#◜ ❝ I just get lost in my head sometimes ❞ ◞ // MOLLY MUSINGS.

[ofjumpersandscalpels]

Tag Drop #1

[george-fabian-weasley]

George Weasley — Wonder Part 1

Summary: Best friends since the Sorting Hat, you have developed a curious feeling towards George Weasley recently. And you wonder, what it's like to be loved by him.

Words: 2,951 words

Warnings ⚠ : Slow-burn, Angst (kinda)

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"What does that one looks like?" You said, pointing to a constellation in the sky as you laid down onto the grass, right in front of Hagrid's hut. Beside you left and right were Fred and George Weasley.

You three had snuck out of the Gryffindor common room in the middle of the night to watch the stars. They have been exceptionally bright these days, so you figured why not.

Hagrid didn't mind you three, in fact he even prepared three mugs of hot chocolate in case you get cold outside.

"Kinda looks like an elephant, don't you think?" Fred mused, squinting his eyes hard to see the imaginary lines connecting to each star. "More like a dog to me." George chattered, clearly enjoying the cool breeze of the night.

"What do you see, Meredith?" Fred asked with a mischievous smile. You rolled your eyes, he used your middle name even when he knew you hated it as a tease sometimes. "Well, Gideon," Fred instantly groaned in cringe while George laughed in satisfaction, "I see a bloody goose." You laughed and high-fived with George.

"Never again am I telling my middle name to you." Fred chuckled in defeat, yet grinning as you out-teased him, as per usual.

You cackled in victory, "Ha, the sweet taste of victory sure taste good." You laughed again, holding your stomach. The twins had known that you were the type to be amused easily, and this was one of those moments. They watched you laugh with a few chuckles out of them themselves, sometimes your laugh were contagious.

After you had calmed down, the scene was serene again. "I wish we could do this more often." You muttered loud enough for the boys to hear. "Hmm, I dunno, Y/N. Reckon doing it more often would be quite boring, wouldn't it?" Fred spoke, the look of slight disagreement rested on his face.

You pouted slightly, not that you minded. Fred has always been an outspoken person, this is normal to you.

"Maybe next time we could do a night picnic? Sneak some food out from the kitchens, bribe the house elves not to tell a soul, and voilà." George offered an idea, his eyes occasionally glanced at you, then looked back to the stars above.

You widened your eyes in surprise as you quickly sat up and turned to his direction with twinkling eyes, "Really? We could do that?"

George scoffed a smile at you and slightly chuckled, "Of course we could do that, why couldn't we?"

Suddenly the time seemed like it stopped. You blinked at George, whoa okay since when did he look so good? He was smiling at you with his arm supporting his head while the other rested on his stomach, unintentionally flexing his outer-line biceps as the sweater Molly had given him last Christmas had become a little small.

Wait, what?

"Y/N? Y/N Meredith Y/L/N, do you hear me?" You blinked back to reality as Fred called your name. "Blimey, you really found the galaxy in George's eyes, didn't you?" Fred teased.

Before you could even answer, the voice of Mr. Filch was suddenly present, "Who's there?"

"Shit, hide, hide." George instantly helped you up and ran to hide behind Hagrid's hut, you and Fred were hot on his tails.

As Filch knocked on Hagrid's door, the half-giant opened it sleepily, "Oh, Argus. What do you want?"

"I hear students around your hut, you're not hiding them, are you, Hagrid?" Mr. Filch said and you three heard the change of tone in Hagrid's voice, "... Why don't you come in first, Argus? Have some tea."

You knew that was a sign to run once Filch had entered the hut. You made a mental note to yourself to thank Hagrid the next day for helping you three escape. As soon as the old squish entered Hagrid’s hut, George took a hold of your hand suddenly and ran to the castle’s direction. 

Was his hand always this big?

As soon as you three arrived to the hallways, you wheezed for air. Bloody Fred and George were nearly nowhere from huffing their breaths heavily, clearly their athletic bodies could handle a little run. But you, being a tad shorter than them and obviously not athletic, it was killing you. 

“Sorry, Y/N. You alright there?” George said, chuckling as he watched you wheezed an answer, “A minute...”

“Alright, you monkeys. Let’s go back to the common room now.” Fred hollered, clearly had already recovered and was walking, leaving George and you behind. George watched you take a deep breath and exhale, “Okay, I’m fine now.”

George was obviously entertained by your little show a few seconds ago, and you rolled your eyes with a lazy smile in your lips, “Amused now, are we?” You slurred boringly, earning a toothy grin from George, “With you, Y/N, always.”

You shoved him off, “Shut up, Weasley.” in hopes that could conceal the sudden heat rising up to your face. You two began to walk in silence, while watching Fred walking alone at the front. It was a comfortable silence, and the aura around you two were just too homey to break out of. 

You have a habit where you would hold your friends’ pinkie while you walk, and your entire friend group knows that. You couldn’t say why, maybe it brings you comfort that someone was beside you. So there you were, walking slowly to the common room while holding George’s pinkie.

When you three arrived to the common room, you felt your hand lost its warmth that George provided a few seconds ago as he pulled away...What the bloody hell?

“See you tomorrow, Meredith.” Fred called out while walking to the boy’s bedroom followed by George, you smiled and bidded your goodbye, “Goodnight, boys.”

Next morning came and you groaned in annoyance. After getting dressed, you walked down to the great hall for breakfast. You sat across the already-finishing-half-of-their-plates twins. “Merlin, Y/N, did you not sleep last night?” Fred laughed at you as soon as he saw the eye-bags beneath your eyes. 

“I can’t bloody sleep, you wanker. Dunno why, though.” You gruntled and began to eat your cereal. Ohoho, but you knew exactly why.

All night you were thinking of George Weasley. Since when did everything he do seem so attractive to you? Like that night when he was laying on the grass with one of his arm supporting his head while his other arm on his torso, how the hell did he pull that look off? Why did he look so good doing it? Or the time when he held your hand to run from Filch, and you remembered how visible his veins were, and how warm his hand was... what the fuck? Bloody hell, you were almost certain you’re going crazy.

And then you remembered how he let you hold his pinkie while walking last night. Suddenly your chest felt fuzzes and buzzes, and you heard your heartbeat clearly, whoa am I okay? 

The said boy waved his hand to you, snapping you out from dead-staring at your cereal, “You alright?” George asked, eyebrows slightly furrowing at you in concern. You blinked at him and coughed a bit, “Y-yeah, just remembered something.”

“Blimey, Y/N, your face is bloody red! Should we send you to the hospital wing?” Fred widened his eyes at you, munching whatever it was he was eating. You felt a hand touching your forehead, it was George’s. He stood up and reached over to touch your forehead, “I think you have a fever, Y/N.” 

You flinched from his hand as you suddenly realized something. Fuzzy chest, heart beating fast, heat up to your face whenever you think of George, can’t stop remembering how good he looked like?

Merlin’s bloody beard, you like him.

“I-I gotta go.” You said abruptly, running your eyes everywhere but George’s. “What, to the hospital wing?” “You need us to walk you there, Meredith?”

“No need! Uh, see you in Potions.” You shouted as you ran out of the Great Hall and to the bathroom.

'What the hell was that, what the bloody hell was that, oh my god-' You can't stop freaking out in your head, this feeling was foreign to you. Not that you've never liked someone before, it's just that you've been so comfortable with the twins it almost sounds completely and maniacally absurd to suddenly like one of them.

You ended up avoiding the twins for the whole day that day, trying to process your own feelings because Merlin, if even one of them found out you like the other, it could be the end of your long years of friendship as a trio.

As you returned to the common room after an exhausting day of avoiding the Weasley Twins as if they were plagues, you sighed.

You could remember the confused and slightly hurt expressions of the two boys, they knew something was wrong with you but they just couldn't pinpoint what it was.

And after a long day being alone with your thoughts, you have come to terms with your feelings. You do like George Weasley, in a romantically way. That-that shouldn't be a problem now, should it?

"Oi, Meredith."

You flinched and turned around, the twins had just arrived to the common room. "Heyyy, boys..." You put out a nervous laughter and an awkward wave.

"What's the matter with you today? You've been avoiding us for hours." Fred scowled. One thing about Fred is that he is very clingy with his friends, not that you minded, it just shows that he cares. And while you knew George is the same as his older brother, he tend to keep it hidden inside, in order to not offend anyone.

George was beside him, looking quite hurt also but concerned as well. Their eyes were on you, and you weren't sure which pair of eyes you want to look at.

You sighed, "I'm sorry boys, I shouldn't have avoided you like that. I just need some time alone with myself, to..." You trailed off, eyes glancing at George for merely a second before looking away, "... To think."

"You could've told us. Georgie here was worried if the fever you had this morning got worse." Fred pouted, before smiling slightly at you. Your heart beats significantly faster at the mention of George, yet you brushed it off.

Nothing will change this friendship. Not even this feeling.

"Awh, aren't you boys adorable." You cooed and laughed before settling down, "I'm fine though, the 'fever' I had is already gone, so no worries."

George smiled at you, "Well, glad that you're fine, but you could've told us earlier!"

"We were worried!"

"Sick!"

"And here I thought we did something wrong!"

"Well we're bloody done for if that's the case."

"Totally."

You laughed loudly, these were the times where the Weasleys would finish each other sentences, clearly shows how aligned their minds work together. And sometimes they didn't even notice.

While you were laughing, the Golden Trio came in. "Hey, everyone." Harry greeted, looking at you as your laugh took his attention. "What's Y/N laughing at?" Ron, the twins' younger brother, asked with amusement.

George shrugged with a smile, "Who knows."

"Y/N laughs at everything." Fred continued.

"Just your brothers being clowns as always." You mused, finally calming down. Ron snorted loudly, "As if they've stopped being clowns for even a second."

Everybody laughed, Fred even pulled Ron into a headlock and messed with his hair, "Ickle Ronniekins is starting to be funny, eh?"

The next few days came like a blur.

You and the twins reconciled as if you've never had any misunderstandings before. You were back becoming the three infamous Hogwarts prankster trio. Just this week, you three had received 4 detentions, 2 by Snape for simply talking in his class (typical), and 2 by Professor McGonagall for sneaking a Puking Pastille into one of a Slytherin's drink during lunch.

Poor guy had to have a bucket around him for a few hours.

Fortunately, the detention was held at the Astronomy Tower, Professor McGonagall had informed that the tower needed some cleaning to do due to some owls inhabiting there for a while. While Fred was brought down to the tower stairs, George and you were instructed to clean the top floor.

"Did you see his bloody face? Boy was as pale as a paper!" You cackled in joy, moping the floor while talking to George. George joined your laughter, adding something too, "If it weren't for the bucket he's holding, pretty sure Snape would've written something on his face."

Your laughter doubled, somehow it echoed through the whole tower and you heard Fred downstairs whining, "You two lots aren't having fun without me, are you?"

"Us?" You looked downstairs, Fred was looking up looking dissatisfied that he's not up there. "Never." You and George said in unison, yet the tone in your voices obviously stated otherwise.

You quietly laughed at Fred's face, he's clearly annoyed now. "Pretty sure he's gonna sulk later on." You muttered to George, who nodded in confirmation, "Yeah, reckon would take a while to talk him out of it, eh?"

You chuckled, "Just give him some fireworks and he'll be fine." George chuckled and shook his head, looking at his older brother lazily sweeping the stairs.

As you two continued to clean, suddenly the sky turned orange. Not orange specifically, more like the combination of blue, purple, pink and orange.

Ah, the sun is setting.

You were frozen on your feet, somehow the Astronomy Tower gave a perfect view of the sunset. The orange orb slowly going underneath Black Lake, and the water just reflected all of the giant star' light. It looked so ethereal, you simply forgot how to breathe.

You went and sit at the edge of the tower, your legs dangling at the dangerously high height. Yet you feel no fear, only warmth filled your heart. "It looks amazing, George." You breathed out, your smile was as wide as a door.

George came and sit beside you, only a few inches and his fingers would caress yours. "It looks really beautiful." He sighed, enjoying the warm sunlight that kissed his skin. You turned your head to him, watching George close his eyes and just enjoying the warmth of the sun, with a soft smile on his lips.

His skin, kissed by the sun, gives off a soft golden colour, and his red hair shine gently with it. His eyelashes somehow sparkled and the whole view just took your breath away.

Not the sunset, no. George.

When he opened his eyes and looked at you, as if you were in a trance, you couldn't pull away.

"Has anyone ever told you, that you're beautiful, George?" You breathed out, regardless of how breathless you feel under his stare.

"People had called me handsome and dashing before. But beautiful?" He slowly smiled, "... Not yet."

You blinked and looked away, nervously laughing. "W-well, you are. And so is Fred, and so am I." You covered up, your eyes watching the sun that is now getting smaller by time.

"Everyone knows you're beautiful, Y/N."

You snickered, "What was that supposed to mean, Weasley?" You teased, yet the heartbeat in your chest started to pick up its pace.

"Anything that you want it to be, sweetheart."

Your heart, as it seems, had plummeted to the center of the Earth. The heat in your face seems to double up, reckon that it's not the sunlight.

"Aren't you a bloody flirt." You shoved him to the side, chuckling. He joined as well.

As you looked at the sunset, suddenly there is this bravery inside of you. "Hey." You called. George looked at you, urging you to continue.

"I have someone that I like."

George's big eyes was so mistake that he was surprised. Y/N, the kid who has been growing up with them since babies, is liking someone?

"Who's the unlucky lad?" George asked excitedly. You rolled your eyes in playfulness. While your heart screamed, "IT'S YOU, YOU MONKEY!", you simply said, "None of your business, Weasley."

George scoffed, "Then why bother telling me." He said in a fake-hurt tone, and you chuckled. "Because it's not a big deal. I just... want to let things out."

"Well, let it out then."

You smiled, realizing George was looking at you, yet you kept your eyes to the slowly dissipating sun. "I wonder what it's like to be the one he loves."

"Ah, it's a he." He teased. You laughed and swatted him playfully, "Let me talk, woman."

"I wonder how he would be with his lover. Would he bring them to late night dates at Hogsmeade? Would he sneak into their dorm just wanting to cuddle?" You softly smiled, your heartbeat was increasing per second.

This is like an involuntary confession.

"Would he bring them home during Christmas to spend time with his family? Or would he give them gifts, no matter how many times they say it's okay. Would he... give his affection in public? Or in private because he's a tad shy?"

The surroundings turned quiet, and the orange sky had turned purple, the sun was no longer present, instead the little stars started to come out and play.

Suddenly the emotions came swarming at you, making you choked up. Tears were threatening to fall from the bridge of your eyes to you cheeks, and you cursed under your breath. "W-would he... give a chance to me? And let me see by myself if my wonderings are correct?"

You looked at him, George who was dumbfounded and looking stunned, and you smiled with teary-eyes, "I wonder."

PART 2: READ

(You can go to my masterlist to read other fics! Masterlist is in my bio :D)

[random-imagines-blog]

Empty Walls {Sirius Back x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2380 Summary: A lot of the order is pretty untrusting of any Slytherins joining their midst - but there is one person who accepts you. Warnings: Mentions of character death.

Molly Weasley shoved a plate of food in front of you, so harshly that little puddles of gravy spilt onto the table, making a small mess. You thanked her regardless of her hostility, and cleaned up the gravy with your own napkin, embroidered with your initials. She was a wonderfully sweet woman most of the time - but you just so happened to be a Malfoy. Despite your loyalty to the Order of the Phoenix, many of its members still didn’t trust you yet, because of your surname. It was more about that than the fact that you had been in Slytherin, while everyone else around here seemed either to be a Gryffindor or even a Hufflepuff. You tied your blonde hair out of your face and started to eat self-consciously, knowing that there were eyes on you no matter what. Sirius Black’s to be specific. He always seemed to be watching.

The room filled with the sound of eating as everyone dug into Molly’s delicious food. You were the first done, vacating your seat quickly and washed the dish - by hand - in the sink. You had grown up completely spoiled, with the house elves doing all of the cooking and cleaning, so earning your place here had been difficult at first. You didn’t mean to be spoiled. You just couldn’t help how you were raised.

Grimmauld Place. It was dark and it was dingy, but there was one place in this house in particular that you were drawn to. The wall with the family portraits - your own included. All of the little faces of your family, and then the burned out one of Mr. Sirius Black. Your eyes went to your brother and you smirked to yourself. He was painted in that little hat. He always hated that picture, which made you love it even more. You then saw your parents, Lucius and Narcissa. They both looked a little snooty, which was how they tended to appear to the world. But they were never like that when it was just the family together. Your fingers graced your mother’s face. You missed her, a lot. She still sent you owls, and your father would always add his own little notes. They loved you, despite the fact that most of their friends saw you as a traitor. That your actions nearly put a bounty on their own heads, like the rest of the order.

But you were going to help take him down before he could try to collect.

“Do you really like staring at your own face that much?” A deep voice came from behind you. You didn’t turn around. It was Mr. Black himself. He always seemed to be following you around. He was probably the most mistrustful of the lot. You just ignored him, and put your fingers over your father. You missed him as well. His opinion was the one that you had been most scared of - but you were doing what he was too cowardly to do. You were making the right choice.

You didn’t even pay attention to your little portrait. You knew what you looked like. You didn’t give into the vanity that the rest of the Malfoys seemed to have. You preferred knowledge over looks.

“It’s not that bad of a picture. Mine was awful. They made me cut my hair for it, so I looked like some dapper gentleman,” Sirius said. He had come and stood right behind you. You didn’t realize how close he was until then. If you took even one step backwards, you would have bumped into him.

“So it’s a good thing that your place is burnt out then?” You asked.

“I like to think of it more as an empty space,” Sirius said. “I’ll probably paint over the whole damn thing one of these days. Most of these people, I don’t feel like I’m that related to anyway. Like you.”

“We’re  hardly related. It’s like ... many branches away,” You said with a shrug. He may be some sort of cousin but it never felt that way to you either. When you looked at him, you saw ... well, a handsome man, even with all of that hair and those tattoos. You had seen photos of him when he was younger and you had some pretty obscene thoughts one should not be having over family members. He’d been, to put it roughly, a hunk. “Why haven’t you painted over it by now?”

“The room needed some sort of decor,” Sirius shrugged. “I don’t know what I’d do with an empty wall.”

“Well, knowing you, I’m sure you’d hang a very flattering portrait of yourself,” You mused, clicking your tongue. “Dorian Gray style.”

“What?” Sirius asked. You laughed then, remembering that someone like him probably hasn’t picked up a book since his time at Hogwarts, let alone one written by a muggle.

“Nothing,” You said, shaking your head. “So what can I help you with? Does Molly need help with something?”

“Why would Molly need help with anything?” Sirius asked, taking a seat in one of his favorite chairs in the bedroom.

“I don’t know - you all seem to think that housework is female only work-” You started but Sirius cut you off.

“Not at all,” He said, shaking his head, those unruly waves flying around him. “I actually wanted to talk to you myself. And it’s really not about housework.”

“Well, talk away,” You said, settling into a chair of your own, facing away from those painted walls.

“I’ve been keeping my eye on you for a while now. I knew your father back in school and-”

“Yes, I’ve heard some of the stories,” You interrupted, crossing your legs. “There’s no need to go into a lot of backstory. I know you don’t trust me and that’s what you want to talk about, isn’t it?”

“Do you always go around making up all of these assumptions?” Sirius asked, curiously. “I don’t distrust you, I actually wanted to tell you that I think you’re doing an amazing job. Especially for someone so young.”

Your mouth went dry at the unexpected praise that he was bestowing on you. “Well, thanks. That actually means a lot to me. It’s been hard, since I had to give up everything but saving the world seems pretty worth it. Wanna tell Molly what you think, because that woman has had it out for me since day one.”

“She’ll come around. She’s just mistrustful of Slytherins, that’s all.”

You were quiet for a couple of minutes there, thinking about all of the times that you had tried to proven yourself to the Order. You had gone out on dangerous missions without hesitation. You had fought people who had once been dear family friends. You were trying to protect the world, which seemed bigger than just one family.

“Guess I just have to give it time - and hope that we have enough of it,” You sighed, realizing there wasn’t much in this situation that you could do. “You’re not so bad yourself, Black. Even if you come from a family of, well, us. Snakes and all.”

“Thanks,” He chuckled. “I’ll take that to heart.”

-

Since you had already graduated from Hogwarts, you spent a lot of time among the rest of the adults. Molly was finally warming up to you just a little, if only because she had no children to keep her busy now that they were all back at school. You were one of the youngest in the Order, having just left school the year before, and so she doted on you. Or, at the very least, she didn’t make a mess of your food anymore.

“Fancy taking me for a walk?” Sirius asked you one day, leash in hand. You laughed, knowing exactly what he had meant. It was the only way that he could leave this house. Being disguised as Snuffles, the big black dog. And the only way not to get Animal Control called on him was to have someone walk him around.

You nodded, also feeling the need to get out of the stifling nature of the house. Get away from the screams of the portrait and the gloominess that clung around every corer despite you and Molly’s attempt to cheer the place up a bit. Sirius turned into his dog form, and you put the leash and collar on him - which always felt weird, no matter how many times you did it. His tongue lolled out as he grew excited for the fresh air and it was enough to make you laugh.

These walks became more and more frequent - especially because sometimes, when you were in a more isolated part of town, Sirius would turn back into his human self and you would have a coffee and sit in a park, enjoying the early fall nature. You ended up having some really long conversations. About everything. You told him some stories about his godson, Harry, and his friends at school - they were rather infamous and it seemed like you knew a lot about them despite not being in their house. And your brother’s complaints, of course.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that you were falling for this much older man, despite the age gap and the fact that he had been in Azkaban for years, and that this was hardly the time for love, given the fact that there was a war that was growing in importance more and more each day.

-

“To the ones that we have lost,” Arthur Weasley said, raising his glass in toast over his head.

It was  not a happy occasion that you were celebrating here tonight, back at Grimmauld Place. “To the ones that we have lost,” you toasted back in return. And then you drank deeply from your flask - Firewhiskey having become a solace these days.

Sirius was taking things particularly hard - the war may be over, but the cost of that victory was entirely too high. He was tearing himself apart about it, but you couldn’t blame him. He lost his only other best friend. And the Weasleys had lost two sons - one to death, and one to the attack of a werewolf, though Bill was pulling through swimmingly.

You stood up slowly, which garnered the attention of the rest of the people around you. “I can’t be here,” You admitted, finding it too hard to be around loved ones, when they weren’t exactly the ones that you wanted.

You went down the hallway into the room with the family portrait on it, your wand in your hand as you closed the door, but you did not lock it. “What have you done to be remembered for?” You asked the portrait of yourself, and of your parents.

“I think this is a long time coming,” Sirius said, staggering into the room. “Patat Pingere.”

“What are you doing?” You asked, as the paint started to peel off of the walls, and then dissolve into nothing, leaving only the bare baseboards that they must have been before the family tree. You watched as you, your parents and the rest of them just seemed to disappear, like you never existed.

“You deserve to be remembered,” Sirius said, leaning against the doorframe, taking in the sight of all of that white. “So we’ll repaint you now, as you are. And... and Remus. And Tonks. And Fred... the others...”

You nodded, looking at the potential of it now. All of the noble house of Black had disappeared, and most of them were better off being remembered - entirely unlike everyone that you had just lost, and whose death was still pulling at your heart.

“And yours,” You said, looking over at Sirius. You were surprised to see that his head was down, and a sob racked through his entire body, and he was barely keeping himself upright.

You rushed to his side and took his weight upon your shoulder, half-dragging and half-carrying him to his favorite chair and helped to lower him into it. He didn’t let you go, so you had no choice but to sit with him. You curled up in his lap like a kitten, and he held you while sobbing into the shoulder of your robes.

You were through with crying - you’ve made yourself dehydrated with it and nothing ever seemed to get better, but seeing Sirius like this was still draining nonetheless. “You’re not completely alone Sirius - you have me.”

That seemed to help somewhat, for his shoulders stopped shaking as much, but he did continue to hold onto you tightly, making sure that you could not leave, even if you had wanted to. You didn’t want to, you wanted to stay and make sure that he knew - that he knew that you would not leave him.

“I love you.”

You weren’t expecting that from him, especially not at this time, but you began to run your fingers through the dirty, straggly hair.

