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𝘐𝘍 𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘕𝘌𝘌𝘋 𝘔𝘌, 𝘉𝘈𝘉𝘠 𝘑𝘜𝘚𝘛 𝘚𝘈𝘠 𝘚𝘖 ♡ ────

hello﹠welcome! ❦ ҉

★ little bit about me

→ 𝐞. 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚. 𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧. 𝟐𝟑. 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬. 𝐥𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫. 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬. 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐚. 𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭. 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬. 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐝𝐨. 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬. 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐲. 𝐟𝟏. 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫. 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬.

marcidstars

⋆. ୭ WINGS OF A BUTTERFLY

"Some predators have been known to stalk their prey for days on end. Crocodilians, for example, can lie completely still at the water's edge, just...um— they blend in, opting to wait for their prey to come to them rather than engaging in an active pursuit." "And this is relevant...how, exactly?" "This cafe uses a havanese in their marketing, likely because they're perceived as cute, or— or innocent. They're what's known as a, um, 'velcro dog', meaning they're prone to intense separation anxiety, and their size and shape, and their fluffy coats...it all lends itself to an adorable, almost helpless look. But dogs are, well...dogs. Natural predators. They've been domesticated for centuries, but you'd be surprised to learn just how little it can take for primal instinct to override their designer genetics. Under the right circumstances...even a havanese can be a wolf." "So...what are you, then? A wolf, or a crocodile?" "...I, uh— What? I-I wasn't, um— ...The weather's finally starting to clear up, have you noticed?"

SPENCER REID approaches everything in life like a game of chess; observe, strategise, and, if all goes well, conquer. but a measured, clinical life is hardly a life at all. emotions left unfed shrivel and starve; skin left untouched turns tender. sensitive.

then, deep in the well of his loneliness, he finds you, and his whole world is thrown off kilter. cobwebbed lungs blossom with feelings he didn't think himself capable of, each one volatile. irrational. addictive. you change his life in a split-second blast of energy; his supernova.

it's a shame, really, that you don't even know he exists, because he would just love to show you how grateful he is. for now, he resigns himself to watching from afar, camera in hand, capturing his stellar event in motion.

but the mere practice of watching soon stops being enough. his appetite grows; his rationale wavers; and he decides, after just one shared glance, that he has to have you.

observe, strategise, conquer. his method has not failed him yet, and he's determined to not let it fail him now.

wonderlanderings

[𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬]

✦ 𝐃𝐫. 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐝 : ̗̀➛ fic recs and fan art

askboxmemes

I wanna know what people assume about me because of my tumblr.

Put an assumption in my ask. I’ll confirm or dispute it. I’m not gonna be mean or anything, I’m just very interested.

haydenssweetheart

wait i want everyone to do this everyone reblog this so i can slide anon into ur dms like a little fairy or some woodland elf

emoriatv

Après Everything | party favours - arthur tv.

part one

summary: familiar rivalries and the excitement of the holiday quickly give way to a night of drinking, games and growing chaos.

pairing: arthur tv x reader

word count: 4,856 (that’s a bit silly from me im sorry)

notes: truly didn’t think i’d actually write a part 2 to this, so thank you all for your kind words and if you enjoyed the last part; this is for you xx apologies if this is clunky, i am very unwell and do not have beta-readers

ps. (➛ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ೃ this indicates time skips where i was too lazy to write transitions)

Arthur folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not sharing a room with her.”

You mirrored the gesture. “Good. Because I’m definitely not sharing with him.”

“Excellent.”

“Fantastic.”

Liv pinched the bridge of her nose while Isaac flipped wildly through all the remaining papers. Beside him, Sabina looked between the two of you, letting out a quiet sigh, acutely aware of the issues likely to follow Chris’ screw up.

“I’m sure there’s at least two beds,” Chris offered with a shrug of his shoulders.

You looked at him incredulously, “Wait, you don’t even know if there’s more than one bed in there? Didn’t you just look?”

“Uh no, I only made it to the first and second rooms before, uh y’know,” he coughed, gesturing lightly around him. “There would be two beds though, surely. You guys can probably rock, paper, scissors for them.”

