#//i feel like caleb or abe would be better at telling this

[honorhearted]

Best story about Ben being drunk???

Oh, God.

Humiliation nipped at Ben’s features, his shoulders sagging in resignation. He never, ever should’ve agreed to this drinking game -- telling the truth coupled with a bit of ale was never a good idea -- but since he had agreed to honesty, and most of the men present probably weren’t going to remember his tale anyway, he decided he might as well be forthright.

“I suppose it was one of the first times I was ever foxed,” Ben offered. “I’m usually fairly decent at holding my own, but one night -- back when I was around four-and-ten -- Caleb and Abe came by with some whiskey they’d swiped from the judge’s liquor cabinet.” Ben sighed, already feeling a headache coming on. Pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, he continued, “I crawled out my bedroom window, and thankfully without rousing Samuel, before dropping down and running off with them to the Brewster orchard. We liked to drink there on occasion, or take peeks at the lewd drawings Caleb gleaned from his uncle’s ‘private collection.’”

Wait. Perhaps he should have omitted that last part...

Cheeks growing hot, Ben quickly barreled on, “Being the clotpoles we were, we could never keep ourselves out of trouble at that age. Caleb was the eldest, so he was always trying to push our limits...and on that night, mine assuredly was pushed.” He winced and waved a hand. “I ended up losing a few rounds of whist, so that meant I had to be the one who did whatever the others commanded. And Caleb, the smug arsehole, told me to go moon my schoolmaster and his family. So I did.”

By now, Ben’s face was so red that he felt uncomfortably warm. “I was barely steady, so Abe and Caleb both had to help me up to the house. Though once I knocked, those cowards turned tail and ran, leaving me there to fend for myself. Only, I’d already turned and dropped my breeches before I even realized they’d gone, so once the door opened and I heard Schoolmaster Barnes’ wife scream, I realized too little too late I was on my own.” He laughed then, finally amused amidst his embarrassment. “Those stuffed shirts deserved to see my arse, but as to be expected, I got the tanning of my life for that stunt. My father certainly didn’t find it amusing.”

[adelarsims]

Hi XD

I actually do wanna learn more ab them! And I have a few specific questions if you don't mind!

How old are they really?

They seem a bit obsessed with looking young, is there a reason for that?

Why don't they use a wand if it helps keep their hands looking younger?

What changed them from a snob to a slightly more uhm personable person?

What do they teach?

Also here is your excuse to ramble about world building and magic cus I love this stuff

Another more vague one, you mentioned their childhood was rough, can you talk more ab that?

Finally because I feel like I'm overstaying my welcome, how did they discover they have feelings for Caleb?

1. let’s just say over a hundred. caleb once told cassie that 100+ years old feels better than 97 or something, because there's something romantic about being 'over a hundred', like straight out of a fairy tale, while 97 is just a really old grandpa :D

2. when they imagine looking in the mirror and seeing their hair grey and face wrinkled, they're terrified. it’s not a simple vanity - many spellcasters share this fear, when you don't see the constant flow of time when you look in the mirror, your image of yourself freezes like a fly in the amber - and going back into that flow gets more and more terrifying because it feels like suddenly the end nears faster. not all spellcasters choose to prolong their life, but those who do find it hard to stop. as for the youthful look... i think Morgyn just craves to feel at their peak, being the perfect image of themselves in everything. they were deprived of feeling worthy in their early years, so they keep proving and proving otherwise. especially after some discoveries about themselves that upended their understanding of who they are and thrown them into a deep identity crisis – they would grasp at all perfection that is still within their power to maintain. well... maybe it's also a bit of vanity, too.

3. it’s just more natural for them to cast with their hands and gives them access to much stronger magic. a wand doesn’t hold any magic itself, it’s like a laser pointer for magical energy, helps you focus and direct it. spellcasters need wands, innate mages don’t, though they of course can use them too. hand magic is raw, it’s more powerful but requires mastery and precision, and allows to weave spells that aren’t accessible to wand users, because wand is a single-channel magic focus, so to speak, and hand magic allows multi-channeling it (so basically, there's a limit that former humans who learned magic can do, and for innate mages this limit is very far, if existing at all)

4. oh no, don’t mistake a snob for an insufferable asshole. they were always personable. they’re likeable, cheeky, warm and affectionate to those they’re close with, especially those who appreciate and accept them, even though their position as a grand sage and academia headmaster naturally made them more reserved. and they’re still snobbish about magic, they know no one will do it better than them when it comes to spells, tend to nitpick mistakes in others' spellcasting, and get annoyed when someone is being lazy or unreasonably cocky with their magic. they just were hot-headed about people doubting their prowess as a student, but they have matured a lot and have good self control now.

5. mostly advanced elemental magic, and a few arcane disciplines i’ve yet to find names for. magic schools in my morgynverse are quite different from what they are in the game, for example, practical school isn’t about cleaning dishes. it covers healing, herbalism and potions, enchanting equipment, crafting amulets, like that. the new jewery creating pack will work so damn good for my story, i can’t wait!

6. i already gave bits and pieces here and there on this post. i can tell you a couple minor things if you want. there’s a plant that is used in potions, it’s called cyclop’s brain, it has huge leaves and massive seed pods, and tiny tiny seeds. also, every four years, on 29th of february, “the day that does not exist”, the academia holds a huge event called Masquerade of Mysteries, it’s grand and magical and everyone is allowed to go all out with enchantments and costumes, every student and teacher is looking forward to it.

7. i’m not sure how much i should say considering that i hope to start telling my story one day and it’s a spoiler, but let’s just say they weren’t really accepted for who they are and were considered dangerous even though they never gave anyone any reason to be afraid of their magic (it’s not simply about them being a mage, that wouldn’t be as much of a problem as their origin)

8. slowly. eventually. they were physically attracted to Caleb from the beginning, but it’s doing right by one another that truly brings people together. Caleb was there for Morgyn when they needed it most.

[casspurrjoybell-32]

A First Chance At Love - Chapter 10a

*Warning Adult Content*

Caleb Carmichael

Blood was everywhere soaking the ground... their screams filled my ears making them ring terribly.

As I watched I saw my best friend Garrett attacked, the huge wolf jumped on his back and his teeth sunk into his neck.

Dark red blood poured from his wound as he sunk to the ground... I could hear his cries die in his throat as he followed.

I clamped my hands over my mouth.... just earlier today we were playing video games and having a soda drinking contest to see who could burp the most.

Now his fifteen year old lifeless body lay there.... his empty dark eyes staring straight at me.

I listened to the heart wrenching roar as his father came rushing to his sons side.

I could feel the pain and agony from my window emitting from the grieving father before he became rabid taking as many wolves till he was killed off too.

Why were they doing this?

Why were the friendly wolves of the Redwood Pack attacking us.

Why was my uncle killing my friends and family?

Robin was weeping next to me as I covered her face in my chest.

I refused for her to see the damage that our suppose uncle was doing.

A body was thrown at our window producing a loud bang causing us both to jump and Robin to scream.

Right then I looked up to see red crazed eyes staring back at me with such hatred.

Zackary.

******

“Ahhhh,” I screamed, shooting up in bed, sweat pouring from my face and tears streaming down my eyes.

Why do I keep having this damn nightmare?

He was dead so why was he still haunting me.

My chest was heaving rapidly as I tried to calm down but wasn’t working.

Throwing the covers off my legs and got out walking to the door and into the hallway.

I didn’t know where I was going I just went... before I knew it I was at Avery’s door.

Taking a deep breath I turned the knob slowly and slipped in as quietly as possible closing the door softly behind me.

Avery was lying in bed... the covers bunched at his waist.

He was on his back... one arm over his stomach and the other resting across the other side of the bed.

He looked so peaceful and inviting, so I tiptoes to the empty side of his bed and climbed in.

I really hope he doesn’t get angry at me for this but I just needed something to take the torment of that night away... far away.

Settling down, I placed my head on his arm using it as a pillow and pressed my body up against his side, soaking up his warmth and natural earthy scent.

‘Please, take the nightmares away,’ I thought, quietly to him and fell back into a grateful dreamless sleep.

******

I woke to movement below me... opening my eyes wincing at the light streaming through the curtains.

I groaned burying my face further in my warm pillow when I realized it was really hard.

“Caleb. What are you doing in here?” Avery’s soft voice caused me to jump to look at him.

His brown eyes were watching me questionably.

His hair was disheveled from sleeping and sticking up at all ends... it was adorable.

He didn’t look mad... that I was in his bed and that made me relax... a bit.

“I-I d-didn't...” I stammered.

Should I tell him about the nightmares, I suffer, every other night?

Should I tell him that last night was too much for me to take... alone.

So I snuck in here... so I wouldn’t be by myself?

Sighing, I averted my eyes and looked at his sculpted chest.

“I didn’t want to be alone,” I confessed.

He didn’t say anything for a long while.

“But why did you come here?” he asked.

I bit down on my bottom lip... drawing circles against his abs.

“Why not? I mean, you said yesterday, that you would give us a try, so what better way to break you in, than by sleeping in the same bed.”

I didn’t want to tell him about my nightmares... they made me feel weak and compared to him I was.... I didn’t want to come off as a pathetic, fragile, damaged wolf... like I really was.

His body tensed against mine.

“Right?” he said.

I sat up, wrapping my arms around my legs, changing the subject.

“So what do you want to do today?” I asked him and he frowned, sitting up against his headboard.

“What do you mean?”

I laughed at him.

“I mean... what do you want to do on our date, today?”

He rose a eyebrow at this question.

“Our date?”

Rolling my eyes, I push at his shoulder.

“Quit questioning and repeating, everything I say.”

He stood from the bed giving me a clear view of his checkered pajama pants riding low on his hips... I could see the deep, V-indentation, dipping into them.

“Caleb. I can’t just leave Luna Aiden like I had yesterday. I wasn’t thinking clearly and leaving him, as his protector, goes against my every instinct. So honestly... I don’t know how this thing between us is going to work.”

I shook my head.

'Oh no he didn’t. He was trying to back out of this. I just got him... I wasn’t going to let him go, that easily or ever.'

“Quit making excuses Avery. Aiden is surrounded by pack members who would  rather die, than let him be harmed, so I think you can take the day off.”

He stood with a uncertain expression.

“I think that we should forget about this... it isn’t not going to work, Caleb,” he told me and I huffed with irritation.

He was breaking up with me and we haven’t even started yet.

“No,” I exclaimed, jumping off the bed and storming to the door, before turning towards his shocked form.

“Let’s see what Aiden has to say, about your day off,” I snapped and ran to Aiden and Liam’s bedroom.

“Caleb,” Avery yelled after me and I could hear his feet stomping as he followed me quickly.

I pushed my legs harder, till I reached their door.

I banged loudly, listening to their murmurs, coming from the other side.

“Luna Aiden,” I started, until a hand came over my mouth, cutting off my call and my body, lifted up in the air.

My back pressed firmly against a hard body.

“Leave them alone, Caleb,” Avery growled in my ear causing shivers to wrack down my spine and not the fearful kind either.

I struggled in his arms when the door came flying open.

Alpha Liam stood there, shirtless and angry.

“Is there a reason you are bothering us?” he snarled.

“I sincerely apologize for the disturbance, Alpha,” Avery told him.

I rolled my eyes, mouthing off against his hand, which only came out as muffles.

“We’re leaving.”

Liam stood watching us with an amused frown, right when Aiden appeared behind him poking his head under his mates arm to see what was going on with big, curious, blue eyes.

From the look of them both, in nothing but crooked boxers and messy hair, I had interrupted them in the middle of something.

I kicked my foot back into Avery's shin hard, causing him to grunt and loosen his hold on my mouth.

“Can I steal Avery away, today?” I rushed out before he recovered.

Aiden frowned at the both of us in interest.

His eyes moved to Avery, who clamped his hand over my mouth again.

“Hmm?” I complained in his hand.

“I don’t see why not,” Aiden told me slowly.

“I think Avery deserves a break. Go ahead, Caleb. Take him,” he said with a knowing smile.

“Alpha, I don’t think that it’s a good idea, Sir,” Avery told Liam but Aiden just shook his head.

“Go ahead, Avery. You work too hard. You need to loosen up,” he said.

Avery sighed behind me and nodded.

“Yes, Luna.”

He set me back on my feet while Liam watched us with a weird frown.

“Is that all or..?” he asked us impatiently.

I shook my head, vigorously.

“Alright then. Go away,” and with that, he closed the door, in our faces.

‘Liam,’ I heard Aiden snap at him, for being rude.

Smiling smugly, I turned towards Avery, sticking my tongue out, at him, childishly.

“You have no more excuses, to try and weasel your what out of this now,” and poked my finger in his chest.

He gave me a narrowed eyed glare following me as I walked away from their room and back to his.

I turned to peered at him as he stood in the door way with unease about all this.

My face softened to sincerity, as I stepped closer to him.

“I want to get to get know you, Avery. I want you to become comfortable with me. The better we know each other, the easier it gets, to be together. Isn’t that what you want? What you came after me for?” his eyes dropped to the ground.

“I don’t know what I want, Caleb.”

I smiled, reaching up to lift his chin.

Those puppy-dog, brown eyes, met mine and I melt.

“That’s what I’m here for... duh,” I told him softly.

“Now go and get ready... I have date-brainstorming to do.” 

He nods before I leave to return to my bedroom.

[writefightandflightclub]

I really enjoyed your Nathan fluff 🥺 we love this angry peach fuzz king 👑💖 would you ever write him being comforted after having a nightmare? 💕

First of all, LOL @ ���angry peach fuzz king” 🤣🤣🤣

Second of all, here you go! 🧡 I will warn you - I think I forgot the fluff a little bit though. It became more hurt / comfort? More angst than expected? It ends nicely though and comfort is given to Nathan - but only after I’ve subjected him to rattling around in his own head and house for a bit.

Through the looking glass (Nathan Bateman x GN!reader)

Summary: Nathan has nightmares after The Incident. After so long alone, he doesn’t realise how badly he needs a little comfort - and maybe he doesn’t believe that he deserves it.

Author’s note: hopefully this isn’t too similar to All Better. I know they both take place post-stabbing, but I tried to give this a different focus. I know I could have made the nightmares based off of anything given the ask, but this timeline / focus seemed most sensible to explore the character.

Warnings: nightmares following traumatic incident (a stabbing); mentions of blood and injury - not graphic. Self-harm (punching the bag until injury); Body horror if you squint (some gruesome descriptions occurring in-dream, but fairly abstract); swearing; implied alcoholism recovery if you squint; mentions of therapy; Nathan mildly injured in fic; reader offering comfort.

Rating: MATURE for themes mentioned above.

GIF: by @santiagogarcia (this whole gifset is magic- check it out + reblog!)

Nathan wakes up breathless, plastered to the covers by a sheen of sweat - and not in a good way. On instinct, or out of habit by now, or maybe somewhere between the two, his palm slides over his body to the site of the wound.

He is so slick that he half-believes he is soaked with dank, deep blood again, until his fingers trace over nothing more than a half-concave, half-ridged scar. The lack of searing pain is the next point of evidence leading him towards an alternative conclusion. He’s not dying (again).

It’s just another gruesome nightmare.

Although… there is nothing “just” about it.

The nightmares are pretty brutal. Brutal enough for him to wake with ragged breaths and a hammering heart, his sheets dampened and coiled up around him. Enough that it takes effort to sift through the layers of terror and distinguish reality.

With what can only be described as a whimper, Nathan swings his legs over the edge of the bed, bringing himself into a seated position and bracing his head in his hands until his racing heart levels.

In his mind, he’s telling himself to be logical about this. That Ava hasn’t truly arrived to finish the job she started; but logic is not the safe haven it used to be.

She could come back.

She’s still out there, somewhere, and Nathan distinctly got the impression, last time, that she was vehemently not a fan of him.

His hand trembling, Nathan reaches for the glass of water by his bedside, glugging it down so eagerly it spills into his bushy beard.

Since the… accident? Malfunction? Functioning just fine, actually? Failed experiment? Greatest achievement known to man? Attempted murder? (Truth be told, Nathan isn’t quite sure what to call it, so he simply calls it The Incident.)

Since The Incident, Ava has begun to regularly visit him in his sleep.

The visitations are not waning with time. In fact, they are happening more often, not less. They are happening more since you moved into the house.

It’s a bad fucking time to have quit drinking.

You’d been sent by the board. Something about Nathan taking “tortured genius” a slice too literally. Something about him being in isolation too long and needing another human around in the compound.

Well, that’s not technically true, is it? The shit all started when he opted to get social, after all.

Fucking Caleb.

Before that, he was doing just fine.

Nathan doesn’t like it at all - having you here. Being watched. Observed. Having someone monitoring his actions. Waiting for him to either fuck up or prove himself.

Ironic really, considering where he kept Ava. The experiments he ran on her.

She’d probably find it poetic, if she could truly understand such a concept.

At the thought of her, Nathan physically shudders, and reaches for an old vest to haphazardly mop the excess sweat from his skin. Then, he balls up a change of clothes and tracks nude to his wet room, feeling relief as the luke warm water sluices over his skin.

He watches himself in the mirror as he stands there naked. It’s not a vanity thing - at least not any longer. These days, he examines the way his form has changed since it happened. He lost some of his muscle and bulk during recovery, whilst unable to exercise, his arms slightly smaller and his abs softer. His stomach a little more rounded.

There’s also the puckered scar, of course - that permanent reminder of where he was skewered through the chest like a piece of kebab meat.

His gaze travels up over his body, until his eyes settle on his still haunted face. He doesn’t have his glasses on, and somewhere between the blurred vision, misted mirror, clouding steam and sluicing water, his reflected face distorts. It transforms - for the briefest of moments - into her.

Still amped with adrenalin from his harsh awakening, this briefest flash sends a surge of panic zipping through Nathan’s chest, his heartbeat racing so hard he can feel the pounding of blood in his ears.

Fuck, he curses, reaching his arms out to brace himself against the shower wall above him, his body trembling and his head dipping down between the cradle of his broad shoulders as his legs threaten to buckle.

He turns the water cold, until it is practically glacial and thundering on to the back of his neck, subduing this spiking heat.

She really did a fucking number on me, didn’t she?

It’s true though.

Ava is haunting him. When he sleeps - and at other times too.

Nathan didn’t know robots could do that. Didn’t know they could spawn ghosts.

Nathan doesn’t believe in ghosts, of course… but he does believe in trauma and its effect on the brain. He at least concedes that it is natural to continue to feel afraid; but this?

Being dogged by the spectre of her taps into Nathan’s deepest insecurities.

After all, there is nothing a genius fears more than doubting his own mind.

Nothing a God fears more than his own mortality.

And the man? Turns out, there is nothing he fears more now, than dying alone.

With a ragged breath, Nathan towels off and pulls on his grey sweatpants, tugging on his black zip-up hoody over his bare chest. And then, keen not to return to his damp, tangled sheets, he tracks towards the kitchen - mainly for want of any more favourable option.