“I love you too.”

“Don’t just say that if you don’t mean it. I can’t take anything more, I just-”

You’ve never seen him so vulnerable before. Even when he was in the middle of a fight, with spells going around him, narrowly missing him, he usually had some excitement showing on his face. But this was a defeated man, who seemed ready to break at the slightest negativity.

“I mean it, with every bit of me. I really, truly do,” You told him, detangling a few knots with your fingers, your wand having dropped on the floor when it seemed like he was falling. “I love you, Sirius Black.”

“Can we fix this - these empty walls?” Sirius’s head rose just a little.

You nodded, looking into his dark eyes, which had the same expression as a dog that had just been kicked. “Yes, I think we can. I know we can. Let’s start tomorrow.”

[fortunaaamajor]

The Ultracheese (Fred Weasley)

(This was previously posted on my old account that has now been moved here, sorry if anyone is seeing this twice.)

Fred Weasley x Reader

This story is based on one of my favourite lyrics at the moment. It’s a mainly fluffy, cheesy but angsty in parts story of Fred and Reader reminiscing on their relationship.

Reader is vague - gender not specified, no specific house mentioned.

Song Link: The Ultracheese by Arctic Monkeys

Warnings: Mild bad language, mentions of Umbridge’s Black Quill (torture)

Word Count: 2k

Although I am using the Harry Potter universe as a basis for this story I do not support JK Rowling or her views.

“Fred Gideon Weasley!” a piercing shriek from Molly erupted through the bottom floor of the Burrow, as Fred skidded into the living room where you were sitting. You gave him a pointed look as she followed him through muttering about “…making my life so difficult, can you just give me one moment to RELAX, you’re old enough to know better at this age - both of you!” her voice rose at the end of her rant so that George could also get the gist from wherever he had run off to in the cramped house. Fred was chuckling as he plopped himself down beside you. He glanced at his long suffering mother as she took a couple of deep breaths, turned on her heel and left the room, but not before spitting out something about he and his twin being “…inconsiderate, childish…”.

Lifting up the crochet blanket you were sitting under, Fred attempted to weasel his way in beside you. He looked slightly hurt at Molly’s last comment, you captured his jaw in your hand carefully and turned it towards you

“Go and apologise to her. Bonus points if you can convince George to join you.”

“But it was only a-”

“Uh uh! I don’t wanna hear it, you know I’m right. It’ll make all three of you feel better. Go.”

He hung his head, knowing you were right yet wondering how he’d ever ended up falling so hopelessly in love with someone who had a tongue almost as sharp as his mother’s.

When he returned the crochet blanket was being held open for him and there was space for him to curl up beside you. He rested his head on top of yours, kissing your hair. “How come you always know how to get me out of trouble?” he mused as his hand crept round your shoulders to hold you closer to him.

“I’ve been practicing, one day I’ll share all I’ve learnt with you Freddie boy.” you replied dryly, but with a peck on his cheek afterwards.

And practicing you had been, for four years. You had always known it would be this way when you fell in love with Fred - your second ‘date’ was in detention for Godric’s sake. He and George had roped you into helping prank Filch, being as smitten as you were for the older twin you had accepted. Unfortunately, as the three of you hid behind a suit of armour Fred had tried to be smooth and brought the whole thing crashing down (literally).

“Good job darling, you can definitely join us again” he had whispered in your ear. Then as he reached a hand round your waist he knocked the armour, which as if it had an occupant, had jumped away from the three of you - still intact. The clatter of the armour alerted Mrs Norris, and when Filch came running there was no longer anything hiding you all from his beady stare.

That was how you came to be sitting in Professor Binns’ room on Thursday afternoon, with Fred attempting to flirt silently from a few desks away. The clock was counting down until dinner, which couldn’t come quick enough. Not only were you starving but you knew that Fred would no doubt bound up to you in the Great Hall later ready to talk your ear off about his newest invention to try and impress you. It was sweet really, to see him like such a lovesick puppy who never wanted to leave your side - you might even have made fun of him if it hadn’t made your heart rate increase and your face flush with heat.

For now, under the (not so) watchful eye of Professor Binns, he had to stick with writing notes and placing them on the desk between you as silently as he could.

The first note appeared blank until his handwriting scribbled out his message…

UH OH, SORRY ABOUT THIS! HOW CAN I EVER MAKE IT UP TO YOU?

Looking over you saw him pouting, bottom lip jutted out. Blushing, you just shrugged, trying to play it cool. He frowned and sent another note your way…

SATURDAY NIGHT HOT CHOCOLATE IN MY DORM? I’LL SNEAK YOU IN X

The words scrawled in front of you caused your cheeks to burn and your palms to sweat. All you could muster was turning to him and nodding. His retort of blowing you a kiss had you reeling, so much so you didn’t notice Professor Binns coughing quietly at the front of the room.

These shared detentions lost their appeal when Umbridge arrived at Hogwarts and started enacting her ‘stupid bloody toad rules’ as Fred called them. He worried about ever getting you in trouble with the nightmare clad in pink and  forbade you from joining in on any pranks, or even helping out with Weasley Products. Umbridge had it in for you because of your link with the twins, even if you were perfectly polite and pleasant she would nitpick or accuse you of things you hadn’t done. This broke Fred’s heart, especially after the three of you first experienced that damn black quill. From then on, Fred was on high alert, the idea of that monster getting her hands on you again made him want to scream.  Fifteen minutes into a dull Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson she had already pounced,“Weasley, see me after class.” she scolded, her tone clipped.

“But Professor I…” he had begun to exclaim, before she raised her arched brows

“Three of my second years this morning had to be excused due to illness… I know one of your ghastly concoctions was behind it.” she practically sang.

Fred knew the group of boys she was referring to, they had been saving up for Puking Pastilles in order to skive one of Umbridge’s lessons, and to be honest, he didn’t blame them. He said nothing, but a voice piped up from across the class. Horrified, he realised it was you.

“Professor, you can’t possibly blame Fred for that! What if there’s a bug going round? Or what if they bought the product from someone else?”

Umbridge tried to suppress a smile as she nodded along.

“I see, you can join Mr Weasley in detention, along with his brother. I’m assuming he is the ‘someone else’ you were referring to, Y/L/N?” she quipped, turning now to George. You groaned, looking over apologetically at George as that was definitely not the outcome you had hoped for. Fred had to clench his fist to stop from lashing out.

Back in the common room Fred was angry, the angriest you or George had ever seen him. “She’s a cow, a wretched cow. Y/N you shouldn’t have gotten involved, you know exactly what she’s going to do to you - do to all three of us. I can’t bear it.” This had you frowning, explaining you would rather go through that pain with him, and be there for him.

“NO! Don’t sacrifice yourself for me, if she hurts you Godric knows what I’ll do to her - and then what will happen? How can it possibly get any worse than bloody torture?”

All three of you were silenced by his outburst. He saw the stress in the lines in your forehead and the anguish in your eyes. Reaching out for you, he surrounded you in warmth. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I shouldn’t have acted like that. I just hate to see you hurting, but I appreciate you always wanting to be there for me. I really do, love.”

The twins’ final day was one you would never forget. You’d only known about their plan for a few days - they couldn’t risk anyone finding out and putting a stop to it. Fred would definitely be happier away from Hogwarts and, more vitally, Umbridge. She would hopefully ease up on all of your unjustified detentions as well if they were no longer there to provoke her. In only a few short months you and Fred would be back to spending your days together, and he had big plans to save for your future away from Hogwarts. To him, this was simply preparation and planning (two things he excelled at if he did say so himself) for the rest of your lives.

The day arrived, standing outside the Great Hall you saw the excitement running through the twins. The morning had been blissful, Fred had snuck you both to Hogsmeade and you had relived one of your first dates. Then by the fire of the common room you had spoken about the future, and the plans that were just about to begin. After a bittersweet kiss, he had mounted his broomstick with George and kicked off the ground. Your heart soared watching him do what he did best, the chaos and joy of the scene surrounding you was enough to make you well up with pride. As the sparks rained down he caught your eye and winked. Umbridge’s uncontrollable fury was the perfect ending to your day as she stood seething amid the cheering, happy students. You made sure to describe it all in glorious detail in the owl you sent to Fred that same evening.

The worst ever trick pulled on you by Fred was the moment that you realised that sometimes fun and games weren’t always… well… fun and games. You two had spent the day together in the bedroom of the flat above the shop. In the morning he had a short meeting with George about work stuff. After that, he had returned to bed and the two of you had relaxed, sharing kisses, chatting nonsense and talking about life until you felt it was time to get up. Heading through to the kitchen you saw an unfamiliar potion bottle, “Freddie, what’s the new product?” you had shouted through before picking it up and sniffing it. Immediately your nose screwed up and you spluttered “eurgh, smells like Polyjuice potion!” turning to Fred, who was plating up breakfast using small flicks of his wand. “Are you allowed to sell this in the shop? Has someone tested it?” your brows pulled together. “Oh, love I must’ve forgotten to say - I’m testing it right now!”

“Freddie, what do you mean?” you looked over at him. That’s when you noticed, Fred’s small scar on his eyebrow was gone. In fact, upon closer inspection you weren’t looking at Fred, you were looking at George. As you frowned his eyes widened dramatically.

“Oh… its worn off.” whispered George as he stood infront of you, “We tried it out at the end of the meeting but it must have been an hour since then.”

“FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY YOU HAVE 5 MINUTES TO EXPLAIN YOURSELF BEFORE I BURN THE SHOP AND EVERYTHING IN IT TO THE GROUND!” you bellowed, rushing round the flat in an attempt to find the real Fred.

When you found him, he was doubled over laughing. “You can quit that! I’ve just spend the last hour cuddling your bloody brother you prick” you raged at him. He wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and tried, unsucessfully, to pull you into his arms.

“No Fred this is not funny, you can’t just use me as a test subject, you don’t get to mess with me like that. Have some respect!” you continued to shout.

“Darling, darling. The thing is… you weren’t cuddling my brother. We just planted the potion for you to find and swapped when we went into the kitchen, babe, It was me earlier!” Fred wheezed. He looked over at George who was standing in the doorway, caught between a terrified sort of trance at your reaction and a chuckle bubbling from his lips.

“Brother of mine, this was all very fun but please remind me never ever to try and trick Y/N ever again, that was really…scary.” he admitted.

“I know,” smiled Fred “wasn’t it brilliant!”

Back on the sofa in The Burrow, Fred couldn’t believe his ears “What do you mean by practicing?” he asked incredulously. You scoffed “You’ve been getting yourself, and sometimes me, in bother for four years now Fred. I had to adapt to survive!” he chuckled at this. “Ok fair play…” he whispered into your hair, leaning down to hover his lips over yours, “I’ve done some things that I shouldn’t have done… but I haven’t stopped loving you once.”

A/N: Please let me know if you enjoyed this story, my requests are currently open but please read the guidelines on my page first. Thanks for reading.

[meowdymista]

The Love Spoon (A You-tensil)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Notes: Title sounds more provocative than it is. I tried to write it as a Charles x Arthur, but it came out better in first person. Fluff

~ NOW ON AO3! ~

“What are you doing?”

Arthur all but jumps out of his skin, colour rising in his cheeks. “Nothing,” he says a little too quickly.

You dismiss the secrecy. It doesn’t worry you, merely piques your interest a little. Usually it’s his journal he’s so protective over, but the knife in his hand and the shavings of bark in the grass suggest he has found another outlet.

“Mind if I sit here?”

He looks at the space beside him on the salt bleached log and shakes his head, hiding his eyes beneath the rim of the worn gambler’s hat he favours. “‘Course not. Free country.”

“Not for fellas with bounties,” you tease, and he chuckles, returning to his work.

You let the silence stretch, breathing in the cool breeze sweeping in over Flat Iron Lake and listening to the bird song. The coffee in your hand is too bitter and thin for your taste, but you continue to sip it stoically, knowing you’ll suffer later if you don’t.

“Much planned today?”

You sigh and struggle to smother the smirk tugging its way to the surface. “Fixin’ that wagon you and Mrs Adler took to town.”

He tuts. “They don’t build ‘em like they used to, a’right?”

You hum into your tin cup, wincing at the flavour. “Don’t know what magical wagon you used to drive. S’far as I can tell, they’re making them same as ever.”

Laughing, you let him land a gentle punch to your upper arm before taking the opportunity to stretch with a long groan.

“Guess I’ll catch you later.” He tips his hat at you with a small smile as you turn back into camp to begin chores.

***

“What the hell is it, Morgan?”

You shake your head, draining the last of the stew from the bowl. Sometimes it was a wonder the Pinkerton’s weren’t just listening out for Bill’s brawdy boasting or Dutch’s eloquent enunciations of faith to track them down. You toss your dish and spoon into the tub and look back out across to the sunset. A lone canoe drifts over the still surface, leaving a V of ripples in its wake. Whilst you appreciated the peace and quiet of this somewhat more remote camp, you worried for potential enemies eavesdropping from all manner of directions, especially as some members of camp had more than made themselves at home.

“It don’t matter what it is, I already told yer, it’s not for you!”

“Then why the hell you bring it over here? And what the hell’s it for?”

“Mind your damn business!”

“Gentlemen! What seems to be the problem?” Hosea’s tranquility smoothes over the tension.

You’re torn between conceding to your curiosity and keeping your distance from the drama until it’s cooled off. You glance over to your tent and inadvertently catch Arthur’s eye. You look away quickly, taking a deep breath as your cheeks fill with colour. It’s not what you think it means, you tell yourself, repeating your internal mantra. It's a coincidence. Let your head guide your heart. Don’t chase daydreams. It’s not what you think it means.

You watch the canoe disappear behind the trees. No man ever got out of the woods on his heart alone. You need to listen to logic.

You look back, but Arthur’s back is to you. As it should be, you reason as you walk over to the campfire, denying any intent to eavesdrop to yourself.

“Is this what I think it is?”

“Wh-What do you think it is?”

“A spoon carved from basswood!” Hosea laughed. “Didn’t you used to have one like this? Your mother’s, if I’m not mistaken?”

He grunts as Bill splutters. “Ain’t gonna do much eatin’ with that, Morgan! It’s almost flat! You’d be better off eatin’ off a butter knife!”

“It ain’t for eatin’ with!” he snaps, snatching it out of Hosea’s hands and turning on his heel. “It’s stupid. Forget it.”

Bill cries out as Hosea’s hand makes contact with the back of his head. “You drunken oaf. Read a room why don’t you!”

“Read a room?” Bill blusters. “I ain’t seen four walls since that bank job-”

You push yourself to your feet and track him down with ease. He has stormed off towards the treeline and stopped by his horse, leaning his elbows on the saddle patting the mare’s neck distractedly. He throws the item towards the shore in a fit of frustration and pulls himself up onto his mare with a huff. You’re too close in the clearing to be able to hide when he looks straight at you, but despite stiffening in surprise, he yanks the reins to lead his horse out of camp without looking back.

You wait until you’re sure you’re alone before stalking out to the grass, looking for whatever it is that Arthur threw. It takes a while, but eventually you find it.

It’s a rough whittled spoon. On closer inspection, you can see the detail scratched into it and where he’s tried to sand the edges to smooth them. The lip of the spoon is, as Bill stated, too shallow for much use, but the handle is intricate and suggests it’s purely a decorative piece. The wood winds into itself, plaiting itself awkwardly up to the head of a stag. You walk it back to camp carefully, keeping it out of sight in the fold of your shirt. Finding a quiet space near the first aid cart, you study it closer. The handle is not carved with plaits as first surmised, but a feather. The detail is exquisite. It fans out near the top, like a peacock feather, but instead of the target or eye, it blossoms with the angular snout of a stag, it’s antlers stretching up above.

Arthur couldn’t have finished this today. You think back and realise you have seen him asking Sean to teach him to whittle, asking Hosea how best to carve details. No wonder he snapped at Bill - the time he must have spent on this… and for it to be made from a singular piece of wood with no mistakes...

In your lapse of attention, Hosea has crept up on you.

“You found it then?”

“I suppose so.” You straighten up and hold it out for him to examine in the light. “It’s incredible, isn’t it?”

“Arthur has never done anything by halves.” He chuckles and presses it back into his hands. “D’you know, when we first met him, he had something like this in his pocket. Said his grandmother had given it to his mother as a gift on her engagement. Something like a love spoon? It’s some sort of British tradition, I think. His was lost after the stables we were sleeping in caught fire. Lost a few possessions to that fire, sleeping bags included, but that was one of the few things that couldn’t be replaced.”

You murmur a few words of wonder and Hosea shrugs. “I’ve never found much on it in the way of literature about them. I’ve tried asking John, Sean, Molly, Mac, Davey... and many other Brits we’ve picked up along the way, but no one seems familiar with it. It’s like it lived and died with his family.”

You leave him to his musings and carefully carry the spoon back to your tent. Taking some cotton from a torn shirt (damn Night folk and their knives) you wrap it gently and leave it on the cabinet at his bedside to find later.

You don't hear him return that night. You wake from a dreamless sleep, thinking of the day ahead as you pour yourself some coffee and look out across the horizon. With a twist of your heart, you recognise the silhouette on the same log as yesterday, and hesitantly make your way over.

"Morning."

Arthur looks up at you and gives you a small smile. "Morning."

You sit down besides him and together you rest in comfortable silence. Eventually Arthur holds out the remains of your shirt and you accept it with a small nod of acknowledgment.

"Thanks for… for finding it for me." He moves the spoon between his hands, turning it over, embarrassed. "It's stupid, I know."

"I don't think it's stupid." The morning light has made his pupils retract enough for you to see the essence of green in his irises. "It's a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. I've never seen anything like it."

"Nah, the one my mother had was better."

"Hosea told me about that." You slide your hand out to close the gap between you. "Said you lost it in a fire?"

He sighs heavily. "Yeah." His lips thin as he thinks hard. You give him the space, finishing the last of your coffee which is a little better than yesterday’s. Eventually he takes a deep breath and turns to you, his eyes scouring your face for any signs of repulsion or amusement at his expense. You mirror him, keeping your face as neutral as you can.

“My… my taid - or my grandfather - gave one of these to my nain. It’s… it’s a traditional gift we used to give to each other as a token of appreciation. My grandfather gave it to my grandmother when they got engaged, and she gave it to my mother before they came to America.”

You nod slowly. “Was it a cultural thing?”

“Yeah. We didn’t have a lot of money, so this was something you could make to show… well show how much you cared, I guess.”

He holds the elegant utensil out to you, a blush creeping over his cheeks.

“I had a look at it last night. It’s beautiful, Arthur. The detail… it must have taken you weeks to carve.”

“About two months in total.” He rubs the back of his neck with a grimace. “It took me a few tries to get it right.”

“The care you’ve put into it… It’s really something.”

“I, err, made it for you.”

You manage to catch your jaw before it hits your lap, but the colour is already flooding your face without abandon. “Are you sure?”

“‘Course I’m sure. Unless you don’t want it? It’s stupid, I know-”

“But- why? Why me?” You let your fingertips trace the grooves of the feather and slide over the smooth antlers. “Don’t you want to keep it?”

“I made it for you,” he repeats, his bottom lip disappearing as he chews it. “It won’t be any good for eatin’ with, but-”

“Neither are your sketches, but that doesn’t mean they lack value.” A laugh escapes you as you reach out and squeeze his hand. “Thank you, Arthur. This is… wow!”

He peaks out from under his hat, a smile pulling at his lips at your reaction. “You mean a lot to me. It’s the least I could do.”

You’re leaning forward unconsciously, like he is the centre of gravity. Your heart thuds as you realise he’s also teetering towards you.

“A thank you would have sufficed!”

He scoffs, his gaze softening. “You know what I mean.”

It’s not what you think it means.

His breathing is unsteady as it brushes your face. You can feel the warmth of his hand gliding up your back as he closes the gap and gently presses a chaste kiss against your lips.

[fortunaamajor]

The Ultracheese (Fred Weasley)

Fred Weasley x Reader

This story is based on one of my favourite lyrics at the moment. It’s a mainly fluffy, cheesy but angsty in parts story of Fred and Reader reminiscing on their relationship. 

Reader is vague - gender not specified, no specific house mentioned.

Song Link: The Ultracheese by Arctic Monkeys

Warnings: Mild bad language, mentions of Umbridge’s Black Quill (torture)

Word Count: 2k

Although I am using the Harry Potter universe as a basis for this story I do not support JK Rowling or her views.

“Fred Gideon Weasley!” a piercing shriek from Molly erupted through the bottom floor of the Burrow, as Fred skidded into the living room where you were sitting. You gave him a pointed look as she followed him through muttering about “...making my life so difficult, can you just give me one moment to RELAX, you’re old enough to know better at this age - both of you!” her voice rose at the end of her rant so that George could also get the gist from wherever he had run off to in the cramped house. Fred was chuckling as he plopped himself down beside you. He glanced at his long suffering mother as she took a couple of deep breaths, turned on her heel and left the room, but not before spitting out something about he and his twin being “...inconsiderate, childish...”. 

Lifting up the crochet blanket you were sitting under, Fred attempted to weasel his way in beside you. He looked slightly hurt at Molly’s last comment, you captured his jaw in your hand carefully and turned it towards you

“Go and apologise to her. Bonus points if you can convince George to join you.”

“But it was only a-”

“Uh uh! I don’t wanna hear it, you know I’m right. It’ll make all three of you feel better. Go.”

He hung his head, knowing you were right yet wondering how he’d ever ended up falling so hopelessly in love with someone who had a tongue almost as sharp as his mother’s. 

When he returned the crochet blanket was being held open for him and there was space for him to curl up beside you. He rested his head on top of yours, kissing your hair. “How come you always know how to get me out of trouble?” he mused as his hand crept round your shoulders to hold you closer to him. 

“I’ve been practicing, one day I’ll share all I’ve learnt with you Freddie boy.” you replied dryly, but with a peck on his cheek afterwards. 

And practicing you had been, for four years. You had always known it would be this way when you fell in love with Fred - your second ‘date’ was in detention for Godric’s sake. He and George had roped you into helping prank Filch, being as smitten as you were for the older twin you had accepted. Unfortunately, as the three of you hid behind a suit of armour Fred had tried to be smooth and brought the whole thing crashing down (literally). 

“Good job darling, you can definitely join us again” he had whispered in your ear. Then as he reached a hand round your waist he knocked the armour, which as if it had an occupant, had jumped away from the three of you - still intact. The clatter of the armour alerted Mrs Norris, and when Filch came running there was no longer anything hiding you all from his beady stare.

That was how you came to be sitting in Professor Binns’ room on Thursday afternoon, with Fred attempting to flirt silently from a few desks away. The clock was counting down until dinner, which couldn’t come quick enough. Not only were you starving but you knew that Fred would no doubt bound up to you in the Great Hall later ready to talk your ear off about his newest invention to try and impress you. It was sweet really, to see him like such a lovesick puppy who never wanted to leave your side - you might even have made fun of him if it hadn’t made your heart rate increase and your face flush with heat.

For now, under the (not so) watchful eye of Professor Binns, he had to stick with writing notes and placing them on the desk between you as silently as he could.

The first note appeared blank until his handwriting scribbled out his message...

UH OH, SORRY ABOUT THIS! HOW CAN I EVER MAKE IT UP TO YOU?

Looking over you saw him pouting, bottom lip jutted out. Blushing, you just shrugged, trying to play it cool. He frowned and sent another note your way...

SATURDAY NIGHT HOT CHOCOLATE IN MY DORM? I’LL SNEAK YOU IN X

The words scrawled in front of you caused your cheeks to burn and your palms to sweat. All you could muster was turning to him and nodding. His retort of blowing you a kiss had you reeling, so much so you didn’t notice Professor Binns coughing quietly at the front of the room.

These shared detentions lost their appeal when Umbridge arrived at Hogwarts and started enacting her ‘stupid bloody toad rules’ as Fred called them. He worried about ever getting you in trouble with the nightmare clad in pink and  forbade you from joining in on any pranks, or even helping out with Weasley Products. Umbridge had it in for you because of your link with the twins, even if you were perfectly polite and pleasant she would nitpick or accuse you of things you hadn’t done. This broke Fred’s heart, especially after the three of you first experienced that damn black quill. From then on, Fred was on high alert, the idea of that monster getting her hands on you again made him want to scream.  Fifteen minutes into a dull Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson she had already pounced,“Weasley, see me after class.” she scolded, her tone clipped. 

