at Tequila defiantly and crosses his arms.
“Galahad,” Merlin warns sharply.
“What?” Eggsy rounds on him. “They–” he points an accusing finger at Tequila “–been keepin’ him here, locked up like he’s in a fuckin’ zoo. We mourned him, Merlin.” Eggsy turns back to Tequila. “I want to see him,” he says, cold and precise.
The Statesman looks at him sympathetically. “Kid… he doesn’t remember anything.”
Eggsy staggers back. “What?”
“He doesn’t even remember his own name,” Tequila continues. “And he doesn’t react kindly to visitors. That’s why we got ‘im here.”
Eggsy seems to deflate. “Fuck,” he whispers.
Tequila claps him on the shoulder. Merlin is strangely silent.
“I still wanna see ‘im,” Eggsy says. It comes out far more broken-sounding than he’d hoped it would.
“’Course, kid, just make sure you prepare yourself. That ain’t the man you knew in there.”
Ginger steps in, as if on queue. “This way, please,” she says softly. She leads Eggsy around to a door. “Right through there.”
He takes a steeling breath and opens the door.
“Harry,” he breathes, unable to keep the name from tumbling from his lips.
The man looks up at him, and there’s not a hint of recognition in his eyes. “And who might you be?” He asks, voice cold and achingly familiar.
Eggsy’s heart breaks all over again.
He can’t. He can’t.
He pastes on a watery, unconvincing smile and holds out his hand. “My name is Galahad,” he says, and his voice only shakes a little.
Harry warily takes the extended hand in his own, and then something in his expression shifts. His grasp firms.
“Still haven’t learned to knock, then, have you, Eggsy.”
…
“I don’t remember everything, but I remember you.”
“Potter, what is that?” Draco asks with urgency, his chest
constricting in pain as he catches a glimpse of something dark coiling up Harry’s
forearm.Harry shoves his
sleeve down and jumps up to meet Draco, his wand clattering to the floor. “Nothing.
How did you find – ““Show me.”
“I don’t – “
“Show me. Now.” Draco
demands. He can’t believe this is happening. As if it isn’t horrible enough
seeing it on his own arm every day.Harry pulls up his
sleeve slowly to reveal it – The Dark Mark – etched into his flesh. Draco holds
back a gag.“It’s not what you
think,” Harry says.Draco’s eyes dart
between the mark and Harry’s face. “It’s – how did – why?”“I wanted to practice removing
it,” Harry says slowly, his meaning clear. It only makes Draco angrier.“So you gave yourself a
Dark Mark? You reckless idiot. What if you can’t remove it? Did you even think
about that before you – “ Draco stops himself. Of course he didn’t. He’s Harry
fucking Potter. Draco sighs and tries to calm himself. He’s not responsible for
Harry’s idiotic antics. “How did you even manage to replicate it?” He asks, his
voice measured.Harry smiles weakly. “Well,
a fragment of Voldemort’s soul was inside me for most of my life and his magic
left a pretty big trace. I just… accessed it.”Once again Draco holds
back a gag. The thought of Voldemort’s magic, so dark, so cruel, inside of
Harry Potter, the Gryffindor Saint, is too much. It’s horrifying.Draco takes a breath
and asks Harry the question he already knows the answer to: “Why do you need to
know how to remove a Dark Mark?” He needs to hear the idiot say it.Sure enough: “So I can
remove yours.”Draco grits his teeth.
He’s furious that Harry has put himself in danger for him. Again. “You don’t
owe me anything, Potter.”“I know,” Harry says. But
he doesn’t.“You can’t just go
around saving people all the time!” Draco’s raised voice echoes throughout the
room.“Why not?”
“Not everyone wants to be saved,” Draco points out. He
doesn’t want Harry risking anything for him. How could he ask that
of anyone, after all that he’s done?“You don’t want the
mark removed?” Harry questions, his eyes falling down to Draco’s left arm.Draco’s mark is
covered but he tugs on his sleeve regardless. “It reminds me of who I am.”Harry frowns. “That’s exactly
why you need it removed. That’s not who you are, Draco.”Draco blanches,
surprised at the use of his first name and Harry quickly corrects himself. “I
mean Malfoy.”Draco lets his eyes
fall back down to Harry’s mark, taking in the harsh lines of the coiling snake
and skull, and the red raw skin beneath. He shudders. “Looks like you haven’t
had much success anyway,” he says as casually as he can manage. But inside, his
heart is tight. Because now Harry will have to live with the Dark Mark the rest
of his life. Just like Draco, he’ll be forced to carry the weight of the inescapable
dark magic within his skin, forced to feel it crawling through his veins,
through his every spell, with no relief and no hope of salvation.“I’m getting close. Before
you came in, I could feel it moving.” Harry retrieves his wand from the floor
and points it at his Dark Mark, eyebrows tightening in concentration.“Go on, then. No other
Wizard has been able to do it, but I’m sure even a Dark Mark will be no match
for the great Harry Pot – oh.” Draco’s knees buckle. “Oh.”Against all logic,
Harry removes the Dark Mark as if it is nothing more than a muggle tattoo.