Of course, he had returned to the compound after The Incident. Something about that many fibre optic cables being a bitch to lay down. Sunk cost fallacy and all that - too much already invested.

But it possibly wasn’t the best choice for his recovery.

Nathan has certainly gotten more used to walking down that hallway since he returned from the hospital, and yet he still finds himself holding his breath until he is free of it. Still finds his pace is just a little faster as he passes through. His gaze deliberately averted from that spot.

Once, you’d found him lying in it.

Lying in that exact spot, his body arranged like a crime scene photo, his eyes closed.

Hey, it’s hardly his least healthy coping mechanism, is it?

What in the fuck are you doing, Nathan?

Re-enacting my death, obviously.

Uh-Kay…. A beat. A devious smile. Shall I get some popcorn?

Absurd as it was, he had laughed. Laughed for the first time since it happened, and, with an extended hand, you had helped him up off the floor.

Still, now that he’s alone, he does not dwell in the corridor, colder and darker as it is without your light in it, and he tries not to think about your face or hers as he pads to the kitchen.

When he arrives though, he bypasses it entirely - heading out on to the decking, the crisp night air soothing his hot skin.

He wants to be outside.

There are too many ghosts in his house now.

He has tried to shake it. Tried to desensitise himself to Ava’s face. Spent longer than strictly necessary poring over footage of her.

He built her. Shouldn’t that take the fear out of things? Not to mention the fact Ava’s face was simply a composite of some manipulable nerd’s wank bank browsing history.

Fucking Caleb.

Still, once Nathan had looked her in the eyes and seen a rage that was all too human, things seemed a hell of a lot different.

Nathan crosses to the punchbag on the deck -lit by creeping dawn- on instinct, or out of habit, or maybe some combination of the two, his unease riling him enough to sock some punches at its midsection. Right at the equivalent site of his corporeal puncture.

He punches so hard that the skin on his knuckle splits, but Nathan doesn’t stop. He throws punch after punch until his hands are scathed and bloodied, and a trail of spit hanging from the corner of his mouth. Until he hugs the bag - the closest thing he has to a warm body to hold - and slides down it, coming limply to his knees, wiping his face on his sleeve.

He stays there, dead eyed and still for some time, the pain in his hands raw and singing. Unpleasant, but better. Better than what he was feeling, and worse all at once.

He considers his tired, cumbersome body, and contemplates remaking the world one more time. Uploading his mind into a machine or some shit, so that he doesn’t have to contend with the fragility and failings of his own existence.

He stays there, until some motion in the interior of the compound causes the light and shadows to dance differently over him, and he looks up to see your figure there, cast in a soft halo of yellowed light.

He tips his head up slightly, opening his mouth as though he might cry out to you for help, but no sound comes out - only a thin, dry croak.

So, instead, Nathan watches you for a moment, moving seamlessly around his kitchen as though it is your own. Maybe it is - more yours than his now.

Observing you like this, through the tall, cinematic windows, it is as though he peers in on another world entirely. Something less resembling a nightmare.

Lighter than that. Something more like a good dream, albeit a good dream that Nathan cannot be part of. One he can only ever watch, from the outside looking in, always fated as he is to be on the other side of the glass.

Truth be told, you haunt him too. You represent everything he could have and yet doesn’t deserve.

You appear in his nightmares and his dreams, in various terrifying and beautiful incarnations. Many variations of which his therapist would have a field day with, he’s sure - or, she would, if he’d ever fucking call her.

When you first arrived here, he was plagued by grotesque visions of you. Grotesque visions of the skin being peeled back from your body. Sometimes, circuitry beneath, and other times, muscle and bone. Sometimes, Ava’s face was buried beneath the chilling slip of your fleshy mask.

Sometimes it is a better dream. Sometimes you save him. Sometimes he saves you.

Sometimes it is a good dream. Ava isn’t there at all. But the good dreams never seem to last for long. 

Sometimes you kill him, and sometimes...

The glass door slides open.

“Reenacting your own death again, are you?” you tease, though not unkindly, interrupting the spiral of Nathan’s incessant thoughts.

A lump forming instantly in his throat, Nathan swallows thickly, and looks up at you helplessly with a thin, joyless smile. He snorts as though it’s funny, but it really isn’t. “Over and fucking over.” 

You nod once, and, without hesitation, you extend your hand towards him. Your gaze cuts through him as you search his face and he feels suddenly see-through, as if he’s about to be hit with some Shyamalan-esque twist. Was he the ghost all along? Did he die here after all?

If so, is this purgatory because Ava is here too, or heaven, because you are?

Christ. So fucking schmaltzy, Bateman.

After hesitating, Nathan takes your hand and you yank him to his feet, drawing him inside, through the looking glass.

The room seems warm on the other side. It feels… safe.

“What happened?” you ask, as you look down at your joined hands, your thumb painting a smear of red across his split knuckles. 

You mean now. What happened now, but Nathan’s mind harks back further than that. In his mind, everything is connected. Every thing threaded to another. This one smear of blood to that weeping flower of red.

The thought -the thoughts, all of them- halt him in place, his feet firmly planting on the ground. Nathan’s hand clenches tightly around yours as though it is a lifeline, as he is cast adrift on this familiar crimson tide, his face growing increasingly angular and stern.

“She...” He swallows, unable to complete that precise thought, his eyes dropping down to his feet.

You turn your body towards Nathan as he croaks, still not letting go.

Your eyes flitting around his face, attempting to search his eyes, you tentatively step closer, sliding your palms slowly over his tense shoulders, feeling them rise with an uneven, stuttered breath as you do so.

He’s so tired. He’s so very, very tired.

And it happens all at once on the exhale.

Suddenly, your arms are tugging him closer, and his face is contorting as a violent smattering of tears beads in his long lashes. You are encasing his body in your embrace and rubbing circles into his back as his buzzed head sags all too willingly toward the junction of your shoulder, your fingers splaying along the smooth flesh at the nape of his neck and pads dancing over the gentle prickle of his hair. You are shushing and soothing and reassuring and squeezing and smoothing and cradling and Nathan can feel it. Can feel his heart race in his chest and…

Finally.

Finally, his heart is not pounding because he is reliving his death.

It is pounding because he feels alive again.

When was the last time he cried, even? The last time someone really hugged him? He doesn’t remember the last time. The serendipitous combination of Nathan willing to be vulnerable, and another being willing to hold space for his pain is an all too rare thing.

There’s a reason -or several - he’s so emotionally constipated, after all.

Fuck. I’m taking a huge emotional shit right now.

Nathan remains in the welcome circumference of your arms longer than is strictly necessary - until the tear trails over the bridge of his nose begin to feel cloying. Until his breaths steady, and until his thoughts and ego creep back in. Until he notices the way his hands are clasped at your waist like claws, fingers sinking into your softness, and he thinks to release you.

Then, he leans away, a weight on his brow making his expression stern.

He waits for you to judge him, another swallow trailing thickly down his throat.

However, your eyes are kind and level, dancing with soft concern. Not with judgement or satisfaction or pity, or with anything he fears.

It is refreshing not to feel so afraid.

Finally.

“She…” Nathan begins again, finally finding courage. All at once his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “She fucking stabbed me.”

You take his words in. You listen.

His “reveal” is simple. Plain and factual. A little indignant. Kinda salty. It’s not overly emotional, or articulate.

But it is enough.

Your eyes narrow, and you nod slowly, trying to understand the true meaning beneath his words.

You even reach up to cup Nathan’s face, his springy beard a cushion beneath your gentle palm as you hold him. “Yeah, genius,” you tease, with a tentative, lopsided smile, dropping your arm all too suddenly, perhaps as you catch yourself. “I got that from context.”

In response, Nathan chucks air from between his teeth, bringing his hand up to comb through his beard - perhaps to obscure his involuntary smile, or perhaps chasing your tender touch, the impression of it left warm on his cheek.

As he brings his hand up, your brows draw together, and you hook his bloodied paw delicately in yours, examining the wound, and leading him gingerly across to the couch as though his whole being might be hurting along with it.

It is.

You order him to stay put while you fetch the first aid kit, and then, in stages, Nathan watches you with fascination as you painstakingly clean and tend to his wounds, without ever being asked to.

He watches you carefully swipe the angry red away from his skin, and, to his overactive mind, it’s all connected. This red is one and the same with the flower of blooming red from The Incident.

Ava hurt him then, and she is hurting him now too.

And you…

“Going to tell the board about this?” Nathan asks, his voice weak and scuffed.

You search his eyes, holding your words back for a moment before answering. Then, you launch them on a big breath. “Fuck the board, Nathan. I told those assholes to stick it.”

Nathan blinks in confusion, shaking his head, his hand flourishing emphatically through the air. “Then… what the fuck are you still doing in my house?”

“Well. I’m… here for you,” you admit, sucking in air through your teeth, your voice shrinking. “If you want that.”

Well, that’s news to him.

Welcome news, perhaps?

You’re not watching him at all, are you? Not observing. Not asking him to evidence his humanity. Not waiting to see whether he fucks up or proves himself.

Instead, you’re seeing him. You’re seeing him and you’re not running.

Nathan had begun to think that maybe he was the nightmare. He’d begun to think he might always be haunted.

Always alone. That he might die that way; again.

And now, here you are.

Nathan thinks about that. He could so easily revert to his old ways, in this moment. Of pride and ego and stubborn independence.

But, perhaps those assholes from the board got a few things right - he’ll admit.

Maybe he had been in isolation too long. Maybe he didn’t need to take “tortured genius” quite so literally.

And so, Nathan almost protests. Almost rejects your presence and your comfort and pushes you away. But the truth is, he’s just so… tired. He’s had so many nightmares, and this time, he’d like to be on the other side of the glass. He’d like to step into that dream.

Nathan takes a deep breath, and releases on the exhale. Releases more than air.

He slowly, ever so slowly, shifts towards you on the couch, angling his body until he can safely dip his head towards your lap, his nose pointed in towards your abdomen and his knees curling around you.

“Th.. this okay?” he asks weakly.

You throw your splayed hands up into the air in surprise as the weight of Nathan settles there, but as he curls his arms around your middle and shuffles closer, you ease into it. You snake your fingers in intricate caresses over his head and neck and shoulders.

“Yeah, Nathan. This is okay,” you soothe gently, voice taut with emotion.

You comfort him.

And finally, Nathan does not need to peel your skin back to know what’s underneath.

He knows you’re not a robot, and that, as your kind touch finds him corporeal, that he is not a ghost.

He closes his eyes. And this time, when he next wakes, he knows that whether the dream is bad or better or good, it doesn’t matter. Because you will be there with him.

He wants you with him.

It’s not at all natural to him, to have you around. For the longest time, he didn’t like it. It didn’t come instinctually, and he has formed no familiar habits.

It isn’t easy - he doesn’t make it easy.

But he wants it to be.

And, in your arms, he can finally dream that it will all work out. What’s more; he can dream he deserves it, too.

[jacepens]

1: HamilTurn(you can differentiate if needed) or MCU, 2: Washette, 3: Anna Strong

And generally a fandom list would be nice to know what to pick from ;) (Love you♡)

You said HamilTurn or MCU and I say both, I'm going to try my best haha. But anyway, thank you!:) Apologies in advance if this gets rambly, but that's the point of this right? Anyway, for ease of scrolling sake, I'll probably put a cut if this gets long but don't worry, it's just me talking a whole bunch lol. Ok, thank you again!! <3 (love you too!)

1. Hamilton/Turn (fandom)

Favorite character: I have to say Lafayette for both. Oh and Mary

Least favorite character: I have no real reason behind this so sorry but Burr, and Simcoe for many reasons

5 favorite ships: washette, lams, hamliza, benwash, whamilton

Character I find most attractive: ...all. But I have to say overall Brian Wiles as Lafayette. That face just…🥺

Character I would marry: Mary Woodhull or Eliza

Character I would be best friends with: you know I'm not sure, but in an ideal world Lafayette (both versions) or Ben but I feel like we wouldn't be best friends. But also everyone, is that an option? Even some of the "villains" would have good stories to tell

A random thought: I feel like most people in the fandom now are so new (they joined in with the movie release!) and unaware of the uh atrocities of back in the day. And y'all are lucky, but those of us who know. Know. (yes, I was unbearable but that's ok because I was having fun, and despite what I just said: have fun in your fandoms even if you're "unbearable", just keep it welcome to all and enjoy the enthusiasm you have for it:))

An unpopular opinion: Oh boy. Maybe stop making quick judgments about people based on what they write/who they ship? There is a line, but I've genuinely never seen it crossed by anyone at least openly sooo just let people have fun? And don't say anything about something? Unless it's actually harmful but even then, keep it to a dm or something and have an open discussion. Just let people vibe, please? Especially younger fans. Just, I’ve seen a weird amount of negativity towards them. They’re kids having fun, we all used to be like that so please, be kind and patient. They’ll learn if they make a mistake. Ok? Ok cool:) (maybe not unpopular but still I wanted to say it)

My canon OTP: Am I allowed to say lams?

My non-canon OTP: washette, wow, who would've guessed? xD

Most badass character: Mary my beloved

Most epic villain: Robert Rogers hands down

Pairing I am not a fan of: no one murder me, but in general I'm just not a fan of jamilton. also whatever was the deal with Anna and Abe

Characters I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): um. Where to begin? Honestly I think every woman in Turn at one point or another, except perhaps Peggy in my opinion. Oh but especially Anna. Also Simcoe. With Hamilton, probably again everyone at some point, but the way Angelica was written just feels so overwhelmingly fictional it bugs me. (But at least Hamilton had some genuine relationships between women, not great but still)

Favorite friendship(s): Ben and Caleb, Washington and Lafayette (what?? yes, you fools. lol). It may sound a tad ~cringey~ but I generally like Hamilton's vibe with the boys, maybe it's just the gender envy, but it's kinda cute and fun.

Character I most identify with: well jeez, I won't lie but Washington. In both versions, except god knows I could never be that chill. Also a dash of Laurens.

Character I wish I could be: wow what a loaded question ummm. I don't want to be like him, but I want to be like in his position so Hamilton lol. Playing an active role but I know personally I am not cut out for a battlefield, so a desk suits me well.

2. MCU (fandom-that I am so out of date from, please take all of this with a grain of salt)

Favorite character: so when I was younger it was Tony Stark but now it’s definitely Wanda and T’challa

Least favorite character: ummm. I genuinely couldn’t tell you, I’m very out of date

5 favorite ships (canon or non-canon): wandavision, …ngl I can’t think of anymore, I honestly never shipped many and wandavision was like the only couple I remember really liking. Oh, I don’t know them but Loki/Mobius and/or Sylvie

Character I find most attractive: embarrassing confession time, Loki was my first bad celebrity crush. Wanda now and Shuri is cute. Also Sylvie

Character I would marry: if I could, Wanda 

Character I would be best friends with: Vision and Peter Parker

A random thought: y’all it’s been so long since I’ve touched MCU I should catch up/refresh shouldn’t I?

An unpopular opinion: I don’t know if this is an unpopular opinion but I’m going to say it anyway. Personally, I really don’t like the movie Civil War, I think it’s what sorta made me disinterested in mcu. It’s been years since I’ve watched it so maybe I would have a completely different opinion if I saw it today, but at the time it just felt so...wrong? And childish? I literally don’t even remember why they were fighting or how that movie even ended (I feel like it just wasn’t satisfying??) but I think also, as a kid or teen watching that, it reminded me sooo much of the dumb drama that, you know, kids get into. I mean, getting your friends on someone’s side like that?? Like, I know they were mad but- but there are other ways of dealing with emotions??? And involving everyone's friends too? So yeah, it just felt off to me at the time, and looking back now, from what I remember, it just frustrated me. Especially as a kid who deals with dumb drama like that all the time, kids would want to see a better example especially from adult superheroes or at least not be reminded of the bs they have to go through sometimes. But, rant over, that’s all just my opinion:) 

My canon OTP: wandavision

My non-canon OTP: ummm. I guess just Loki/Mobius and/or Sylvie lol

Most badass character: I have to say Natasha but actually there are many

Most epic villain: when I was younger I liked that Ultron was voiced by Robert California from the Office lol

Pairing I am not a fan of: I don’t know if it’s popular but I never liked Tony and Pepper. What happened with her?

Characters I feel the writers screwed up: I guess I’ll say Thor because I just felt such a weird difference in his personality that did not make sense to me

Favorite friendship: Wanda and Pietro!! Honestly I think a lot, there were a lot of good friendships but I can’t think of which ones are my favorite

Character I most identify with: ummmmmm. 

Character I wish I could be: My gut says Thor

3. Washette (ship-bless you<3 get ready for rambles oh no)

When I started shipping them: So I first had the thought in 7th grade while my history teacher was talking about them and my little brain went: haha that’s pretty gay. (teacher keeps talking about them) wait a fucking minute, that is pretty gay! But it wasn’t until I got sucked into Hamilton that I really started actively shipping them by reading fics and what not, but something about them became an instant favorite. And later (little personal story time) I pretty much completely stopped reading fic and being active in fandom for years and actually, when I got my first panic attack that - no joke - lasted for 5 hours, for some reason my brain (as it’s decaying lol) said I want to go and reread all my favorite washette fics and also do what I was I always too scared to do. Write!! So that night I binged the fics and found myself falling in love again, feeling all the old passion I had for them again, and the next night (still very shaken) I wrote an outline of a good ol washette confession + kiss that was extremely thoughtful and good, and honestly, I have not actually used that outline yet! Maybe I’m saving it. But yeah, this is a long answer, but I have a weird amount of attachment to them and this ship, I wish I knew why too. <3 

My thoughts: so many. Too many. First of all, I love that I have so many versions of them in my mind, right? When I started writing, I had never watched Turn but then I did and then it was like: hell yeah, another washette set. At this point, my brain has created it’s own unique version of them but it’s like, they’re so versatile! That’s one neat thing about this fandom as a whole, we get more than one character and personality and that’s just fun right?! More specifically on washette I mean, they’re just so sweet. Historically, their relationship is unique and cute, and you’d have to be a fool to think that to Washington Lafayette was just another friend. Even strictly platonically, it was something special and it’s so obvious I just love them. Ok. Enough thoughts for now <3

What makes me happy about them: the loooove, the comfort they found in each other, the fact that like every person at the time documenting them knew and understood they were special to each other like, they were just that in love. 

What makes me sad about them: oh so much that I try to ignore lol. There is the one year when Lafayette went to France and all his letters to Wash are like: “I have not received one letter from you, but it’s ok, I love you and I know you love me too :)” WHO WAS NOT DELIVERING THESE LETTERS, I HAVE NAMES, NOW I WANT ANSWERS. Anyway, also just most things that happened when Laf went back to France. And then when he visited America in 1824 and visited Washington’s grave. Yeah. ow. (also, you know what, I have done too much research on this event. lmk if you would like a post)

Things done in fanfic that annoy me: Generally, I’m not annoyed by much in fanfic at least with them and what I’ve seen. I’m still nostalgic for the old school nonbinary Laf fics, so it ain’t those. Literally maybe it’s because I’m starved for content but I can’t really think of anything, I love it all.