“But Professor I...” he had begun to exclaim, before she raised her arched brows

“Three of my second years this morning had to be excused due to illness... I know one of your ghastly concoctions was behind it.” she practically sang.

Fred knew the group of boys she was referring to, they had been saving up for Puking Pastilles in order to skive one of Umbridge’s lessons, and to be honest, he didn’t blame them. He said nothing, but a voice piped up from across the class. Horrified, he realised it was you. 

“Professor, you can’t possibly blame Fred for that! What if there’s a bug going round? Or what if they bought the product from someone else?” 

Umbridge tried to suppress a smile as she nodded along. 

“I see, you can join Mr Weasley in detention, along with his brother. I’m assuming he is the ‘someone else’ you were referring to, Y/L/N?” she quipped, turning now to George. You groaned, looking over apologetically at George as that was definitely not the outcome you had hoped for. Fred had to clench his fist to stop from lashing out. 

Back in the common room Fred was angry, the angriest you or George had ever seen him. “She’s a cow, a wretched cow. Y/N you shouldn’t have gotten involved, you know exactly what she’s going to do to you - do to all three of us. I can’t bear it.” This had you frowning, explaining you would rather go through that pain with him, and be there for him. 

“NO! Don’t sacrifice yourself for me, if she hurts you Godric knows what I’ll do to her - and then what will happen? How can it possibly get any worse than bloody torture?”

All three of you were silenced by his outburst. He saw the stress in the lines in your forehead and the anguish in your eyes. Reaching out for you, he surrounded you in warmth. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I shouldn’t have acted like that. I just hate to see you hurting, but I appreciate you always wanting to be there for me. I really do, love.”

The twins’ final day was one you would never forget. You’d only known about their plan for a few days - they couldn’t risk anyone finding out and putting a stop to it. Fred would definitely be happier away from Hogwarts and, more vitally, Umbridge. She would hopefully ease up on all of your unjustified detentions as well if they were no longer there to provoke her. In only a few short months you and Fred would be back to spending your days together, and he had big plans to save for your future away from Hogwarts. To him, this was simply preparation and planning (two things he excelled at if he did say so himself) for the rest of your lives. 

The day arrived, standing outside the Great Hall you saw the excitement running through the twins. The morning had been blissful, Fred had snuck you both to Hogsmeade and you had relived one of your first dates. Then by the fire of the common room you had spoken about the future, and the plans that were just about to begin. After a bittersweet kiss, he had mounted his broomstick with George and kicked off the ground. Your heart soared watching him do what he did best, the chaos and joy of the scene surrounding you was enough to make you well up with pride. As the sparks rained down he caught your eye and winked. Umbridge’s uncontrollable fury was the perfect ending to your day as she stood seething amid the cheering, happy students. You made sure to describe it all in glorious detail in the owl you sent to Fred that same evening.

The worst ever trick pulled on you by Fred was the moment that you realised that sometimes fun and games weren’t always... well... fun and games. You two had spent the day together in the bedroom of the flat above the shop. In the morning he had a short meeting with George about work stuff. After that, he had returned to bed and the two of you had relaxed, sharing kisses, chatting nonsense and talking about life until you felt it was time to get up. Heading through to the kitchen you saw an unfamiliar potion bottle, “Freddie, what’s the new product?” you had shouted through before picking it up and sniffing it. Immediately your nose screwed up and you spluttered “eurgh, smells like Polyjuice potion!” turning to Fred, who was plating up breakfast using small flicks of his wand. “Are you allowed to sell this in the shop? Has someone tested it?” your brows pulled together. “Oh, love I must’ve forgotten to say - I’m testing it right now!”

“Freddie, what do you mean?” you looked over at him. That’s when you noticed, Fred’s small scar on his eyebrow was gone. In fact, upon closer inspection you weren’t looking at Fred, you were looking at George. As you frowned his eyes widened dramatically. 

“Oh... its worn off.” whispered George as he stood infront of you, “We tried it out at the end of the meeting but it must have been an hour since then.”

“FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY YOU HAVE 5 MINUTES TO EXPLAIN YOURSELF BEFORE I BURN THE SHOP AND EVERYTHING IN IT TO THE GROUND!” you bellowed, rushing round the flat in an attempt to find the real Fred. 

When you found him, he was doubled over laughing. “You can quit that! I’ve just spend the last hour cuddling your bloody brother you prick” you raged at him. He wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and tried, unsucessfully, to pull you into his arms. 

“No Fred this is not funny, you can’t just use me as a test subject, you don’t get to mess with me like that. Have some respect!” you continued to shout. 

“Darling, darling. The thing is... you weren’t cuddling my brother. We just planted the potion for you to find and swapped when we went into the kitchen, babe, It was me earlier!” Fred wheezed. He looked over at George who was standing in the doorway, caught between a terrified sort of trance at your reaction and a chuckle bubbling from his lips. 

“Brother of mine, this was all very fun but please remind me never ever to try and trick Y/N ever again, that was really...scary.” he admitted.

“I know,” smiled Fred “wasn’t it brilliant!”

Back on the sofa in The Burrow, Fred couldn’t believe his ears “What do you mean by practicing?” he asked incredulously. You scoffed “You’ve been getting yourself, and sometimes me, in bother for four years now Fred. I had to adapt to survive!” he chuckled at this. “Ok fair play...” he whispered into your hair, leaning down to hover his lips over yours, “I’ve done some things that I shouldn’t have done... but I haven’t stopped loving you once.” 

A/N: Please let me know if you enjoyed this story, my requests are currently open but please read the guidelines on my page first. Thanks for reading. 

[shemakesmusic-uk]

Jorja Smith has unveiled a standout new video for latest track ‘By Any Means’. The powerful video (directed by Otis Dominique and Ellington Hammond) shines a spotlight on communities across the UK, complimenting the track’s vital message around social issues and the civil rights movement. As noted by Jorja about the track: "The inspiration behind 'By Any Means' really came from going to the Black Lives Matter protest and leaving thinking, what can I do to keep this conversation going? It’s not just a post on social media, it's life.” ‘By Any Means’ is the first track to be unveiled from a new project titled ‘Reprise’, curated by the team at Roc Nation with the sole aim of bringing awareness to social justice issues. A portion of proceeds will go to funding organisations that support victims of police brutality, hate crimes, and other violations of civil rights. [via Dork]

Madison, WI-bred and Chicago-based band Slow Pulp recently announced Moveys, their self-produced debut album, and shared its first single 'Idaho.' Now the band shares another song off of the forthcoming record, entitled 'Falling Apart.' The track, featuring Alex G collaborator Molly Gemer on violin, is accompanied by a fantastical music video about feeling lost in a familiar landscape. Director Jake Lazovick, places Emily in a transient world, surrounded by flying objects and missing pieces. The clip features nostalgic animations, body doubles for social distancing purposes, and an homage to Massey's background as a ballet dancer. Read more about the song from Massey below: "As we were finishing up writing the album my parents got into a serious car accident and I came back home to help take care of them. A couple of weeks later COVID-19 started getting worse in the US, and quarantine began. Life felt completely surreal, everything had drastically changed and at such a rapid pace. It was especially strange because everyone was experiencing the same thing at the same time, but couldn’t be physically with each other to support each other. I felt like I couldn’t process any emotions I had about the whole ordeal because I had to keep it together to take care of my family. It became easier to stay numb, and create a facade that I was doing ok, than it was to release any type of healthy emotion for a long time. Luckily I did allow myself to have a full on breakdown induced by a stubbed toe and confusion over taxes, sometimes it’s the littlest things that finally get you."

Soap Detox met a party, and somehow their friendship sustained during the lengthy hangover that followed. A frisky Swedish three-piece with a lust for melody and good times, their raucous garage-pop is already making waves in their homeland. A full EP is incoming, with Soap Detox trailing this with their irresistible new single 'Give Me Gore'. A three minute fuzz pop wonder, it's a clanking, cheeky, subversive statement from a group who thrive on such things. The video features their shorn-headed lead singer in full form, accompanied by her band mates. Directed by Evelyn Del Carmen and Ebba Sylvan, you can check it out above. [via Clash]

It’s been a decade since we’ve heard from multi-hyphenate musician and producer The Angel, who last made a splash as a musician in 2009 with her single 'Ultra Light,' which featured the singer/producer Jhelisa on vocals. Focusing more on her career in film/TV composition and music production in recent years, she’s planning to return to recording her own music later this year with a new LP entitled Xtra Sensory Goodness. Now we’re getting the first taste of this project, which is yet another collaboration with the vocalist Jhelisa. “Jhelisa and I have become close friends over the years,” she explains. “There’s a lot of sisterly love and mutual respect between us, so Jhelisa already understood the mournful weight of the track before I asked to feature her. I’m always grateful that she’s willing to experiment with me because it’s not something she does lightly. Jhelisa beautifully channels the essence of whatever emotion needs to come through in the most evocative and visceral way.”  The song arrives beautifully packaged with an entrancing video directed by none other than Mark Pellington (along with co-directors Sergio Pinheiro and Sweeten), known for his concert docs for Pearl Jam, INXS, and The Flaming Lips, as well as an extensive music-videography including iconic visuals for Public Enemy, Nine Inch Nails, and plenty more artists. “I wanted the song to sound like a memory, like you’ve entered someone else’s dream space,” The Angel continues, noting how the video perfectly syncs to the song’s mood. “The emotion is contained, very internal, so I juxtaposed a vocal vulnerability against a driving, incessant rhythm, where you can feel the underlying tension at the same time as experiencing the gentle plea, ‘Where’s my shelter…?’” [via Flood]

A few weeks ago, Ciara gave birth to her son Win. Last night, she shared a video that she evidently recorded while she was very, very pregnant. Ciara’s new song 'Rooted' is a statement of Black pride, a clear statement of solidarity with the protest movement that’s swept across America and the rest of the world these past few months. It’s a hard, kinetic track with vocals from the songwriter Esther Dean. But the song, at least right now, feels more like a vehicle for the video. Like a lot of Ciara videos, the 'Rooted'” clip is built around bodies dancing. In this one, though, one of those bodies belongs to Ciara, who dances with her belly exposed and who looks like she’s about to give birth any second. To watch someone dance this hard while that pregnant is an actual marvel, a near-superhuman feat. The 'Rooted' video is full of Black iconography, and it features the faces of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor. All throughout, Ciara presents an image of motherly strength. Annie Bercy directs. [via Stereogum]

Hazel English releases the new video for her single ‘Five And Dime’ taken from her debut album Wake UP! which is out now on Marathon Artists. ‘Five and Dime’ is a woozy, idyllic view into Hazel’s world, which is built on timeless-sounding melodies, retro-tinged soundscapes and a knack for resonant lyrics. The mid-tempo number is reminiscent of the playful love songs of ’60s pop, as Hazel frustratedly muses on a love interest who is consuming her thoughts and detracting from her focus, “Gotta get away cause you’re taking up all of my time / You know I need my space so I’m heading to the Five and Dime.” Speaking about the new video, Hazel says: “'Five and Dime' is about longing for escape and freedom so I thought it would be fun to create an idyllic beach vacation, constructed from a set with cardboard cut out waves and fake palm trees. The idea behind it is that while I'm fantasizing about escaping to a tropical place, it's clear I'm just kind of stuck in this pretend version of it. I wanted to evoke the nostalgia of Hollywood musicals from the '50s and '60s, complete with dance choreography and bright colourful costumes.”

Katy Perry has released her second video for 'Smile,' featuring the pop star playing a video game version of herself as she battles giant spiders, circus trapeze acts and more while dressed as a clown. Much of the video is in CGI, with a live-action Perry playing the video game in her house (while also dressed as a clown). [via Rolling Stone]

Global superstar, Miley Cyrus has unveiled 'Midnight Sky,' a track that showcases a new direction for the always evolving artist.  The song, which was inspired by the past year of her life, is accompanied by a video that Miley self-directed.  In creating the song and video, Miley drew from strong female musical icons, like Stevie Nicks, Joan Jett, and Debbie Harry, who have always been so generous, and have been her greatest allies and inspiration.  The video showcases Miley as her true self: unapologetic, diverse, sexy, confident, experimental, and strong. The video takes viewers through Miley’s creative vision which displays her complete control of the narrative often told through the mouths of the media. Miley is at peace with who she is and has nothing to prove. As a musician she continues to push boundaries and experiment with her sound and look. Miley has proven to be many things, but boring is not one of them.

Chelsea Collins is nonconformist pop singer with a vision. For the captivating new 'Water Run Dry,' a collaboration with rapper, singer and fellow Bay Area-native 24kGoldn, Collins's infectious pop melodies glide over a hypnotic beat. Relatable lyrics about a faltering relationship reveal a depth of experience for the 21-year-old, with a wistful chorus lamenting, "there's no good in goodbye." The Roxana Baldovin-directed visuals for the track are an eyeful — Collins and 24kGoldn play house in an oversized, colorful California dollhouse, interspersed with images of a little girl playing with literal Barbies. The message? "I wanted this song and video to execute the world that's inside of my head — somewhat similar to a weird vintage rom com where at first the drama of love is so toxic, passionate and thrilling but eventually my lover and I have a happy ending," Collins tells NYLON. "Unfortunately reality isn't as fun and it kinda feels like some cranky dude is controlling your path, who's lowkey salty whenever something feels too amazing," she continues. "My intuition will tell me to run, but I'm notorious for acting like a Stepford wife, trying to recreate my past feelings yet they're all super robotic. Maybe one day I'll get lucky and love won't have to be so bittersweet, but until then I'll learn to smile even when things blow up in my face." [via NYLON]

Kali Uchis shared the visuals for her latest single 'Aquí Yo Mando' on Monday. Featuring a verse in Spanglish by Rico Nasty, the single is Kali's first release since her TO FEEL ALIVE EP from earlier this year. The Phillipa Price-directed clip finds the pair on a weapons-filled rampage, dropping bodies in underground parking lots and filming each other along the way. With co-production by reggaeton hitmaker Tainy, the booming track sees Uchis assertively laying some ground rules over trappy 808s. "Haces todo lo que diga (You do everything that I say)," she raps. “Si estás conmigo solo mando yo (If you’re with me, only I call the shots).” [via The FADER]

[meteora-writes]

We Could Be Perfect One Last Night ch.4

Fandom: Hannibal Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham Warnings: Pain, Talk of Feelings, Angst, Talk of Murder, Talk of Cannibalism Chapter: 4. Please Understand Description: Jack is still being an irritable asshole. Will and Hannibal make a few things clear to one another. Authors Notes: I struggled with the dialogue in this one, so please forgive me if it sounds a little OOC. Read on AO3

~~~~~ Read Ch.1 ~ Ch.2 ~ Ch.3~~~~~

“Dash-cam from the stolen cruiser confirmed that Dolarhyde was the last one moving about the property after Graham and Lecter entered the home. No sign of anyone coming or going from around the house or the surrounding treeline after that. If they didn’t fall into the ocean, they sure as hell didn’t climb back up any part of the bluff around the house and leave on foot,” Zeller informs Jack as he walks into his office. “Which isn’t surprising, given there was no evidence of anyone having done that.” The annoyance in his voice is loud and clear. He’s been over all the evidence they got before the storm hit. There’s no way Will and Hannibal got back up that cliff and left the way they came. They fell into the ocean below the bluff without question. No way around it.

“Then find me where they got out of the water and where they went from there. I refuse to believe they drown after everything we saw.” Jack feels ready to start shouting. The urge to bubbling up inside his chest. He’s spent the morning pouring over evidence. Making phone calls. He even tried to contact Alana Bloom and Dr. Du Maurier to get their insight as well as get them both into protective custody. Neither will return his calls and he’s waiting for the agents he sent to their homes to report in.

“Jack, you need to accept the possibility that they didn’t make it out of the water. It’s the middle of February. It was thirty degrees out at the estimated time they killed Dolarhyde. Even with the average temperature of the ocean being higher than the air temperature this time of year, the amount of time it would take them to swim ashore along with the amount of blood they both clearly lost makes their survival rate slim at best. And that’s assuming they made it to one of the nearby summer homes. None of which show any signs of forced entry,” Zeller argues further. He doesn’t like the idea any more than Jack does. But he doesn’t think he can ever look Will in the eye again if he did survive. Not after seeing how brutally he and Hannibal took down Dolarhyde.

“I am well aware of the lack of evidence, Z, and I do not need a science lesson right now. I am aware of what the temperatures were last night and of their odds of survival. Now kindly return to your lab before I get any angrier,” Jack grits out before grabbing a stack of reports from the corner of his desk to start rifling through.

Zeller looks ready to argue, but closes his mouth and walks out without another word. He does however slam the door behind him.

Jack watches him go before heaving an irritated sigh and rubbing at his forehead. He feels a headache coming on. Likely due to too much caffeine. He’s on his fourth cup of coffee as he tries to pour through everything they have on both Lecter and Graham as well as the field reports as they come. He knows Hannibal well enough to know he’s always got a backup plan of some sort. The trick is connecting the puzzle pieces to find out what it is.

It makes him wish Will was there. Which only serves to anger him further. He should have known better. He let Will’s reluctance and the fact that he had a wife and son now convince him that Will wouldn’t go off with Hannibal. That he had changed and he wouldn’t be drawn to him like he was before.

“Because I wanted to run away with him.”

“Part of me will always want to.”

Jack curses under his breath as he remembers Will’s words from years ago.

A buzzer cuts through his train of thought, drawing his attention to the phone on his desk. With a growl of annoyance, he pressed the button for the intercom. “What is it?”

“Sir, Molly Graham is on the line. She wants to speak to you and she doesn’t sound happy,” the agent on the other line informs him.

“Thank you.” Jack briefly looks up to the ceiling and prays that she has some useful bit of information to help them find Will. He picks up the receiver then and clicks over to line two, which is lit up with a waiting call. “Mrs. Graham.”

“What the hell did you do, Jack! Where is my husband!” Her angry voice cuts through the speaker, making Jack wince. He was hoping whoever broke the news to her would do so in a way that explained everything. Apparently they did not.

With a tired sigh, he rubs at his forehead with his free hand once more and begins to explain what’s happened.

~~~~~

It’s sometime in the early afternoon when Will finally wakes again. Not that he really wants to.

His body still aches. Head throbbing sharply with the beat of his heart. He feels like he’s been cracked open and parts of him are spilling out with every beat. The only thing that helps him through the initial shock of pain is the feeling of what is definitely a warm, solid body pressed against part of his back. His sleep-addled mind connects the dots slowly. He knows where he is. Who he’s with. And he’s just too tired and miserable to be bothered or feel much of anything about that fact aside from relief that he isn’t alone.

Hannibal is asleep behind him. Breathing soft and even. Barely audible thanks to the crackle of the fire and the howl of the wind outside. There’s a distinct patter of freezing rain hitting ice somewhere above. The storm they had outrun having arrived a few hours ago blanketed the area in a layer of fresh snow before it changed to freezing rain.

Lifting his head with a wince and gasp at the way the change in position makes it throb and his vision go black a moment, Will steadies himself and looks out the closest window. It’s a dreary shade of gray out as sleet comes down at a harsh angle thanks to the winds that accompany it.

“You really should lay back down, Will. Overexertion will only make the pain worse,” Hannibal mutters sleepily as he shifts on the mattress behind Will. It’s more obvious now that he’s simply resting on his back behind the younger man, his arm pulled over his own chest in a way that allows Will’s back to press against his side. Giving them both a bit of extra warmth and comfort without making either man feel trapped or particularly awkward.

“I don’t think there is anything I could do right now that wouldn’t make the pain worse,” Will replies softly as he lets his head lower slowly back to his pillow. Even that is painful. So much so that he momentarily wishes he hadn’t woken up so soon.

A soft hum of understanding comes from Hannibal, who isn’t making any move to get up yet now that he’s awake. “Perhaps something to eat would do you good? I could prepare some soup if you like?”

Will can’t help but snort a laugh at that. The thought of Hannibal cooking anything that comes from a can feels like a joke. “I don’t need you to make me soup, Hannibal.”

The bed dips slightly as Hannibal sits up, and it makes Will shift and roll onto his back to look up at the older man. “I know you don’t. I simply offered because I intend to make myself something to eat as well. It’s really no trouble.”

Studying him a moment, Will sighs and lets his eyes slip closed. “Please?” he finds himself asking a bit reluctantly. He would do it himself, but the thought of getting up, along with the pain it will cause his head, is unappealing, to say the least. He hates feeling like this. Useless and weak. It makes him miss his dogs. They always distract and comfort him when he feels this miserable.

Hannibal smiles down at Will, watching him a moment before finally climbing out of bed. The cabin is quite warm now. Thanks in part to his keeping the fire going. He had added another split piece of wood before laying down early that morning and added yet another when he woke to relieve himself a few hours later. It’s been maybe two hours since then and the fire is smaller now, but still burning nicely.

There’s a collection of cast iron cookware hanging on the wall over the small wood-burning stove that sits in the corner. Beside that is an old sink with a well-pump for a faucet, and a set of cupboards that contain a few pots and dishes. More than enough to work with for what they need.

“The last time I prepared a meal from a can like this I was a young man just entering university, if memory serves,” Hannibal muses as he sets a pot on the stove. There’s no sign of a can opener, but he finds an old churchkey in the silverware drawer and grabs that to use.

“Somehow I find it hard to imagine you ever eating anything out of a can that wasn’t in some way extravagant or more expensive than my first car,” Will jokes as he opens his eyes and blinks up at the rafters above him. There’s various kind of gear stored up in them. Old looking wooden snowshoes, and what might be fishing equipment. He’s not entirely sure since he can’t get his eyes to focus well enough to get a good look through the shadows.

With a chuckle, Hannibal glances over to Will before grabbing two cans of chicken soup from the small counter by the stove. He had placed most of their food in there before stuffing the small fridge tucked below full of snow and placing their drinks inside to stay cold. “There are still many things you do not yet know about me, Will.”

“Of that, I am well aware,” Will says with a sigh. He lets his eyes slip closed again as he listens to Hannibal putter around across the room. “So what do you plan to do after this?”

The question makes Hannibal pause in the middle of opening a can. He has to ponder it a moment because while he knows what he would like to do, he also wants to know what it is that Will wants. And how that could possibly work into his own desires. “This being?”

“Recovering, here, with me,” Will clarifies tiredly. “I assume once you’re well enough to travel there are people you intend to pay a visit to before relocating to someplace more comfortable.”

“There are a few people I would like to visit, yes… Would you perhaps have an interest in joining me?” Hannibal asks carefully. He knows it would be a stretch to think Will might help him kill Alana Bloom. Killing her can wait for now. But the others? He isn’t going to leave the country without giving them a final farewell dinner.

“That would depend entirely on whom we would be visiting,” Will counters just as Hannibal had expected. He still has his eyes closed. Body language not changing as he lays with the blanket pushed down a bit so his upper chest and shoulders are visible along with his face. He appears relaxed despite the pain he’s in.

“Bedelia Du Maurier and Jack Crawford,” he supplies as he goes back to his work preparing their meal. He knows Bedelia being someone he intends to kill isn’t a surprise to Will. Jack really shouldn’t be either. But then again he’s left him alive in the past so that does give reason to consider he might leave the man alone.

“Jack?” Will asks, finally opening his eyes to look over at Hannibal. “I thought he wasn’t worth the effort?”

“He wasn’t. Even after the trouble he caused me in Italy, I never considered him much of a threat. And I had no intention of causing him harm unless he got in my way again. But it’s become clear that he will never stop pursuing either of us. And to be totally honest, I find many of his actions, as well as his overall treatment of you, to be quite rude.” He can remember every conversation they had regarding Will over the years. Every time Jack referred to Will as a dog or some tool for furthering his own agenda.

Hannibal takes some credit for guiding Will to who he is today. He’s proud of what the other man has become with his guidance. Of the evolution of his design. He probably wouldn’t bother with Jack if he was on his own now, but it seems Will might be here to stay and the man did spend the better part of three years silently gloating that Will had chosen to forsake the life they could have had together. And Hannibal isn’t going to let that stand.