The room was alight with static, the skin on your arms prickled from the thick tension in the air.

It felt for a moment as if time had stopped, the rest of the group watched in varying states of amusement. Chris’ eyebrows were furrowed, eyes downcast refusing to meet your scrutinizing gaze though a smile played at his lips. Hill covered his mouth, muffling quiet laughter with the palm of his hand and George, the traitor, wore the unmistakable smug expression of a man who’d just realised he’d escaped unscathed.

From the other side of the table, Arthur’s eyes flicked towards the staircase, it was subtle - barely a glance, but you’d known him long enough to recognise that look he’d get when the wheels in his head kicked their turning up a notch. His eyes snapped back to yours, wide and focused.

Your gaze followed his instinctively, darting to the stairs before snapping back to meet his. His posture straightened, shoulders squaring as though in preparation. You mirrored him without thinking, the two of you locked in a silent standoff, each waiting to see who would break first.

All it took was Arthur reaching to place his opened beer on the table top before you were moving, your body in motion before your brain could catch up, feet skidding as you changed directions up the stairs, taking two at a time. You could hear Arthur behind you, his footsteps thudding louder as the distance between you shortened, you were vaguely aware of the cacophony of your friends, Chris and Hill cheering you each on while Sabina and Isaac called out pleas to “slow down” and reminders of safety - too worried about injuries to feel immersed in the chaos.

Four hands clutched the door frame of the third room, you and Arthur each shoving each other back in attempt to be the first into what is now your shared bedroom - luckily for you, Arthur proved as unco-ordinated as you had known him to be, his sock-clad feet slipping out from under him after a particularly hard hip bump.

You hollered and whooped, breath coming out in pants as you raised your hands in victory, officially the first one into the room.

“Na na nana na,” you mocked, bending down to press your pointer finger to Arthur's nose as he remain lying on his back, arms on his head covering his eyes, breathing deeply to quell the pain in his side.

You straightened before throwing yourself back onto one of the two beds (thankfully Chris’ assumption was correct), quickly claiming the larger of the pair, a double bed beneath the wide window stretching the length of the back wall.

Sinking into the plush bedding, you allowed yourself a moment's reprieve to take in the room. High ceilings framed by exposed wooden beams stretched above you, warm lights hung from what looked like thrifted shades and matching timber bedside tables, bedframes and cupboards tied the space together. A wardrobe sat to the left of the door, while a small chest of drawers rested at the foot of Arthur's single bed on the other side of the room.

Quaint, but it would do.

Arthur hauled himself to his feet as footsteps echoed up the stairs. George and Hill looked towards the doorway just as he trudged across the room, head bowed and shoulders slumped in defeat. Isaac appeared a moment later, peering around them with a pout that suggested genuine sympathy for Arthur. Unfortunately, that was about all the pity Arthur was getting.

Hill snorted first, George following a second later, the pair making no attempt to hide their amusement.

“And you call yourself fit, Artie,” Hill cackled, hand gesturing down to where he had been sprawled out a moment earlier.

"Sorry to say it, but we all watched you wipe out. There's no wall there, it's just the banister," George snickered, pointing over his shoulder. Even from where you were lying, you could clearly see the rest of the group downstairs, all looking up from the first floor.

Arthur groaned, his head now in his hands.

“That was hardly fair,” he complained, looking up at the boys then to you.

“You cheated.”

That got a laugh out of you, a smile plastered on your face as you rose up onto your forearms.

“Why would I even need to? You have the co-ordination of a newborn deer Artie boy, I’m surprised you even made it up the stairs.”

Isaac coughed a laugh, Arthur turned to glare at his best friend.

“You did hit the wall pretty hard after tripping on the rug before the stairs,” Isaac shrugged.

The re-telling made George and Hill laugh further, taking obvious enjoyment out of Arthur's misfortune.

“Whatever,” Arthur huffed, pushing himself up and heading towards the boys crowded around the door. “I need to get my bags.”

“Ooh, grab mine too will ya?” You sung out, beaming as he turned to level you with a scowl.