Things I look for in fanfic: back to the whole starved for content thing, I am a library of washette fics but I think if I was to pick a certain thing that I would love it’s just um fluff? And honesty, if that makes sense. Love confessions are very good as well. Canon era, please :) pining but not too much that it hurts me lol

My wishlist: literally all my wips. If I could whisk them into existence I could die happy and knowing I have put a variety of washette content in the world. Something else though, more fics :’) I love writing but sometimes I want to curl up with a cozy, new washette fic like a cup of hot chocolate and be surprised and learn something new and just..yeah:)

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: what. Ok but actually, Martha and Adrienne because they are both honestly perfect for them and I love them too (I’m going to be biased, especially Adrienne)

My happily ever after for them: Can Lafayette just move the family to America? But also, it’s sad, but like I know Laf would be sad in America while France suffers. So...maybe a world where things in France go better and Lafayette gets to visit Washington more often and bring the family!! (Washington visit France too??)

4. Anna Strong (character)

How I feel about this character: I like her! She’s fun and…strong (oops lol) and she’s made some mistakes sure, but I feel like she did her best to learn from them and move on

Any/all the people I ship romantically with this character: Honestly, I know they didn’t have a lot of interaction in the show but Anna/Mary has potential. And Anna/Edmund

My favorite non-romantic relationship for this character: her and Ben and Caleb

My unpopular opinion about this character: I really can’t think of anything unpopular

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: in general, her having more screen time with less men you know? I mean like one-on-one kind of scenes. Also I would’ve liked to see at least her and Selah talk. Like, really talk. They never really did that, right? I just have so many questions about them

Favorite friendship for this character: Anna and Ben

My crossover ship: I have no idea

And well, I know it’s been a few days but for a fandom list, I’m just a weeb lol but here

Octopath Traveler (my beloved)

Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Star Wars

Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812

Persona 4

Zelda (to a point)

Pokémon

What We Do in the Shadows

Sailor Moon

Literally anything historical

Ok!! I tried to add a lot because I’m not sure what you might know or not haha. But thank you again!! I had fun <3

[mollymauk-teafleak]

whose brow is laid in thorn (chapter one)

You guys have no idea how long I’ve been building this universe in my head as I’ve been falling asleep. Huge thanks to @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian, my ever faithful and patient betas and wonderful friends

please reblog and leave a comment on ao3!

----------

Mollymauk has been waiting for this day since he was eighteen years old.

Not the day he'll be crowned king, that day is a long way off and he's none too eager for it. No, today is the day the love of his life is returned to him, after they were separated when their affair was discovered.

But Caleb Widogast has been in the hands of the Volstruker. And who is coming back is not the same man who left.

So is that man still there?

----------

Mollymauk didn’t wake up, not really. To say he woke up would have implied he’d ever slept and he didn’t so much as doze that night, not even for a moment.

But when the dawn filtered under the thick curtains of his chambers and fell across the rich carpets, he did feel some sort of start. Though it wasn’t anything like waking up.

It felt more like coming back to life. He’s coming home.

He bolted upright, breath suddenly coming fast like he’d been sprinting. His mouth dried and the sudden need to move and move quickly crackled through his nerves, though he had no idea what to do with any of it.

Clothes. He’d start with that, seeing as he was completely naked save the silk sheets and his tattoos. Normally he’d wait for his sister, to get ready with her, but Jester really liked to sleep in and he'd always felt mean waking her up before the sun had cleared the horizon. Unless it was him doing it by repeatedly smashing a goosefeather pillow into her face.

And he needed some time to himself this morning. He’s coming home.

He lit the candles then looked through his vast wardrobe, normally grabbing the first thing he came across whether it was appropriate for court or not. People had long since given up on expecting him to be appropriate, full stop. His fathers senechal didn’t even roll her eyes as much when he would come to take his seat, dressed in feathers and sequins with far too much of his deep violet skin on display. Mollymauk actually suspected his father had turned it into a play, to further intimidate his already plenty intimidated supplicants.

But this morning his fingers passed over the usual silks, satins and samites. He couldn’t help but think of how he’d dressed back then, gods, ten years ago now. His fingers kept moving, further and further back into the racks, as if he could go back in time so easily. As if everything could be undone. As if he could be the Mollymauk he’d been back then just by dressing like him.

His chest clenched tightly. He’s coming home.

Eventually he found a close fitting tunic with a high neck, in a dark blue colour, clearly from some time before it was politically necessary for him to be wearing the house colours at all times. Soft doeskin breeches underneath, no jewellery save what he always wore in his horns. Just some kohl outlining his full, red eyes. He wanted to look as much like the Mollymauk he would remember as possible, whether it would change anything or not.

When the heavy knock on his chamber door came and it swung back with an iron and oak creak, Molly wasn’t surprised to see Yasha standing there, already dressed and ready to go and also very much not surprised to see him in the same state. Yasha had always understood him in that way.

“Your highness,” she said in that soft voice of hers, bending in a small half bow.

None of his other friends ever used his official titles outside of the courtroom but, after years as his aide de camp, she had turned them into a term of endearment. Hearing her say it gave him a reason to smile, in the middle of everything he was feeling.

“Good morning, Yasha,” he beckoned her in from where he sat at his dressing table, still looking at himself in the mirror.

“I checked with the night guard, your highness. All clear, nothing to report,” she intoned, as she did every morning before anything else was addressed.

“Good,” Molly murmured, attention elsewhere, “I, uh, take it my mother and father are still abed?”

“Soundly, your highness.”

Molly nodded tightly to his reflection. He didn’t want the king here for this. The less bad memories were waiting for him on the palace steps, the better.

Then why do you imagine he’ll want you there? A nasty little voice whispered inside his mind, making him clench his hands into fists. Molly swallowed hard and pushed it away, trying to wipe any trace of it off his face before Yasha could see it in the mirror.

He either hadn’t moved fast enough or their friendship ran too deep. He saw his friend’s face tighten ever so slightly, felt her hand rest on his shoulder and squeeze firmly.

“Are you ready for this, your highness?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. It was wise to never speak too loudly anywhere in this castle, not even in the bedchamber of it’s crown prince. Molly had learned that lesson early in life.

But still not early enough.

“I am,” he made himself meet Yasha’s eyes, or at least the reflection of them, “He’s coming home. He’s finally coming home. And everything’s going to be right again.”

If there was a flicker of doubt in his friend’s ash-ringed eyes, then Mollymauk didn’t see it. Instead he looked into his own face, bathed in candlelight and dawn, so he could see the certainty there and forget he’d forged it himself out of dreams and selective memories. So he could make himself believe it when he whispered it once more.

Caleb Widogast was coming home and everything would be right again.

People in the castle whispered about it, of course they did. But it just joined the never ending current of gossip and low level scandal that ran through the place because of the wayward crown prince. Caleb had become another faceless body in their prince’s bed, of the hundreds they imagined crowded in there like a tavern on a festival night. Earlier on than most, granted, but every bit as transient.

And even then Mollymauk still wasn’t the most interesting member of the royal family. Just the safest to gossip about.

It would make Mollymauk laugh bitterly, to imagine their faces if they’d only known. Caleb hadn’t been one of many. He’d been the first. He’d been everything.

They were called the Volstrucker, their true purpose shrouded by naming them in a language few people this side of the Xorhasian border spoke. For the few that could be openly seen at court, people had grown used to them and long ago grown bored of making up stories about them. They’d stopped questioning Sorah’s never ending vigil at the king’s side, the higher courtiers that were granted peeks behind the curtain thought little of the people in black who hid their faces and brought reports under magical seals that the king would read and then promptly burn. To them, Trent Ikithon was just another courtier, a noble chased from the Empire and trying to scratch some semblance of the power he’d once wielded through the benevolence of the king, clearly providing him some service they had better not dwell on too long.

Bodyguards, spies, personal assassins, fallen sorcerers with their uses, all these things were common in this court and drew little attention when no threads could be found between them all.

And when the crown prince was given a companion at the age of ten, a thin, pale boy with dark red hair and sharp blue eyes, the court accepted it when they were told he was just that. A companion. A personal guard. Hardly unusual, given that this was their heir to the throne. It was only natural that he would have his own version of his father’s silent, hulking goliath and it was rather smart, after all, to have the two boys grow alongside each other to strengthen the bond between them.  

But of course, that was exactly the point of the Volstrucker. To blend into the background, to repel whispers and speculation as easily as shaking rainwater off a cloak, to run beneath the surface of things. It was what allowed them to operate as the most vicious, effective and brutal assassins and war mages anyone inside or outside of the Empire had ever seen. To be the stuff of legends and nightmares while never appearing so.

That was Caleb Widogast. Prince Mollymauk’s own personal Volstruker, the kind of privilege only extended to the most powerful people. And of course, those most powerful people who had close ties to their handler. Trained from their shared youth to give his life in service of his prince, to jump before every blade aimed at his neck, to either slaughter the enemy or take the sword point through his own flesh. Drilled in the most dangerous offensive magic, shaped by Ikithon’s hand out of common dirt to serve a greater purpose, to once day stand by the throne when it was Mollymauk’s turn to sit it or to perish getting him there.

That was who Caleb was. Or at least what he’d been intended as.

“An hour after dawn. That was what they said.”

Molly was pacing back and forth across his room, hands fidgeting with the adornments in his horns. Yasha sat patiently on his bed, again demonstrating how she could be such a stickler for protocol in some areas and then completely disregard it in others. Their long friendship always had been that strange kind of patchwork.

“They did say that, your highness,” she agreed patiently, for the tenth time that morning.

“So how long does it take to travel from this place?” the panic began rising on his throat, “This place they won’t even bloody tell me where it is? Because it damn far past an hour after dawn!”

Yasha took a deep, patient breath, one of many that she’d taken between coming into her prince’s room and this moment, “The roads have been dangerous of late. Perhaps they’ve just been delayed. Perhaps there was rain over the mountains. Perhaps a tree fell across the king’s road. Perhaps a million other things happened that we do not need to be worrying ourselves over right now.”

Molly flushed, folding his arms across his chest and staring sullenly at his boots, “There’s probably a few we should be worrying about…”

“Molly, think who he’s with. Is there really anything that would stop a pack of Volstreker for very long?”

“He...he was just never late,” Molly replied after a long, long pause, his voice sounding very far away and very young, “That was one of the things he hated most, being late.”

He wasn’t looking but he heard how his friend’s voice became very clipped and careful, her accent coming through stronger like it did when she was minding her words very closely, “My prince...Caleb may not be the friend we remember…”

Molly looked up sharply, his eyes bright and hard like rubies, “Caleb was not just my friend. Caleb was the love of my life. He is the love of my life. We’re soulmates.”

Yasha sighed again, though this one she kept to herself. Arguing with Mollymauk was a chore most of the time, nigh on impossible when he got that fire in his eyes, the same fire that could be seen in the king’s more and more frequently.

The fire that worried her every time she saw it reflected on her friend’s face.

So Yasha wouldn’t argue with him. She would do what she had always done, what she’d learned how to do when she’d been handed this broken boy at the age of eighteen and helped him put himself back together over ten long years, what people were afraid to do for a prince but gods did he need it. She would pull back his armour and show him what was underneath.

“Molly,” she stood, taking a few steps towards him, her sad eyes catching the candlelight, “What happened was not your fault.”

It was like watching a single crack in a sheet of ice bring a whole glacier face crumbling down. Yasha moved quickly, bringing Molly into her arms before he could even choke out a sob, as the tears he’d probably needed to cry since he’d heard Caleb was coming home burst forth.

For a moment, as her knees hit the thick carpet, it was as it had been ten years ago. Those long, awful months after Caleb had been taken away, when Molly couldn’t find the strength to rise from his bed, when the chambermaid Veth would bring him meals he wouldn’t eat, when Jester would come ask her big brother to play with her and it would be like she wasn’t there, when no good natured threats from Beau would get him down to the practise yard, when Fjord would come with tales of his travels and get no response. Caduceus, the palace healer, had done all he could for him, eventually only able to bow his head and sigh and say it wasn’t for any medicine to cure the nasty shock of a broken heart. The king had known better than to try and reach out to his son, knowing this had driven a chasm between them that would not be repaired. The queen had sat outside his chamber door for days on end, waiting until he would see her again.

Ikithon said Caleb had been taken for training. Re-education. The screaming nightmares that would bring Yasha and Jester running to Molly’s chambers at all hours proved just how much they believed that.

But Yasha squared her shoulders and let Molly weep against her. It wasn’t like that any more. Her prince had grown stronger since then, and wiser, this was just the aftershocks of an earthquake that had passed. He’d learned not to shut his friends out.

He proved that when he finally whispered, voice trembling, “But what if he blames me?”

Yasha squeezes his shoulders gently, “Think of the Caleb you knew. How well you understood each other. How clever he was. Do you really think he’d blame you?”

“No…” Molly drew back with a final sigh that sounded something like relief, “No he wouldn’t.”

“You know who's to blame,” Yasha’s voice hardened at the edges.

Molly’s mouth twisted, the way it often did when thoughts of that man strayed through his mind, Having him so close for the last ten years, seeing his smug smile and cruel eyes every day at court, at every royal banquet, in the council chambers, it had taken all of the combined efforts of his friends to convince him the matter couldn’t be settled with the point of his scimitars.

Not without angering the king. And despite everything Mollymauk said, despite the mask he wore, he was terrified of the king. He couldn’t hate him, not truly, not even after he ordered your heart torn in two and one half banished to gods knew where. Not even after everything he’d seen him do, the executions he’d ordered, the other kingdoms he’d seen him raze in war, watching from behind what little protection his mother could offer him. And even beyond the things he’d seen him do lurked the things he suspected.

But you couldn’t hate the man who’d saved your life. Who’d found you as an orphan and adopted you, named you heir to his kingdom, gave you a family and a name and a crown. Who had shown you love, perhaps, once upon a time.

Fear was easier. And so Mollymauk feared his father.

“I don’t want to think about that right now,” the tiefling rubbed at his eyes, smudging kohl across the bridge of his nose, “I just want to see him. I need to know he’s okay.”

Yasha opened her mouth, about to say something comforting while still trying to manage her prince’s expectations, when there came shouts from the far side of the bailey. From the main gate. Riders approaching.

Molly stiffened, eyes opening wide, lighting up with more hope than Yasha had seen on his face in years, so much so that she couldn’t help but smile.

“He’s home,” Mollymauk breathed.

The clamour raised by the approaching visitors must have woken Jester. As Mollymauk stood in the audience chamber, smoothly maintaining his princely face, she came bursting through the side door, clearly having dressed in a hurry. She ran up to take her place at his side, panting and grinning, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Is he here yet? Is he here?” she gasped, taking her brother’s hand and squeezing tight.

Molly chuckled fondly, dropping the act for the moment and winding an arm around her in a hug. He could never maintain it around Jester.

“Not yet. They’re just dismounting in the foreyard, we don’t even know if it's them yet…”

“Oh of course it is!” Jester rolled her eyes before the splitting grin came back, “I can’t believe he’s here, we’re all together again. It’ll be just like it was before!”

Molly couldn’t hide his own delight, not when her’s was taking it by the hand and tugging it up to the surface. But he needed to wear the right face for this, settling for laughing and scrubbing her blue hair quickly before pushing her away.

“Come now, at least try and look suitably intimidating,” he teased, moving back to standing tall with his hands clasped at the small of his back to put the hilts of his infamous scimitars on show, “The king would be most disappointed if any of our visitors left with dry smallclothes.”

“That’s not my job,” Jester snorted, like he were the world’s biggest fool rather than her future liege, “My job is to stand and look dumb and pretty to get them off their guard.”

Molly nudged her with a sharp elbow which she mostly dodged, “And brain them with a psychic lollipop if I lose my swords.”

“And brain them with a psychic lollipop if you lose your swords!” she repeated cheerily, giving him a wink before her face settled into something softer, something not unlike the look Yasha had given him as she’d helped him to his feet, “I’m really happy for you, Molly.”

Molly had his eyes facing firmly forward, he could hear voices from behind the gilded doors or the audience chamber. But the corner of his mouth turned up and the tension in his shoulders lessened slightly.

He was glad to have his sister beside him for this.

Because the door was opening and the man he loved, the man he’d loved since he was a child, the man whose absence had ripped a hole inside him he thought would never heal, was about to walk through the door.

Ikithon first, flanked by two nondescript figures in all black, a man and a woman. Molly greeted them with a stiff nod, his heart set on what lay behind them. A cloaked figure, hood up, the same stiff black uniform as the other two.

“Ah, Prince Mollymauk,” Ikithon intoned, voice as slippery as ever, “A welcome sight at the end of a long journey. It was my pleasure, of course, to bring your personal Volstruker back to you. Consider it yet another token of my sincere and genuine apology for the… unpleasantness he caused ten years ago.”

His voice lingered over that word, drawing it out into something sharp edged. Because of course he knew. Jester glanced anxiously at her brother.

Molly’s anger bubbled too close to the surface, he had to force the words through his teeth in a thin veneer of politeness, “You have the throne’s thanks, Archmage, as ever. Of course, I would be loath to keep you any longer, after such an arduous journey. You and your companions are dismissed to refresh yourselves. Immediately.”

He was rewarded by the slightest curling of Ikithon’s lip at his old title, the reminder of the one he used to own before he was cast out of the empire for his crimes. The same crimes the king had welcomed him in for.

“I will escort you myself!” Jester insisted with a sweet smile, smoothing the moment over in an instant, hurrying down the steps of the raised platform to sweep her arm out invitingly, seeming to put even the two senior Volstruker off guard, “Please follow me! I would so love to hear all about your journey!”

Jester was very hard to say no to. Within minutes they were gone into the luxurious depths of the castle and, given that this had been a very small welcome in the early hours of the morning, this left Mollymauk alone with Caleb.

His resolve broke as soon as the footsteps disappeared. Dropping all sense of decorum, he lurched forward, down the steps, unable to bear the distance between them.

“Caleb,” he nearly sobbed out, though still in control enough to drop his voice, “Gods, Caleb, it's so good to see you again. There’s so much I need to say to you but...Caleb?”

He hadn’t moved. There hadn’t been so much as a twitch in his muscles. Molly was panting, wild eyed, now close enough to reach out and touch him but he hadn’t flinched.

The voice stopped Mollymauk just as dead in his tracks. The most awful mix of familiar and foreign, the voice he knew but seeming to come from a different set of lungs.

“Your permission to remove my hood, your highness?”