“Whenever feasible, one should always try to eat the rude,” Will quotes Hannibal with a chuckle. He remembers the night that Hannibal spoke those words to him. The look of amusement on his face as he said them despite being frustrated that Will hadn’t killed Mason Verger and instead flipped the script to set the sick bastard up to try and kill Hannibal instead.

“A sentiment I still hold to this day,” Hannibal agrees with a fond shake of his head.

“I think…” Will begins before carefully pushing himself up to sit. It hurts his head, makes the room spin, and his body sway a bit. But he holds himself steady and breathes through it before he opens his eyes and looks over to a worried Hannibal once he’s fully upright. “I think I would like to see that.”

“I have to ask. When Jack Crawford is dead and this is all over, will you try to go back to your family?” Hannibal keeps his eyes locked with Will’s. Reading his reaction to the question. He had briefly considered finding a more delicate way to ask. But he knows Will prefers him to be honest in his questions. So, he’s being honest.

Will’s face twitches like he doesn’t know if he wants to smile or frown. “They’re not really my family anymore, now are they,” he says in a tone that betrays his mixed emotions on the subject of his wife and step-son. Tears well up in his eyes and he has to break eye contact with Hannibal as he blinks them away. It’s too much right now.

“I‘m sorry, Will…” He knows what it means to Will. Having a family. Especially after the loss of his unborn child and then losing Abigail for a second time right before his eyes. It seems if he’s to be involved with Hannibal in any way, it means losing those he holds dear no matter the circumstances.

“I’m only going to ask you this once. Don’t mention them again,” Will says as calmly as he can with a glance to Hannibal before letting his gaze drift down to his hands. He has them folded in his lap. Eye’s roaming over the scrapes and bruises that start on his knuckles and move up his arms. His mind is spinning. Trying to accept the fact that who he is, who he really truly is, isn’t someone that could ever be with them again. It’s what’s best for them all. He’s suppressed his nature for years. He can’t go back to that after last night.

“Of course. I am sorry, Will. It wasn’t my intention to upset you.” He really hadn’t. He cares a great deal for Will. And seeing him hurting so deeply does affect him. Despite his best attempts not to let it. It makes him long to go back to a time when he could have chosen a different path. Saved Abigail and forgiven Will. Left for a life with them. The longing is fleeting. He knows there’s no going back and there is likely nothing he could do to make the loss of his children up to Will.

“I’m not… I’m not going to leave you, Hannibal. Not unless your feelings towards me have changed,” Will says after a few minutes of silence pass between them. It was hard to find the words. Get them out of his mind and past his tongue.

“My feelings for you are exactly the same as they were the last time I saw you like this,” he settles on the answer as he studies Will. Remembering the night Will woke up tucked carefully into his own bed after Mason Verger tried to have his face removed so he could claim it as his own. “I think the real question you should be asking is have your feelings towards me changed since then?”

Will forces himself to look up and face Hannibal then, fighting back the urge to look away and retreat into himself at the intensity of his gaze. Wade into the stream and catch a few fish rather than confront and admit how he feels. “They have,” he finally says, knowing full well that Hannibal can see what he means from the look in his eyes. He doesn’t need to say anything more. And the smile that spreads across Hannibal’s face has an oddly calming effect on Will. It lets him take a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding back.

“Then there are some things we need to discuss once you are feeling up to it.” The smile doesn’t leave his face, even as he turns back to the simmering pot on the stove.

Will watches Hannibal serve up their meal, wondering what will happen from here. His mind sifting through all his knowledge and past experiences with the other man. Trying to find any tells or signs that his feelings aren’t genuine. He finds none. And it leaves an oddly warm feeling in his chest knowing that Hannibal appears to feel the same way.

Read Chapter 5

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

Baby Fever

Takes place three glorious years after the iconic ILY scene. Sherlock Holmes, now married to Molly, contracts baby fever after a day of watching Rosie. He then leaves 'subtle' hints to catch his wife's attention, but it just comes off as strange behaviour. 

FFN | Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

@sherlolly-ily-fest

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“Now a new study in the psychological journal, Emotion, claims that “baby fever”—that sudden, visceral, and almost irresistible urge to have a baby—not only exists, but it can be found in both men and women.”

-Diane Mapes, NBC News, August 2011

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Three years. It had been three blissful—sometimes frustrating—years since the Sherrinford incident. Sherlock Holmes had married Molly Hooper two and a half years ago, and he still marveled at the fact she was his wife. He often wondered how he managed to not muck everything up. Lately, though, he felt as if something was missing, but he couldn’t quite place what it was. It wasn’t until a lazy Sunday afternoon that he figured it out. It was a rare day when Molly had the day off and he had no (interesting) cases. John had asked if they’d watch Rosie for a bit, which they happily agreed to. It had been a while since they were able to spend time with her together rather than separately.

“Unca Wock!” Rosie wriggled to be free from John’s hold. When he didn’t release her immediately, she glared at him. “Daddy, put me down.”

Sherlock was clearly holding back his laughter, an amused smile gracing his face. As soon as her feet touched the ground, Rosie ran toward him with her arms open, and he knelt on the ground to receive one of her hugs that she loved to give so much. She got that from Molly, he mused, realising just how much impact they all had on her upbringing. Speaking of Molly, she had appeared from within the bathroom after having taken a shower. She was in an old faded tee shirt and a pair of worn jeans, and left down her hair, which was curling from the dampness.

Rosie’s attention turned toward her godmother, whose face lit up at the sight of her. “Aunt Mowwy!”

“My darling Rosie!” Molly exclaimed, meeting her goddaughter halfway for a hug. “You get bigger every time I see you!”

“I’m a big girl!” Rosie proclaimed proudly.

Molly laughed sweetly, the sound music to Sherlock’s ears.

John observed his friend, realising that the wheels were turning in his mind. The detective looked puzzled as he watched his wife interact with their goddaughter. Then suddenly, everything clicked, his face softening from the epiphany. It was easy for John to figure out what was happening, as this was a very human reaction to the scene before them. Sherlock Holmes wanted to have a child of his own with Molly.

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Sherlock wanted children…badly. He hadn’t a clue how he contracted baby fever. Thoughts of starting a family with Molly plagued him ever since the day they watched Rosie. That was two weeks ago. Everything had been going spectacularly well between them. Sure, they had a few bumps and bruises that the Sherrinford incident caused, but it was nothing they couldn’t overcome.

He had thought of several ways to bring up the topic to his wife, but each time he tried, nothing came out. Did Molly even want children? She certainly never indicated it. Today, he decided, he would tell her, no holding back.

“Hello Molly,” Sherlock greeted her cheerfully as he entered the morgue. She had just finished an autopsy. Her eyes lit up when she heard his voice.

“Hello to you too! You’re suspiciously chipper today,” she remarked whilst she dried her hands. Upon turning around to face him, she noticed the small bouquet of vibrant blue cornflowers in his hand. “Are those for me?”

“These?” Sherlock asked. “No, I just carry them around for aroma therapy…but if you want them…” He held out the flowers to her. He wondered if she would notice the significance; cornflowers signified fertility.

She laughed, taking the offered bouquet. There wasn’t a vase nearby, so she cut the stems at an angle, and slipped them inside a clean graduated cylinder. “Are you on a case?”

“No, I just, um—well, I suppose you could call it that,” Sherlock stammered. The words were not coming easily. “I wanted to…talk to you, actually.”

Molly looked at him curiously. “What about?”

This was it. All he’d have to do is tell her; it was that simple. “Well, I was wondering how—“ Uh oh. The words were lost on him. “How you’re doing on that essay…for that supposed prestigious medical journal?” Oh God, this was bad.

Molly laid a hand on his arm in concern. “Sherlock, I finished that last month. It was in this month’s issue. Are you feeling okay?” He looked a bit woozy. She knew that wasn’t what he was going to ask, but whatever it was, he was obviously nervous about it. He’d ask when he was properly ready, she decided. “Maybe you should go have a lie down.”

Sherlock silently agreed, hopping up on the freshly clean autopsy table. A sigh escaped Molly’s lips. She’d have to clean that again once he got up. His little eccentricities made her adore him all the more. If having to disinfect the autopsy table again was the price for her husband’s strange behaviours, it was one she was willing to pay.  

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“Sherlock,” John spoke firmly, “why don’t you just tell her, mate?”

He sighed. “Don’t you think I’ve tried to?” He ran a hand through his curls in frustration. “Every time I try to tell her, nothing comes out. I become speechless.”

John puzzled at this. “So you’re, what? Just gonna keep making a spectacle of yourself?”

Sherlock thought for a moment. “Quite possibly, yes.” An idea dawned on him. “Our anniversary’s coming up.”

“Sherlock, your wedding anniversary isn’t until September,” John pointed out. “It’s only January.”

“Exactly,” Sherlock remarked. “In three days, it will be the anniversary of when I told Molly I loved her and vice versa.”

“But that was under duress!” John argued.

“It doesn’t mean I meant it any less,” Sherlock retorted. “Instead of telling her, I’ll just show her.”

John shook his head in dismay. Molly was going to have her hands full.

.

.

Molly Holmes was beginning to worry about her husband. Each week since his visit in the morgue, she had come home to find some interesting items lying about the flat. Just last week, she had caught Sherlock reading through a collection of brand new Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys novels. The week before that, she had found a couple of baby toys.

“It’s for a case,” he had told her.

Now, however, it was their three year anniversary since the phone call, and she wondered what she would discover. If nothing, then the night was sure to be another unforgettable one. On the nights they made love, Sherlock was exceptionally even more passionate than usual, which was sometimes overwhelming for Molly, but in the best way. She could practically feel the aches at the thought of it. Was he trying to make up for something he felt he did wrong? He had been acting stranger than usual—if only she could pinpoint when it began.

 Upon entering the flat, Molly’s eyes landed upon a bag on the desk. She only had a moment to peek inside before Sherlock appeared before her. “Sherlock, why is there lingerie in here?”

His face blanched. Okay, he had to tell her. The words came out perfectly in his head.

“Well, you see, Molly, I’m only preparing you for the next step in our relationship. What I mean to say is, Molly, darling, I want us to have a baby.”

Simple, right? Sherlock opened his mouth, but the words he had planned did not come out. “I’m having an affair.”

Molly snorted in amusement. “No, you’re not.” If there was one thing she knew for a fact, it was that Sherlock Holmes was not the adulterous type.

Sherlock shrugged. “It was worth a try.”

“What is going with you, Sherlock?” she asked, her voice soft. It wasn’t until she listed the incidents that it hit her. “The children’s books, the baby toys, and the”—Molly lifted the scrap of cloth from within the bag—“maternity lingerie?”

“And the flowers that signified fertility,” he added.

Molly raised an eyebrow at him. Her face softened as she put it all together. “Sherlock.” She took his hand in hers. “What were you going to ask me that day in the morgue? Tell me.”

Sherlock took a deep breath. “I was wondering how you felt about having children,” he finally admitted. “Ever since that Sunday with you and Rosie, I’ve been wanting—no—needing a baby of our own. A family of our own.”

               Molly bit at her lip as she smiled. “Oh, you silly man,” she laughed. “Of course, I want a family with you…I just didn’t think it was something you wanted.”

               Sherlock pulled her close, his lips pressing fervently against hers. “This is what I want,” he murmured in between kisses. “I want you—I need—“

               She never found out what he needed, guiding him backwards toward their bedroom. Molly could hardly wait until no barrier existed between them. Regardless of how long they’d been together, they never tired of one another. Clothes were quickly shed, love was made so gently, yet fiercely. There was most likely no chance with the first real try, but oh, it would be fun to try again. And again. And again.

               Hours later, a clatter awoke Molly from her slumber. Sherlock mumbled to not worry about it, but she planned to investigate. She threw on his blue dressing gown. It sounded as if it came from the upstairs bedroom. Molly climbed the stairs cautiously, and upon reaching the door, quietly turned the knob.

               She gasped at the sight. In a pile in the middle of the room were parts of a crib. Sherlock had tried to put it together, but something must have been missing since it fell into a heap. “I love you,” she whispered, her heart soaring.

               Sherlock wrapped his arms around her from behind, startling her at first. “I love you too, Molly.” He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, lingering there as he spoke again. “Happy Anniversary.”

.

.

Three Months Later

               Sherlock Holmes walked into the morgue, ready to attend the autopsy that Molly was performing on the newest interesting murder victim. His lips automatically turned up into a smile, ready to greet her. “Molly, I may have a theory about—“ Sherlock staggered back. “You’re not Molly.”

               “Oh, no, sorry,” the assistant pathologist—Dave? Daniel?—replied. “She didn’t come in today; called in sick. Shouldn’t you have known that though? Being her husband and all.”

               “I’ve been out all morning.” Sherlock handed him a card. “Text me if you find anything worthwhile.” He left the morgue, making his way through the hospital corridors when Greg stopped him.

               “Sherlock, aren’t you staying for the autopsy?” he asked.

               “Molly’s not here—called in sick. I’m heading home to see if she’s alright,” Sherlock explained. “I’ll come back if there’s anything worth coming back for.”

.

.

               Molly stared at the two pink lines on the pregnancy test. After a rather rough round of morning sickness, she called in sick for the day, still not feeling one hundred percent well. She was absolutely over the moon, though! And Sherlock—he would be ecstatic over the news! Molly couldn’t wait to tell him. She had considered leaving hints, but remembered how well that went when Sherlock tried to give her hints.

               When her husband finally came through the door, he looked concerned when he spotted her on the sofa. “Molly, are you alright? What are your symptoms? How severe is it? Have you—“

               “Sherlock, I’m fine,” Molly smiled sweetly. He tended to go overboard whenever she was sick, and though it was smothering at times, she loved it. “Come here, my love.”

               He walked over, sitting down beside her, taking her hands in his. “What is it, Molly?”

               She said nothing, but instead, guided one of his hands to her belly. “I’m pregnant, Sherlock.” His face morphed from one of concern to one of utter joy.

               “You’re—“

               She nodded.

               “We’re—“

               “Yes,” she reassured him.

               His lips claimed hers in such sweet devotion, his hands cradling her waist gently. He dipped her backwards slowly as their kisses grew fervent. Sherlock eventually trailed his lips along her jaw and down her neck, burying his face in the crook of it, the scent of her cherry vanilla shampoo overwhelming his senses. “Molly,” he breathed out. “Oh, Molly. I love you.”

               “And I love you, Sherlock,” she told him softly, her fingers buried in his curls. “Always.”

[grimmseye]

A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Two

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: T

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual)

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Nonsexual Nudity, Hair Brushing

---------

The chalk in his hand dragged smooth over the ground, leaving shimmering lines and rounds just above the surface they were marked against. Fifty gold pieces and a fifth level slot was entirely too much to make a trip home from within the city, but Mollymauk was in no condition to be walking there and Essek did not want to hire someone to take them.

The last line connected, the circle broke into solid, glowing violet. Essek stood and took Mollymauk by the wrist to pull him through. There was a sensation of dropping, falling forward and then being suddenly upright again and in another space, on the wooden floor of the small room he’d designated to his teleportation circle.

Molly staggered at his side, bracing one hand against the wall. “A little warning next time,” he breathed, shaking his head.

“My apologies,” Essek said, without remorse. “It can take some getting used to, if you haven’t done it before.”

Mollymauk only grumbled, taking a moment to catch his balance and his breath. Essek opened the door that lead out to a sitting room, designed for playing host to the formal gatherings his position sometimes sprang upon him. It connected from there to a dining room, and then a rarely-used kitchen. The dishes from Caduceus’ cooking remained, and abruptly Essek felt a warmth touch his cheeks. He was never messy, not where it could be seen, and yet Mollymauk’s first impression of him would be slobbish if the tiefling were to take just ten paces into the next room and peer through the entryway.

“You need a bedroom,” he declared, half a realization, half a distraction. Then he repeated, quieter, “You need a bedroom,” with all the weight such a statement carried.

He had bedrooms. They had never been used, but caution kept him prepared. Should he ever need to play host overnight, best to have something already in place rather than be caught off guard. Essek had not been off guard since he was a child learning his first spell.

Caught in his musings, Essek blinked and found Mollymauk startlingly close and staring up into his face. He drifted back on instinct, schooling his face into an affronted scowl. “Yes?” He said, pointed.

“Nothing,” Molly replied, eyebrows lifting. “You were just staring for a few seconds there, I was worried something came loose up top.” He tapped the side of his head twice and grinned. “So lemme ask you this, friend: how much of a guest versus a prisoner am I here?”

“You are not a prisoner,” Essek said, which wasn’t quite truthful. “For the time being, we want you under escort should you be outside of my property. This is standard procedure for released prisoners, even if I am vouching for you. It has the additional benefit of ensuring you won’t get lost.”

“Uh-huh,” Mollymauk nodded, his blasé tone of voice vexatious at best. “Lots of pretty words that translate to me still being a prisoner. I got that already, you don’t need to explain it again. I’m referring to my position within your property.” He paused, and then gave a slow smile that Essek couldn’t quite translate. “Am I your property?”

The meaning clicked into place. Essek’s ears folded back as he fought the urge to recoil. That look implied scandal, but mischief danced behind the eyes. Mollymauk was fucking with him.

He had certainly been a member of the Nein.

“No,” he said, his voice short and final. “You are free to explore anything within this house. There are towers outside which are designated to my own business, but you would be unable to enter them even if you should try. Please clean up any messes you make, and feel free to ask me any questions you may have.”

“Fantastic. So, first request: could I get a hairbrush?” Molly ran his fingers through his hair — or attempted to, at least. It was nearly matted. “I did end up losing mine on my way here, and then got arrested before I could purchase a new one.”

“Of course,” Essek nodded. After a beat, he realized he needed to show Mollymauk the way. “There is a guest bedroom — this way, upstairs — with a shower as well if you’d like to wash up.”

“Oh I would.”

“And I can clean whatever clothes you brought with you.”

“Excellent. I’ve only got two pairs. I’ll just leave this one outside the door then?” Molly motioned to himself. He wore traveler’s clothes, but even such sturdy material was wearing thin. Essek frowned, thinking of the other set he’d found, colorful and audacious and faring far worse. He would need new clothes, then. He would be needing many things.

That was what Essek pondered as he waited outside the bathroom door, until it cracked open for Molly to set his badly folded clothes out in the hall. He conjured an invisible servant to take care of the washing, and then immediately moved for the study to find a pen and a pad of paper.

Shopping List (Guest):

New clothes for Mollymauk

Make appointment

Ensure: warm/winter, rain, fine, sleep, and casual wear. Multiple pairs of shoes (hooves? Check this)

Groceries

Breakfasts:

Essek immediately paused. He could cook. He often chose not to. He certainly didn’t cook for other people.

Groceries — determine later

Luxuries? Ask Mollymauk his preferences.

Extra bedsets (2?)

He was going to be housing Mollymauk for the foreseeable future. He was going to have a full-time guest until the Nein returned, and last they left Xhorhas, they vanished without a trace for into a device named the Happy Fun Ball Slash The Archmage Bane and returned with their formerly-brainwashed friend. Essek was learning to expect the unexpected with that odd group.

Needless to say, he could not rely on an expedient return. So. A guest. Essek would need to entertain him. Ensure he was taken care of, and staying out of trouble. He would likely have to put aside his work to babysit this tiefling, who allegedly had amnesia and did not even know who the Nein truly were.

He didn’t realize he was wringing his hands until he felt the bite of his own nails. Essek took a breath. He could do this. He’d worn a facade since childhood, he could keep it up, full-time, in his own home, without breaks, indefinitely. Essek bowed his head and considered breaking into the fine wines.

The spiral was interrupted by the sound of clicking steps. Hooves, Mollymauk had hooves. Not all tieflings did.

Mollymauk was also naked in the doorway.

“How do you turn on the shower,” he asked, as Essek nearly threw his pen in his haste to turn away. He braced his elbow against the desk, a hand swinging up to shield his peripheral vision.

“You’re naked,” he stated, with false cheer.

Mollymauk clicked his tongue. “There weren’t any towels either.”

Essek very nearly slammed his head down into the desk. He stood up, unclasping his mantle in a rush and shifting towards Mollymauk to hold out the garment, waiting until he was certain through the corner of his eye that the tiefling was covered up to look at him. A dangerously polite smile was affixed to his face. “I will show you how to work the shower,” he said, ever helpful, ever calm.

“It’s appreciated.” Molly trotted back down the hall, somehow perfectly unbothered that Essek had seen exactly how far those tattoos reached. His ears flickered madly with the tiefling’s gaze off of him, trying to bat the embarrassed heat away.

It was a little gratifying when Molly nearly tripped on the length of his mantle.

Essek wrestled himself back into composure before he moved ahead, showing Mollymauk the individual crystals embedded in his shower wall and how they worked. “The large gemstone in the center here turns it on. Press it once for the faucet,” he demonstrated, a stream of water pouring out from the lower faucet at his touch. “And again for the shower. The one beneath it turns the water off. Here, this crystal is for temperature —”

It was all relatively simple. The crystal turned in place, its color flowing through a gradient of blue to purple to red depending on the water’s temperature. Even with the simplicity of the system, he was pleased to turn around and find Mollymauk wide-eyed and beaming up at him, tail curling with excitement.

“I could kiss you,” he declared. “You, sir, have just given me the greatest of gifts. I mean, there’s room for improvement. If you happen to have something more in the line of a spa, please let me know what I need to do to get that, but this? This will do just fine!”

Essek did, in fact, have something akin to a spa, but it was connected to his bedroom, and he was not about to offer up that space. “I am pleased that it’s to your liking,” he smiled. Then, serious again, “Please just leave my clothes outside the door, after I have left. I will bring a towel and a robe for you. Before I leave, is there anything else?”

Mollymauk poked his head into the shower with a hum. “Soap, shampoo, conditioner, check check and check. I am golden, my friend. You’re free to go.”

Thank the Luxon, Essek didn’t say, only dipping his head to drift back out of the bathroom. He stalled his servant from its task to bring a towel and robe up, returning to his study. Once he tackled a grocery list, he could hire someone to collect it all for him.

Essek found his statuette of an ivory raven, running a finger down its beak to bring it into flesh and feathers. It stood, attentive as he cleared his throat and dictated: “Seamstress Brirr, this is Shadowhand Essek Thelyss. I need to commission a full wardrobe for a guest, a tiefling. Do you have a slot tomorrow?”

Once the message was given and the recipient described, the bird took wing through a window and out into the city.

Down the hall, Essek heard the pattering of water stop. The door opened some minutes later, the sound of hooves announcing Molly wherever he went. At least Essek knew he could find him.

There was a short knock at the doorway. Essek turned, not without trepidation, and nearly sagged with relief to find Mollymauk wrapped in his robe, hair bound in a towel. “That was wonderful,” Mollymauk sighed, leaning against the frame. “I would have stayed longer but my hair is unforgivable.”

“A hairbrush,” Essek remembered, nodding. “Of course, let me get that for you. Just, ah, make yourself comfortable.” He’d evidently forgotten to stock the guest chambers properly. Embarrassment seized him again, something he tried to shake off with the reminder that at least it wasn’t Kryn nobility he was scorning. It could be far worse.

When he returned from his own quarters, Mollymauk had indeed made himself quite comfortable. He was sprawled in one of the armchairs, his robe falling open around the scarred chest, modesty protected by the tie that bound it shut. Molly’s eyes flicked up to him from where he’d been idly examining the bookcase, and he sat up with a grin. “Excellent, thank you,” he said, lifting both arms to curl his fingers in a way that said gimme.

Did Essek catch a wince, there? He frowned, noting that along with the scars there were fresh bruises on Mollymauk’s chest, creeping under the sleeve of his robe. As Molly began to pull his hair over one shoulder, there was a definite tension that pulled into his shoulders. His tail lay perfectly still, betraying nothing — and its quiet said far more about Mollymauk’s current state than if it had been lashing.

“You’re staring again,” Molly pointed out lightly. This time, Essek didn’t back down.

“You’re hurt,” he returned.

Molly widened his eyes in mock surprise, mouth opening as he breathed, “No, really?” He smirked at Essek’s flat expression. “Your friends were a bit rough with me. It wasn’t like they just frogmarched me to your prison, no, they had to get a good beating in first. Your little trick in the cell certainly didn’t help.” He snorted.