The head of the snake recoils into a rapidly shrinking skull until all that is
left is smooth, untainted skin.Malfoy yanks up his
sleeve and holds out his arm to Harry. Despite all his protesting, he wants to
be saved. More than anything.Harry’s hand wraps
under Draco’s arm holding it in place and he raises his wand. Draco screws up
his eyes in anticipation – he cannot bear to witness the removal in case it doesn’t
work properly. What if his Dark Mark is worse than Harry’s, having come from
Voldemort himself? What if – Oh.Draco doesn’t need to
see it happen because he feels it. He feels the darkness extracted from his
body, feels strength returning to his limbs. And he feels light. Lighter than
he can ever remember. As if he might just float away. He opens his eyes and
stares down at his clear, unmarked skin.There’s a sense of
twisted deja vu when Draco looks up from his arm. He remembers looking up into
Voldemort’s eyes after he was given the mark, and feeling colder than he’s ever
felt before. But now when he looks up into his saviour’s eyes, into Harry
Potter eyes, it’s warmth he feels, from the smooth skin on his forearm to the
centre of his heart.He blinks back his
tears. “Thank you.” They’re the same words he was forced to say to Voldemort
but their meaning couldn’t be any more different this time. Voldemort had
stolen his life, and Harry Potter had just restored it.
Consider:
Amanda’s away at college. She’s having lunch one day with a bunch of friends, when one of her friends nudges her and is like, “Don’t look now but there’s a really attractive older guy dressed like a vampire staring at you.”
And of course Amanda whips around and her eyes go wide.
Her friend facepalms and is like, “I told you not to-”
“Holy shit, it’s my dad,” Amanda whispers, and her friends turn to stare at her, dumbfounded, wondering if they heard right.
“Oh my gosh, Damien, what are you doing here!?” Amanda shouts, running straight at him and tackling him at full speed, gushing a mile a minute about how happy she is to see him and asking if MC and Lucien are there too.
Her friends follow her, and after all the introductions have been made, one of Amanda’s friends asks, “You call your dad by his name?”
And Amanda just huffs and rolls her eyes, saying that, “Well, it’s not like I want to, but he and my pops only got married like a few months ago, and he still gets super flustered whenever I try to call him d-”
“Really, Amanda!” chastises Damien, looking exasperated. “That happened once. Last month. I can assure you I’ve quite gotten over such childish-”
“Oh yeah?” interrupts Amanda, crossing her arms and staring at him with a raised eyebrow. “You sure about that, dad?”
Damien is able to keep a straight face for all of two seconds before a bright red flush spreads across his cheeks and to the tips of his ears, and he buries his face in his hands.
“I have a daughter,” he squeaks, sounding close to tears.
21. Vacation [James x Reader] (Seduce Me)
Maybe it the usual work drag of the past few weeks that had worn you down or the way James ran his fingers through your hair, but you couldn’t help dozing off, the summer sun beaming on you, the heat wrapping you in a warm blanket, all combined made you a sleepy mess.
Well, a would-be sleepy mess save for the continued shouting of Sam and Matthew playing in the ocean.
You could hear James mentally preparing a lecture the longer he looked at the water.
You smiled sleepily, touching his hand.
His fingers returned to your hair after that.
So I promised my wife I would tell this story because she said she would pay me with a 1946 wheat penny if I did, and I was like “Sure, lady, if you can just conjure one out of thin air” and then she pulled one out of her bra. So like…. you do what baby asks when she delivers a 1946 wheat penny from her magic titties.
ANYWAY this morning she woke up at like 2 fucking a.m. and decided to just stay up. I, a lazy and exhausted sunnovagun, kept sleeping until about 4:30 when she woke me up for good.
Now, let me set this scene. I’m laying there dozing and comfortable and probably dreaming and suddenly a figure slips into bed beside me, curling her arm around me and giving me a very slight, very gentle shake. And when I crack open my eyes, the light filtering in from the open window is blue, cool and carrying that summer morning hue that lays like chiffon over everything it touches. She’s got herself propped up on an elbow and she’s looking at me like nothing else matters in the world. Like she’s been awake two hours without me and even that is too long and I think to myself that I missed her too, even if I didn’t realize it while I was asleep, because everything just feels right when she’s laying beside me.
And I feel tears start to well up because I love her so much and she looks almost pale in the light, unreal and completely angelic but for the fact that I can feel her pressed up against me, so human and familiar. And she’s quiet and beautiful and soft beside me under the covers and her hand is so gentle where it rests on my belly and this woman is my wife. I have the incredible and unfathomable fortune to wake up to her, blue in the morning light.
And outside the window, a clutch of leaves rustles– once, insistent. I hardly hear it, but baby… baby’s eyes widen and she stares at me with shock, maybe even fear, and in a whisper almost too quiet to hear, almost indecipherable to my tired mind, she takes one cautious glance out the window and says the first words she’s uttered all morning…
“Squirrels’re fucking.”
And this is honestly just one moment among many thousands of moments that has made me realize that she is, in fact, the most perfect human being, and I am honored to be allowed to spend my life with her.
FantasyBoudicca 