Molly frowned, not understanding, feeling like he was in some strange dream now, actions not making sense and words coming out disjointed, “I...yes?”

With a slight nod, gloved hands swept back the heavy hood. It was almost exactly the face he’d imagined, the strong jaw and close beard of rust, the piercing blue eyes and high, handsome cheekbones. He’d grown into the handsome man Molly had always known he would be.

But he’d never imagined the expressionlessness in his eyes. The slack set of his jaw. He’d never imagined it would be like looking into the eyes of a doll or a painting.

Gods, it was so much worse than the looks of fear, pain, even the anger and hatred he’d seen in his nightmares.

“Caleb…” Molly groaned.

“I would like to apologise for my grievous errors when we were younger men, your highness,” the man who wasn’t Caleb intoned, completely flat, “I compromised my position as your Volstruker and took advantage of you in a completely unacceptable way. I swear to you that all degeneracy has been wiped clean and I am returned ready to do nothing but serve you with body and soul.”

He pulled his fist to his chest, keeping it there in a hard salute, one Molly had seen so many black clad figures make to Ikithon, to his father.

“I am yours, my prince.”

Molly’s heart shattered in his chest, tears running down his cheeks to drip onto the hands frozen halfway to taking Caleb in his arms.

“Caleb, what have they done to you?” he whispered, voice strained.

Someone had come home. But not the man he knew.

Not the man he loved.

[toomanyopinionss]

My thoughts while watching Ep. 3 of...

Tiny Pretty Things

Disclaimer: I’m kinda excited, ngl. I don’t know how I’ve been able to go on this long without watching the next episode. Give me my melodrama. Let me know if there’s any other show u want my opinions on, as well... I have too many of them anyways.

Oh my goodness, this girl’s dreams are so...intense.

Oof, the animosity towards cops... I felt that.

Oh June’s CRAZY crazy. Kind of into it, tbh

Ooh, I hate rich kids. Sry. But I also know for a fact that not all these kids are rich, so I guess their just jerks. HA, that was a big brain moment right there.

Ok Bette. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. YOU. CANNOT. DANCE. Honey, please don’t break your foot. I dot want to here a career ending snap onstage, even if ur kind of a bitch.

Ok, so I’m not seeing any reason to blame Nabil for Cassie’s fall. Like jeez, Neveah, for someone who doesn’t take crud from anyone, u were sure quick to absorbe all the crud about nabil

Love these group dances 😃

Ok, Bette, not u blaming Shane for ur own shit

Aw, Cassie is the freaking sweetest

Neveah, say what u will about nabil, but y’all have CHEMISTRY when u dance😍😍😍. My heart stopped

Oren and Shane? Better as friends, u heard it here first.

This teacher needs to, maybe, NOT be like that with students? I feel uncomfortable.

Living for Shane’s outfit during that cute dance scene.

Shane, babe, he’s not worth it. But also, there are better ways to broach an eating disorder topic.

I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to feel bad for June. Am I just mean?

Can u blame nabil for not wanting to talk to you Neveah? He’s GRIEVING, good lord

Ew, that foots kinda nasty tho

Neveah, this is low even for u. Why u be snooping through his stuff?!

Caleb: “Girl, I don’t KNOW you.” 😂😂😂

Neveah, ur annoying me now. Please get off my screen.

Why do u assume nabil was in the wrong? Cassie cheated on him or something, and he moved across the WORLD for her.

June, ur divorcing ur mother... I have no words. Next!

Why would he PUSH YOU. where is the common sense, I’m losing my mind

Don’t touch her, Ramon

Neveah’s going to the police. I need an aspirin

June and Bette have a toxic friendship... damn

CALEB pushed nabil. Wow. These kids are crazy, even by rich kid standards

Oh, Cassie is so talented. It’s the footwork for me

I wanna give nabil a hUg

And now the police chick is gonna arrest him

June is standing there alone with no friends. Now I feel bad for her

June. Wants the school doctor. To be her guardian.... that’s a new one

Oop, bette DRUNK drunk

Oop, he don’t want kids, Dr. Wrench

Ok, am I missing something? Oren has fucking ABS. Is he supposed to be overweight? Because one look down at my own bountiful body tells me that he’s completely fine

I don’t like the way Oren treats Shane. There, I said it. I know that he doesn’t like him in that way, but damn... there are better ways to treat human beings.

And don’t act like u wasn’t cheering Shane on when he was doing the devils tango with u, Oren.

Oren’s crying? Huh

Ok, but Headmistress madame is low key a badass

Oh, Shane, don’t cry baby 😥

He’s dancing on the roof in his underwear. Gotta love this show. Ugh, the talent

Ok, Oren, pick a damn side. U we’re just backing nabil up not that long ago. What the hell do u want, man?!

Chill Caleb, or I’ll send u back to Texas myself

There’s zero flow here. June Bette and Neveah are not friends, last I checked. So why is neveah helping her divorce her mother? What the hell?!

I hate everyone in this show. At least the background music slaps

Neveah, get away from Nabil. Like u wasn’t trash talking him 10 minutes ago. Man, this bitch thirsty

Look, I’m not into them together. Nabil is still emotionally grieving his last girl, who don FELL of the dang roof! I don’t wanna say Neveah is taking advantage of him, but she acted like she “hated” him for most of the episode, so u have to wonder....

Anyways, that’s my opinion. If u disagree, let me know why. Adios peoples.

[problems-turn-fics]

I wrote Ben with bipolar. That’s it. It’s him living with bipolar and Caleb loving him. Its bipolar 2 for anyone curious. Its still set in canon timeline so its obvs untreated [ Word Count: 1891 | Rated G]

Ben could finally focus. It was like the whole ring and all the risks and all the information they needed was laid out in front of his eyes. He could see ways around every risk, he could see how to get what they wanted, he could see Andre’s plays ten steps ahead of him and plan around them. It was too important to leave or and he didn’t need to. 

He felt like he was in the middle of a battle, his blood pumping and his mind moving to actually make sense of everything around him. He wasn’t hungry, he wasn’t thirsty, time passed and he didn’t notice or care. He could finally think. 

“Oi, Tallboy, dinner time,” Caleb said, grabbing Ben’s shoulder. 

Ben shrugged him off. “I’m fine. You can have it.” 

Caleb was quiet for a second. “Funny thing is I already had dinner. That’s the thing about dinner. We all eat it.”

“I’m not hungry,” Ben snapped, frowning at his work as Caleb continued to bug him. Caleb didn’t understand. Caleb couldn’t see all the lines and connections and plans. Caleb wasn’t like him, it had to be Ben. No one else understood. 

“Ben, I’m serious, take a break and eat.” 

“I’m serious, I’m not hungry.” 

“I didn’t ask if you were hungry. I told you to eat,” Caleb snapped, leveraging the fact that he was standing and Ben was still sitting to turn him.

Something flared bright red and hot inside him and it must have shown because Caleb snapped back. He didn’t look afraid, per se, more unsettled. One part of Ben wondered why. Another was satisfied. “Why?” 

“You’ve barely eaten in days. You look like shite. Just take a break and eat the fuckin’ food,” Caleb begged. There was no sincerity in his face or tone though. Ben could tell he was lying. 

A thought occurred to him. Bright and clear and as plain as day. He felt stupid for not having noticed it before. “Why do you want us to fail? When did they get to you?” 

Caleb looked like he’d been slapped. “You think the redcoats got to me and that’s why I want you to eat?” 

“Why else would you want me to stop?” 

Caleb just stared at him for a long second, shaking his head. “Fine. Do whatever you want. Run yourself into the goddamn ground see if I fucking care,” Caleb said, turning and leaving the tent. 

Ben had expected more denials and it made him curious as to what plan Caleb had; what plan the English had. He decided he’d let it play out a few more days, maybe he’d be able to spot the weakness that they’d used to get to Caleb in the first place. He didn’t think Caleb had ever been detained on a ride, but he must have been wrong. Ben would have to be more careful about monitoring the length of time the trips took with his new courier. 

***

The bugle played and Ben nearly cried. He might have if he’d had the energy. Instead, he took a second to steel himself as he stared up at the tent ceiling. He was exhausted down to his very bones. Still, he forced himself to sit up and get dressed and comb his hair and tie it back in a braid. 

He was hungry. And thirsty. But getting food meant going outside his tent, and if he did that someone might speak to him, ask him a question and his brain was just far too foggy to even begin to deal with that. Instead, he sat and looked at the list of things he needed to finish that day, the list he’d written the night before when he’d been too tired to keep his eyes open anymore. 

“Good morning,” Caleb’s chipper voice came a second before Caleb opened the flaps of the tent and let himself in. 

Ben forced a smile on his face, though it felt like it should have been genuine. Seeing Caleb first thing in the morning was nice and he’d missed in the past few days while Caleb had been off to Setauket. That was another thing he had to do, he had to read Abe’s letter. He hadn’t even had the energy to open in the night before when Caleb had brought it in. 

Caleb didn’t seem phased by the fake smile that Ben was sure he could see through. Caleb always could see straight through him, but Ben always tried to lie anyway. He owed Caleb something more genuine but he never could manage it. Lie after lie came and he wasn’t able to stop it. Caleb was a better friend than he deserved. 

“Brought you breakfast,” he said, setting the plate on the corner of the desk, careful not to set it on any of the letters scattered across the desk. Caleb was always so careful. Ben loved him so much. 

“Thank you,” Ben said, grabbing the bread first. 

“What’s on the docket?” Caleb asked, stepping up behind Ben and digging his fingers into Ben’s shoulders. 

“Don’t you have your own responsibilities?” 

“What part of special detail don’t you understand? You are my responsibility, not much else. So, what do you need me to do today?” 

Ben shook his head and felt a small, genuine smile make its way to his face. “That’s not what that means.” 

“Think it does.” Caleb pressed his thumbs up the column of Ben’s neck on either side of his spine. It felt so good Ben didn’t have it in him to argue anymore. 

He looked at his list, the first three things were that he needed to give orders to his men to go scouting, five men in three directions. He felt a surge of guilt at even considering asking Caleb to take care of this for him. Though he’d done it before, he let Caleb give orders and the men accepted them from Caleb as if they’d come out of Ben’s mouth, but still, it was his responsibility. 

He picked up the list and tore off the top. “Will you send out the men scouting? I wrote down where they need to go and which groups.” Caleb plucked the list out of his hand with a happy little hum. 

“That I can do. I’ll even find them some dappled gray horses to take out,” Caleb said, patting Ben’s shoulder. 

“Thank you,” Ben said, feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted from his chest. 

“Of course,” Caleb said, turning around at the door. “I’ll be back in a while for my next orders, sir.” He saluted and winked and they both laughed as he left. 

Ben turned back to his desk, his smile lingering for a second before he shivered. The tent was colder without Caleb at his back. The list was shorter now though and he was almost able to work up enough hope to think he might get through the whole thing today. Next up: Abe’s letter. 

***

Ben stared down at the map in front of him, sure that the answer would come to him. He’d been running strategies through his mind all night, sure that there was a plan just out of reach that would guarantee their victory. 

He’d tried to take a break earlier to read Abe’s newest letter, sure that Culper Jr. held the key but Abe’s handwriting must have taken a turn for the worst because Ben hadn’t been able to make heads or tails of it. He’d have to ask Caleb if he could make it out in the morning. 

“Ben?” a whispered voice came before Caleb’s face poked through the tent flaps. “Oh fuck.” 

“Caleb! Perfect timing, I need your help,” Ben said, grabbing his friend and pulling him further into the tent. 

“No, Tallboy, you need to sleep. It’s the middle of the night. Almost dawn,” Caleb said softly. His voice was rough and he was whispering. 

“You’re awake.”

“I had to piss. I only came in here because I thought you fell asleep at your desk again and forgot to put out the candle,” Caleb said, with a deep sigh. 

“That doesn’t happen.” 

Caleb opened his mouth to argue but closed it, shaking his head. “Okay. Sit on the cot and tell me what you need me to do,” he said with a yawn. 

Ben rolled his eyes but sat on the cot. He wasn’t tired. He hadn’t been tired in days. “Okay, look at Abe’s letter. Can you make it out?” 

Caleb picked it up off the desk and squinted at it for a minute. He sat next to Ben on the cot and Ben craned his neck but the letters in front of him still made no sense. He felt the ribbon on his braid come undone and then Caleb was running his fingers through Ben’s hair. It felt incredible and Ben let out a deep breath, relaxing into the touch. 

Caleb stood and went next to the candle, still frowning at the letter. “Take off your boots.” 

“Why?” 

Caleb shrugged. “You’ve been wearing them all day. You need to air them out or they’ll stink. No one wants to take orders from a man with stinky boots.” 

Ben rolled his eyes. He knew what Caleb was doing but it wasn’t going to work, because he wasn’t tired. But there was no harm if Caleb was going to keep reading the letter. He took off his boots and because it felt odd to be wearing his jacket without his boots he shed his jacket and waistcoat. 

In the morning he wouldn’t remember laying down or falling asleep, but he would be able to look at Abe’s letter and read every word clear as ever. 

**

The only thing that Ben seemed able to feel those days were exhaustion, guilt, and anger. And at that moment the guilt was burned away by his anger. Caleb was drunk and crying and ruining everything because he couldn’t pull it together. 

“You could have told me,” he ground out before storming away from Caleb. He would have to fix this himself just like everything else. No wonder he was tired. 

Then only Champe showed up at the dock and Ben could already hear Mary yelling at him. They left and Ben held it together the rest of the way back to camp. He was just happy that neither of the other men seemed eager to talk. Ben could learn to appreciate that about Champe. 

It was dawn before he trudged into his tent, exhausted and determined to sleep for a few minutes before he had to report to Washington the bad news. There only seemed to be bad news these days. 

He shrugged out of his civilian jacket and was about to toss it onto his desk chair when he saw a note that hadn’t been there when he’d left earlier. 

I’m sorry. 

-C

Ben felt emotion bubble up in him but he didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was the guilt he’d ignored earlier, all he knew was that it made tears burn his eyes. He took off his boots and laid down with the note clutched to his chest. 

When he woke two hours later it was to a damp pillow and ink smeared across his palm.

[unicyclehippo]

ollie holy shit!!! i NEED a follow-up to that one. you know the one. beau overhearing jester talking to her mama. please and thank you

by the time she returns to the chateau, beau is pleasantly sore all over and the warmth of exertion has burned away any remnant of a hangover. she swipes a bead of sweat from the tip of her nose as she climbs the front steps of the chateau, only to stagger back when the door is flung open before her.

‘whoa!’ is all she gets out before jester is pulling her inside with a force that nearly pulls beau clean off her feet. she staggers into the bar, hand slipping wet on the wood. ‘warn a girl or somethin’, jes, god! what was that for?’

‘where have you been?’ jester demands.

there’s a note in her tone that catches beau’s attention—worry, just the faintest strain of it but beau looks over to her and then around the hall, searching for any signs of a fight or blood or anything because, fuck, yeah, maybe she shouldn’t have left them alone, not when they have seen for themselves how fucking creepy and batshit fireball happy caleb’s old crew was, and they know about marion, about the chateau and—

‘is everyone okay? what’s wrong? who—is everyone okay?’

jester’s glare sharpens to a point before abruptly ending. ‘everyone’s fine, beau,’ she says, incredibly gently. ‘i just went to my room and you were gone. i couldn’t find you anywhere.’ her eyes skim over beau and she’s imagining the purpled flush that dusts jester’s cheeks, definitely, as she lingers on beau’s arms and exposed abs.

‘like what you see?’ beau teases. she leans back against the bar. slips with a, ‘ah! fuck!’ as her sweat makes posturing hazardous, makes her elbows slip from holding her up and cracking her shoulder against the edge of the bar. ‘ow!’

‘very sexy,’ jester confirms, laughing. ‘do you want me to—‘

‘no, it’s fine.’ beau hauls herself up. twists to try and see how bad it is, though the placement of it makes that impossible. she untwisted—and sucks in a surprised breath to find jester standing no more than ten, fifteen centimetres from her. ‘uh. hi.’

jester smiles, slow and warm and the smile grows until it crinkles the corners of her eyes. ‘good morning, beau. turn around.’

‘uh.’ she thinks about arguing. but jester letting her smile drop and arching a brow in its stead is both surprisingly scary and super hot so beau nods. ‘yup. okay.’ she spins in place. arm brushing against jester as the other girl steps in again, seeming to want to peer closely at beau’s skin for a bruise. ‘are you going to breathe on it or heal it?’ beau asks jokingly, craning her head to see what exactly jester is doing.

‘why?’ jester asks, a warm curl of amusement in the word. she looks up from the bruise, eyes glittering as they meet beau’s over her shoulder. ‘do i make you—‘ the glint in her eyes brightens. ‘uncomfortable?’

beau rolls her eyes. ‘no.’

‘hmm.’

jester’s hand comes up, strokes over the flat plane of beau’s shoulder blade. her skin is very cold against beau—who feels superheated after her run and now that she’s standing in what has been perhaps featured in a few dreams before, trapped between jester and a hard surface—and it makes her shiver.

there’s no way that she could have missed it, or the way beau tenses afterwards. there’s an apology on the tip of her tongue but she loses it on a shaky exhale when jester flattens her whole palm against her shoulder. murmurs a word, and pushes the prickling, itching, warmth of her healing magic into beau.

‘better?’

‘It was a bruise,’ beau says, almost scolds.

jester clicks her tongue. ‘better? where are you manners, beau?’

‘must’ve forgot to pick ‘em up before my run,’ beau laughs, and she rolls out her shoulder to test it. it doesn’t ache at all. it tingles, because jester’s hand is still fully on her and she had somehow forgotten that, pressed her entire shoulder back into her. she covers her mistake with a, ‘thanks, jes. feels good.’

‘uh huh.’

beau frowns back at jester. ‘can i move?’

‘please.’

‘i mean, like, move. like leave? i need to shower.’

‘you’re fine,’ jester tells her, voice certain and strange. ‘you’re, like, super muscly. i can see all of them when you move like that.’ she sounds—beau swallows. breathless? she is an artist, so maybe— ‘that’s hot.’

beau swallows again. cranes her head back to see dark eyes fixed on her back. she presses her shoulders together—it’s an experiment, she’s a scholar, her whole thing is figuring things out, right, and she’s never wanted to know anything more than she wants to know what’s going on in jester’s head right now—and jester’s eyes widen. her fingers slide over the compact, powerful muscles. she doesn’t seem to mind the sweat.

beau rolls her shoulders out, grimaces when she hears the click of everything sorting itself out.

jester makes a small sound, skates her fingers over the sensitive line of beau’s spine and steps away.

‘okay then! i’m going to finish packing up and caleb is going to take us to home real quick and don’t forget to pick up those ribbons mama found for you, i know you thought they were froufrou-y but they’re really very cute and um - you should shower and i will get some pastries okay bye!’

jester is halfway up the stairs before beau finishes turning around. she looks thoughtfully after her friend and follows more sedately, climbing the stairs one at a time instead of her usual two.

passing marion’s chambers, she finds the door ajar and she raps her knuckles upon it, presses it further open when marion calls out.