Essek’s ears folded down. He grimaced to himself, a pang of not guilt so much as regret needling at him. The Nein would not be happy with him. As much as they seemed willing to beat each other up, the moment another person laid a hand on them they were staring down a pack of snarling Moorbounders.

On an impulse, maybe pity, maybe a distant hope that Molly just won’t tell, Essek extended a hand. Molly furrowed his brow, slowly offering the hairbrush. With then, Essek dragged a footrest over with a beckoning motion, patting it and saying, “Sit here. Back to the chair, please.”

“You mind explaining?” Molly asked, but did as he was told. Essek took the seat he’d just occupied, frowning at the mess of hair. He’d once worn his own long, when he was younger. It had just been a very long time since he’d had to do more than tidy it upon waking.

Essek scooped a section of hair to his back again, holding it as he began to work the brush through the tips. Molly’s tail flicked, sitting up straight for a moment before the tension loosed from his shoulders. “Oh so you do know how to treat a guest right,” he purred.

“Was I treating you wrong before?” Essek demanded. He got to the first matted section, glad that Molly had wet his hair before this as he began to tease it apart with quick motions of the brush. “For the sake of my sanity, let’s judge my service as a host only from the point where you entered the property.”

“Wise decision,” Molly drawled. “... Mmmm, but for the most part I was only fucking with you. And believe me, with this all previous criticisms have been rescinded.”

“I would still like to know the criticisms,” Essek muttered, and only got a breathy laugh in response.

It was slow going, working through each mass of tangles without ripping his hair. It needed to be trimmed as well, uneven and broken at the tips. A shower had done him well, but a single wash hadn’t been enough to undo neglecting it for so long, oil still streaking the roots of his hair as Essek ran the brush through them. Mollymauk tipped his head into it, an angle were Essek could see his face, eyes shut and lips parted.

“Do you prefer your hair loose?” Essek asked, setting the brush down. He took up his notepad again, adding haircut to the list.

Mollymauk hummed as he ran his fingers through it. “I think so. Let’s try it. Where’s the rest of my stuff, by the way?”

As Essek halted his servant’s work again to bring Molly’s belongings up, he laid out tomorrow’s itinerary. The raven returned, delivering Brirr’s response. They would get Mollymauk’s measurements taken care of, purchase some sets of casual clothing until the new outfits were finished, visit a place to get Mollymauk a haircut.

The bag was brought up partway through the conversation. Molly frowned, his hands pausing as he dug through it. Tarnished jewelry, a pouch of incense, a brooch depicting a draconic god. He produced a rusted metal helmet that made Essek blurt out, “Why do you have that?” and Molly tip his head back, shrug his shoulders, and say, “I have no fucking idea.”

His snickering nearly made Essek join in, smiling faintly at this… bemusing creature. He knew very little of this person from the Nein’s brief allusions to him. Assuming he was even the same person, memories of his companions gone but still understanding facts of the world. Had Mollymauk Tealeaf been this to them, someone who could make you bristle as easily as laugh, a disarming union between sincerity and utter bullshit.

He was frowning, now, staring at the emptied bag and all the little trinkets he’d removed from it. Essek cleared his throat, asked, “Is something missing?”

“My scimitars,” Mollymauk said, immediately. Tiefling ears weren’t as expressive as elven, but they flexed backwards in a familiar manner. “I was buried with two scimitars, I had them when I was arrested, and now I don’t have them.” His tail curled and then lashed to the other side of his body, the spaded tip brandished like a knife.

Essek made a private note: inquire about Mollymauk apparently waking up in his grave. He was beginning to understand now why the Nein connected talk of the Beacons to this person.

“What if we do this,” he started, weighing his chin on his fist. “I will drop you off at a local spa tomorrow, and while you get cleaned up, I can return to the Shadowspire to reclaim your weapons.” And examine them for any odd enchantments.

Molly turned his head back, an odd sort of smile on his face. “That will do,” he said, simply. Then he rose to his feet, stretching, and turned to fully face Essek. “Now then. Why don’t you show me to my bedroom, good sir. You would think after waking in the dirt I’d be done with sleeping.”

“A bed is superior to a grave, I would think,” Essek murmured, standing with him. “Not that I have the experience to compare.”

Mollymauk barked out a laugh. Essek showed him to one of the spare bedrooms, promising to have his clothes clean and dry by morning. As he was turning to move back down the corridor, hoping to get some work done before settling down for his own meditation, he was stopped by a touch to his arm.

Essek shifted away from it, finding Mollymauk’s hand outstretched. He was still smiling, a softer thing now that it was weighed with exhaustion. “Thank you,” Molly said, emphasizing each word. Then he shut the door.

Essek stared at it for a long moment before nodding to himself. He drew a deep breath, moving down the hallway and outside, towards his laboratory. As much as Caleb and Nott assured him the mishap had been a result of a curse, Essek wasn’t satisfied. Perhaps he could find a way to make the spell dig deeper.

And perhaps he could take a breath and prepare himself for his next day playing host to Mollymauk Tealeaf.

[rcris123]

The wind is harsh; he can hear it in the twisting of the branches above. They found a tree perched on a ridge of this plateau, underneath which the soil cut abruptly, creating a wall that they decided to use as shelter for tonight. Wet and with the air cooling further as night fell they ended up knees to their chest and arms folded over each other to preserve warmth.

John kept coughing; reckons his lungs still got some water left in them – and frankly they ain’t got the time to pat the man rough between the shoulder blades to get him comfortable. And then he never asked further.

Arthur shielded his son, like he always did; the love that man bore for his child was undeniable and tender in a way few men had the courage to – but he doesn’t think they’re any kind of men... They’re on the fringes; never the norm, so maybe the outlaw lifestyle suited him and he should have thought of it earlier than Arthur collapsing in front of him.

That felt so long ago... The Molly-house is only a distant memory now, but thinking back he can still remember the smell of fluids in the sheets, the smoke, the alcohol... Some of them made couples and they’d bed each other sometimes. He couldn’t say he didn’t try it once. It was easy, available and not meant to last and they all knew it. Imagine whoever you want darlin’. And Sebastian’d lay back and close his eye, but before his eyes was a black screen: nothing. Pleasure could build but there was no one there; and nothing he really desired. Sex was just like alcohol; it numbed the loneliness. For a while.

He doesn’t know how those 5 years passed, but at the same time he wonders how he got the chance not to be stuck there until he would be useless and greying... How’d he got the chance to meet exactly Arthur, ‘cause there’s so much about him he can find no replacement for. Handsome, wounded outlaw and his beloved son, queer on top of it to somehow end up his partner.

Chest squeezed at the thought; of course he could hardly sleep, but eyes were closed. Hand draws tender circles over Arthur’s arm. Maybe it’s giving him tingles that he’s so close other men, but the way they’re all squeezed together for some form of warmth and comfort felt like a permission. And then they all knew he loved Arthur.

“I love you.” Just a whisper; it’s to give him courage. “Buck.” It’s how Arthur called him. Stubborn buck, when he thought that’s something that’d much rather describe the other than himself: hardy, agile, determined and with a certain pride that he wouldn’t admit ‘cause he thought of himself as lowrung and worthless.

Arthur shifted as if he heard and there’s that smile crawling on his lips. Sebastian pulls himself closer and feels the sweet nothings on his tongue, but that may just be too much-

 He wasn’t the first awake. Sean and Kieran seemed to have climbed up near the tree, inspecting the horizon for possible ways to take. Flat Iron Lake still glistened in the distance, the morning sun reflecting on its surface.

He reaches for Arthur; he’s there.

“Mornin’ Buck.” He sounded tender, but not worry free.

“Mornin’.” A lean in. “What you thinking about?”

“We should head East now, but on foot-”

“We just need to find the nearest town, and we’ll buy some horses from there.”

“I ain’t been this far south before...”

O’course... Sebastian did neither. He’s been stuck for most of his life in dusty Rhodes and the rest in Saint Denis, but Arthur was a traveler.

“I bet you’ve seen a lot of places you’ve never been to before.” Sebastian muses.

A chuckle, that by now sounds almost familiar: “You ain’t wrong about that.” He takes a deep breath in before he gets up. “We’re gonna get out of this one as well.”

Hand extends to Sebastian; he pulls himself up.

John is the last awake. He’s complaining about the throat bothering him and who can blame him – thou truly, he’s the only one speaking...

Bones don’t get stretched for long before they pick a route, courtesy of Kieran and Sean, who’d tried making heads or tails of this desert they found themselves in, and start marching. And marching they did. The heat wasn’t bad at first, only prickling at skin after about half an hour, but then blood started to run hot, then boil. Sun rules above them like some tyrant king, unrelenting, unforgiving. They don’t know how long they walked in a straight line until their trajectory changes to bee-lining from the shade of one shriveled tree to the next. Stops become more frequent. They ain’t got canteens with them. John’s feeling weak; collapses on the treetrunk after the first few. Arthur’s bent with his hands resting on his knees, urging Isaac to sit down next to John.

They don’t have water with them. Alcohol will make them thirsty and delirious. And he’s starting to doubt the words he said this morning.

They decide to wait for evening; march at night. They throw away good alcohol so that him and Sean could try and look for some water to fetch. Kieran wanted to help, but he’s still got that injured hand – a whole chuck of flesh taken out of it. Well one could argue Sebastian’s been shot in the leg, but he’s hoping they forgot that.

“Here.” He offers Isaac the bottle first and the boy gulps it down without breathing. They found a spring not that far from here.

“Thank it easy, kid or your lungs’s gonna catch fire.” Arthur warns and Isaac takes the bottle from his mouth and passes it to his father. “Thank you.”

Arthur drinks slowly, then hands the rest to Sebastian:

“I had my fill at the spring.”

“Where’s this spring, we need these refilled.”

“I’ll go-”

“You need to rest yourself. Lookit you.” Sebastian takes a breath in at that. “You’re all purple under the eyes; I’ll go.”

“I can come too.” Isaac offers.

The sun ain’t as fierce now as it’s starting to set and golden hues paint the landscape. If it weren’t for their predicament it’d almost be pretty. He does rest; he has to trust Arthur. He trusts him, in fact; he’s a more than capable man.

Father and son return with the bottles filled and they go on their march yet again. Maybe they’re lost souls in purgatory.

Sebastian honestly had no idea what to expect from this ‘Blackwater mission’, Arthur told him it was foolish, and maybe he wasn’t a planner, but he had experience – Sebastian did not, and his optimism faded to dread, then a sort of hollow acceptance as if Death was trailing just slightly behind them on a pale horse waiting for them to drop. One by one...

Dawn comes. All their boots are cream from dust, legs are sore and he can only speak for himself but the one still healing’s stiff and throbbing with pain. They find themselves a tree and fall under it, huddled like the night before. No incentive needed, they fall asleep each as they manage.

When he opens his eyes for a moment to shift his position he sees Sean completely fallen over in Kieran’s lap and John more or less leaning against him. Isaac is clinging to Arthur and the man’s body looks so still it feels lifeless. In his exhaustion fueled daze he thinks of something he shouldn’t and heart squeezes in his chest. He jerks with eyes fully open.

They’re breathing...

He doesn’t remember when he falls back asleep; his eyelids are always heavy and the hunger in his stomach keeps growling.

Flies wake him up in the afternoon; it smells like corpse.

He jolts awake again:

“Jesus!” John’s thrown off and goes to cover his face before he falls to lean on something else.

Sebastian quickly rushes to his feet; he’s shaking. He can’t help but smell his clothes: just sweat, pungent, disgusting, but it’s just sweat. He turns to the rest. They’re all slowly waking; Isaac’s lifting his head in confusion.

Arthur’s eyes are closed, his breathing rapid, precipitated.

John catches him staring and shoves the man awake. Wind’s knocked out of him as he lands on one arm and starts coughing lightly.

That glare Arthur gives is tired.

“Maybe we should be eating something...” Kieran prompts.

They got some cans left. They chow them down at lightning speed, but Sean doesn’t look too fresh after all that food taken on an empty stomach that fast.

And they start crawling again. Tonight there’s no moon. Arthur’s last, Sean first.

The desert keeps on going and Flat Iron Lake’s left the view.

Tree to tree their journey takes them, further inland. The wind is harsher there; and maybe he’s going delirious thinking this is feeling like a descend to Hell. He’s losing; they’re all losing. They’re all losing because he’s a bad luck charm; karma’s best contender for misfortune. Panic boils through his system, steps drag, stumble, and he feels his lungs fill up with dust.

What the fuck is this dread? Does it belong to him? Why? Why now all of a sudden, just because one job went bad – Oh no and he’s reminded of Dutch now. He’s an outlaw now, ain’t he?... He’s an outlaw; he ain’t the man he was, but what man was he to begin with. What man was he supposed to be or become if it weren’t for one fateful encounter.

Should he owe everything to Arthur?... That ain’t how things work. He’s-

 He’s lost.

And he’s dragging Arthur in with him and it’s smelling like death-

He eats dust falling on his face. The entire line of people stop to gawk. Isaac rushes to his side first to help him up; Arthur follows.

“I’m fine...” he spits dirt out, pushes himself up only to find himself wanting to fall back in Arthur’s arms. He only gives the man a look; he probably looks pitiful now, wiping wet sand from his lips. It crunches between his teeth.

“C’mon up.” Arthur offers him a hand and heaves as he strung Sebastian up. “Walk with me...”

Sean starts walking again, and his hand slips into the other’s and squeezes it tight. The march goes on; Isaac in front between them, and the two of them at the rear, arms dangling from each other as they walked.

He didn’t notice at first, Arthur’s palm’s burning-

“Arthur...”

He knows: “It’s just the heat. Heatstroke...”

And the bulletwound... His leg won’t give him peace, he can’t imagine how Arthur’s repeatedly abused shoulder would feel like... And he wants to believe him, although deep within himself he knows the man is lying; he’s alright for everyone else’s sake – he-

“I know you.”

Arthur’s hand squeezes his own hard; Sebastian reciprocates the gesture:

“It ain’t gonna get much worse. I promise.”

Isaac whips his head around:

“Don’t you worry ‘bout that, Isaac.”

“Don’t lie to me. Not now.”

“I ain’t trying to lie...” Arthur speaks. “I’m trying to keep hopeful.”

“Okay...” the boy says, but ain’t in the least hopeful...

 They end their march near sunrise; they found a road. If they kept to it they might just reach some form of civilization. But rest came first.

It was definitely fever when Arthur rested his head on Sebastian’s shoulder; even his breath came out hot. Isaac curled next to them.

And throughout the day it got worse- bouts of cough started up, wheezing.

“Are you sleeping?” Sebastian whispers to him.

“No...”

“We’re getting you to the nearest docto-”

Arthur holds him firm: “At night...”

But he can’t watch him like this; not with the thoughts he’s been having lately. He swipes a few strands of hair out of Arthur’s face and the man leans into the touch like he’s been starved.

“We can’t let the kid get sick...” Arthur says, trying to suppress another cough.

A kiss to the temple: “Never, Buck.”

He feels Arthur’s cheeks rise against his clothes: “I like it when you call me that...”

Well he can’t deny that’s a truly special pet name: “Me too...”

A moment’s silence. Breaths rise and fall in sync after a short while. Eyes close and he adjusts his position against the tree, arm drawing Arthur closer in; in turn the man climbs a leg over his own; comfortable. They need as much rest as they can get.

And it was obvious they weren’t going to get much of it...

Arthur startles Isaac awake with his coughing, and the boy goes to shake him awake but there ain’t no use: man’s gotta cough a lung out first.

Sebastian strings himself and the man up with a heave: “We’re getting you to a doctor-”

John, Sean, Kieran were all awake by the time as well staring at the pair of them as if their friend’s been given a death sentence. And maybe that was correct but he ain’t letting Arthur lose the fight just yet.

The walk is painful; Arthur is heavy in his arms and his shot leg is screaming with every movement. They were allowed no rest, but he’s starting to understand that it ain’t like them to just give up. They are stubborn men. And they have a son to look after.

Isaac walked first behind them; the rest followed.

Then Isaac walked ahead.

It was past midday at this point, the heat was slowly simmering down, but it wasn’t enough for them; bodies have been pushed quite beyond what they could; they haven’t eaten, got any good rest or significant break. And now... Isaac’s walk was brisk; stiff from all the sore muscles, but it felt like he was putting all the energy he had left into this, as if there truly was a town just near of here.

 But there wasn’t.

They walked, and walked some more; Arthur took to his own legs, dragging them through the dust, one hand into his own. And Isaac was still ahead, the faintest sniff escaped him sometimes, but the boy wouldn’t turn when his father called out to him. And then they walked some more.

Heat produced sound at this point. Sebastian couldn’t feel his leg; it grew completely numb with pain. And Arthur looked worse: hair drenched in his own sweat, skin drained of color, while his cheeks and nose reddened to a concerning color. And still man had the strength to keep up the pace, following behind Isaac intently, loyally.

The world started to grow dim – and they kept on walking. The boy kept on walking ahead, stiff, limping from exhaustion, and only the boy existed outside themselves. John, Kieran, Sean faded to background noise. Arthur’s huffing, his own pain and Isaac’s silhouette became all that he knew, besides the inertia of moving his feet.

Any moment now, he feels the pale rider’s going to swoop in and mercifully depart them. Two queer men, their son and the fortune they never got to taste. What’s he come to; it’s almost beautiful in its tragedy.

He’s already convinced himself the sound of hooves is that impending doom – but it’s merely another traveler-

Isaac seems to spring to life the moment the man comes into view; moves to stand directly in front of the rider.

“Isaac-” Father’s voice is lacking a certain sternness.

“Can I buy your horse, mister?” Isaac sounds terribly polite for how his voice was shaking.

“No. Get away from here, brat-”

Man’s eyes peel open when the boy pulls out his revolver, the other hand swooping in to grab the reins.

“I’ll buy your horse, mister. 100 dollars.”

“Isa-” but John steps in, his own gun raised:

“Hand the boy the horse, it ain’t worth your life.”

Man slowly raises his hands and dismounts. Isaac reaches in his pockets and hands the man the promised money.

“Now get going!” John’s tone still retained its broken highpitched squeal. Traveler stands there for a moment then the feller books it.

Arthur takes from his side:

“The hell is wrong with you-”

“You need a horse. You’re sick!” Son defends his choice.

“You ain’t no outlaw! I ain’t raised you an outlaw-”

“What other choice did I have!? Did we have!”

Arthur’s jaws clench shut followed by a deep inhale, and silence falls.

“Get in the saddle and let’s go... Please...” Isaac begs at this point, tugs Arthur’s sleeve. “Pa...”

Man sits there a while, until his chest vibrates under a cough he’s trying to suppress. Son urges his father one more time and this time he gives in.

Isaac mounts first with the man on the back of the horse.

“Make sure you don’t forget us here.” Sean decides to butt in as Isaac spares one more glance at the people he leaves behind, before spurring the horse maybe a bit too harshly.

He holds his breath watching them take the road into the night. He can feel his heart thumping against his ribs, but the ache is only noticeable when he finally exhales. Head bows and he’s waiting for his thoughts to collect. They’ll be fine he’s trying to tell himself.

And it’s only now that he feels completely exhausted, weak and feeble. Posture slouches and his knee trembles from the pain of having to still stand up.

“Hey... Uhm you ain’t lookin’ that good, Sebastian.” Kieran’s voice is meek as usual.

“Guess I ain’t...” There’s no tree to lean upon so he just ends up laying on the ground with a huff.

“What a mess...” John utters, skipping a stone out of frustration.

“Guess it could have gone worse.” Sean argues, flopping down beside Sebastian. “And maybe our luck’s turning.”

Silence.

Then John’s voice pitches in again: “I... wonder if Jack’s gonna end up like that...”

“Stickin’ up for you? No chance.” Sean mocks.

“Hey-”

“Let the man talk.” Sebastian grunts; it felt like all John was being taken for was a buffoon with half a brain, even in his most sincere moments.

He’s almost taken aback: “Thank you, Sebastian...”

“Ain’t... always a straightforward way of being a father...” Sebastian admits.

“How can I know? All I ever saw was Arthur and his kid. He was there the day I joined, you know. A toddler running around this massive man in his 20’s that had no fucking clue how to deal with me and him at the same time.” John cracks a faint smile. “I probably should have turned out much better... I ain’t even fully knowin’ what I was trying to prove. I ain’t Arthur. I ain’t some golden boy, some father of the year or the other...”

“But you love the kid, don’t you?”

“Of course! I mean... It’s still weird thinking he’s mine. But he’s five already... But he’s got everyone else looking out for him! I ain’t though he’d be needing me.” Then, after one short pause, John’s expression sours, lips curling in on themselves: “Arthur ain’t really got someone like that did he?... Like, he raised that boy alone, before the gang really got that big-... Shit.” Man rubs his chin.

“It ain’t your fault.” Sebastian tries his best to be reassuring.

“At this point who even knows whose fault it is...”

Silence again; he doesn’t know how to reply to that; he’s empty of any good words and he really ain’t the man to be giving advice...

“You know,” John speaks up again. “You ain’t a bad man, Sebastian.”

A few blinks; it takes him a while to answer: “Thank you...”

“I...” A huff. “Arthur’s really thinking about you, you know? He-” John purses his lips.

Eyebrows furrow: “What?”

“I asked him a dumb question once; that’s all...”

 They somehow fell asleep when they hear what sounds like a two horse wagon racing their way. Sean is first up, reaching for his gun.

“It’s Isaac!” the boy shrieks pulling hard on the reins.

They all exhale, but a whole wagon feels-

“Where’d you get that?” Sebastian dares ask and hopes he’s soft.

“I bought it.” Isaac defends, apologetically this time.

“How is he?...” Kieran’s the first to ask; not because it wasn’t on his mind as well?

“In a hotel room. They don’t have a doctor in town. Said we gotta head to Calport, then take a boat to Saint Denis.”

“Jesus...”

“We gotta-” Isaac sighs as if trying to hold something in. “I’m so sorry. Seb...”

Sebastian climbs up next to him on the driver’s seat, picks the reins and tries a smile.

Isaac gives him directions as he drives, but otherwise keeps the conversation quiet. In about half an hour they find themselves in a small town that, with its dusty roads and dried up buildings, reminded him of Rhodes.

The hotel wasn’t fancy: more or less crumbling down; stairs creaking under his boots. The room was sparse and they find Arthur sitting on the side of the bed, leaning over his knees, propped in his elbows. Head was low and hair looked sticky. Isaac wasted no time sitting beside his father, a hand rubbing between his shoulders after an awkward stutter.

Arthur bends his head towards his chest further as he coughs.

Sebastian limps to join them; the rest of the posse flooding in after him.

“So, uh... what now?” Kieran had enough confidence to speak up.

John pinned his arms on his hips, Sean scratched his chin; so it was up to them... And he doesn’t have the strength to ask anything of Arthur, but he can’t find it in himself to say anything either – think of anything either. He’s feeling sore and numb and simply wants to revel in the company of those he holds dear and he so wants to cling to this feeling of home he’s barely gained an appreciation for.

“Guess we need rest for tonight.” Arthur speaks up. “And tomorrow we head out...”

“In that case we better get ourselves some provisions; everythin’ we had was on them horses.” Sean says. “Isaac would you come with me?”

“Let the kid rest.” John intervened.

“No, I want to come...” Arthur’s son knew very well what people intended.

“I’m coming too.” Said Kieran.

“Guess I’ll be joining then...” John got the hint; the rest were already heading out. “Rest up, a’right, Arthur?”

Man just scoffs and the moment John turns his back Sebastian presses his head onto Arthur’s shoulder, with one hand blindly finding the other’s. And Arthur softens under touch; covers his mouth when another cough comes.

“Hang in there, cowboy...” he finds himself saying.

“Don’t intend on dying just yet.” Arthur’s conviction strengthened him, strengthened the grip he had on his hand.

“I fear of getting lost again.”

“I ain’t letting you.” Another cough.

“Can’t let you bear all that alone either.”

“I know... Just... what am I supposed to do? There ain’t no stopping-” Thumbs rub over Arthur’s palm in gentle, calm strokes. “Hosea died...” Arthur confesses, leaning his head further onto his own. “He said he’s gonna take care of us. All of us.”