“It’s only right, you did lose.”

➛ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ೃ

The chalet seemed to settle into a comfortable hum, by the time you'd unpacked the last of your clothes and wrestled your suitcase beneath the bed, the restless energy that had followed the group had faded into something softer, quiet voices drifting lazily through the timber walls instead of bouncing off them. Somewhere downstairs, laughter sounded before melting into the steady crackle of the fire in the stone hearth. Floorboards creaked under feet wandering room to room, exploring every corner of what would become home for the next two weeks.

You lingered for a moment before leaving the bedroom.

The upstairs landing wrapped around the open living area below, its polished timber railing overlooking a space that somehow felt both impossibly large and wonderfully cosy. Warm amber light spilled from iron light fixtures, catching the honey-coloured wood that covered almost every surface. Thick beams adorned the vaulted ceiling above, their age worn proudly into every knot and groove, while oversized windows framed the mountains beyond like paintings that changed every time another flurry of snow drifted past.

Plush sofas and worn armchairs gathered in the living room in a haphazard circle, each draped with knitted blankets and throws that looked almost too inviting to leave untouched. Scattered across the coffee table sat a collection of board games, half-burnt candles and dog-eared guidebooks left behind by previous guests.

Beyond the lounge, glass doors opened onto a wide balcony that overlooked the valley below. Snow fell in slow, lazy flakes, settling across the railings and the rooftops of neighbouring chalets until the entire village looked as though someone had wrapped it in cotton. The mountains rose beyond it all, impossibly still beneath the fading afternoon light. The view was every bit as breathtaking as you remembered. After months of planning, endless group chats and far too many spreadsheets, you were finally back.

The familiar smell hit you halfway down the stairs. Fresh pine. Woodsmoke. Cut with a chemically citrus scent coming from the kitchen where Liv had undoubtedly already started cleaning and unpacking groceries before anyone else had thought to.

You met her in the kitchen, a slow warmth seeping through your coat and down to your fingertips until they tingled.

“Hey gorgeous,” you cooed, taking a seat at the island and watching as she flowed gracefully, unpacking one bag, then tucking it and its contents away before starting on another.

“Feeling better?” She asked, turning to face you with an eyebrow raised, smiling softly as if worried for your response.

You shrugged your shoulders, waving dismissively, grinning back to her.

“Eh, it’s not ideal. I mean it is Arthur…” You replied, letting your sentence trail off.

“But, it’s not like we’re sharing a bed. Plus, I have you, Sab, the rest of the guys and enough of this” You said, quickly snatching a bottle from her overfull arms, rolling it between your palms to check the label, “to last us a few months probably.”.

“Yep, we got enough food and drinks sorted for us to host a village I think,” she giggled, hand gesturing to the remaining bags and boxes covering the counters.

“I think you might both be underestimating these boys,” said Sabina, entering the kitchen with a scoff.

She smiled brightly at you and Liv, taking the seat next to you and leaning her head on your shoulder wrapping an arm around yours.

“I’m so happy we’re all here together,” she said after a beat, her voice soft and tinged with emotion. “I feel like it’s not long now until we won’t have time to do these anymore.”

You didn’t reply at first, letting Sabina’s comment settle its way into the space between your ribcage and heart.

Liv turned to you both, palms pressed into the counter as she jokes, “C’mon Sab, it’s day one and you’re sober - don’t tell me you’re getting sappy already.”

Sabina held up her hand, a bottle you hadn’t noticed gripped loosely, already half empty. “Who said I was sober?” She returned, waving the bottle.

“Guess now is as good as any time,” Liv contemplated, grabbing her own bottle and an opener, gesturing for you to hand yours to her to open too.

The sharp clink of glass and the satisfying hiss of a bottle cap giving way must have rung through the chalet like a dinner bell - before Liv had even handed your drink back, the kitchen was flooded with boys. The gentle hum that had settled over the house moments earlier vanished, replaced by laughter, overlapping conversations and the unmistakable buzz of excitement that always came with the first night of the trip.