‘ah, beauregard. good morning. won’t you come in?’

‘nah - i mean, good morning. i’m all sweaty, i don’t wanna mess up your rooms. just came to say, y’know, thanks for having us and—‘ she hesitates.

marion lowers her quill, catches beau’s eyes in the reflection of her mirror. ‘and?’

beau cuts her eyes away. returns after a moment. ‘for taking the time off. to spend with jester. i know you’re busy, but she really appreciated it. she loves you a lot, so. just. thanks.’

‘you needn’t thank me for spending time with my own daughter. of course i’ll make time for her.’

beau wonders how much jester has told her about kamordah, about her own family. a lot, probably, so she only feels slightly queasy when she shakes her head and says, ‘not everyone would. jes is lucky to have you.’

‘thank you, beauregard. that’s very kind of you.’

marion sets her quill aside then and stands in a flurry of rustling skirts. she mustn’t be wearing shoes yet, or at least not anything dramatic, because beau can’t hear the tap of heels, and she smiles. there’s something oddly sweet about the image in her mind, the woman dressed to the nines and barefoot still.

‘at least have some tea. the baths are engaged at the moment,’ she says, a little apologetic.

‘ah. alright. if you don’t mind.’ beau flushes under marion’s amused stare—the only reminder she gives beau that she had invited her in only moments before—and pushes the door more fully open, steps inside. she accepts the fine cup marion gives her but doesn’t sit with her, well aware of how sweaty she still is. ‘thanks. thank you.’

they sit—and stand—in companionable silence for a short time. the sound of morning rises from the kitchen, pots and pans clattering, knives chopping on heavy boards, and from above in the groan of pipes and faint singing. beau’s eyes slide up and to the east, to where jester’s room sits; she recognises the voice, of course, and can’t help but smile.

‘jester was up very early this morning,’ marion tells her. beau nods. ‘she came to me under the guise of not wanting to miss a moment with me.’

‘i dunno that it’s much of a lie. she misses you heaps.’

marion inclines her head. ‘but surely you have noticed that jester can do one thing and intend another.’

‘you mean have i noticed she’s a sneak?’ beau snorts. sips her tea. ‘yeah. i’ve noticed.’

the dry words elicit a laugh from marion; she smiles over her own cup at beau. then says, quite cheerfully, ‘she wanted to talk about you, as it turns out.’

beau pales. grips the handle of her cup tight and the delicate thing snaps, spills hot water over her fingers. ‘i don’t—think you should tell me this.’

‘and why not? you heard at least some of it.’

‘i—no—i didn’t mean to,’ beau says as clearly as she can, which is hard when her chest has closed up tight around her lungs.

marion’s smile curves. her eyes gleam. ‘so it was you.’

beau squeezes her eyes shut tight. ‘you’ve got to be kidding me. oldest trick in the fucking book—yeah,’ she bites out. ‘i heard a bit. i—don’t—i didn’t mean to, i just came to tell jes to pick up after herself—‘

‘i don’t figure you as an eavesdropper,’ marion assures her, waves her hand dismissively. beau grimaces and marion corrects herself. ‘not when it comes to jester, or your friends, in any case.’

that...is a little more accurate. beau nods. her neck feels tight and hot.

‘how much did you hear?’

‘enough.’ marion doesn’t seem to count that as an answer so beau sighs. ‘enough to know i need to...reel it back in.’

‘pardon?’

‘you know. stop making a fool of myself over her. i don’t—i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable.’

‘ah,’ marion says. ‘so you didn’t hear everything.’

‘huh?’

‘never you mind.’ she cocks her head to the side. ‘the bath is free.’

beau sets her now empty and broken cup back down. she walks from the room stiff-backed and up to the baths, not taking in any of the detail of the mosaics or the lush products. she scrubs and washes mechanically and tries not to think, because it hurts when her mind feels split in two between the knowledge that she should never and can never tell jester how she feels, and the strange morning she has had that seems to imply that both lavorre women disagree.

[spn-safeandsound]

15. Meg Complicates Things

Safe and Sound

Dean Winchester x Original Character

Episode: 1x21; Salvation

Word Count: 7,605

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, demons, John Winchester

Author’s Note: Hope you enjoy! Please reblog and like!

Masterlink in Pinned Post!

Julia,

When you were born, I remember taking one look at you and knowing that our family was complete. You weren't an expected child but you weren't an unwelcome one, either. Your mother and I knew that you would be a blessing, just like each of your siblings. And we were right. Our lives would not have been the same without you.

You're special, kiddo.

You were young when your mom got her diagnosis but you still knew that something was wrong. You were scared but you still put a smile on your face for Naomi whenever you saw her. You were strong for her. You've always been so strong and I always thought that you got that from me but I know it's not. You got that from Naomi. All of you kids got her strength. You and your siblings have been there for each other through thick and thin, even when I wasn't there. Never let that go, Julia. You will always need your family.

I'm sorry that I left but I have something important to do. John knows that and he's accepted that I have done all I can to help him with the demon. This important task is big—bigger than just me—so I don't know if I will see you again for a while. It could be months but it could also be years.

I just want you to know that I'm proud of you, Jujube. I always have been and I always will be. I know your mother would be very happy to see the woman you have become. I know I am.

I love you, kiddo.

Lucas Alexander

Julia wiped the tears from her eyes and set the letter down on her lap. Her dad was gone again and she didn't know whether to be sad or angry. The sad part of her was winning, though. Luke was saying goodbye in the letter and even though he had never been good with words, she felt the love he had for her and her family. Even with that love, though, she didn't want to say goodbye. She had just lost Levi, she didn't want to lose her dad, too.

When she had woken up that morning, John was the first person she saw. He had pulled her aside to break the news that Luke had left for an important hunt and apologized before giving her the letter Luke wrote for her. At first, she was in shock but now she was confused.

What could her dad possibly be doing? What was oh-so important task that needed to be done? Why would it take so long?

Julia didn't just feel sad for herself, either. At least she got to see him. Abby and Beth hadn't and that was going to destroy them. Abby was the closest to their father but Beth had always been a daddy's girl, too. Julia only hoped that Luke sent them letters or called them to tell them what was going on. Otherwise, the three of them were pretty much left in the dark.

Julia grabbed her phone from the nightstand and opened it, sending Beth a text message.

Jules: Did Dad send you a letter?

It didn't take long for her oldest sister to reply.

Beth: Yeah. He sent one to Abs, too. Call me when you have the time

Julia sent a confirmation back and sighed in relief, glad that Luke had made contact with her sisters, too.

"So, this is it," John told Sam and Dean as the two of them looked over the various research that he had gathered on the demon that killed Mary and Jess; Julia snapped her phone shut and slid off the bed she was sharing with Sam, heading over to the table where the Winchester boys were huddled. "This is everything I know. Look, our whole lives we've been searching for this demon, right? Not a trace, just nothing...Until about a year ago. For the first time, Luke picked up a trail and called me."

"And that's when you took off," Dean finished, crossing his arms over his chest.

John nodded. "Yeah, that's right," he confirmed. "The demon must have come out of hiding or hibernation."

"What's the trail?" Julia asked, her eyes shifting from the information on the wall to John.

"It starts in Arizona, then New Jersey, California," John explained. "Houses burned down to the ground. It's going after families, just like it went after us."

"Families with infants?" Sam wondered.

"Yeah," John nodded. "The night of the kid's six-month birthday."

Sam stiffened, looking at his father in shock. "I was six months old that night?"

"Exactly six months."

"So, basically, this demon is going after these kids for some reason. The same way it came for me?" when John avoided his eyes, Sam scoffed. "So, Mom's death...Jessica. It's all because of me?"

"We don't know that, Sam," Dean stated.

"Oh, really?" Sam huffed. "Because I'd say we're pretty damn sure."

Dean gave him a frustrated look. "For the last time, what happened to them was not your fault."

"Right," Sam raised his voice. "It's not my fault but it's my problem!"

"No, it's not your problem, it's our problem!"

Julia sighed and walked over so she stood between the brothers, gently grabbing their arms. "That's enough," she said calmly. "Come on, settle down."

And, like magic, Sam and Dean took deep breaths and calmed down. Julia looked at them in surprise as they turned to John to focus back on the demon. Either they weren't really upset or she had forcefully calmed them down and she had no idea how she did it.

"So, why is he doing it?" Sam asked John. "What does he want?"

John's curious gaze went from Julia to Sam. "Look, I wish I had more answers, I do. Luke and I were always one step behind it," he sighed sadly. "We never got there in time to save..."

Everyone shifted uncomfortably as he trailed off, knowing exactly what he wasn't saying.

"All right, so, how do we find it before it hits again?" Dean spoke up, looking to John for answers.

"There's signs," John told him. "It took us a while to see the pattern but it's there in the days before these fires. Signs crop up in the area; cattle deaths, temperature fluctuations, electrical storms..."

"Demonic omens," Julia muttered thoughtfully, wrinkling her nose.

John nodded at her. "And then I went back and checked and..."

"These things happened in Lawrence," Dean realized.

"A week before your mother died," John confirmed before looking at Sam sadly. "And in Palo Alto, before Jessica."

Julia pursed her lips together, her eyes stinging, and grabbed Sam's hand. She squeezed it tightly, knowing that if she was having trouble, he was two times worse. He bowed his head, holding onto her tightly and drawing comfort from her.

"And these signs, they're starting again."

Sam looked up. "Where?"

"Salvation, Iowa."

-

It was a ten-hour drive from Manning, Colorado to Salvation, a little town an hour outside of Des Moines, Iowa. Sam and Dean took turns driving through boring Nebraska, taking their time off to sleep, while Julia switched between taking naps, reading, or talking to whoever was driving so they wouldn't fall asleep.

She was able to talk to Beth and Abby, both of whom were equally upset about the letters that they received from Luke. Julia was even informed that Taylor, Lizzie, and Maggie got their own letters, which somehow made Luke leaving all the more official. Beth was really torn up about her letter and Julia could tell that Abby was, too, but she wasn't one to share her emotional distress. Abigail Petersen was the closest you could get to a female Dean; always staying strong for others in their time of need while hurting on the inside.

After a long drive, they had just entered Salvation's town limits when John pulled his truck over to the side of the road. Dean followed his lead and all three of them got out of the car to see what was going on.

"God damn it!" John angrily slammed his hand against the bed of his truck. "Son of a bitch!"

Dean gave his dad a concerned look. "What is it?"

"I just got a call from Caleb."

"Is he okay?"

"He's fine," John confirmed for Dean. "Jim Murphy's dead."

Julia exhaled sharply at the news. "Pastor Jim?" her voice wavered. "How?"

Pastor Jim had been an uncle-figure to her and her siblings just like John was. He was a faithful man like her family and had trained in the hunting life with her dad, though he was a couple years older. Before he retired and went to preaching full time, the Petersen family used to see him every year around summertime.

He was also important to the Winchesters for the same reason. Sam and Dean had spent more time combined with Pastor Jim and Bobby Singer than their dad growing up. Sam had always told her that he liked staying at Pastor Jim's house because he'd make good spaghetti.

"His throat was slashed. He bled out," John sighed. "Caleb said they found traces of sulfur at Jim's place."

"A demon," Sam stated flatly. "The demon?"

"I don't know," John shook his head. "Could be he just got careless and he slipped up. Maybe the demon knows we're getting close."

"What do you wanna do?"

"Now we act like every second counts," John declared. "There's two hospitals and a health center in this county. We split up and cover more ground. I want records. I want a list of every infant that's going to be six months old in the next week."

"Dad, that could be dozens of kids," Sam pointed out. "How do we know which one is the right one?"

"We check them all, that's how," John said sternly. "You got any better ideas?"

Sam quickly shook his head. "No, sir."

John nodded and silently dismissed them; Julia paused as she turned back to the Impala, sensing his energy. He was angry and upset, a little guilty. Even if the man acted like a cold drill sergeant most of the time, it didn't mean that he didn't have feelings like everyone else.

"Uncle John, are you okay?" she asked tentatively.

Dean and Sam looked back at Julia before their eyes slid over to their father as they waited for him to answer her.

"Yeah," John's tone was exhausted; it was clear that he just wanted this all to be over with. "It's Jim, you know? I can't..." he paused for a second, his determination strengthening. "This ends, now. I'm ending it. I don't care what it takes."

-

They split up just like John said they would. John went to the women and children's hospital while Dean went to Salvation Memorial, and Julia and Sam went to the medical center.

Julia and Sam acted as police officers, asking the receptionist on the pediatric floor for all the records of the babies that would have turned six months old that day. It took a while for them to gather all the information but, in the end, there were only ten records they had to jot down.

It was when they were leaving the medical center that they had trouble. Julia was in the middle of reciting some of the records for Sam when he stopped in his tracks. He winced painfully and held the bridge of his nose, like he usually did when he was having one of his visions.

"Sam, are you all right?" Julia anxiously asked him, stashing the notebook under her arm so she could steady him. "Sam?"

"Yeah...yeah, I'm just..." he paused, grunting as another wave hit him. His energy was twisting just like the last time he had a vision and it worried her. "I'm getting something..."

He winced, unable to speak again while the rest of his vision passed. Julia just made sure that she was staying calm and steadied him, making soothing noises as he continued to see whatever was coming to him.

"A train," he whispered once his vision was finished.

"A train?" Julia stood on her tiptoes to put the back of her hand against his forehead to check for a fever; he felt normal. "Tell me what you saw, S."

"I saw and woman and her baby," Sam breathed, pulling his backpack around his body so he could pull a map of Salvation out of one of the pockets. "I kept hearing a train and the—the demon was there."

"Okay," Julia nodded, pulling the notebook out from underneath her arm. "Give me a location of the train. Maybe something will match."

Sam nodded and pointed at the map, his finger trailing the marked train tracks. "All right, there's a Violet Avenue."

Julia went through the list of names they wrote down, wrinkling her nose in concentration. "There's one on here," she told him. "Rosie Holden, born to Monica and Charlie Holden."

"Let's go."

The Holden household was only two blocks from the medical center. They had to cross through a park that was strangely full of kids for a rainy day but the neighborhood the new parents lived in was nice. If this had been another life, Julia could see herself living on a street like this.

Luckily, just as they crossed onto Violet Avenue, Sam pointed out a woman only a few years older than them, pushing a baby stroller on the sidewalk and holding an umbrella over her head. He whispered to Julia that it was the woman he saw in his vision.

"Hi," Sam greeted the woman when they approached her just as she was attempting to close her umbrella and keep a hold of her baby's stroller. "Here, let me hold that for you. You look like you don't need that anymore."

"Oh," the woman smiled kindly as Sam made sure the stroller kept still. "Thanks."

Julia grinned and looked under the hood of the stroller, taking a peek at the baby. She was the cutest little girl—but most babies were cute, it was just science—with long eyelashes and big brown eyes. "Wow, she's beautiful," she complimented the woman. "Look at those eyelashes. Is she yours?"

"Yeah," the woman nodded proudly.

"Oh, wow, hi," Sam cooed to the baby. "Sorry, we're being rude. I'm Sam and this is Julia. We just moved in up the block."

"Oh, hey, I'm Monica," Monica perked up in realization and introduced herself before looking down at her baby. "This is Rosie."

"Rosie," Sam confirmed while Julia smiled, glad that they found the woman that Sam had a vision of. "Hi, Rosie."

The baby just stared at him, quietly picked at the blanket that covered her.

"So, welcome to the neighborhood."

"Thank you," Julia silently awed as Rosie blinked up at her and Sam. "She such a good baby."

"I know," Monica nodded. "I mean, she never cries. She just stares at everybody. Sometimes she looks at you and I swear, it's—it's like she's reading your mind."

That made Julia pause but her smile didn't falter. If the demon was coming for Rosie and Monica tonight, just like it did for Sam and Mary, did that mean Rosie was like Sam? Did she have mental abilities like him already? Or was that why the demon was coming in the first place?

"What about you, Monica?" Sam wondered politely. "Have you lived here long?"

"My husband and I, we bought our place just before Rosie was born," Monica informed them, pointing to the house they had all stopped in front of.

"And how old is Rosie?"

They already knew how old the baby was from her records but they needed to make sure that they were the family the demon was coming after.

"She's six months today," Monica looked down at the stroller fondly. "She's big, right? Growing like a weed."

"Yeah," Sam laughed sadly, looking down at Rosie; Julia grabbed his free hand, squeezing it tightly. "Monica..."

"Yeah?"

"Just, uh, just take care of yourself, okay?"

"Yeah, you too," Monica smiled gratefully. "We'll see you both around."

Julia nodded and waved as she started walking again, up her driveway where an SUV had just pulled in. A man Monica's age got out of the vehicle and greeted his girls with fond kisses that brought a sad smile to Julia's face. They had to make sure the demon didn't ruin this family. They just had to.

-

"A vision," John's voice was flat as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

After speaking with Monica, Rosie's mother, Julia called Dean while Sam freaked out. He and John were already done with their recon missions and had rented a motel room for their use. She had explained to the oldest Winchester brother what had happened to Sam. Sam had then pried the phone from her hand to tell Dean that they needed to tell John what exactly was going on.

Telling John about Sam's visions didn't exactly go well.

"Yes," Sam answered, pressing his fingers against his pounding head. "I saw the demon burning a woman on the ceiling."

"And you think this is going to happen to this woman you met because...?"

"Because these things happen exactly the way I see them."

"It started out as nightmares," Dean stepped in, moving from his spot on the bed next to John and making his way over to the table where Julia and Sam were seated. "Then it started happening while he was awake."

"Yeah," Sam breathed, agreeing with his brother. "It's like—I dunno—it's like the closer I get to anything to do with the demon, the stronger the visions get."

John bristled and set his annoyed gaze on his sons. "All right, when were you going to tell me about this?"

"We didn't know what it meant," Dean offered tensely.

"Something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone and you call me," John glared at him.

Julia shook her head in disapproval; there had been zero times that John had picked up the phone, despite each of them calling many, many times over the last nine months. He had practically abandoned his sons and now he was getting onto Dean for not getting a hold of him? It was his fault that Dean—or Sam, for that matter—didn't inform him about what was going on.

Dean scoffed. "Call you? Are you kidding me?" he asked in disbelief. "Dad, I called you from Lawrence, all right? I called you when Julia was dying. I mean, getting you on the phone? I got a better chance of winning the fucking lottery."

Julia was surprised by Dean's words but proud, nevertheless. Dean had always followed orders and never argued with his dad; he had always taken John's crap without protest. It was nice to see him breaking out of his daddy's-little-soldier persona and coming into his own person.

Not to mention that she had a thing for angry Dean. He was gorgeous, what could she say?