“You ain’t him to take that responsibility.”

“They’re my family, Sebastian.”

“I know...” He tried to be comforting, but words don’t quite help him today do they... “And you surely ain’t alone.” Head nudges itself further into Arthur. “Never alone.”

Arthur swings himself around, catching Sebastian in a secure embrace and holding the other up to his chest. He straddles the man’s lap and his arms find themselves on Arthur’s back. Tight; it’s a pleasant reassuring pressure; he can feel his heart drum against his chest.

“Neither are you.” Arthur utters, avoiding pressing his face to Sebastian’s; man’s breathing is wheezed and heavy.

There’s little hope for them, but they can’t just stop...

 They have somehow fallen asleep, limbs tangled and unwilling to let go of one another, but Arthur’s convulsive cough jerk him awake. His skin is sticky from sweat and skin burning from fever. He doesn’t seem awake.

But Isaac was. Boy was looking at the way his father suffered from a rag he set for himself at the foot of the shoddy bet: two eyes peering over the thin metal frame, watching in horror. The man who raised him grew weaker and weaker under his eyes, and under Sebastian’s a well; he’s seen this man on the brink of death a couple of times now already.

The cough grows increasingly violent, man having trouble getting any air in. He doesn’t know how he fumbled, but Sebastian tried his best to prop the man in a sitting position, waiting for the bout to pass.

Arthur was fully awake at this point, caught Isaac looking at them.

“You-... Should eat something, Pa.”

“Yeah...” Arthur struggles to get a grip on his posture, leans over the side of the bed; staggers up. Sebastian finds himself following suit. “Did you get anything?”

“Yeah. John and Sean are still downstairs at the saloon.” Isaac stands up. “Do... you want me to come with you?”

“Always, kid.”

The boy follows intently, sticking close to Arthur as if there was something he wants to atone for. And Arthur ain’t dumb enough not to notice the changed demeanor of his son:

“You okay there, Isaac?”

“... How are you feeling?”

Now, with an arm outstretched Arthur waits for his son to descend in front of him, hand finding its way on the boy’s back.

“Better.” It’s a lie; Sebastian knows. “A bed and some proper sleep is all this ol’ man was needin’.”

Boy squints his eyes, but bows his head and shakes it.

“Don’t... lie to me, Pa.”

Arthur stops and puts both hands on Isaac’s shoulders.

“Just... don’t lie to me, okay? You’re all I have-” Boy barely stifles a sob. “Just tell me what I can do- I can help. Let me help-” Arthur pulls the boy to his chest, shushing and Isaac clings to the man’s clothing: “Let me help...”

But not even Sebastian knew how to help and he’s afraid Arthur ain’t knowing either...

The hug don’t last the chatter from downstairs forces the men apart; it ain’t private and they ain’t regular. He descends last, Isaac by his side, both of them seemingly of the same mind, taking care their Arthur don’t stumble.

The moment they’re downstairs, John, Sean and Kieran turn their heads their way. Sean lifts a glass: “English!” And once they’ve made their way to the table he cheers: “Ye’r finally awake!”

“Feelin’ any better?” Kieran chimes in, leaning over the table, but Isaac seems discomforted by the question. “I-I ain’t meaning to say you-”

Arthur waves a hand: “Peachy. Seen much worse.” Man looks over at John, then back at everyone else: “You all ‘kay?”

“Sure! Asked ‘round town for some routes, fastest way back to Saint Denis.” Sean explains. “Said there’s a bigger town called Callport ‘bout a day or two from here. And we should be able to take a boat ‘cross the Lannahachee from there.”

“And we bought a wagon.” John mentions, before averting his gaze-

“Tell’em John! Tell‘em what happened.”

The man groans at that: “Jim! Name’s Jim Millston.”

“You heard that lads, Millston.”

“Shut up!”

But that had Arthur chuckling. And in the mids of this, Sebastian didn’t pay attention that the boy took off and ordered them food.

“Now tell’em what Kieran said when asked ‘bout his name.” Sean kept on.

“Not this again...” Kieran commented. “What was I s‘possed to say!?”

“Kieran Duffy.” John said almost irritated. “They ain’t knowing you.”

“And what did he say?” Arthur’s looking cheered up by all this.

“Ugh- Said I ain’t got any.” Kieran finally caved in. “Said my parents died before they could give me one.”

Arthur chuckles: “Maybe you’d make a good dime novelist.”

“Nah, I’m a horse boy, that’s all.”

Isaac places them two plates of food and Arthur thanks, then asks the kid to take a seat beside him. He wastes no time taking a bite, showing his son appreciation for the gesture. He can still hear the subtle coughs that come with the first few bites.

The rest of the dinner is eaten in silence; the food doesn’t taste good, nor bad; it’s bland, the meat is dry and stringy and the porridge sticks to the corners of his mouth. But he downs it with the help of a pint of beer. Arthur gulps his drink in one go.

“So we got a wagon...” Arthur starts and he ain’t exactly content with the predicament he’s just been put in without his choice. Sebastian liked to think he knew the man enough to know he’d protest vulnerability ‘cause it’s the face of helplessness – and it ain’t like Sebastian ain’t just the same in that regard. “We can already leave for Callport. It ain’t like we got much with us.”

“I don’t think so.” John’s the first to protest.

“Why?”

“ ‘cause you’re... Well...”

“The sooner we get back to camp the better.”

It’s a logic he can’t argue with.

“You ain’t fully rested yet-”

“ ‘course I ain’t.” Arthur’s struggling to raise his voice and at the same time fighting to keep the conversation civil. He takes a look at his son: “We ain’t knowin’ how this is gonna go...” Fear starts to glisten in the boy’s eyes and Sebastian puts a hand on him.

“He needs a doctor that’s all.” He intervenes, trying to steady it; not his best suit thou.

“Is it too much to wait for tomorrow?” Isaac asks.

“We could get some more supplies, ask the locals about things.” Kieran chimes in. “We got some food. A-And I can probably ask around for some cough medicine.”

Arthur just pursed his lips; a stifled cough:

“I need to stretch my legs...”

Isaac follows in an instant; Sebastian looks at the lot of them, all with sour faces, bows his head and excuses himself as if they were some strangers...

Outside Arthur’s leaned on the wall with his son next to him, trying his best not to worry the boy further. It was all so entirely messy, dissonant, trying to keep up with a reality that no longer existed if ever. They didn’t know what to do – they don’t. Stuck and they keep pushing, hoping the wall will break and reveal some hope after it all, but even that seemed like some lofty ideal, dangled before them, a dancing shadow on the wall. It’s not real.

“I ain’t dead. Or dying.” Arthur sighs and starts walking. “Just caught something when I dragged Marston out of the water. I’ll live through it.”

“Don’t expect anything less from you.” Sebastian says and finally there’s a smile.

“I’m just worried.” Isaac counters, trotting up between them. “There’s been a lot lately... Hosea-”

“I miss him too, kid...” Arthur confesses. “But I ain’t letting no one get there again.”

“Does that include you, thou?” Isaac wasn’t convinced; fear ran deep.

“I really do hope so.”

“We’re trying our best.” Sebastian adds.

“And I ain’t intending on leaving you alone like this.” Arthur stresses the words. “Both o’ you.” A sigh: “But enough talk ‘bout all that. I just need to feel a lil’ bit human again, not like some medical example.”

Putting it like that really gave a sense of perspective about the ordeal; Arthur who seemed to have held up this gang for many years looked about to crumble now, and it ain’t that worry ain’t natural, but how’s someone whose only worth seemed to be his usefulness supposed to feel when they all see him become fragile. That sentiment there’s one that he’s very familiar with: one thing and that one thing is me, all of me. Sebastian liked men, and he only allowed himself to be that for five entire years and it never crossed his mind that he could just saddle up and ride out west; become a cowboy and be himself, queer and all... He’s still feeling like a shell, and everything else like some reality he ain’t truly a part of.

But he got no choice but to fight.

Hand in hand; it’s real, and it ain’t slipping through, feverish and sweaty as that other palm felt on his.

Isaac’s been doing thinking this entire time: “Well I saw an interesting place if you want to check it out. Some abandoned ranch house not far from the town in a big corn field.”

“Lead the way then.”

The stalks could be seen from the edge of town; it was a little ways away from there; the lights of the houses barely touching the field. Wind whistled through making it resemble something out of a ghost story. It’s a wonder that the lantern he pulls out is still working after having been soaked through that night, then left unused for the next couple of days.

He takes on ahead; and he probably shouldn’t admit that his hand started to shake lightly. It felt more and more like something out of a nightmare of his, but Isaac finds his way right beside him. There was something daring in that boy’s eyes, and that might just give him some courage too.

There’s nothing in the cornfield. The house is indeed empty and beside being dusty to the point that it crunched under their boots it was clean.

“Oh?” Isaac darts from his side and proceeds to pick up a guitar that was lying in the corner. “Wished I asked Javier how to teach me to play one.” He tries a strum.

Sebastian puts the lantern down and Arthur finds his place on the edge of the bed; it creaks.

“I used to know how to play one he says.” He says.

“Really?” Boy lights up and hands him the instrument. “Think you can try and play something?”

“I can’t promise anything.”

Isaac flops next to his father: “Doesn’t matter; it’s still music.”

Obliged. Sebastian sits down, tries finding a comfortable pose; lips quirk as he’s trying to remember a song. Nothing. Crickets chirp outside. Still nothing. A deep inhale. Okay. He takes it from the gravest note to the highest, playing one by one then a strum down. That sounded like a tune. He repeats it a few times, eyes glued to the chords before he lifts them up.

Arthur’s eyes then; he can’t help not smiling. They ain’t been that bright or tender in quite a while; he’s starting to understand the meaning of tonight: they gotta be sweet to take away some of the bitterness that’s drenched them. Sebastian keeps on strumming.

Isaac lays his head down, closes his eyes: “It’s just like when we first met. The church remember?”

“Mhm...”

“I didn’t get it... but... Pa?” Arthur turns to look. “Did you always know?”

“I ain’t the right one to be asking these questions.” Arthur chuckles, turns into a cough at the end. “I’m a fool all things considered.”

“Well you ain’t the biggest fool.” Sebastian has to laugh; that felt like a jab at John honestly. “But did you know, Pa?”

“Well...” a scratch of the beard. “I liked him. Had a kind face.”

Hand’s placed on the guitar: “Don’t make me want to kiss you.”

“No chance with the kid watchin’.” Arthur jokes, but he’s soon cut by a protesting Isaac.

“I liked you too, Arthur.” He confesses. “You intrigued me.” He lays the guitar down. “And I guess I ain’t done discovering you.”

Arthur bows his head with a smile, while Isaac looks at the both as if this is his first time hearing a love confession.

 Morning came without them paying it much notice; they returned to the hotel sure, but after that the order of events blurred. They were tired. And so sun found the bundled in a pile in a single bed. It wasn’t comfortable, his left arm was filled with static, but he’d trade nothing else for the warmth in his chest. He slips away enough to be able to stand up and lean over: a kiss on Arthur’s jaw, just beneath the ear. A few more until he wakes.

“I love you too.” Instead of ‘good morning’ because Arthur doesn’t return the kisses; caution is better, and still that manages to make his heart expand between his ribs, pulsate pleasantly.

“I’ll smother you with mine.” Sebastian coos with a thin smile on his lips; one more.

He loves the man.

Isaac tosses to the other side with a groan. And he loves the family they’ve somehow been  blessed to be.

Setting out felt like they were forgetting something, but all they had was on their person and a crate of provisions in the wagon. Sean jumped front, but John drove and the Irishman didn’t quite protest about it yet. But even with this promise of a new day, maybe a new start and new luck, they all still knew Arthur ran the fever.

And the fever only grew; so did the cough. Of course, Isaac took notice of the man’s growing sluggishness, the wheezing of his breath; the boy started remembering how he got treated for influenza when he was younger. Onion syrup, chicken broth and cold rubs with camphor. And sweating, lots of sweating.

“You’d bundle me up in some old furs and tell me to stay put. You gave me your old journals and I’d scribble in them.” Isaac recounts with fondness.

Arthur sighs: “They all got burned down last winter with that fire business up North-”

“Yeah I remember... But I can always try and make new ones. I know I ain’t much of an artist.”

A chuckle, a ruffle of untamed hair: “Always aiming to please, ain’t ya?”

Sean eavesdropped on the conversation: “You know my Ma’ always made me Elderberry blossom tea to get rid of the fever. And willow bark, grinded to powder with a bit of warm milk to slide down the throat.”

“My parents used Turpentine and lard for colds.” Kieran adds. “Rubbed all over the chest. The smell was awful. I would get sick from it.”

“Wasn’t you real young when your parents died?” Arthur asks.

“Yeah. Cholera.”

“Christ! What a way to go.” Sean blurts out.

“Don’t make it worse.” John intervenes.

“Do ya ever let up, Marston?”

“The willow bark might get handy if we ever find any around.” Sebastian rubs the back of his neck in thought; it’s getting really hot.

“Streams should have some form o’ willow growing there.” Kieran says, then rubs his beard. “Wait... Ain’t hair tonic using camphor? You know the one that you rub in ye’r hair.”

Arthur muses, pursing his lips like he always did when he was unsure: “I guess... I still hear the best medicine’s whiskey.”

“That’s for pain, not fevers.” Sebastian counters; Kieran was rummaging his satchel.

Arthur scoffs then John’s voice picks up: “Listen to your man, Morgan.”

“Shut up.” The man in questions calls back only mildly offended. Kieran had pulled out a bottle of something and was looking on the back of it with squinted eyes.

“What you found there?” Sebastian asks.

“Uhh some horse stimulant.” Kieran chews on his lips: “Yup. It has camphor. Reduces pain and cools them down.”

“You want me rubbed in horse stimulant now?” Arthur protests, and a cough builds up behind his words.

“It’s all we got.”

“It ain’t that bad. It’s gonna go down soon enough.”

Wishful thinking.

The cough continued. The heat outside ain’t helping either; they were all sweaty. Kieran was driving now and john climbed in the back, offered them some water to rub on the back of their necks to cool off, but even so Arthur seemed to heave as if he ain’t got air to breath. Skin burned like a heated oil lamp.

“Kieran, can I get that horse stimulant.”

“Sure-”

“Sebastian...” Arthur was on the verge of protesting.

“It’s gonna cool you off.” He don’t wanna say that if he keeps running this fever for the next day he’s probably a goner.

“I don’t like this...”

“I know.” Sebastian didn’t like it much either.

Still, when he asked Arthur to unbutton his shirt, man obliged. John turned his entire body so he wouldn’t look at them. Sebastian poured the oily substance on his right hand and stuck it underneath the other’s shirt; the smell stung in his nostrils; the rubs are hardy, firm, making even a man as big as Arthur sway under the motion.

Hand retracts: “You know. I ain’t talked lot about Lily...” He pours some more stimulant on his hands. “She got sick a lot when she was young.”

“I’m sorry to hear that...” Arthur says; Isaac keeps quiet.

Palms rub together and he motions for Arthur to lean in for him to rub the thing over his chest. Same firm rubs, round the neck and down the burning chest:

“I was so scared for her. But she’s always been a fighter.”

The smell makes Arthur cough, but he keeps up the conversation: “Don’t doubt it.”

“Myra- Her momma would rub her down with this or something like that. The smell hung around the entire house. I could almost taste it.” The moment he’s done he buttons up Arthur’s shirt. “And when she’d be cooking, or sleeping I’d be the one to rub it on. I kept massaging a while after and she fell right back to sleep...” They’re fond memories, even if they sting now.

“You’re a great father-”

“No, I-” he wants to deflect that.

“They ain’t gonna rob you of it no more.” Despite the cough that shook his body Arthur’s arms are steady, containing, his palms like hot irons, especially in this blazing heat; he ends up easing into it.

John peeked over his shoulder at them: “I’m sorry you had to lose a child, Sebastian...”

Head simply bobs down, and Arthur goes cough inside his fist with wet heaves. It’s silence for a while, then the coughs start up again, more feverishly and the man is forced to bed over. Isaac perks up, but stays pinned to the spot- John holds the boy’s shoulders.

Arthur waves a hand: “I’m fine. I’m-” another bout, just as violent. He heaves. “Just the goddamn smell. Christ’alive...” Some more drown out coughs. “I’m fine...” He leans his head against the sides and he’s given an extra coat to let that camphor work its magic.

 Sebastian can’t get sleep, not even as night falls. Everyone else seems to have gone numb to the sound of Arthur coughing. It sounds worse than it did before, but at least the temperature is steady. The sick didn’t get much sleep either, heaving and covering his mouth for the next fit.

Man looks at his hand, then up at Sebastian. Heart stings, and when he gets to look at what the cough left behind it sinks. Blood...

They wasted too much time...

[axelroy]

ʻ   /   let  me  introduce  you  to  a  prized  member  of  our  honors society ,   axel roy-dreyfus .  this   cismale  cancer  has  been  a  student  at  our  institution for seven years  and  is  currently  a  21  year  old  junior.   through  the  halls ,   he  has  always  reminded  me  of   aron piper  ,   but  there  is  always  more  than  meets  the  eye ,   like  the  fact  that  he regularly takes acid to inspire his artwork .  coral  cape  has  made  their  future  just  as  bright  as  their  smile ,   i  assure  you .ʼ (   muse 17 ,  riley ,  20 ,  cst ,  she/her   )

pheeeeew as if i couldn’t love aron piper more, s3 of elite rlly did me like that jesus fjdkslgjdsf anyway PLS like this or dm me or discord me idc, i would love to plot with all of u <3333

TWS: drugs, depression, death, car accidents, a really fcking long intro post aha !

if u wanna be extra in the mood when u read this …………… pls feel free to have this audio post playing in the bg while u peruse. i have been crying listening to this all week. thanks for coming 2 my ted talk here is axel now !

NAME — axel roy-dreyfus.

NICKNAMES — axel, ace, a. 

PRONOUNS — he/him.

AGE & DOB — 21 & august 10, 1998.

PLACE OF BIRTH — new york city, new york.

NATIONALITY — french-american.

MAJOR — visual studies & psychology.

EDUCATION — cape coral international school.

CLUBS — honors society.

* BACKGROUND OVERVIEW !

axel was born the only child to two loving parents, an american father whose family has run a large media conglomerate for decades ( i got insp from hbo succession ok ), and a french mother whose family has a large hand in the development of nuclear energy in france ! so like ........ $$$$$$

there were probably a hundred timelines in which axel became a spoiled brat, but the universe was fortunate and brought two of the most kind-hearted souls that were ( relatively ) uncorrupted by the power and wealth that their families brought ( they were the youngest in their families, probs. youngest child syndrome *coughs* me ). he grew up in a loving household, one that was open and generous—their four empty bedrooms were always available for axel’s friends to stay over if they needed, 

axel learned from their optimism, from their generosity—why be manipulative, when his family had the means to procure anything with ease ? it was a dangerous bubble to grow up in, but his parents, being forward thinkers too, saw him as an equal growing up. they’d tell him all the family drama as they rolled their eyes. needless to say, they didn’t have to work too hard to get by in life, to live in luxury.

TW DEATH. on the eve of his parents’ anniversary when axel was sixteen, a sophomore in high school, his parents died in a tragic car accident in paris on the way back to the airport. he was left devastated, alone in a home with no one to return to. END TW.

while he wasn’t around at cape coral, he was sent to live with his uncle ( his father’s brother ) and aunt, where he finally got immersed into the cutthroat life of the roy family, no longer skirting the edges of the family business. he would constantly get compared to his cousins all the time, which he hated. his aunt and uncle also expected him to follow in his family’s footsteps and continue working at the family company—which he also despised, but didn’t voice openly. he’d known about the shady deals, thought the monopolization of media was an evil he’d want to avoid.

finding it hard to express his pain and loneliness after his parents’ death, axel started taking up art and painting more seriously than just a hobby. he painted and painted and painted, staying after school in the art studios just to let his emotions out somehow. and he became talented—garnering interest from his teachers, his peers, the portland community, and eventually worldwide with his social media following.

TW DRUGS. but the art didn’t spark out of nowhere—he certainly needed help, both to inspire his works, but also to relieve the pain of loneliness, to help him transition from his old life to a new. it was weed at first, but he slowly started dabbling in acid, cocaine, and molly, amongst other things. END TW.

now at cape coral, he’s continuing pursuing his career as an artist, with a humble following, slew of awards under his belt, a few international articles published about his unique genre ( see @ canvas section on my pinterest board here ), and has been invited to have his work exhibitioned in a galleries across the nation. 

* PERSONALITY !

axel certainly hasn’t lost the positive charm that he had grown up around, with parents like his. he’s pretty go-with-the-flow ( in a sense, far less uptight than his cousins, and probably many other cape coral students ), preferring to stay on the sidelines than get into the spotlight ( unless it’s the art scene ! ). 

he’s generous, and sometimes doesn’t realize when he’s being taken advantage of—another trait he’s probably received from his parents, who were far too giving for their own good.

he’s kind, but not a pushover—he’s becoming more confident in who he is, and won’t back down from pushing back in conversations, nor let his friends make terrible decision for themselves. sometimes he’s a bit stubborn in that capacity.

he’s a pretty good listener, and with his share of heartbreaks and pains, he’s been known to give pretty good advice while he’s sitting at his easel, painting away. whether or not he chooses to follow that same advice himself—a little less certain.

he certainly still focuses on his studies—being part of the honors society—as he continues to pursue a double major in visual studies and psychology. perhaps the interest in drugs came first from his interest in the mind itself. so, he’s definitely an academic, but he likes to have fun, too.

ambitious, yes—in the artistic development sense. otherwise, spontaneous, for sure. he’s chasing highs and new experiences that will inspire his artwork in the future. 

he’s fiercely loyal to those who he trusts, but wouldn’t necessarily go too far out of line to protect them. he’ll certainly go out of his way to pick someone up in one of the several cars he has ( he’d never had the heart to sell his parents’ cars ), to chat about problems, to work things out—but he probably doesn’t have the chops in him to break laws for people. but he’d never sell them out—he’d just stay silent.

sometimes he tends to zone out, sketching doodles on his notebooks and napkins, reveling in unique natural color combinations, being fascinated by shapes and lines. but he’ll also be the first to apologize for zoning out.

* CHARACTER TROPES !

TW: DEATH, DRUGS — growing up, axel roy-dreyfus was your classic BOY NEXT DOOR. shining smile, perfect manners, star on the cross-country team who had a charming smile and a brain, too. he was raised that way on purpose: picture perfect, for the only child of a roy and a dreyfus, two completely powerful families in the media world. but their expectations were not met because of strict curfews, or perfectly tied ties, no—axel wanted to be perfect to make them proud, because he loved them. because they were strong but caring, who saw axel as an equal. he never called them ‘mom’ or ‘dad’, but ‘william’ and ‘diana’ instead—they were his best friends, they never hid anything from him—not the family drama, not company secrets. they were the perfect little family, one that his friends often envied, but sometimes good things fall apart.

their little picturesque bubble burst quickly when his parents passed away in a car accident when axel was sixteen, and he was thrust into the bustling life of the roy family. though he was privy to the family drama through the lens of his parents before, he never realized how deeply cutthroat and horrible business could be. he would be constantly compared to his older cousins, would be on the receiving end of inquiries about where he would be attending college (cape coral, of course—their entire family’s alma mater). he found himself playing the role of the CONTENDER, often, battling unrealistic expectations to keep his family happy, yes, but more importantly, himself sane. but with axel’s loneliness, with his sadness came an awakening. unable to properly express himself with words anymore, he turned to art. and people realized that he had a gift like no other.

art became a refuge for him—he’d spend hours upon hours in the studios at school, and when he outgrew them (or rather, found other means of inspiration through pills and other substances), he moved his creative space to his dorm, his apartment—wherever he had space to just be. people started catching onto his talent: teachers and professors first, then peers, classmates, friends who supported his endeavors. purchases made their way across the world and his name became more and more familiar. his art is raw, vulnerable, not for the aesthetic but for the emotion elicited from symbols, colors, shapes. it’s his own genre, one that people have been more and more intrigued by these days. it’s gotten to his head, a little, surely—that he’s made a name for himself outside of the roys and the dreyfuses. he now has a bit of confidence behind him, being able to list his earnings and the recognition he has received at local galas—and people are starting to accept him for his future, too. it fuels him, makes him a HOTSHOT, but of course, not everyone knows about the measures he takes to ensure his creative juices keep flowing.

outside of his own personal journey, axel is known to be a loyal friend. the relationship he had with his parents certainly prepared him to be the shoulder to cry on, to give sage advice to people in need. he jokes that his apartment is now half an art studio, half a therapist’s office, by the nature that many people swing by to chat while he paints (sober, or not). he relied on his friends when his parents passed away, not exactly receiving the emotional support from his family that he needed. in that way, he’ll never sell someone out, never tell someone’s secret without their permission. in the perspective of those he cares about, he could be labeled a FERRYMAN, one who helps guide those who are in need of advice or just someone to talk something through with.