They spilled over one another in a rush towards the drinks fridge, Chris and Hill predictably shoulder barging for first access while Josh protested loudly behind them. Liv laughed, hopping up onto the kitchen island to avoid being trampled as the rest crowded around the benches, each emerging moments later with a bottle or can in hand. Within minutes, everyone had gathered around the island, drinks raised and smiles stretching from ear to ear.

George cleared his throat dramatically, lifting his bottle into the centre of the group. “To gunpowder and pussy, live by one, die by the other - love the smell of both.”

A chorus of cheers sounded followed closely by the clinking of glass bottles. The chant didn’t fit the moment. Truthfully it rarely did - but you had all heard it so often that no one questioned it, it was as if it was the unofficial 10th member of the group.

➛ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ೃ

It took less than 10 minutes for Chris to end up on top of a table. And even less than that for Hill to join him, music blared through the speakers as the pair sang wildly off-key to a song they didn’t know the lyrics to.

The evening seemingly snowballed from there. One drink became two, two somehow became shots, and before long the dining table was lined with glasses, salt packets and lime wedges that were somehow more decorative than useful. You'd barely finished one round before Chris was sliding another shot into your hand with the insistence that this one was "for the holiday," as though the previous ones hadn't been.

At some point you found yourself refereeing a shotgunning competition between Arthur, George and Chris and although it hadn’t been George's idea he clearly had the upper-hand against his incredibly lightweight competitors.

Arthur lost spectacularly, wearing almost as much beer as he'd managed to swallow, Chris had the almost impressive inability to down a drink without any measurable speed and George, as expected, had won. Despite the loss that Arthur had drunkenly declared was a “biased decision” he managed to crown himself "the People's Champion" before demanding a rematch, handing over more cans.

You weren't entirely sure when your first drink had turned into your seventh or eighth, only that every time your bottle was empty another mysteriously appeared in your hand. Somewhere between teasing Sabina over her choice of mixer and helping Liv rescue a bowl of chips from Chris' enthusiastic dancing, conversations splintered into smaller groups before weaving back together again. Every corner of the chalet buzzed with laughter.

Arthur drifted between them all, half listening, half having to focus on his ability to stand without swaying, but every now and then he'd catch your eye from across the room, lifting his bottle with an infuriatingly smug grin before promptly walking into someone else's shoulder, you made a point of applauding every near miss. He responded with an exaggerated bow that very nearly ended with him on the floor.

Outside, the mountains had disappeared behind a curtain of steadily falling snow. Frost had begun creeping across the corners of the balcony doors, the glass fogged by the warmth spilling from the chalet. Jackets and coats had long since been abandoned in untidy piles beside the fire, while empty bottles and discarded shot glasses gradually claimed more and more of the dining table with every passing hour. Somewhere beneath the music, the fire crackled contentedly, almost entirely drowned out by laughter that had grown louder with every drink.

It was impossible to determine when the line from pleasantly buzzed to objectively intoxicated had been crossed, but you were fairly certain it happened around the time Chris launched a deck of cards across the living room, half the deck scattering beneath the coffee table, three landed in the fireplace before Isaac rescued them, and one somehow found its way into George's drink.

Nobody seemed particularly concerned. If anything, the room erupted into even more laughter as Hill applauded the effort, Arthur insisted that "the cards were still playable," and George silently fished the soggy queen of hearts from his cup with a smirk.

“It’s time ladies and gents,” Chris announced, spreading his arms dramatically. “To ride the bus.”

The chorus of cheers and laughter was quickly drowned out by an equally loud collection of groans.

"Oh, absolutely not," Liv laughed, sinking further into the sofa. "Last year's game ended with Hill making snow angels in his boxers."

"They were briefs," Hill corrected, holding up a finger.

"That is somehow worse."

Chris ignored them entirely, already dropping to his knees to gather the scattered deck. Arthur crouched beside him, making a valiant effort to help despite repeatedly trying to stack the cards upside down. George handed the damp queen of hearts back into the deck with little more than a shrug.

"C’mon it’ll be fun, I doubt the first night will get that hectic," George said, gesturing to where Arthur and Chris sat, eyes glassy.