John was silent for a few seconds before he answered. "You're right," he admitted; Dean relaxed, having tensed when he realized what he had told his father. "Although I'm not too crazy about this new tone of yours—"

Of course, Julia mentally scoffed.

"—you're right. I'm sorry."

"Look guys, visions or no visions, the fact is that we know the demon is coming tonight," Sam spoke up. "And this family's gonna go through the same hell we went through."

"No, they're not," John declared firmly. "No one is, ever again."

Sam's phone rang at that moment; he flipped it open and looked at the caller ID—which declared it was an unknown number—and answered the call, putting it on speakerphone.

"Hello?"

"Sam?" a woman spoke.

"Who is this?"

"Think real hard, it will come to you."

Sam's face hardened. "Meg."

Julia stiffened at the mention of the woman who had killed her brother. She had heard from Dean that she fell out of the building when Sam trashed the altar she was using to control the Daeva. If she was still alive—because Julia doubted that she'd just survive a seven-story drop like that—it meant that Meg was probably possessing the poor girl's dead body.

Dean took the place behind Julia, putting his large hands on her shoulders comfortingly. Absentmindedly, forgetting that John nor Sam knew about them, she reached up and held the hand on her left shoulder.

"Last time I saw you, you fell out of a window," Sam said, his voice low and tense.

"Yeah, no thanks to you," Meg said sourly. "That really hurt my feelings, by the way."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Just your feelings? That was a seven-story drop."

"Let me speak to your dad."

Sam nervously looked over at John, who was slowly making his way over to the table where the rest of them were gathered. "My dad?" he faked confusion. "I don't know where my dad is."

Meg clicked her tongue. "It's time for the grown-ups to talk, Sam. Let me speak to him now."

John held out his hand to Sam and the youngest Winchester reluctantly handed the phone over.

"This is John."

"Howdy, John," Meg chirped. "I'm Meg. I'm a friend of your boys. I'm also the one who watched Jim Murphy choke on his own blood."

Julia inhaled sharply, squeezing Dean's hand at the mention of Pastor Jim. Dean returned the gesture and rubbed her palm with his thumb.

"Still there, John-boy?"

"I'm here," John confirmed shakily.

"Well, that was yesterday," Meg boasted. "Today, I'm in Lincoln, Ohio, visiting another old friend of yours. He wants to say hi."

A man spoke now, his voice shaky and frantic. "John, whatever you do, don't give—"

Meg shushed him, cutting him off.

"Caleb?" John stiffened; Julia and Sam exchanged concerned looks while Dean tightened his grip on her. "You listen to me. He's got nothing to do with anything. You let him go."

"We know you have the Colt, John."

John paused for a second. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, okay," Meg scoffed. "Well, listen to this—"

They could all hear the quick slash of a knife and then there was choked gasping. They assumed the worst; Meg had just slashed Caleb's throat and there was nothing they could do to save him.

"Caleb?" John called, paling considerably, his eyes sparkling with tears.

"You hear that?" Meg taunted him. "That's the sound of your friend dying...Now, let's try this again. We know you have the gun, John. Word travels fast. So, as far as we're concerned, you just declared war—and this is what war looks like. It has causalities."

John angrily clenched his jaw. "I'm gonna kill you, you know that?"

"Oh, John, please. Mind your blood pressure," Meg scolded him mockingly. "So, this is the thing. We're going to keep doing what we're doing. And your friends, anyone who has ever helped you, gave you shelter, anyone you've ever loved? They'll all die unless you give us that gun. Next on the list is Luke Alexander, so I'd think hard."

Julia gasped softly at the mention of her father. She had no idea where he was and now demons were going to be on his ass unless John gave them the Colt. While Dean clenched her hand tightly, John gave her an assuring look. She relaxed as much as she could; John wouldn't let her dad get killed.

"I'm waiting, Johnny. You better answer before the buzzer."

"Okay," John agreed quietly.

"Sorry? I didn't quite get that."

"I said okay," his voice hardened, a murderous glint in his brown eyes. "I'll bring you the Colt."

"There's a warehouse in Lincoln on the corner of Wabash and Lake," Meg informed him. "You're gonna meet me there."

"It's gonna take me about a day's drive to get there."

"Meet me there at midnight tonight."

"That's impossible," John scoffed. "I can't get there in time and I can't just carry a gun on a plane."

"Oh," Meg clicked her tongue. "Well, I guess your friends die, don't they? If you do decide to make it, come alone."

She ended the call, then. John flipped the phone shut and tossed it back to Sam. Julia sighed and let of Dean's hand, though he still hovered behind her worriedly.

"I'm just gonna say it," she spoke up, her eyes nervously flickering over John. "I think Meg's a demon."

"Really?" Sam gave her a surprised look.

John agreed with her. "Either that or she's possessed by one—"

Julia mentally disagreed. Every demon had to possess a body. Otherwise they wouldn't be anything other than a cloud of black smoke. She certainly wasn't going to correct John, though; she was way smarter than that.

"—it doesn't really matter."

"So, what do we do?" Dean wondered.

A determined expression fell over John's face. "I'm going to Lincoln."

"What?" Sam, Dean, and Julia spoke in unison.

"It doesn't look like we have a choice," John stated firmly. "If I don't go, a lot of people die. Luke will die and so many of our other friends."

"Dad, the demon is coming tonight. For Monica and her family," Sam reminded him, a conflicted look on his face. "That gun is all we have. You can't just hand it over."

"Who said anything about handing it over?" Dean, Julia, and Sam gave John confused looks. "Look, besides us, Luke, and a couple of vampires, no one's really seen the gun. No one knows what it looks like."

"So what, you're just going to pick up a ringer at a pawn shop?" Dean raised his eyebrows.

"An antique store," John corrected him.

"You're going to hand Meg a fake gun and hope she doesn't notice?"

"Look," John sighed. "as long as it's close, she shouldn't be able to tell the difference."

"But for how long?" Julia spoke up. "What happens when she does figure it out?"

"I just—" John paused before continuing. "I just need to buy a few hours, that's all."

Sam gave him a knowing look. "You mean for us," he stated. "You want us to stay here and kill this demon by ourselves?"

"No, Sam, I want to stop losing the people we love," John declared. "I want you to go to school. I want Dean to have a home. I want...I want Mary alive. It's just—I just want this to be over."

-

Julia tightened her grip on her rosary, blessing the jug of water for John. He had confessed that Luke was usually the one that made holy water, so she had volunteered to bless the water for his trip to Lincoln. She had also written the blessing down for him, so he could make more for himself if he needed it.

Sam and John stood in front of the mechanical weapon stash, making sure everything was prepped and waiting to go. They were talking about something but it was too quiet and she was too concentrated to eavesdrop on their conversation. The three of them were waiting for Dean to come back from an antique store from the next town over with a gun that resembled the Colt.

She finished blessing the water, finishing her prayer, and brought the jug back over to John. He gave her a thankful smile and wordlessly put it in the stash after filling up his flask.

"Sam, do you mind if I speak to Julia alone?"

Shit, Julia panicked to herself, did I do something wrong?

Sam simply nodded; John led Julia around a hundred feet away from his youngest son so he couldn't overhear what they were going to talk about.

"Did I do something wrong?" she blurted out nervously.

John had always made her nervous. She didn't know why, though; he had never been rude to her or did anything to hurt her. In fact, he was nicer to her than he was his sons, but she chalked that up to the fact that she wasn't a Winchester and he didn't have to father her like he did Sam and Dean.

"No, of course not," John shook his head. "I just wanted to tell you that you can back out of this, if you want to. This isn't your fight."

Julia's mind raced. She wasn't going to walk away from Sam and Dean; they were her best friend and lover, respectively, and she loved them to death. They had been part of her family since before she was even born. You can't walk away from family and she wanted to help the Winchester finish what that demon started twenty-two years before when it killed Mary.

And, this was a little selfish, but she wanted Meg to die, too. She could hardly stomach the fact that Meg was still around but Levi wasn't. Abby and Beth weren't there so they couldn't do anything about it, but Julia was. She owed it to herself, her family, and—most importantly—Levi to make sure that Meg was sent straight back to Hell.

"I'm not walking away," she told John firmly. "You guys are my family, too, and Meg killed my brother. This isn't something that I can just ignore while leaving you guys in danger. If I can help, then I will. I'm not leaving."

John sighed and clapped a hand on her shoulder. "You're a good person, Julia," he smiled softly; Julia turned away, embarrassed. "And you're good for my boys. Especially Dean..."

Julia quickly looked back at him, shocked. "How do you—how do you...?"

"How do I know that you and Dean are together?" John supplied when she trailed off. "It's hard to miss it. You two are like magnets or something. Either way, it's good. You guys have always been close. Do you love him?"

"I don't—I don't know," Julia stammered, flushing. "I'm certainly heading that way, though."

"Be patient with him," he advised.

"I will," she promised him and then joked, "This is one of the things I can be patient about."

John shook his head with a small grin. "Just make sure to look after my boys, all right?"

"Of course."

"Let's get back over to Sam. I'm sure Dean will be back any minute now."

John was right; only a minute after they rejoined Sam, Dean showed up. He parked the Impala only a few feet away from the truck and got out, carrying a wrinkled paper bag that was conformed into an outline of a gun.

"Did you get it?" John asked him.

Dean gave him the bag without a word; John pulled the gun out. It was nearly identical to the Colt but it was easy to tell the difference since they knew what the actual Colt looked like.

"You know this is a trap, don't you?" Dean told him. "That's why Meg wants you to come alone."

"I can handle her," John assured him. "I got a whole arsenal loaded; holy water, Mandaic, amulets—"

"Dad."

"What?"

"Promise me something."

"What's that?" John blinked at him.

"If this thing goes South, just...get the hell out," Dean shoved his hands into his jacket, voice shaking slightly. "Don't get yourself killed, all right? You're no good to us dead."

Julia grabbed Sam's hand and they both squeezed each other tightly. If things went wrong, and Meg found out that the gun wasn't the Colt, this might be the last time they see John. It was nerve-wracking and John wasn't even her dad; she couldn't imagine how Sam and Dean felt.

"Same goes for you," John turned so he could see Sam, Dean, and Julia all at once and pulled the Colt from his jacket. "All right, listen to me. They made the bullets special for this Colt. There's only four of them left. Without them, this gun is useless. You make every shot count."

"Yes, sir," Julia and Sam spoke in unison while Dean nodded.

"I've been waiting a long time for this fight," John sighed. "Now it's here and I'm not gonna be in it. It's up to you three now. It's your fight, you finish this. You finish what I started. Understand?"

Sam, Dean, and Julia all nodded at once; John handed the Colt over to Dean, who took it without a word.

"We'll see you soon, Dad," Sam promised his father, trying to stay optimistic.

"Be careful," Julia added, glancing at Dean worriedly. He hadn't spoken much since he got back and she could tell that he was having a hard time with what was going on. He had already lost his mother to this demon and now he may lose his father, too.

John nodded at them. "I'll see you later."

He clapped Sam on the shoulder and gave Dean a serious but fond look before closing the back of his truck and getting in. The truck rumbled as he drove away, mud squelching each time the tires rotated.

Julia sighed sadly and reaching over with her free hand, taking Dean's. She held onto her boys as the truck disappeared down the road, leaving them to finish the fight by themselves.

-

It was past nine o'clock and they were still watching Monica Holden's house, waiting for the demon to show up. Throughout the three hours they had been parked on the other side of the street, they tossed around ideas that could work in getting the young family out of their house. So far, they had come up with nothing.

Halfway through their stakeout, Julia was antsy and—admittedly—a little bored. Ignoring Dean's protests, she had climbed into the front seat and settled herself in the middle of Sam and Dean. It wasn't anymore exciting in the front but this way, she was able to carry on conversation better than when she had to lean forward to get a hint of what the brothers spoke about.

"Maybe we could tell them that there's a gas leak," Sam suggested after a silent five minutes. "It might get them out of the house for a few hours."

Dean scoffed and looked over Julia's head at him. "Yeah and how many times has that actually worked for us?"

"And we already spoke to Monica outside of her house," Julia added. "It'll be suspicious if we randomly show up at night to tell her to get out of her house."

"Yeah, you're right," he gave in and paused for a few seconds. "We could always tell them the truth."

Julia turned to Sam this time, an eyebrow raised; it amused Sam to see Dean pulling the same face at him.

"Nah," the three of them chorused.

"I know, I know," Sam sighed. "I just—with what's coming for these folks..."

"Sam, we only got one move and you know it, all right?" Dean stated. "We gotta wait for that demon to show itself and then we get to it before it gets them."

Sam nodded in agreement and looked back at the Holden's house.

"I wonder how Dad's doing."

"I'd feel a lot better if we were there backing him up," Dean muttered.

"I'd feel a lot better if he was here, backing us up."

The three of them continued watching the house for another half-hour when Sam spoke up again. "This is weird."

Julia gave him a curious look. "What?"

"After all these years, we're finally here," Sam told her and Dean. "It doesn't seem real."

"We just gotta keep our heads and do our job like always," Dean advised his little brother.

"Yeah, but this isn't like always."

Dean cocked his head and agreed. "True."

"...Dean, Julia," Sam said hesitantly. "Uh, I just wanna thank you guys."

Julia's eyes darted back to her best friend. "For what?"

"For everything. You've always had my back, you know? Even when I couldn't count on anyone, I could always count on you guys. And, uh, I don't know...I just wanted to let you know. Just in case."

Julia's eyes stung and she bowed her head. She was grateful for what Sam said but they weren't needed. She didn't love Sam because it felt like she owed him or that she had to be by his side all these years. She loved Sam because he was her brother and best friend rolled into one. She looked after him for the same reason as Dean—even though she was two-and-a-half years younger than him.

And she didn't like the way he was talking. It was like he didn't expect to make it out of the fight and was already saying his goodbyes.

"Woah, woah, woah," Dean objected, looking at his brother in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?"

"What?"

"Don't say just in case something happens to you," Dean shook his head firmly, irritated. "I don't wanna hear that fucking speech, man. Nobody's dying tonight. Not us, not that family, nobody. Except that demon—that evil son of a bitch ain't getting any older than tonight, you understand me?"

Sam reluctantly nodded; satisfied, Dean turned to Julia.

"Julia?"

"I know, Dean," she whispered, wiping her wet eyes.

An hour later, Dean started calling John. He called three times, each time getting John's voicemail.

Frustrated, Dean harshly closed his phone. "Dad's not answering."

"Meg might be late," Julia offered, trying to stay positive. "Maybe he doesn't have cell reception."

"Yeah, well—"

Out of nowhere, cutting Dean off, the radio started making noise. It was staticky, like they weren't tuned into the nearest radio tower. Julia reached in front of her, turning the knob so the volume was higher.

Around them, the wind started blowing harder, jostling some of the thinner trees. The lights in the Holden's house flickered on and off. The staticky radio, the wind, the flickering lights...they were all omens.

"It's coming," Sam breathed in realization.

The scrambled out of the Impala at once, drawing their guns—and in Sam's case, the Colt—and entering the house after Julia picked the lock. It was quiet on the first level but suddenly, there was chaos.

A man—Julia assumed it was Charlie Holden—popped up out of nowhere and swung a bat at Dean. Dean quickly ducked, missing the blow, but a lamp was trashed in the process.

"Get out of my house!" Charlie roared at them; Dean quickly grabbed the man and pressed him against the wall, hardly effected by his struggles.

"Please, Mr. Holden, please," Julia pleaded. "Please be quiet."

Charlie continued to struggle but Dean locked him up. "Be quiet and listen to me. Be quiet and listen," Dean said sharply. "We're trying to help you."

"Charlie, is everything okay down there?" they heard Monica call from upstairs.

"Monica, get the baby!".

"No, don't go into the nursery!" Sam shouted at the same time as Charlie called, "You stay away from her!"

He was struggling against Dean's grip again but the oldest Winchester had no more patience. He backhanded Charlie so hard that he fell unconscious, slumping to the ground. Dean quickly picked him up, heaving him over his shoulder.

"You guys go," he told Julia and Sam. "Get Monica and Rosie."

Julia and Sam took off, up the stairs. It was easy to find Rosie's nursery, considering that Monica was crying and screaming desperately for help. When they entered the room, she was pinned against the top half of the wall by the door and there was a dark figure with yellow eyes standing next to Rosie's crib.

"ROSIE!"

Sam quickly held up the Colt and aimed it at the demon. He pulled the trigger but it disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. Monica fell to the floor now that the demon was gone.

"Where the hell did it go?" Sam asked frantically.

Monica didn't care; all she could focus on was Rosie.

"My baby!" she exclaimed, lunging forward; Sam quickly caught her, helping her stand up. "My baby!"

"Get her out of here," Julia told Sam, hurrying over to Rosie's crib. "I got her."

"Rosie!"

Sam tried to pull Monica out of the room but she was fighting him. "My baby!"

"Julia's got her."

Julia quickly picked up Rosie, including her warm blanket, and flinched away as the crib shot up in flames. Making sure that she held Rosie properly, she raced out of the nursery and down the stairs, following Sam and Monica out of the house.

"You get away from my family!" Charlie shouted at Julia and Sam as he was held back by Dean.

"No, Charlie, don't. They saved us," Monica cried, turning to take Rosie out of Julia's arms; she wordlessly passed the baby, giving Monica a sad smile. "They saved us."

Dean let go of Charlie and he immediately went to Monica and Rosie, wrapping his arms around them.

"Thank you," Monica looked at Julia, Sam, and Dean gratefully.

Julia nodded and smiled softly. She was so glad that the Holdens were safe from whatever the demon had wanted to do to them. It was nice to see the love that the three of them shared. She envied that.

"It's still in there!" Sam shouted, his gaze locked on the nursery window where the same figure they had seen earlier was standing.

Dean immediately grabbed Sam before he could run back into the house; Julia joined him in holding the youngest Winchester, who was fighting hysterically.

"Sam, Sam, no," Dean grunted.

"Let me go! It's still in there!"

"No!" Dean raised his voice. "It's burning to the ground. It's suicide."

"I don't care!"

"Well, we do," Julia helped Dean continue to pull Sam away from the house.

The three of them looked back at the nursery window; the demon was gone.

-

Dean paced back and forth in their motel room, his phone up to his ear as he tried calling John again. He had already tried four times and his dad had yet to answer. "Come on, Dad. Answer your phone, dammit," there was still no answer; Dean shut his phone and tossed it on his bed before turning to Sam and Julia, who were sitting side-by-side. "Something's wrong."

Julia nodded in agreement while Sam stared blankly at the wall behind the television.

"You hear me?" Dean asked his brother, frustrated. "Something's happened."

Sam didn't react the way that Dean wanted him to. "If you guys had just let me go in there, I could have ended all of this."

Julia sighed in frustration, tired of his pity party. She and Dean saved his life; he was willing to kill himself because of his rage but he didn't even care. "Sam, you would have died," she said firmly. "All you would have ended was your life."