* PLAYLIST !

erase — omar apollo:

i don’t mind, my head’s in the sky thinkin’ of you, oh, feelin’ for you, oh oh it’s cold right now, i miss you for life it’s not going away, i thought i’d be okay, yeah

TW: DEATH, CAR ACCIDENTS — this song might more relate to axel’s relationship with his parents more than an ex-lover, though it could pertain to the latter, too. his parents, who died in a car accident on their way back from a trip to paris four years ago, where axel’s mother is from, were his inspiration, his support, his best friends. axel had an incredible bond with his parents—especially, given he is an only child. his parents nurtured a gentle but passionate soul in a family that was full of cutthroat, cold businesspeople. their death sparked his interest in expressing himself through art, as he couldn’t find the words to fully describe his pain and emotion. he misses them dearly, still sometimes finding it hard to navigate life without them, and dedicates his life and art to them everyday.

easy love — lauv:

keep comin’ back, guess you could say i’m attached last time we called it a wrap, i came beggin’ and all that you’re like a habit, it’s bad i got a habit, it’s bad oh no, i’m not even mad

TW: DRUGS — this song describes his personality and love life—unfortunately, he can be a bit reckless when it comes to his own well-being. he certainly dabbles in more than a few drugs, acid and marijuana mostly, to enhance his creative abilities, as it was a piece that he had painted during an acid trip that garnered him the fame and respect he has now. he tries to rationalize it as a creative process, as something necessary to push his artistry to the next level. similarly, in his love life, i imagine that he gets himself into rather toxic relationships. although he, himself, is a selfless person, especially to those he is loyal to, he sometimes doesn’t exactly realize when things are unhealthy to him—bad habits, you could say. he’ll keep crawling back to people as long as they make him feel good, even just for a night.

vincent — don mclean:

now I understand what you tried to say to me and how you suffered for your sanity and how you tried to set them free they would not listen, they did not know how perhaps they’ll listen now

TW: DEATH — this song describes axel’s life as an artist, in the eyes of someone who appreciates his craft. his extended family, including his uncle and aunt whom he now stays with during holidays and family gatherings, don’t quite appreciate nor understand his interest in art. he has struggled, since the day his parents passed away, to get them to understand how much art means to him, and how it’s not just a phase. now at cape coral, where he is being nurtured to reach his fullest potential, he wants the chance to join a residency program after college in paris to reconnect with his mother’s family’s roots—he’s already garnering attention from a worldwide audience. he still faces a lot of backlash from his family, and it affects him more than he would like it to.

* AESTHETICS !

thrift shopping, talking on the rooftops until three am, poems scribbled on masking tape, dried flowers, french music on a record player in the background, paint-stained hands, hoodies on a sunny day, waves crashing on the sand, unfinished sketches on napkins, vintage film cameras, whiskey breath, exposed brick, clean unmade sheets, spontaneously bought train tickets, rose petals, writing letters to his parents, subway chatter, graffiti-ing positive messages on highway tunnels, cigarette smoke, art galleries circled on city maps, coffee under a paris awning.

* HEADCANONS !

he has an instagram page, showcasing his artwork, that has 82.7k followers at the moment. he doesn’t post his face or anything about him personally, just cryptic descriptions of vulnerable art.

he keeps his two last names out of respect and love for his parents—not, like many people believe, to be able to milk the advantages to being born to two families that control great media conglomerates in the world.

one of his most damning vices is cigarettes. he smokes them to feel calm, and often needs someone to swat them away from him.

his apartment is full to the brim of canvases and paintings—it’s honestly a zoo. layers of works line the walls of the hallways, whatever’s newest being the furthest out. there are some hidden gems laying around, if anyone were interested in checking.

he has ear piercings—much to his extended family’s dismay. he never used to wear it around when his aunt and uncle were present, but ever since his newfound confidence has bubbled up in his chest, he doesn’t care anymore.

he’s bisexual.

there’s an enormous chalkboard in his apartment too, and visitors are encouraged to draw and write messages on it—as long as they don’t erase his grocery list. he finds inspiration for his work on there a lot.

he’s a 3x state chess champion—it’s a skill he was taught as a kid, and likes how he had practice reading people from the game.

there’s an apartment in his name in the 7th arrondissement of paris, where he escapes to from time to time, the musée d’orsay is his favorite place on earth.

axel absolutely adores train rides. the ride from new york city (where his aunt and uncle live, and where his parents used to live) up to cape coral is some undisturbed peace where he likes to just sit and think, enjoying the changing colors of the autumn leaves.

* WANTED PLOTS !

these are just like stubs and rando ideas i had ……… pls feel free to pick and choose and mix and match idk i’m also ok at brainstorming ig PLEASE MESSAGE ME I WANT ALL THE PLOTS AND ALL THE ANGST OK THANKS !! i also have a WANTED TAG here

TW DRUGS

a best friend ( preferably since childhood ! ): give me guzman n ander vibes, where the two have known each other since they were little, have been through thick and thin, is axel’s biggest supporter in his art. ( insp: x ) OKF DSJO BUT PLS GIVE ME THIS ……………… 3x07 guys, come on. we all know.

childhood friends / best friends / ride or dies: likely other cape coral students who have been around a long time, they’ve seen axel through his ups n downs, were there for him when his parents passed, and get up to shenanigans at galas and charity events. the elite kids basically. they’re the siblings he’s never had, he’d protect them with his life and offer advice and paint things for them !

someone who goes with him to art museums pls he’d be super excited and cute and tell them everything about high renaissance art and theories of design patterns

good influence, someone who will swat cigarettes out of his hands and keeps him working on his assignments when all he’d rather do is paint. they keep him in line, and although axel might whine a little at first, he really values their friendship and them always looking after him. i’m thinking rebe/ander vibes from this season.

on the other hand, a bad influence, who might introduce him to different drugs, trip on acid with him as he paints, maybe causes him to spend his enormous trust fund on random shit.

tour guide, axel is good-natured and caring, and that doesn’t stop with the current cape coral students. even if some of his peers and his family might scorn him for being more open to them, he wouldn’t hesitate to show some of the new students around and show them the ropes. besides, he knows what it feels like to want to make a name for yourself.

former roommates (probably a cape coral student), who may or may not have been close. 

current roommates (probably also a cape coral student), who may or may not mind the fact that he’s been filling their apartment with enormous canvases, probably super super close friend to his, probably someone whose family probably is close to his, too. 

neighbors, there’s a lot of possibility here !! maybe they hated the way axel seemed to blare his speakers when he’s painting and tripping, they could be friends who storm each others’ rooms when they’re having bad days. his couch is practically a therapists’ couch at this point.

a critic, who pushes him to be a better artist. to dig deeper, to think further, to challenge himself and his abilities — which might be his downfall, considering he’s already diving into drug use.

his uh ……… first male hookup ??? this probably would have happened maybe like a year ago after him n giuliana broke up !!! he came out as bisexual in high school but had a long-term gf for a while so it would have been his first time rlly experimenting ya feel

on that note other hookups that he might have slept with during this ??? trying time

* MORE !

i’ve got a pinterest board here fjdklsf if u got this far and wanted to check it out ! pls pls plot w me i want all the plots *grabby hands* feel free to msg me on discord or here on ims !!!

[krismusings]

Zoo break in. | Ro, Khai, and Jay

Discord thread featuring: Roman, @jayceelynd, and @malakhai-ozera

Where: A park, and the Zoo

When: A random ass day

Description: Jay, Ro, and Khai get high on molly, and just do weird shit tbh.

Trigger Warnings: drugs, no surprise there. beginnings of messing around, but fade to black.

Khai

It wasn’t like Khai had never popped  molly by himself before. But he really didn’t feel like being alone. The guy he was supposed to stay with for the night, bailed on him for what seemed like the 100th time. So why not have a little fun with people he truly considered to be friends. He didn’t have very many of those after all, being the loner that he was. Pulling up to the park in his fancy sports car he wondered if it would be messed with. Not that he really cared. It was just home to all his shit at the moment, and although he could afford a place to stash it. For some unknown reason he hadn’t settled on a place yet. You would think after twenty years he would have his shit together, but that was a story for another time. He locked up his car and headed toward the swings, taking a seat on one of them before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up. “Yo, I’m over here” he called out. Letting his friends know he was there once he spotted them.

Jaycee

Jaycee was excited to be hanging out with her long time friend Khai with her favorite person, Roman. Smirking at him she grabbed his shirt and pecked his lips before driving to the park. They were always living their lives that most wouldn’t approve of, but they never cared nor probably would for that matter. Putting the car in park, once they got there. “You ready?” She asked him with a smirk while climbing out of the car and locking it up behind them. “Have you hung out with Khai?” She asked him curiously as they looked for him. Looking into the direction she saw him on the swing and laughed. “OoOo swings!” She said excitedly. Not feeling the need to really introduce them, seeing they probably knew one another since the three of them were in a group text and all. Hugging Khai she hummed. “How are you?” She asked before pulling back to let the other two greet one another.

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜

Roman informed Jaycee that he had hung out with Khai before, and was more than happy to see him again as they crossed the park. He was still laughing at jay being excited about the swings as he waved at the other male. “Hey mate! Lookin’ brill.” Roman leaned in to grab Khai’s hand, and pulled him in for a half hug.

Khai

As Jaycee and Roman approached him, he stood from the swing and smiled at them both. “I’m good” he replied, Pulling Jaycee into a tight hug before kissing her forehead. “Hey yourself” he winked at Roman. Letting him pull him in for a hug as well. The guy always looked good, the moonlight only highlighting his already intense features. “I’m glad you guys could make it. I thought I was gonna have to blow up by myself again. Which isn’t as fun” he chuckled before taking another pull from his cigarette.

Jaycee

Smiling as he kissed her on the forehead she watched Roman and Khai hugging it out. Intrigued by their interaction with one another as she hopped up on a swing and started to swing. Jaycees thoughts going to all of Khais belongings in his car getting her lost in her thoughts while swinging. “Why wouldn’t we come, of course we want to have fun with you” she smiled at him. Jaycee wondered if Roman had the same thoughts of what they saw in his car. “So whatcha got?” She asked as she couldn’t help but the giggle as she leaned back letting the swing take her for a ride.

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜

Roman liked hanging out with Khai a lot. He was quiet, a perhaps a bit shy, but there was something about the male that really intrigued Ro to want to know more. Plus, he was fucking beautiful. So. There’s that. Roman watched as Jaycee of course moved right over to the swings where she was apparently at home. Good to know. “We’re not even high yet, and you’re giggling on the swings?” Roman asked with a wide smile while he crossed his arms.

Khai

Khai could think of at least a hundred reasons to why they wouldn’t want to come. But most of those were due to his insecurities at the moment. “I got some white magic... Molly” he added to clarify. He stuffed his hand into his front pocket and pulled the little baggy containing the pills out before looking over to Roman. “She’s high on life, mate” he chuckled shaking his head. “We just need to get on her level” he mused. Raising his brow slightly with his words  as he took a step closer to the other male. “What’ll it be? One shot, two shots... or how ‘bout I just surprise you?” He dumped the pills into his hand and stood in front of Roman with a devilish grin. “Open up and say please” he insisted. Waiting for the other to oblige before placing two small white pills onto his tongue.

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜03/26/2020

Ro’s eyebrow lifted when Khai got in front of him with the bag of pills, those large hazel eyes enticing him to choose the surprise option. With those lashes, he’d let the guy do whatever he wanted. “Ohhh...I like the way you operate.” Roman replied easily, keeping his eye contact with the other male before parting his lips, tongue ready to accept his prize. He could obey...sometimes.

Jaycee03/26/2020

Jaycee started to slow down on the swing when she heard him mention white magic. Watching them was definitely something that only can be explained in her crazy head as hot. She just sat there watching them as she chewed on her bottom lip.

Khai03/26/2020

Khai continued to keep eye contact with Roman until both pills were inserted and swallowed. His grin only slightly disappearing as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He turned to face Jaycee and made his way over to her. Her legs placed between his as he stood straddled over her on the swing. “Now you m’lady” he continued to grin. Letting his finger trail lazily over her bottom lip after inserting two pills into her mouth. “Don’t say I never gave you anything” he teased. Popping the last two pills into his mouth and swallowing them dry before joining her on the swings.(edited)

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜

Roman liked to have a good time, shocking, I know, but in trying to fathom what tonight was going to hold, Ro just let himself space off. He watched Khai give some pills to Jaycee, and then himself, wondering if he was in the mood to either swing, or maybe hit up the jungle gym. “Oh wow.” He muttered with a small chuckle when he walked over, and realized he was the exact same height as the jungle gym. “Don’t remember this shit being so small.” He complained before pulling himself up to sit on the top.

Jaycee

Jaycee was sitting there, her lips parted when his lazily trailed over her bottom lip. Swallowing the pills dry she whispered “thank you” tightening her grip on the swings chains as she watched him walk over to his own swim. Remembering the little surprise with ice cubes he’d mentioned to her before. “You two are like giants!” She said as she giggled. “You’re king of the worrrlllllddd” she cheered not caring who heard her at this point. Jaycee was always just down to enjoy life, and with good company how could this night go wrong!?

Khai03/26/2020

Khai couldn’t help but laugh as Roman approached the jungle gym and Jaycee began cheering him on. “Hey man, don’t fall through there. I’ve done that before and I promise... it looks like a short fall. But it hurts.” He continued to chuckle as he pumped his legs, swinging higher and higher.

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜03/26/2020

Roman smirked when he heard his friends both cheering him on, and warning him of possible danger. Ro had yet to eat anything today, so the molly was already starting to take effect, flowing all through his body in the best was as he rolled his head to crack his neck. He then swiveled around so he could lay back on the top of the bars, looking up at the sky from high up. Trippy.

Khai03/26/2020

The molly was already taking effect on Khai as well. Heating up his body from the inside out as he felt the cool wind brush against his face on the swing. It probably wasn’t a brilliant idea but with one thought, he jumped from the swing. Landing on his feet but initially falling back onto his ass and laying on the ground. “Fuck...” he laughed. His tone a bit gritty as he tilted his head back to look at Jaycee to see how far he jumped. “I think I lost my cigarette” he realized, sitting up and dusting off the back of his arms.

Jaycee

Jaycee was humming as she felt the molly take effect on her tiny body. “This feels amazing” she groaned. “Woah” she said in awe of her friend jumping. Deciding she was going to jump and try to flip with her gymnastic and dance background it should be easy right? Well we’re talking about Jaycee Beau Lynd right? She did a flip but rolled and laughed her ass off when she landed clearly not hurt. Looking over she rolled over into her hands an knees and saw his cigarette. “I found it” she said as she giggled holding it up. Looking over at Roman she smiled at her love. “Rooommmaaannn you good baby?” She asked as she decided to take a drag of the cigarette before letting Khai have it.March 27, 2020

Khai

“Holy fuckin’ shit” Khai exclaimed as Jaycee flipped off the swing. Watching her body roll across the ground before cheering when he discovered she was okay. “You’re a fuckin’ spider monkey” he laughed. Crawling over to her to grab his cigarette after she had taken a drag. “God, I needed this” he hummed. Laying his head into her lap as she called over to Ro.

Jaycee

Jaycee couldn’t help but to laugh at her friends reaction after calling out to her roommate asking if he was ok. Running her fingers through Khais hair as she laid back onto the ground. “I think we all did” she sighed as she got lost in feeling his hair between her fingers. Wondering where the night would go with them all. Her teeth were gritted as the molly courses through her body, releasing a hum as she swore she could feel every molecule that touched her skin.

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜

Roman wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring up at the sky before it clicked that his friends were calling for him. He turned around like he would on his bed, laying uncomfortably on his side on top of the monkey bars. Yeah, he wasn’t so sure why he’d done this, and for some reason it tripped him out that Jaycee and Khai were on the ground. When did that happen? “Why’re you’re guys in the dirt?” He asked with his thick Manchester accent, a look of pure confusion, but fascination on his face.

Khai

Khai let his eyes close for a moment as Jaycee stroked his hair. The feeling of her fingertips brushing against his scalp sending waves of good vibrations all throughout his body. Opening his eyes again once he heard Roman respond he looked over at him with amusement. He didn’t look comfortable at all but still some how attractive in his twisted side position. “Because it feels good. We like dirt” he announced a bit louder than his usual tone. “Get over here and join us you bloke” he laughed. Reaching his hands out toward Ro to try and coax him in without lifting his head from Jaycee’s lap.

Jaycee

“I want to have an accent like y’all. I’m stuck with this stupid one” she said in her thick southern draw as she giggled. Looking over at Roman smiling knowing he couldn’t be comfortable. “It’s cool in the dirt” she said simply as she continues to run her nails lazily over Khai’s scalp, enjoying the softness of his hair. “I’ll rub your head too” she said trying to coax him down.

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜

Ro just laughed when Jaycee made her comment about their accents, but then pouted because he loved her southern accent. “I love you southern drawl!” Roman did his best impression right after her, doing his best now to get down without seriously hurting himself. It would be quite shocking if he managed to pull that off. “Damn right you’ll be rubbing my head!” Ro joked like a five year old before tripping over his own goddamn feet on his way over to the two. He plopped down right next to Khai, and on e again found himself on his back with a deep sigh. “This is my favorite white shirt by the way. It’ll be dirty now, and it’s all your fault - the both of you.”(edited)

Khai

It was amusing to Khai watching Roman mimic Jaycee’s southern drawl. His eyes following the other male as he tripped lazily over to them, a smile mindlessly pulling at his lips. “I think we should just talk like Jaycee all night long” he suggested. Mostly just talking out loud. As Ro laid next to him and placed his head side by side with his on Jaycee’s lap he draped his leg over the others. “Don’t those come in like a package of six?” he asked with a chuckle. Pulling lightly on the collar of Ro’s shirt with a grin. “Do you wanna wear mine? I don’t mind gettin’ a bit dirty.”(edited)

Jaycee

“I will smack you both I swear to god” she said in her accent not even trying anymore. Laughing as she sighed now that she had both of them in her reach and ran her fingers through Romans soft curly hair, scratching his scalp like she always does before massaging. “We do have a washing machine and I know how to treat clothes” she stated in a matter of fact tone as she picked on Roman. Laughing at Khai’s remark. “This one is his special one of the lot” she said in a pretty good British accent and smiled brightly at how proud she was. “Dirty is good” she hummed.(edited)March 28, 2020

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜

Roman definitely wouldn’t be quite this dramatic over a white T-shirt if he wasn’t high as a kite, but alas. “Mm - no, it’s fine.” He chuckled a bit, looking over at Khai after his offer, and of course letting his mind go to a naughty place at the mention of him not minding to get dirty. He leaned his head back to glare up at Jaycee when she did a British accent, but then laughed because he deserved that. “I hope no one comes around here today or else we might get reported.” He giggled. They were being so fucking weird laying in the middle of the dirt all tangled together, which I guess makes sense since they were on drugs. “We woulda been so happy in the middle of Woodstock.”

Khai

Khai continued to lay there as he gazed up at the sky. His arms cross lazily over his chest and stomach as he listened to Romans concerns about someone else coming around. Which immediately resulted in a way too bad idea. Popping up from Jaycee’s lap in one quick movement he looked back at his friends. “Shit... you know what we should do? We should go break into the zoo and see the tigers. That would be bad ass.” It was already getting dark so he was sure they could get away with it. As sure as he could be while under the influence of mdma.

Jaycee

“Don’t you glare at me” she laughed with an arched brow towards Roman. Playfully tugging on his hair. I bet they would have , had a blast at Woodstock she thought to herself. Sitting up when Khai popped eyes wide to what he said and looked down at Roman. “I mean down for anything exciting. Again I rest my case on the bad influencers in this group” pointing at Khai as she stuck her tongue between her teeth and smiled. “Can we bring home a baby koala or something baby” she asked all excited.

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜

Roman actually shot up with excitement himself when Khai threw out his idea, wondering why in the hell he hadn’t thought of that himself. “I’m totally fine with bringing home a Koala. This is a perfect fucking idea, what the fuckkkk?!” Yeah, he was...he was really gone. “Wait...who’s driving though?” Definitely wasn’t gonna be him, unless they all wanted to die.

Khai

“I’m not a bad influencer. This is a brilliant fuckin’ idea. Right Ro?” he asked, smiling wide at the others reaction. “I can drive, I don’t mind. But I’ll have to get some shit out of my car.” Khai definitely drove way more than he probably should while under the influence, but he was a good driver. A bit reckless but good. He didn’t really worry about it. Besides his 2019 Porsche Panamera Turbo was calling his name.(edited)

Jaycee

Scuffing in laughter as she rolled and got up from her hands and knees, dusting any dirt off of her. “I want a baby koala!” She giggled excitedly with her hand on her flat stomach. Wobbling a bit but still had a smile on her face. “I’ve been in the car with him really shit faced so, I’m down” she shrugged as she waited for Romans response. “I’m small enough to squeeze in somewhere I’m sure” she waved her hand forgetting how much stuff she saw in his car.

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜

“Man, this is such a nice car.” Roman complimented his friend as he walked around the vehicle, remembering a time when he used to be so obsessed with cars. He didn’t have the time or money for that anymore. Hendrix of course did notice all the things in the other male’s car, but he didn’t want to embarrass him, or put him on the spot. He could inquire about it at a different time. “I’ve never actually been to the zoo out here.”(edited)

Khai

“Thanks, mate” he smiled as the trio approached his car. He pulled out his keys to unlock the doors and pulled the drivers side door open before turning to J. “Hey, can I put some of this shit in your car for now?” he asked. It was a quick process of moving tote bags from one car to the other before they were all seated comfortably and on their way to the zoo. “Me either, but tigers are like my spirit animal. Especially white tigers” he nodded. Getting a bit deep in his conversation mostly due to being high as a kite. He drove a bit fast, shifting gears as he hit the highway. Cruising at about 75 mph as he pushed himself back into his seat to feel its comfort and grinding his teeth.

Jaycee

After getting the things into the back of her car, she got into the backseat since she was definitely the shortest of the trio. Leaning forward as they cruised fast down the highway. “They’re really majestic. I have no idea what my spirit animal is. Every says I’m like a little spider monkey. Is that bad?” She as while leaning into the seat, enjoying the vibrations coming from his car. “I want to buy a Tesla so bad, but I’m trying to be a good girl” she huffed playfully. “The suv model though” and did her arms upward like the doors did while giggling. Jaycee hadn’t bought a new car since high school and never wanted to really flash her money around like that. Still feeling as though it wasn’t hers to touch. “Everyone feeling good?” She asked through a clenched jaw.March 29, 2020

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜

Roman just stared out the window while the others made small talk, namely Jaycee. She was adorable, always feeling like she needed to fill the silence. For as outspoken and social as Roman was, he sometimes didn’t talk very much at all. He just observed, and listened. He was good at listening. Well, not now cause he was pressing his nose to the backseat window, feeling like he was actually moving along the road without being in a car weird. “Hm?” He turned to look at Jaycee, and then just smiled, because he didn’t even know what she said. Oops. “We at the zoo yet?” It had only been like five minutes, but Ro felt like it had been forever.

Khai

"The suv model is pretty bad ass. I almost got a Tesla myself. But, this car was just purring my name like an untamed wild cat" he mused. He shifted his vision between the road and the rear view so that he could see Jaycee as she spoke. The speed of the car only increasing once he turned the radio on. Driving to the beat of the music was only one of his many bad habits. "We're almost there" he shouted over to Roman. Noticing the other male was getting a bit lost in the passing lights as they zoomed by. "Don't zone out on me too fast, mate. The parties just getting started" he encouraged. Belting out the song on the radio at the top of his lungs soon after.