"You've said that every year," Isaac replied.

"And every year we’ve had fun,” Hill cut in, his words slurred.

Satisfied with that logic, George took the cards from Chris and gave them a proper shuffle.

"The usual rules?" he asked, glancing around the room.

"The usual rules," Chris confirmed.

Liv sighed. "I hate your usual rules."

"You love our usual rules."

"I tolerate them."

"Because you always manage to come out unscathed," Josh pointed out.

"I don’t always."

"You've literally never ridden the bus." George reminded her, pointing the deck in her direction.

Liv opened her mouth to argue before pausing. "...That's actually a fair point."

"Sips for the first few rounds," he reminded everyone. "Wrong answer, you drink."

"And every round after that?" Hill asked, grinning far too enthusiastically. Chris' smile somehow widened.

"We’ll see."

George gathered the deck together once more, giving the cards a proper shuffle before settling back against the sofa. The room slowly rearranged itself around him, everyone abandoning their conversations to squeeze onto couches, armchairs and the floor. You found yourself perched cross-legged beside Sabina, your drink balanced on your knee while Arthur dropped onto the rug opposite you with Chris and Hill either side, all three wearing the same look of hazy confidence.

"The first round's easy," George reminded everyone, beginning to deal. "Red or black. Get it wrong, you drink. Get it right, we move on."

It should have been simple. It wasn't.

Within the first few rotations Josh had lost all of his fifty-fifty guesses, Chris was already accusing George of shuffling the deck "suspiciously," and Sabina had declared the cards biased after incorrectly calling red three times in a row. Opposite you, George and Isaac remained infuriatingly composed, barely hesitating before each answer while everyone else argued over probabilities that none of them actually understood.

You were surprisingly on a winning streak, however that soon came to an end with your first wrong guess. Calling higher on a 3 of clubs just to be hit with a 2 of spades. Your newly found misfortune earned you a chorus of cheers, Hill cupping his mouth to holler exaggeratedly and Arthur looked entirely too pleased with himself as he watched you take a drink.

"Oh, don't get too excited," you laughed, pointing across the circle. "Your turn's coming."

Arthur scoffed. "Difference is, I don’t lose."

You rolled your eyes and sank back into your seat, swigging again from your cup. George raised his eyebrows while looking at Arthur, prompting him to make his guess.

Arthur turned again to you and met your eyes. “What will it be, princess?” He asked, a smug smile on his face.

You pursed your lips, looking up as if in thought. “Red.”

Arthur faced George and tipped his head towards the deck, “Black,” he said, sending you a wink and a shrug.

George turned over the next card. Red. 6 of diamonds.

Chris doubled over laughing, Hill nearly fell off the sofa applauding the result, and even George shot him a grin as Arthur stared at the card in complete disbelief. Isaac turned into Liv's shoulder to hide his laughter at the eruption around the table.

“Tough luck that,” Josh said, patting Arthur on the back.

"No," Arthur said eventually, his eyes narrowed as he looked between you and George.

George blinked. "...No?"

"I reject that, you two cheated. You did that on purpose." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"You reject that?” George responded.

“How could we have cheated?" you asked, shocked at his accusation.

"I don’t know!" He threw his hands up, “You two… Conspired!”

"So, somehow we both knew you’d tell me to pick your next card, say the opposite of what I said and that the card would be red?" You said, disbelief laced in your tone.

"Yeah, good job partner in crime." George joked, winking animatedly to you.

You couldn't stop yourself laughing. Arthur pointed at you then George. "Whatever you are up to, enjoy it while it lasts."

“We didn’t cheat Arthur, you’re just battered and a sore loser,” George smiled, shaking his head then shifting his body toward Liv for her to take her turn.

The rest of the groups turns crawled by, every time you began to invest your limited attention you felt Arthur's eyes burning holes into you. Meeting his scornful gaze wasn’t much easier, each shift you made felt monitored as if you were a priceless artifact in a museum being supervised, except you’re drunk in a cabin and the dedicated “security guard” hates you.