"You don't know that," Sam protested feebly.

Dean walked over to their bed, standing in front of Sam with his arms crossed over his chest. "So, what, you're just willing to sacrifice yourself, is that it?"

Sam abruptly stood up, towering over Dean. Julie got to her feet, too, ready to intervene if things got more heated between the bothers.

"Yeah, you're damn right I am."

"Well, that's not going to happen," Dean raised his voice. "Not as long as me and Julia are around."

"What the fuck are you talking about, Dean?" Sam matched his volume. "We've been searching for this demon our whole lives. It's the only thing we've ever cared about."

"Sam, I wanna waste it. I do, okay?" Dean tried to placate him. "But it's not worth dying over."

Sam reared back like he had been struck. "What?"

"I mean it," Dean insisted while Julia nervously shifted from foot to foot. "If hunting this demon means getting yourself killed then I hope we never find the damn thing."

"That thing killed Jess," Sam reminded him lowly. "That thing killed Mom."

"You said it yourself once," Dean stated. "That no matter what we do, they're gone and they're never coming back."

Sam clenched his jaw and grabbed Dean's shoulders, roughly pushing him against the wall. "Don't you say that, not you!" his eyes glistened with tears. "Not after all this. Don't you say that."

"Sam!" Julia rushed toward the brothers, tightly grabbing Sam's arm to pull him away from Dean. "Get off of him!"

Surprisingly—because Sam was much stronger than her—she managed to pull Sam away from Dean. It must have been because he was more sad than angry and he truly didn't want to hurt his brother.

Once Sam released him, Dean said softly, "Sam, look," he gave Sam a pleading look. "The four of us, that's all we have. It's all I have. Sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together, man. Without you and Jules or Dad..."

He trailed off, not wanting to finish his sentence. Sam exhaled shakily and walked back to the bed he shared with Julia while Julia gave Dean a small smile and reached for his hand.

"Dad," Sam said quietly, tears still in his eyes. "He should have called by now."

"You should try him again," Julia suggested.

Dean nodded and grabbed his cellphone, calling his dad once again. Dean looked surprised when John took his call, but it wasn't the eldest Winchester who was answering.

"You three really screwed up this time," Julia, Sam, and Dean heard Meg's angry voice.

While Julia and Sam stiffened, Dean angrily clenched his jaw. "Where is he?"

When Meg spoke again, they could practically hear her devious smirk. "You're never going to see your father again."

(Gif is not mine)

[theoriginalladya]

WIP Whenever - because I can

So I came across this WIP that I must’ve written a couple nights ago when I started to think about Caleb in ME2 era timeline.  If there is one person with whom his relationship actually improves during this time, despite his ties to Cerberus, it’s with Abby Williams.  

Placing under cut for length, language and feels.  Very rough draft, but loving how their conversation flows ...

A soft, persistent beep pulls Abigail from deep, desperately needed sleep.  “Fuck off, Lynn, or ‘m telling Mom!” she mumbles.  Or, thinks she does.  Her lips get tangled around most of the consonants and flat out trip over Mom.  

The beeping continues.  Annoying.  Aching. “Sar!”  Her youngest sibling’s name escapes as a grunt, exacerbated as she rolls over on top of her omni-tool.  Though it mutes the alarm, the vibration factor is more effective in the long run.

With a groan, she pulls her arm free and blindly jabs her thumb at the button.  It takes three stabs before it connects.  “This’d better be good …,” she threatens.

“Abs,” a familiar lilting Irish voice calls softly, patiently, knowingly.  “I need you to wake up for me.”

Another groan escapes followed by a hiss aimed through the omni-tool.  “Shepard, what the ever living fuck?”  Opening her eyes to mere slits, she fights to focus on the chronometer.  “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

His soft chuckle blankets her.  “Aye, darlin’, I do.  But I need you.  Only for a moment, I promise.  Can you help me out?”

The grumble starts deep in her throat, more of a growl really, but she throws the covers back.  Rising slowly, she sets her bare feet on the floor and shivers, cold racing through her body.  “What?” There is nothing amenable in the word.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs.  “Need you to check your encrypted messages.”

Shit.  That means her terminal on the other side of the flat. Running a hand through her short hair, she reaches for her robe and stumbles out of her bedroom.  The hall leads past the kitchen …  She pauses, turns.  Through the kitchen if she adds ten steps, and it’s beginning to sound like coffee might be a necessity, though she can’t explain why.  “I hate you,” she grumbles.

He laughs.  “Love you too, darlin’.”  

The coffee maker starts with a press of a button then she heads out the other doorway.  A few seconds later, she drops heavily into her desk chair.  The terminal wakes a moment later, a hell of a lot perkier than she is at the moment.  Sure enough, flashing at the top of her encrypted messages is one from him. “Yeah, okay,” she mutters.  “Got it.”

“Good.  I need to you hand deliver that for me.”

She frowns.  “Hand deliver?”  She squints as the message opens, and identifies the recipient …  Sleep fades faster than the dawn arrives.  “What the hell is going on, Caleb?” she asks, her voice barely audible.

“Long story, but I need it taken care of.  Can you do that for me, Abs?”

She rubs her eyes and nods forgetting for a moment that their connection isn’t visual.  Isn’t visual …  Frowning at her wrist, she demands, “Where are you?”

“Nowhere you need to worry about.”

“Caleb –!”

“Abs, can’t talk about it right now.  You’ll hear soon enough.”

She thinks back to that night on the Citadel when they got drunk together.  At the time, it appeared to be a random encounter, but now?  Now she can’t help but wonder.  He told her about coming back to life, about how Cerberus had him in a collared, but the mission is ultimately worth it.  The mission …  Her eyes close.  A soft gasp fills the air.  “Wouldn’t be heading to … Omega, would you?”

“Abs …”

“Fine, fine.”  She runs a hand over her face again and hits print.  “I can catch a shuttle to Arcturus in the morning.”  Before she finishes, a second message pops up, again from him.  This she opens as well.  Her eyes glue to the recipient.  She hesitates to say anything, but she knows he’s waiting.  “This one in person too?”

“If you’d be so kind.”

Fuck!  Fuck fuck fuckity fuck!  She’s no genius, but it doesn’t take one to figure out what he’s up to.  The hand returns to her face, covers her mouth and eyes.  It’s a struggle to find her voice.  “Dammit,” she chokes eventually, “you - you’re saying goodbye, aren’t you?”

The channel is completely silent.

Her jaw hurts from gritting her teeth.  “Caleb, don’t leave me hanging this time!  Please!”

His sigh is soft, reluctant as it echoes on her end of the connection.  “Aye.”

A small, unexpected whimper is pulled from her throat.  “When?”

“Can’t say.”

She pounds her fist onto the desk hard enough for the terminal and keyboard to clatter.  “Dammit, Shepard!”

“Let’s just say you’ll know how well I fare within a couple days.”

Her belly rises into her throat faster than it did during her first free-fall training jump.  “Sealgaire …”

The smile creeps back into his voice, but just for a moment.  “I wondered if you paid attention that night.  Abs, darlin’, you are the best friend a person could ask for.”  He goes silent, then, “I’ll be back; I promise. I’ve got some unfinished business to attend.”

She sniffles softly and wipes at a lone tear that trails down the side of her nose.  “I’m going to hold you to that,” she mutters.  “You’re buying the first round of drinks.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“And the second!”

When he laughs, she hears the strain.  “That too.  A Stór, saol fada agus breac-shláinte chugat.”**

The sniffling gets louder.  “Oh, rubbish!” she hisses and ignores his fond chuckle. “Don’t you make me have to come after you!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’,” he promises. “I should go.  And Abs, … go raibh maith agat.”**