Eventually Sabina and Liv sat themselves out, watching on occasion but beginning to tidy the room of cups and shot glasses.

When it came to your turn and George faced you, holding out the cards in front of him, Arthur broke his silence.

“I’ll deal them this time,” his eyes were still narrowed and he spoke through clenched teeth.

George handed him the deck, a smile played on his lips as he tilted his head watching as Arthur lazily reshuffled. “Just to be sure.” Sabina and Liv giggled at seeing how serious Arthur was taking it, making their way into the kitchen and whispering loudly.

“Make your guess, princess,” Arthur drawled.

“Wow, and I’m the dramatic one? I lost the last round too!” You huffed, shrugging your shoulders.

As you lent forward to pull the top card, Arthur’s hand slapped on top of yours. “Nuh uh,” he said as you retracted your arm quickly, rubbing at the skin.

“You don’t pull, you guess.” He tutted.

“Safe hands, Artie. You smack me again and I’ll hit you back,” you said, voice low.

A clamor of “ooooh”s rang out.

Chris chiming in before adding “Firstly,” he stammed, “he’s not wrong and you know how to play. And thirdly, Artiee boyy would probably like that.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your attention back to Arthur and away from the blonde boy hiccuping and laughing to himself.

“Red,” you answered.

Arthur grinned, making a grand gesture of flipping a card over and onto the coffee table. Black, of course.

You heard the remaining players cheer. As you took yet another drink from your cup you noticed a second card tucked behind the 8 of clubs, George seemed to notice it as well - his hand pointing to the table as he barked out, “and we’re the cheaters!? Look! That was two cards!”

Everyone's attention turned to the table, Arthur quickly trying to scoop the cards up to hide them. “What? N - no it wasn’t.” He stuttered, dropping those and a few other cards back onto the table in his clumsy haste.

“Total sore loser,” Josh laughed, smacking his knees as he rose to his feet. “Well, that’s me done.”

Joining Sabina at the bottom of the stairs, he looked back over at a now pink flushed Arthur, “I don’t want to play with a cheater.”

Arthur pouted, his bottom lip jutting out as laughs from the rest of the group sounded.

Isaac looked at the time on his phone and followed Josh, meeting with Liv in the kitchen and hugging into her as they took the stairs together. “Do try to be quiet, idiots.” He called out.

It left you with five players remaining, technically four as Hill half way through his own turn had fallen asleep, buried amongst pillows and throws. Arthur huffed as George took the deck and now turned to him, the blush in his neck and ears still prominent whether from the alcohol or being caught.

“I’m not mad,” George started, a smirk on his lips as he continued, “I’m just disappointed, Artie. You call yourself a man of integrity.” A ‘tsk’ following.

“What do you know,” Arthur mumbled, the words barely intelligible. “I am a man of in-ted-getty.”

“In-teg-ret-ty,” you corrected him, sounding the word out to him mockingly.

“Don’t kick a man when he’s down,” Chris fake whined, throwing an arm across Arthur's shoulder.

Appreciative of the defence, Arthur settled back into him. Unfortunately, Chris took the opportunity to turn his head, biting into Arthur's skin not hidden by his shirt sleeve. The action making him jump, a high pitched squeak leaving his mouth.

“Nope, nope, I’m done.” Arthur muttered, pushing up off the table to stand to his feet and dusting off the front of his jeans, taking a step back to watch Chris as he rocks forward, laughing.

“Oh c’mon,” George said, patting the spot where Arthur had just been sat. “We’re still playing.”

“Nope, I’m not.” Arthur said, irritation evident in his clipped tone.

He turned to walk up the stairs. “You four better clean this up,” he called over his shoulder, gesturing towards the living room. A few throw blankets lay haphazardly around the space, while a handful of cups remained scattered across the tables. Thanks to Liv and Sabina’s cleaning efforts, however, it was at least relatively tidy again.

George turned to you and smiled, rolling his eyes at Arthur. You smiled back, laughing lightly at the scene.

“Don’t know why you’re laughing,” Chris said, sending himself back into a fit of giggles.