Her heart breaks, but she manages a smile and replies the way he taught her, “Go ndéana sé maith duit.”

~~~~

** A Stór = “My treasure” (used to express affectionate friendship)

** Saol fada agus breac-shláinte chugat. = Long life and fair health to you.

** go raibh maith agat = Thank you

** Go ndéana sé maith duit = “May it do you good.” (you’re welcome)

[tallboyben]

for the ask game ; 14, 122, 199, 257, 560, 639

14 - the first character you liked on the show?

ben (are we surprised?). the opening sequence of the pilot episode was great — ben escaping the queen’s rangers. i was like oh shoot he’s cool and then i was like oh shoot he’s cute 😳😳 (okay but actually. he seemed very competent and easy to root for since the beginning!)

122 - if you could prevent one character’s death, who would it be?

as much as i love ensign baker and john andre i think i’d like to save sackett. none of them deserved to die but sackett’s death really hit hard because he never seemed particularly in danger. the relationship he had with ben and caleb was adorable. also, with sackett on their side, i feel that the culper ring would make better decisions lmao

199 - who’s the real mvp in the culper ring?

i’m tempted to say mary just because she almost killed simcoe (even tho she’s not technically part of the ring). but honestly? abe. as much as the fandom likes to bag on him for stupid decisions, he sacrificed a lot for the ring. despite numerous setbacks, he stayed with the cause. he probably faced the most danger out of any of them. abe was essential to the ring (in this house we appreciate abe woodhull).

257 - which scene makes you the most happy?

this is hard. all the happy scenes are kind of tinged with a certain amount of sadness that comes along with watching characters who’ve endured so much finally have joy. but...

scenes that come to mind: when ben surprises anna and they joke around and you can tell they’re childhood friends; the very short (like five second) scene between thomas and ben (i’m still sobbing over that scene bye); when caleb rescued abe in the turtle (ICONIC I LOVE HIM); and the dinner in the last episode when they’re talking about everyone getting married.

can’t choose lmao. gonna go cry because all the happy scenes also make me incredibly sad :,)

560 - which character are you most like?

probably mary or john andre.

mary because i’m more reserved, less impulsive, and honestly a rule follower. also responsible. but mary is far from spineless; she’s loyal to her family and genuinely wants the best for them.

john andre: maybe i’m just flattering myself lmao but i can relate to his deep introspection and his quiet contemplation. he has an intellectual persona but seems like he feels quite a bit. also, he’s an infj (according to some sources, but i definitely see it) and so am i.

639 - thoughts on the sarah livingston plot arc?

hearts and minds was not a bad episode. it introduced sarah well enough. but the way in which she was shoehorned into a later episode and then abruptly killed off was awful.

characters SHOULD further other characters’ development. but sarah existed solely to supplement ben’s character arc. she didn’t have her own development. she didn’t exist apart from ben. that’s what’s wrong with the sarah livingston arc (imo) — not her character, not that she furthered ben’s development, but that she existed ONLY for ben’s character development.

at the very least, we could have gotten a few short scenes to wrap up her character instead of abruptly ending it with her death. (her death was also more of ben-loses-someone-else-and-is-sad than a conclusion to an actual character with agency.)

thanks for sending the asks! i had a lot of fun answering and it got me thinking :)

[jonthethinker]

Expositor Beauregard And The Mighty Nein

Others have said it before, but because I think it should be screamed from the mountaintops everyday, Beau’s growth is so fucking good!

I think back to the runaway monk we met at the beginning of this campaign, all sharp edges and curt words and no roots, committed to convincing the world she doesn’t care about anything and she’s fine on her own (but the loneliness already showing as she asks Jester and Fjord whether they’re going to leave town without her.)

Then we have Beau now, who has deep friendships with every member of the Mighty Nein sans possibly Caduceus and Yasha (who still fall under the domain of her protective instinct, and who she still very much considers her people.) It could be argued that Beau is the sturdy foundation of the Nein, offering each other member of the Nein some sturdy ground to stand on to grow themselves:

Travis has mentioned Beau’s commitment as first mate as a comfort for Fjord, and when he was deliberating whether to reveal his accent to the group, He never doubted that Beau would continue to support him if he told the group the truth. Their easy relationship is among my favorites on the show, and when the action starts they’re never out of sync.It is safe to assume that to the half-orc orphan who very much attended the school of hard knocks and has every reason to distrust others, having a friendship in which the only thing that is asked is a willingness to call Beau on her bullshit and an openness to Beau calling him on his, is an immeasurably important feature in Fjord’s current life and one he wouldn’t trade away for anything.

Beau is undoubtedly fiercely protective and supportive of Jester, and made it clear to her that she will support Jester being more honest about negative feelings she has, while also standing up to Jester when she thought she was making a reckless decision in how to confront her father if it meant keeping Jester safe and the door open for a healthy relationship with said parent. Jester has in Beau someone who will continually encourage and support her through thick and thin, and have a good time along the way. I want to say a hell of a lot more about their friendship and the parallels of their lives, because their friendship is the most precious thing to me in all of critical role, but that’s not what this meta is about, so I’ll save it for another time.

Her sisterly relationship with Nott is something that is easy to forget about, but I imagine it means more to Nott than is let on; Nott was a bit of an outsider even as a halfling. Since the Iron Shepards (And arguably before, in Hupperdook,) Nott has had an easy relationship in Beau, with Beau being about as judgement free as Nott has ever experienced. The two are playful with each other in a way I imagine Nott wishes she could have been with her brothers, and Beau’s willingness to forgive Nott for any harmful decision she has made (a certain bullet in the ass comes to mind) can’t be underscored in its importance towards the goal of keeping Nott’s beaten-up heart healthy.

While I disagree with some in the fandom who think that Beau’s friendship with Caleb is the single most important relationship in his life right now (which to me has been unquestionably, from the beginning, Nott, and is nowhere near changing to anyone else in my humble opinion,) to say their friendship has not been a critical step in his growth as a character is absurd. Caleb perhaps had not planned on one of the keys to his success in his wizardly pursuits as well as the reclamation of his humanity being a rough-and-tumble friendship with a blunt, somewhat aggressive monk with a knack for getting him to admit to things he never wanted to admit to, but life doesn’t often go according to plan. Despite a rocky beginning, their friendship has evolved into something beautiful, with Beau always there to keep Caleb grounded, whether he risks letting his thirst for knowledge drag him into trouble, or his past begins to eat him alive. And it’s certainly nice to have someone around who can help him find that book he’s looking for.

Beau’s relationship with Yasha has been interesting from the get-go, what with Beau immediately seizing on the opportunity to flirt with the giant, introverted barbarian. While shipping discourse tends to dominate the discussion of their interactions, we shouldn’t ignore the chance to take a crack at what these moments mean to the characters as individuals.

With hindsight and insights Marisha has given on Talks, I’ve gathered that to Beau these moments were driven by this weird relationship in Beau’s mind between sex and power. She uses these casual, almost doomed to fail, encounters with women as a band-aid to avoid confronting her actual problems with developing intimate, meaningful romantic or platonic relationships with women she’s physically attracted to. She sort of game-ifies the encounters into a power struggle between her and her potential conquest; the end goal not being the sex or denial thereof, but of the buzz of the conflict itself. On the outside it looks like a pure expression of ego, and some of it may be, but I interpret it mostly as a deflection from Beau’s clear struggles with self-loathing and her fear of abandonment; I speculate that to Beau, after how things ended with Tori, has not allowed herself to feel the same about anyone else (With the recently revealed exception of Jester, who is all too conveniently deemed inaccessible; “She has a thing for Fjord, and so it’s not a possibility,”) for fear of utterly letting down yet another women she loved.

With Yasha I take these moments as a sort of siren’s song. Here she is, having lost the most precious person in all her life, a love she knew was forbidden but pursued anyway, and clearly blames herself and her desire for Zuala as the very reason she died. To Yasha, the lesson she learned from all of this is not that her tribe was wrong, but that her desires are wrong, that she can’t trust herself to want anything, and can’t trust herself to love without getting someone hurt (A feeling only exacerbated by the death of Molly trying to save her from the Iron Shepards.)

So she feels all this and then there’s this monk who relentlessly flirts with her. Their first interaction indicates to me that Yasha has had some experience handling this sort of thing since joining the circus, and with arms like those, how could she not? But Beau just keeps going and going the more time they spend around one another, and Yasha has eyes, and Beau does indeed have those abs, and is incredibly persistent and almost admirably self-assured about herself, and okay maybe eventually even the tough Barbarian might be flustered and stutter a little bit.

And that would be that, if that’s all their relationship was. But Yasha being the quiet one who looms to the back in social interactions and group planning watches the others, Beau included, and maybe begins to see another side to the monk. The side that clearly cares a great deal about this group. Who looks out for the others and will gladly put her body on the line to protect them. Beau isn’t as sturdy as Yasha, can’t take as many hits and depends on avoiding being hit in the first place, but still there she is, tanking a Hydra, rushing to the front lines and protecting her friends. There she is, reassuring party members in a well-meaning if a little rough around the edges sort of way. There she is, comforting Yasha after she reveals her past to the group, seeking a way to relate to her even when it’s clear Beau doesn’t share personal details often.

So to Yasha, Beau is a few things. She’s someone who she can rely on to keep this lovely found family alive no matter the personal cost. She’s someone who can be leaned on and relied on not to judge. And she’s someone who makes her feel like a person, not just a tool or a wall of muscle, or a burden to be dealt with, but a person. I think Beau will be second only to Jester in the importance she will play in Yasha’s recovery and victory over her grief and guilt, which, let’s face it, is a long road yet to be traveled, but a road made all the easier due to Yasha’s friends of the blue persuasion.

Caduceus sees in Beau potential. Where he may get frustrated or confused by many in the Nein, I think in Beau he finds a reliable and easy to understand set of motivations. Beau wants to keep the Mighty Nein happy, healthy, and most importantly alive, and maybe make a positive difference in the world along the way. While her gruff demeanor can sometimes grate him the wrong way, I feel her actions have spoken for her in Caduceus’ mind. I take that he feels that while he may be the only adult in the room, Beau is definitely the rather mature teenager that can often be trusted to make decisions in his absence. Condescending? Of course. But a delightfully Caduceus-like thing to think.

This long diatribe is not me saying that Beau is the be all end all of the Nein, but just my way of illustrating the impact of her and her growth on her friends, and the role she plays within the Nein. The other members have had just as much of an impact on her. From Fjord’s trust and charm training, to Jester’s love and support and faith in strangers, to Nott’s open ear and sisterly banter, to Caleb’s ability to establish goals and remind her of both the forest and the trees, to Yasha’s fierce protectiveness and soft treatment of their friends, to Caduceus’ encouragement to tell the truth and be open and the successes that attitude has led to.

And to Molly, who arguably, made this growth possible, or at least as quickly progressive as it has been. Without him pushing her towards making the world better than she found it, it’s hard to imagine the road she would have had to travel to get to where she is now, fighting to save the world, standing up to and earning the respect of her Cobalt Soul mentors, sharing her feelings with the group, and allowing herself to love.

Beau is my favorite character on Critical Role. She has been for a very long time, but my love for her has only aged like a fine wine. From barely being able to meditate at all, to mentally transporting herself to a beach in Nicodranas in order to escape Obann’s thrall. From telling Jester she didn’t worry too much about her well-being, to telling her on several occasions that she loves and cares about her. From being incredibly antagonizing towards Molly, to getting a tattoo in his honor very visibly on the back of her neck. Her Journey to become the Expositor she is today has been an absolute delight, and her journey towards forging the ties she has with this beautiful found family have been heartwarming and some of the best storytelling I’ve ever seen. And she has so much potential for growth and I just can’t wait to see more.

[calebbrewster]

Hey! I love your blog ♡ I'm glad there are still active TURN blogs around. On that note, I've been trying to find more ppl to follow to get a bit more of it on my dash, but I get the feeling most of my follows are to mostly dead blogs? Would you recommend me one or two that still post about it? (As many as you can tbh). Thank you and happy holidays! (♡ your header's lovely btw). P.S: How do you feel about Caleb Brewster?

thank you so much! 

of course, here’s a quick list of some blogs i know of that post TURN on a pretty regular basis:

@francishollahyde@unshaven-insane@ragtags@townhulls@revolutionarytea@americantoinette@continentalblue@baguetteems@postsfrom1776@princesspatria (tumblr won’t let me actually tag her for some reason)@1hamandjam1@schoop-de-doop@bucephalussays@historicalhuman@general-wheeee@hiddensidekick

(to all turn fans who see this: help out and REBLOG/LIKE THIS if you post about turn:ws!!)

about Caleb Brewster, I’m so glad you asked, but i’m going to put it under the cut because this could get long (also, spoilers)

GOD i love this chaotic bastard angel of a man. he’s wild, he’s funny, a ball of pure energy. he’s so off-the-wall insane but he’s also a rock. he’s the anchor to our little core four of characters. he’s Ben’s conscience and companion, Abe’s voice of reason and sometimes the fire under him, he’s Anna’s safe space. He cares for them, protects them, keeps them sane.

somewhere in a book on the Culper ring it talks about Caleb kinda being “in it” for the fun of it rather than purely for “the cause” and I thought that was really interesting because Caleb is portrayed in a similar light in the show - he is shown to hate the redcoats and have disgust for tories but it’s usually more on the behalf of the people he loves, not so much a personal dislike. he hates Simcoe for Abe and Anna in the beginning (and hits him when he teases Ben). but I’ve always gotten the feeling that it’s his loyalty to the people he loves that drives him more than a general sense of injustice (which is what drives Ben and Anna- is this making any sense? who knows).

speaking of loyalty, let’s talk about that! Caleb is the most ride or die bitch you will ever find (apart from Mary, i think that’s what makes them understand each other so well). in one of the deleted s1 scenes, Caleb and Ben talk about Caleb leaving the army after the new year because his bounty will be up. buT THEN DING DONG, BEN IS IN DANGER and so Caleb, of course, stays and I get the feeling he wouldn’t have really left in the first place. Caleb’s loyalty fuels him to heights and limits the other characters shy away from and it makes him invaluable to the cause.

another thing: I have rarely heard a male character admit his wrongs and apologize as consistently as Caleb. when he makes the wrong decision or fucks up, he admits to it and attempts to make it right (even when he’s not really in the wrong!!! example: ALL OF SEASON FOUR THE FUCK). He apologizes to Anna when he insults her ability and calls spying “men’s work,” he tells Ben that he understands that Ben is dealing with more than he [Caleb] has to after the fight with Bradford, and when confronted by Robert, he apologizes and takes full responsibility for what happened to Samuel Townsend. this boy is by no means perfect but he knows that and attempts to be better after his mistakes and i love him for it!!!

and dANIEL HENSHALL can we talk about the incredible work that man put into this show. he’s the lovable madman for 3 seasons and then suddenly there’s a PTSD storyline and Dan just blended it in there in a way that felt real and believable. he made it hurt when Caleb wasn’t his usual sunshiny self (which we got a preview of in 1x10 when Caleb’s uncle is killed - heartbreaking scene), he made it hit home when Caleb sits against the tree and screams about how Simcoe has won. and theN 4x08 when Caleb nods to Ben like, “I’m going to do this and I’m going to be okay,” our hearts burst with happiness and relief because even though he’s never going to be the same he’s still Caleb fucking Brewster and we love him. I love him.

misc other things i love: this man’s smile!!!!!!! fucks me up. it’s like sunshine. his clothes: iconic. that BEARD: ICONIC. his eyes are so pretty. the adorable way he holds that huge ass tea cup and shakes his head when Mary asks if he wants sugar. the way he flirts with literally everyone. how he tells Robert he loves him after getting sucker punched. I CO NI C.

I feel like this is all jumbled and very badly summarized but that’s the jist of it? I could do another section on how much he loves Ben but that would get really shippy and long (longer than this already is jesus)

tl;dr Caleb is baby

[allthingsfangirl101]

Chapter 6: Skype Session 2

Masterlist

Abby's POV

After the disastrous lunch with my dad, I was off the rest of the day. Jenna noticed it the second she walked out of her office as I sat down at my desk with a huff.

"How was lunch with your dad?" Jenna asked gently as she sat in one of the chairs across from my desk. I looked up at her and rolled my eyes.

"That bad, huh?"

"Well, it started with him talking about my job, then went to him offering Caleb a job at his office, and to wrap it all up, he offered to pay for the whole wedding. Oh, and he threw in his offer to have Caleb and I move in with him and the step-monster."

"Sounds. . . Eventful," she said with a small laugh.

"How come, every time I talk to him, it ends with me storming out?"

"You stormed out?" She asked gently.

"Of course I stormed out," I sighed. "He tried to convince me that it was Hannah's place to take control of the wedding." She just nodded, knowing I needed to vent, not have my problems solved.

"Is it crazy that I don't want to plan the wedding until Caleb comes home?" I hesitated to ask.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I don't think it's crazy. I actually think it's sweet that you're waiting. Plus, I understand why you're waiting."

"I'm waiting so he can participate," I clarified.

"I know," she nodded. "That's great. But aren't you also waiting in case. . . "

"In case he doesn't come home," I whispered. She sent me a sad smile as she sighed.

"Why don't you take the rest of the day off? I'll just be doing paperwork. Plus, isn't tonight a Skype night?"

They had it scheduled out that at the end of the first week of each month, the workers were able to Skype home. Since it was the end of the first week of their second month on the rig, Caleb and I were able to Skype again tonight.

"I can't," I stuttered. "I should probably. . . I have a lot to do."

"Abby," she sighed. "Honey, go home. I can handle things here."

                       * * * * *

When I got home, I took a well-needed bath. I sunk lower into the tub as I went over WWIII that happened barely an hour ago. I closed my eyes and let the hot water relax my muscles.

My thoughts immediately drifted to Caleb. After the hellish week I've had with the support group making me feel worse and my dad sticking his nose into things that he should really stay out of, I needed another Skype session with Caleb. I needed to see him. I needed to hear his voice. I needed to talk to him. I needed him.

I smiled as I imagined him coming home from work, calling me from the doorway. I'd yell down to him, letting him know where I was. I would hear the thumping of jogging footsteps up the stairs.

"Abs?" He'd call out the nickname he gave me senior year that I love so much.

"In here," I'd say. I'd turn my head as the bathroom door opened. A blush would make its way to my lips the second a smirk formed on his.

"Rough day?" He guessed as he leaned against the doorway.

"I had lunch with my dad," I'd sigh. He'd send me a sad smile as he walked over, sitting on the edge of the tub. He'd reach down and grab my hand, instantly intertwining our fingers.

"I'm sorry," he'd whisper, slowly scanning my face. I'd just shrug, not wanting to talk about it.

I'd raised my eyebrows as Caleb suddenly smirked. "Why are you looking at me like that?" I'd asked with a small giggle, already knowing what he was going to do.

"Just thinking about how I can help you relax." He'd say, lowering his voice. He'd glance at the bubbles covering my body and then back up at me.

"Get in," I'd tease before he could vocalize what he wanted to do.

He'd laugh as he reached up and undid his tie. I'd watch as he quickly got undressed, tossing his clothes in the hamper. I'd scoot over slightly so he could get in. I'd laugh when he hissed as he slowly got in the tub.

"Damn, girl. You trying to cook yourself or something?" He'd joke as he laid next to me and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me back against his bare chest.

"It's called I had a rough day and needed to melt my problems away," I'd smile as I relaxed into his hold. I'd bite my bottom lip as he started to press soft kisses to my neck.

I'd accidentally let out a moan as he started to massage my shoulders. "I'm sorry you're so stressed, baby." He'd whisper in my ear.

We'd lay in the tub together, neither one of us saying anything. Eventually, the bubbles would be gone. I wouldn't make a move to get out until I felt myself starting to fall asleep.

"Where are you going?" He'd whisper as I tried to get out of the tub. I'd turn around and hold in a laugh when I noticed his eyes were closed.

"I'm falling asleep and as much as I enjoy being in the tub with you, I'd rather not drown." My comment would make him open one of his eyes, a smirk present on his lips.

"Fine," he'd sigh. We'd get out of the tub, wrapping towels around ourselves and I would unplug the drain.

I'd walk into the bedroom, Caleb right behind me. I'd start to walk towards the closet, but gasp when I felt Caleb wrap his arms around my waist and pull me against his chest.

Without a word, he'd turn me around and instantly press his lips to mine. Our lips would move in sync as he walked us over to the bed. I'd get goosebumps the second our towels pooled around our ankles.

I jumped back to reality before I got too lost in the fantasy of Caleb being home. I sighed as I got up and wrapped my robe around my body. I unplugged the tub, tears involuntarily sliding down my cheeks.

I walked over to the vanity and started brushing out my hair, all with tears streaming down my cheeks. I looked over at a picture I had on the counter of Caleb and I. It was a simple picture of us at the beach. He was standing behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist as he rested his chin on my shoulder.

As I scanned the big smile I had on my face in the picture, a sob escaped my lips. I put my face in my hands and let go of the sob I have been holding back since he left.

When the sobs finally subsided, I took a deep breath and looked at my reflection in the vanity mirror. I stood up and walked over to the sink. I turned it on, put my hands under the water and splashed my face. I looked up and let out a sigh of relief when I noticed the redness in my eyes and cheek starting to go away.

As I dried my face off, I heard my laptop ringing. I threw the towel in the hamper and jumped onto my bed. I didn't hesitate to answer the call.

"Hey, babe." Just hearing his voice made me relax.

"Hi, baby," I said, my voice still scratchy from crying.

"You doing okay?" He asked gently. I nodded but stopped when I saw the look on his face. "What's going on, Abs?"

"It's just," I said, my voice breaking. "This week has been a little rough. . ."

"How?" He asked, almost a whisper.

"Well," I cleared my throat. "I went to that support group that Felicia suggested."

"And? Did it help?"

"Honestly? Not really." He smiled softly at my response. "I mean. . . I know that it should've reassured me that other people were feeling the way I do, but. . . All it did was make all the fears and nerves I have worse."

"I'm sorry, baby. I wish there was something I could do," he sighed.

"It's okay," I said instantly. "I mean. . . It's not your fault. I'm fine."

He sent me a look that told me he knew better. "Abby, I don't want you to be miserable while I'm gone. I hate how this is affecting you."

"Caleb," I interrupted before he could start rambling. "I'm so proud of what you are doing. Yes, I miss you. But, I'll be fine. Please don't worry about me."

"I always worry about you, baby."

"I know," I said with a soft laugh. "And I love you for it."

"I love you too."

We sat there, neither one of us saying a word. Caleb suddenly laughed when he looked down, noticing I was sitting in my bathrobe.

"Sorry," I said, my cheeks burning. "I was taking a bath and had just gotten out before you called. I didn't have time to get dressed."

"It's alright," he laughed. Suddenly, the smile fell from his lips. "You took a bath. . . Everything okay?"

I looked down, hesitating to tell him about the lunch with my dad. "Abby?" He said, making me look up at him.

"I had lunch with my dad," I rushed out, making his face fall.

"Let me guess," he sighed. "Did he try to pay for the wedding? And offered to have us live with them for the first year?"

"And offered you a job." His eyes widened slightly.

"Oh," he cleared his throat. "That's. . . New."

"I told him off," I quickly added. "I told him that we were going to figure things out. I told him. . ."

I closed my eyes when my voice broke. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my eyes still closed.

"Abby?" Caleb's voice came out soft. "Please look at me, baby."

I took a deep breath before slowly opening my eyes. "I love you, Abby. So much."

"I love you too," I said, barely audible. "I miss you."

"I miss you too."

"I didn't think this would be so hard," I said mostly to myself. I looked up to see him nodding. I cleared my throat and sat up straighter.

"Enough about me. How's the rig?"

I smiled as his eyes brightened. "It's gotten better."

"Really? That's great, babe. I told you it would."

"I know," he laughed. "I need to listen to you more."

I laughed as he told a story about something that happened this week. I tried to follow along even though I barely understood half of what he was saying.

Suddenly, he stopped talking. "Caleb? You okay?"

"Yeah," he stuttered. "I just. . . I can't help but feel guilty."

"Guilty?"

"Well, yeah." He sighed. "I'm having a good time, learning a lot and you're. . ."

"Caleb," I sighed. I sent him a look that made him laugh. "Babe, I agreed to this, so you shouldn't feel guilty. I'm glad you're having a good time and learning a lot. I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

"I'll always worry about you, Abs. Even when I'm right next to you."

[goblin-gardens]

“Ugh.” Beau leans so far back she almost falls over, and waves a hand in front of her face. “I hate campfires.”

Jester savors the last sips of her tea. They’re the only two still awake, so she lets herself admire the way Beau’s whole body curves. The night is cold enough that Jester’s dragged a blanket out to put over her shoulders, but Beau is a furnace or something, because she’s not even wearing her vest.

If this were a book, the firelight would be glistening on her bare, supple abs, or something. 

“No matter where I sit, the smoke blows in my face.” Beau lies all the way down and then rolls over a few times, winding up a little closer to Jester. “It’s the worst.”

If this were a book, Jester would have had a bath less than a week ago, and they wouldn’t have gotten in an argument yesterday about where Jester’s socks went (they had been inside one of her sleeves, for some reason) and Caduceus wouldn’t be snoring quite so loudly somewhere behind her. If this were a book, she’d say something totally suave and sexy and not sit on a rock and just stare.

Beau sits up and bends all the way forward, putting her head on her knees. Jester can see every muscle in her back moving when Beau looks at her expectantly.

“Oh, yeah, totally,” she says quickly. “It definitely sucks.”

“Can you fix it with magic or something? Like how you opened all the windows in that inn and almost got us kicked out?”

“I didn’t almost get us kicked out,” Jester huffs. “Not all on my own.”

“Right.” Beau’s smiling now, and Jester wants to pause everything right there so she can draw it. Beau’s not great at smiling, not for real. Her fake smiles can be scary good and her angry smiles are scary hot but her happy smiles are a little rusty. She’s getting better, though. It would probably be weird to tell her that. Probably. But it’s nice to see. “Can you make the smoke leave me alone, though?”

“No,” she says, drawing out the word. “But you can come sit over here with me. The wind’s blowing east, that’s why you’re in the smoke.”

She sees Beau hesitate, but only for a second. “Okay. Push over.”

There’s not much room for both of them on Jester’s rock, but they huddle together pretty well anyways.

It’s nice. Jester used to get a lot of hugs, growing up. From her mom, obviously, and from Blude and Nadine and sometimes the Traveler too. But Caduceus and Nott are the only ones who do a lot of hugs here. She likes being close to people. She likes being close to Beau.

For a while, the only sounds are the fire crackling and the nighttime bugs chirping in the tall grass. The smoke blows away from them, back towards Rosana. 

Jester sits very still while Beau starts to doze off, her head sliding onto Jester’s shoulder and one arm around Jester’s waist so she doesn’t fall. She tries to match her breathing to Beau’s– slow, and calm, and totally not like she’s freaking out or anything.

Beau’s hair is down, and it brushes softly on the side of Jester’s face when she moves. Her breath makes adorable little whistling noises every couple of minutes. She’s really warm, and Jester could probably pick her up and put her in her bed roll if she moved carefully. She doesn’t want to move at all, though.

The fire pops. Beau sighs in her sleep. Jester’s leg starts to go a little numb. 

Finally she has to move at least a little. “Psst. Beau.”

“Nrgfgl?” Beau mumbles into her shoulder.

“Wake up Beau.” Jester pokes her gently in her (warm, bare, muscly) side.

Beau spasms very slightly, waking up with a start and then freezing stock still. “What? I’m totally awake. Is there something out there?”

Jester giggles. “You smell like woodsmoke.”

“Fuck you too,” Beau says softly, and stretches. “Bet I still smell better than Caleb.”

“He is not anywhere as dirty as he used to be, and you know it,” Jester scolds her. “And technically, I didn’t say you smell bad. You smell like woodsmoke. And it smells nice. Not like, super nice or anything, but pretty okay.”

She keeps looking straight ahead when Beau turns on the rock to face her. Her face is very close to Jester’s. It’s a good thing Beau can’t see in the dark or she would know how hard she’s blushing.

“Thanks,” Beau says. 

Jester nods quickly. “No problem, or whatever. It’s totally fine and I totally wasn’t like, smelling you while you were sleeping or something. That would be super weird and not something I would do at all.”

“I believe you,” Beau says. Jester can see her smiling but she can’t meet her eyes. ”You smell nice too.”

They’re still pressed together from their knees to their hips, and Beau is really close and she’s smiling. Jester feels her tail curling out of embarrassment. She totally knows Jester was staring at her before.

“Hey Jester,” Beau says, really softly. She touches Jester’s cheek and turns her head, carefully. Jester could totally not let her, if she wanted, but Beau’s fingers on her skin feel better than the warmth from the fire. She looks at Beau. “Can I kiss you?”

Jester isn’t very familiar with speechlessness. “What?”

Beau’s fingertips are on Jester’s cheek and just under her jaw. “I think you smell nice and I wanna kiss you. Sorry, that’s not really romantic, I don’t really know how to do that.”

“It’s super romantic!” Jester says. “I think you smell really nice too!”

Beau opens her mouth to say something else, but Jester leans in and kisses her then. If this were a book, Jester would have had breath like sweetmint and springtime, but she probably didn’t. And if it were a book, she wouldn’t have leaned too far and wobbled on the rock and Beau wouldn’t have had to catch her, and neither of them would have almost stuck a foot in the fire, and Caduceus would have been snoring in a different tent a mile away where they couldn’t even hear him.

But if it were a book, they would have had to go have passionate embraces, which they couldn’t really do while they were on watch. They wouldn’t have been able to sit side by side under Jester’s blanket and hold each other’s hands and talk about nothing until Yasha and Nott woke up to take the last shift, and Beau wouldn’t have fallen asleep on her shoulder again and have to be carried back to the tent.

Jester spreads her blanket over both of them and lies down. Beau opens her eyes just long enough to smile at her, and then they both fall asleep.