You joined him, although you weren't entirely sure what he was laughing at. “Why?” You asked, still laughing.

“Be - because,” he tried. Then he stopped, interrupted by his bubbling laughter. “Because-” He dissolved into laughter again.

“Because.” Hill said groggily, fighting consciousness. “You,” he pointed in your direction sluggishly, “you are sharing a room with him” he gestured up to the landing, “with Mr Tantrum Pants.” He finally finished.

Chris, Hill and George all burst into laughter. Their laughter only increasing at the now-deadpan look on your face as you looked between the three of them and the now-closed door to your room.

“Fuck’s sake.”

➛ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ೃ

You took your time getting ready for bed, between the exhaustion creeping in and the alcohol refusing the leave, your movements and co-ordination were definitely less than accurate.

You managed a shower, though opting to use what you hoped was someone from your group's body wash as yours remained unpacked and untouched a little too far from your reach under the sink. Then came brushing your teeth, which had taken significantly more time than usual, having to restart each time you forgot what tooth you’d gotten up to. Brushing your hair had been the easiest so far, luckily for you it had been out of your face all day so not a complete mess.

After scouring the bathroom for panadol and washing two down with enough water to fill the downstairs livingroom, you had worked up the nerve to head towards your room, or, more accurately, eventually gotten so tired that your need for sleep had finally outweighed your reluctance to share a room with Arthur.

You waited until the bathroom door had been closed for several seconds before finally creeping into your room. It was dark, the only light coming from the hallway behind you. You paused just inside the doorway, listening.

No movement. No snoring. No irritatingly smug voice from the other side of the room. Perfect. You closed the door as quietly as you could and took one careful step towards your bed.

“Finally.” A low voice from the dark sounded.

You jumped, before hissing “Jesus Christ, Artie, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Bit dramatic,” Arthur mumbled from somewhere in the darkness.

You turned towards him, just able to make out the shape of him sprawled across his bed. “You’re awake?”

“Obviously.”

“You were supposed to be asleep.”

“I was asleep.” He shifted, the mattress creaking beneath him. “Then you came up.”

“I’ve barely taken a step in the room.”

“Not like—in here,” he mumbled. “Upstairs. You took ages.”

“I was showering.”

“For a reeeally long time.”

You stared at the unmoving lump through the darkness.

He sighed, deeply and dramatically, as though you had personally offended him. “You were avoidin’ me.”

“God, who's the princess now,” you said under your breath - knowing he’d likely heard it anyway. “Artie, I was not avoiding you.”

He huffed, shifting back over.

“Go to sleep.” You said.

He let out another wounded sigh and rolled onto his side. “You’re bein’ very rude.”

“I'm rude?”

“No.” He corrected you as though the difference was important. “You’re… you’re be-ing rude.”

“Because I took my time getting ready for bed?”

“Exactly.”

You stared at the back of his head. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“Goodnight,” he muttered, still sounding deeply offended. Then, after a moment, he added, “You coulda just… come to bed.”

“I know.”

“You did’n though and now it’s… stupid o’clock and you woken me up.”

“It’s 2am. And I apologise.” You stressed the last word, ready to be done with this conversation. Silence followed, allowing you to make it to your bed in peace.

“Can I tell you somethin’,” he slurred, not waiting for an answer as he continued, “I wadd’n asleep. Like—before, I waited for you.”

You weren’t sure if he was still drunk or if his whispering obstructed his speech. “Oh and I did’n cheat, I just did’n… see… the other card.”

You pulled the covers back and moved around some of the pillows to make yourself space.

“Yeah yeah, I know.” You said, hoping compliance would placate him enough.

He paused. “You took ages comin’ to bed.” Another pause. “Bit weird.”

You climbed into your bed and pulled the covers over yourself. “Artie. Go. To. Sleep.”

“Fine.” He was quiet for approximately three seconds. “Nighty night, princess.”

“Fuck off.”

Arthur gave a quiet, satisfied laugh from across the room, as though your response had somehow proven whatever point he had been trying to make.

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UKYT AS DC HEROES AND VILLAINS

GEORGE CLARKE AS...