Jaycee

Leaning her head back as she nodded her head in agreeing to, Khai. Who knows maybe she’d splurge on herself and get one. Looking over at Roman she shook her head smiling. He was about to fade out and was thankful Khai turned the radio up and closed her eyes as he sang. She knew they were close to the zoo so she continued to let the vibrations of the car soothe her, vibrating her body. Slowly finding herself quietly singing along with Khai then slowly dancing with a smile on her lips. It feels like the time passed with the singing along as she falls into her door when Khai turns into the parking lot. “Woah” she laughed softly, taking her seatbelt off waiting to get out. “I can’t wait to hold my new baby”(edited)March 30, 2020

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜

Roman didn’t even remember getting to the zoo honestly. He did hear Khai shouting at him, and then singing in a pitch that was borderline only to be heard by dogs. Ro was also aware of Jaycee slamming into the door shortly after. But here they were, still talking about stealing koala’s, and Roman didn’t even know if they were joking or not anymore. “How do we get in?” Ro asked curiously as they walked up to the entrance, and looked around. Of course he was eyeing the security cameras around, wondering if maybe this was the dumbest thing he’d ever agreed to do.

Khai

Standing outside the entrance of the zoo, Khai pulled out another cigarette and placed it between his lips. Lighting it up and inhaling it deeply as he looked around at the same security cameras Ro was focusing in on. “We might have to just climb the fence. Or go through one of the exhibits.” He knew this was a terrible idea but he went with it anyway. The look of excitement on Jaycee’s face to hold a baby koala fueling his need to please. Flicking his cigarette away after a couple more drags he placed his hands on the fence and peered through the gate. “I bet we could get in over there” he pointed. Not really sure what that particular exhibit was home to.

Jaycee

Jaycee literally just stood there following pursuit of whatever was going down. Playing with her hair was a think she did when she was feeling a little nervous, but quickly forgot about the nerves when the hair playing calmed her. “Should I climb through and unlock?” She asked out of curiosity. Was she really going to hold a baby koala!! Is this real life right now!? She didn’t even care, she wanted to play in the zoo with her two favorite people. She knew of the cameras but ignored them, if she didn’t she’d flip out. Wrapping her arms around their shoulders, literally standing on her tippy toes giggling. “Or you two can hoist me up!” She took turns smiling up at them.April 1, 2020

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜

“I have a hard time believing it’ll be as easy as unlocking it from the inside. I’d say we need a key.” Even in his drugged out state, Roman had enough common sense to at least attempt thinking things though. Well, not really since he was wanting to take home a koala. “Let’s go in through that enclosure. Khai’s right, looks kinda easy to rig.” Roman ducked his head over towards their right before he was helping both Jaycee, and Khai over the enclosure. He had long legs, and was tall as fuck, so Ro easily made his way over to the other side by himself. “Okay...so, let’s hurry the fuck up, and get out of this enclosure before we wake up whatever the fuck lives here.” Roman would straight up scream if he got charged at by a goddamn rhino.(edited)

Khai

Khai nodded his head as Roman agreed with him and within a matter of moments they were standing in the open enclosure. Looking around he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Don’t worry, mate. As long as we can out run each other we should be fine” he joked. Jumping onto Romans back playfully as they moved their way through the enclosure to find an exit. “I love you guys! You know that?” he asked with a wide smile. The effects of the drugs influencing his emotions as they scrambled with adrenaline.

Jaycee

Jaycee dusted her hands off on her ripped jeans and looked around in amazement. She was really about to get a baby koala for her and Romans house. This was going to be an awesome night. Giggling at the boys she walked up behind them and smacked both of their asses before going around them, looking around at how big this place was. “I am like, in awe of this place.” She walked forward looking for an exit sign and finally found on  “come on” she whispered still somehow in a damn draw. Must be the drugs, who knows. Turning the door knob she heard a loud snap, quickly turning her head to see a couple of giraffes in awe, pointing up behind the boys unable to say anything, motioning them to slowly come her way.April 2, 2020

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜

Roman caught Khai when he jumped up onto his back, adjusting the other male’s legs so that he was easily holding him in backpack position. Yes, this was totally normal. Ro turned to look back at Jaycee before she smacked them on the ass, letting her lead the way to where they needed to be to get out of the enclosure. When she pointed behind them, Roman didn’t even want to look. He may end up screaming, and that would not be in their favor at the moment. He just focused on getting on the other side of this gate. Once they were through, Ro let Khai down, and then looked around to see where they had been. “Fucking giraffes?? Yeah, we’re not leaving the same way we came in. Fuck me!”

Khai

Standing now on the other side of the enclosure, Khai couldn't help but to laugh. Roman's response to the giraffes tickling him from the inside out as he doubled over in uncontrollable laughter. "Fuckin' hell, mate. If we live through this I'm gonna have to remember to never let you live this moment down." Turning to Jaycee with a wide smile still painted on his face. He draped his arm heavily over her shoulder and pulled himself closer to her. "Lead the way Koala Queen. I'm getting antsy and really need a drink." Reaching his free arm out he draped it over Roman's shoulder as well and pulled him in. "Which way to the out now?"(edited)

Jaycee

Jaycee couldn’t help but to laugh at the expressive terror on Romans face as they left the enclosure. Placing her hand on her stomach at the ache forming from laughter. “Oh my god, I love you two” she said giggling still. Holding onto the hand draped over her shoulder she walked them towards the little map and found her to the enclosure and made the poutiest face possible, it’s pitiful but baby anything melts her. “Oh my god.” She did a little exited dance before finding the door and sneaking in quietly. Looking around she slipped out of their little connection they had going on, looking closely to find her new baby. Walking up to a sleeping little baby gently picking it up, baby talking to it as the little baby koala wrapped its arms around her neck, causing Jaycee to have an awe expression. “You guuyyyss” she whispered as she walked up to them so they could pet the new baby. God the fur was so fucking soft.(edited)April 5, 2020

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜

Roman shot Khai a playful glare when he gave him shit for his reaction to being literally right next to the damn things. “Listen. They may be beautiful, and even magestic, some would say, however - I can’t think of a single good thing that comes from standing right next to one. I can admire from a distance, Khai, a distance.” He gestured at his friend before Jaycee was pulling their attention elsewhere with her little excited dance. Once they were inside the koala enclosure, Roman was having a hard time remembering how they even got here from the playground. What the fuck was even happening? This was by far the most random thing he’d ever done. “Are we for real holding wild animals right now?” He asked with a snort.

Khai

Khai continued to laugh at Roman, unable to get over the amusement of his reaction. His playful glare only fueling the fire of laughter inside of him. “I mean, I can’t either. But it’s still funny as shit” he chuckled. Feeling Jaycee pull from his arm he watched her go in search of the baby koala. Now leaning into Roman with a smile as he watched Jayce pet it and pick it up. “We’re not just holding it. We’re taking it” he clarified to Ro as he turned to face him. “You ok with that?”

Jaycee

Jaycee just kept in her own world as they boys bantered back and forth as she loved on the baby koala, cooing at it. "You're now my baby, and I love you and will care for you forever and always" she said as she snuggled into the baby, rubbing her face against it's fur, humming. God this baby koala feels amazing. "Roman, can I please bring this baby home to love?" she walked up to him pouting a pitiful face ever as she begged him to be okay with it, while batting her eyes. Letting her eyes go from Roman and Khai.. "Please" she whispered as she wanted them to feel how soft the baby was.

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜

Roman shook his head while the both of them went on about taking a koala, because he had genuinely just been thinking they were kidding at that part. He was tripping, but not to that extent “Love on the koala, cuddle the koala, but we’re not taking it from the zoo.” He informed them both with a pointed finger, as if that somehow made what he was saying iron clad. “There are many reasons in which would explain perfectly why we can’t steal an animal from the zoo, and I’ll be glad to list them if I need to.” Roman talked a lot.

Khai

Khai’s smile turned into an all too pitiful pout as Roman put his foot down. “But...” he began, leaning his head onto Romans shoulder. “It’s so cute, and soft, and... and...” He heard a noise just then and his head shot up from his friends shoulder. “What was that?”(edited)

Jaycee

Jaycee literally looked like Roman just broke her heart by telling her no, her eyes watering up with a trembling chin. Walking the baby back to it's little perch she crossed her arms, being a brat as always. She knew if he said no, there was reasoning in it but she was still gonna pout, and if she was sober she'd agree with him, we all know this. She stopped in her tracks as she got up to the boys and held her breath trying to listen. "Let's just go" she said super softly. They'd have more fun at the house anyways, and was looking forward to sinking into the bed with these two sex gods standing before her.(edited)

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜

Roman’s shoulders sank when both Khai, and Jaycee acted like he’d just told them the world was coming to an end. To them right now, that was probably what it felt like. Since when was Roman in the position to be a parental figure?? This was truly quite bizarre. “Don’t act that way. I jus’ don’t wanna go to jail, or not have the right stuff to take care of a friggin’ koala.” He gestured towards the adorable animals that he most definitely was not leaving until he held. “We’re not going anywhere until I get my turn.” He informed both of his friends while pushing past them to grab a koala for himself.

Khai

It was quite easy for Khai to get distracted at the moment. The drugs he had ingested were numbing and enhancing him all at the same time. The sound he had heard had totally left his thoughts as he watched Roman make his way to the baby koala. A smile spreading across his lips as he watched him pick it up and coddle it. Sure he would have liked to pet it and hold it too. But there was that damn sound again. Was that an animal? Khai stuck his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and looked around the enclosure. “Do adult koalas attack? Like if their being protective of their offspring?” he asked. Concern clearly flooding into his way too relaxed tone. “I just don’t really wanna die unless it’s by a tiger ya know? I don’t think I could live with being mauled by a pissed off mama koala.” Obviously he wouldn’t be living with it if he were killed. But he was sure they got what he meant.(edited)

Jaycee

Jaycee was watching Roman with an awe expression as he cuddled to baby Koala, feeling a tug at her heart, and it was totally over the second Khai opened his mouth about being paranoid over an adult Koala. "Khai, I would not want to die from a mama or daddy Koala either. Who wants their obituary to say Jaycee Beau Lynd died at the hands of parental Koala's while breaking into an enclosure to pet the offspring" she doubled over laughing, but not too loud. Stopping her laughter when she heard the noise herself. "Stop it, I don't wanna get attacked" she swatted Khai's arm now that he put the horrible idea in her head. Then watching Roman she smiled as she watched him, is there anything that he wouldn't be cute with? Jaycee snuggled into Khai as she heard another noise hoping it was from another enclosure that was close cause that one was loud causing her to jump. "Roman.." she said worried. "Let's put the baby down, and agree to buy a spider monkey or baby koala when we get the proper stuffs" she said while biting her bottom lip.April 14, 2020

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜

Roman was usually in his own little world about 98% of the time. It was easier that way, and much more pleasant. He hadn’t really heard the noises that the others were talking about, his brain was kind of floaty, and he was holding a baby Koala. He looked up at Jaycee when she said his name though, wondering why she sounded so freaked out. Had he missed something? “Okay...” he knitted his brows together, and then slowly turned to put the baby animal back where it belonged. “Are we leaving then?” Ro asked while still looking between the two with an extremely confused expression.April 15, 2020

Khai

Jaycee slapped his arm and all he could do was laugh. He wasn’t sure anymore if he was freaked out or amused. But it all seemed like some weird lucid dream anyway. Before he knew it they were all standing in the parking lot again, waiting for him to unlock his car. How did they get here? It didn’t really matter, he was ready to move on to the next stupid idea anyway. Adventure always bubbling in his blood as he craved the adrenaline of a good time. “So... where to now? he asked with a bit of an enthusiastic chuckle. “Hopefully somewhere with alcohol. Cause I’m super fuckin’ parched.”  It seemed like only a matter of seconds and they were all loaded into his Porsche once again. Heading toward their next destination.

Jaycee

“Yes we’re leaving” she smiled at Roman while playing with his soft curls. After they all safely got around whatever noise that was and to the car she giggled at them almost getting caught. “Oh my god that was so close” she said with her thick accent. “Khai! Have you ever known meto not have alcohol at my house!?” She joked as they rode down the highway. “Unless y’all wanna go elsewhere” she shrugged not caring where they went. “The hot tub is ready cause I turned it on this morning... Is that a bad idea heat when on molly?” She asked looking at the two men before her.

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜

Roman still wasn’t exactly sure what had just happened, figuring that maybe his drugs hit him super hard a lot later than it should have. He barely even remembered getting back to the car, but once alcohol was mentioned, he was back in the game. “Yeah, we have a ton of liquor at the house. And getting in the hot tub is never a bad idea.” He added on to Jaycee’s statement. “Our rule though is no clothes in the hot tub. Go nude, or get out.” He said while dramatically holding his finger in the air.

Khai

As Jaycee and Roman put an emphasis on going back to their place, his smile only grew wider. Of course he was down to go there, they had alcohol. Besides, being somewhere more private was never a bad idea. Especially while rolling on Molly. Khai let out an amused chuckle as Roman shot  his finger up into the air declaring nudity. His brow lifting as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth in thought. Oh hell yeah, he was definitely down for that. “If you guys just wanna get me naked. All ya gotta do is ask” he mused. The drive back to Jaycee’s house seemed to go a whole lot quicker than their venture to the zoo. Maybe it was because time had become a bit illusionary. Or maybe he was just in a hurry to get naked. Either way, he was all smiles and anticipation as he pulled into the driveway.(edited)

Jaycee

Jaycee couldn’t help but the chew on her inner cheek with a small giggle. Of course she wanted to see them naked and wet in the hot tub. “We just have a thing for nudity, no judgement” she joked as she got out of the car and put the code in for the garage to open since her car was left at the park. Walking into the house making sure everyone was in she shut the garage door. “Should we get naked before the alcohol orrrr wait?” She asked as she slid her shirt up teasing the boys, letting them see she wasn’t wearing a bra. Only giving them a glimpse of the round globe of her tits, before she waved her finger at them while shaking her head no. She enjoyed teasing, it made things more interesting. Untying the flannel around her hips she tossed it on the table as she walked them through the kitchen and opened the liquor cabinet. “All ours” she said excitedly with a little dance. “Roman, wanna pick out music?” She asked him with a smirk.(edited)April 16, 2020

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜

Roman smirked when Jaycee asked about the timeliness of their nudity, already pulling his shirt up and off the second they even reached the front door. He loved fashion, but he loved being naked more. “I dunno about you all, but the nakedness begins now with me.” Ro’s jeans, and underwear were off within the next few seconds, kicking it all aside to worry about later as he made his way to Jaycee’s bar. One of them anyway. They had one out back as well by the pool, and hot tub. They were boujee bitches. Well, Jaycee was, and Roman enjoyed it.April 17, 2020

Khai

An attentive grin pulled at his lips as Jaycee teasingly raised her shirt and he rubbed the stumble on his chin as his eyes focused on her movements. Roman was already getting naked and Khai found himself following behind the pair with erotic ideations forming in his mind. As he approached the bar he looked at all the liquor in the cabinet on display and rubbed his lips together. “You choose” he smiled, looking over at Jaycee as she did a little dance. He hooked his finger under his shirt at his waistline and twisted it up around his hand flashing his lower abdomen. He wasn’t too shy to take his clothes off,  but he liked the idea of taking his time. Especially since he stripped for a living. A mischievous grin pulled at his features as his own thoughts began giving him playful ideas.  His gaze shifting between a beautifully sculpted naked man and an incredibly sexy woman. Maybe he’d just  test the potency of the two molly hits he passed out early, and see how long it took them to take his clothes off for him.

Jaycee

Jaycee laughed as she watched Roman go for it. There’s plenty of times they just stayed naked and loved it. Jaycee herself began to undress not caring where any of her items went as they were flung around and grabbed a bottle of tequila and poured three shots each, putting them on a platter and grabbed the salt and lime. This could be fun. “Oh” she hisses while taking a lime and rubbing it over her harden nipples, as the juice runs down her flat stomach before sprinkling salt on them. Showing them what she had in mind as she stood there bare for them both to see. “Roman, I think we’re going to have to remove Khais pants” she smirked. As she put her pointer finger between her teeth. “Who wants to take the first shot?” She asked mischievously.

fade to black

[critical-derolo]

and I'm free

There's gotta be some kind of symbolism in a giant, beautiful waterfall spilling off the side of the cliff they've been marching on for hours. It feels like symbolism or poetry, or just really fucking nice to see. A breath of fresh air after hours, and hours, and hours of jagged grey rock.

To have this narrow passage open up into such green, to have the sound of the roaring water they've been dragging themselves beside explode into something so much bigger and somehow quieter. Less pressure and more volume, and it's loud - they have to shout to hear each other, but it's so worth it. To look over and see the water bursting free over the cliff face, into the pocket of green - dense trees so full of colour, so full of life - spilling down into a crystal clear bowl of blue below.

Beau's fingers twitch, behind the others who tiptoe near the edge to look down.

--

"Well, that's just perfect!" Nott croaks, her voice high and shrill to be heard over the roaring of the water. Not as sharp in their ears anymore, but now it's everywhere. "It's going to take us forever to climb down."

Fjord leans closer, hooking his head over the edge, and gasps when someone grabs him. He looks back, Yasha's firm nod, and feels much better about leaning out to look at the face of this cliff. "Kinda sharp, very wet. It's gonna be dangerous," he shouts and scuffles back. "Not to mention how thick the trees are down there. Could be anything in them."

They could always turn back, head down the path and collect more scraped knees and elbows - find a different way down. "Or I could cast Feather Fall on a bunch of us, while you and Jester take any who remain with your teleportation spells," Caleb suggests. Fjord hooks an eyebrow up and the wizard smiles, his fuzzy face crinkling with genuine joy. "I have only seen waterfalls in books."

"They're as dangerous as they are pretty," Fjord warns. Winks. "But they're mighty pretty."

Yasha glances between herself and Caduceus. Blood smears her bare arms, and Cad rubs at his shoulder. "I think that's the best option. It was very cramped in the passage, I would prefer not to go back."

With everyone in agreement, Caleb steps back from the edge and pulls one of his books out. "Okay, here we-"

"Someone revivify me if I go splaaaaaaaaaaat!" Beau shouts as a streak of blue shoulders through them all.

A second too late, Jester's hand strikes out light lightning. No baggy clothes or vestments to grab, no sash trailing behind her. "Beau!"

Just a monk, throwing herself off the cliff, arms stretched out to the sides. A pool of blue beneath her, green as far as her eyes can see, with the wind rushing through her loose hair. Soaring, untouchable. No shitty parents, no confining organizations. No tragic backstories and fallen friends. No precarious rescue missions and ancient gods.

Just Beau.

Falling.

Flying.

--

Yasha's arms hang limply at her sides, she watches Jester throw her fists in the air. "I have no diamonds!" she screeches at their friend.

But Beau is gone, just a trail of laughter behind her.

When Fjord grunts in surprise, Yasha let's a smile crack across her face. Stuffing anything loose, anything she isn't willing to give to the waterfall, inside the bag of holding. "You can't seriously be thinking of following that lunatic!" Nott cries.

"Molly wouldn't hesitate," she mumbles and stalks back for a run-up.

Molly might have even beat her to it.

And though Yasha can't actually fly, not even with her wings, she imagines this is what it feels like. The wind in her hair, her braids, whipping against her cheeks sharp enough to burn, sharp enough to feel.

If she closes her eyes, she can almost hear his laugh in the echo of Beau's.

--

"We just lost our two tanks!" Nott shouts and waves her fist. "Are they crazy? Are they insane? Are they possessed?!"

Crouched behind her, Caleb hands his harness and books to Nott with delicate care. "I was all three, you know," he says softly. Rolls up his coat for the haversack. "Are you going to be able to carry all of this down on your own?"

Her shoulders slump. "Yeah, yeah. Go have fun, I guess. Play in the murder water and-"

An enormous and very naked Firbolg streaks past them, launching himself off the side and tucking into a cannonball. Caleb blinks. "You can't unsee that."

"Oh, like you want to. I'm travelling with a bunch of deviants. Go, go leap to your impending doom. I'll be the responsible one, floating like a beautiful fairy off to the side."

His eyes crinkle with his smile and it might be the best afternoon he's had in a while now. "I'll give you a push, aim you right for the edge and maybe even beat you down there to catch you."

--

"Should we be worried that Nott took our clothes without asking if we're jumping?" Fjord chuckles.

A blue finger is held up to him, Jester scowling over the edge as Caleb gets smaller and smaller in the distance. "Like hell we aren't after all of that. Did they make it to the bottom yet? They could all be dead, Fjord!"

"True," he muses and crosses his arms. Leans forward to try and look, just as Caleb's shape disappears into the water. "Not a lot of movement down there but sometimes it's nice to just float. Enjoy the moment, you know?"

"Not when there's danger around every corner!"

Her eyes are... frantic. Tired. Stressed. Fjord fights his frown to keep the reassuring smile on his face, pouring on the charming maybe a little more than necessary. Jester needs this, they all need this. Beau might have had the right idea. "When is there not? Sometimes you gotta carve out the peace in your life, Jester."

She gasps as he kicks off backwards from the edge, jerking forward to watch and make sure he clears the jagged rocks.

--

"You assholes keep leaving me!" she shouts down at the water.

With a fucking jet on high blast beside her.

And noise, any words, anything... swallowed by the waterfall. "I don't want you to leave me!" she shouts experimentally. Nothing. No echo. Just her and the water, with her friends somewhere down below. "I'm afraid of losing you! I don't want to be alone."

Jester hooks her toes over the edge.

"What will I do without any of you?"

--

It was... a long drop. By the time she breaks free of the surface, gasping air into her aching lungs, she regrets holding her breath at the top of the cliff.

Beau wipes her eyes but can't wipe off her grin. "I don't wanna say you landed on me but fucking hell, Jess, you landed on me," she laughs.

Jester shakes her head, her smile brilliant and bright against her dark skin. "Sorry, Beau..." she drawls.

Brown cheeks flush and Beau coughs, dips below to come back up and float on her back instead of staying caught in that gaze. "Took you long enough to get down here."

"Oh, sorry I had to make sure everyone got down safe!"

"That's a relative term!" Nott shouts from a tree overhooking the pond.

Fjord snickers and just as Caleb turns to him, raises a green hand, palm up - and the wizard is launched twenty feet into the air again, to splash back into the water. "That's for my apple this morning!"

"You brute!" Nott gasps and clings to the tree. "Yasha, get him!"

The smile hasn't left her face since the moment she stepped off the cliff, drifting serenely in the water.

Caduceus pops up from the depths nearby, his hair a mess of pink with petals or leaves, maybe, tangled in it. His lips stretch up in a grin, ears flicking like a cow's. "This is-"

"Let me guess. Great?"

He considers this and blinks at Beau. "I was going to say excellent but great works, too."

"You still naked, Caddyshack?"

"... are you all not?" he genuinely wonders.

"No, I'm Nott!" Nott chirps with a crooked grin.

"I know you're not, you don't like the water."

"No, it's a joke," she explains quickly. "I'm Nott."

"Oh. Not what?"

"No, not not."

"Who's there?"

"Nott."

Jester cracks and dissolves into giggles while Beau just stares for a really, really long time. "What the shit?" she whispers and nudges the tiefling, but Jester smiles and the purple of her eyes sparkle, and Beau swallows her own heart.

Their fingers interlace beneath the surface of the water and, for the moment, life is pretty good.

[moiraineswife]

A Dream of Spring - A Yester Fic

I’M BACK!!! Back with a gay vengeance!! I’m all caught up on campaign 2, and the result is this fic!! 

Title: A Dream of Spring 

Summary: After Yasha confessed the sad truth of why she left her home, and what happened to her wife, Zuella, Jester uses her creativity and her new magical paint to make something to cheer her up. Jester's POV, some introspection and insight, and a smidge of Jester's thoughts on the rest of the Nein. because Jester is insightful af, in her own way, and I wanted to tap into that. 

Teaser: “Do you- Do you think Zuella would like me?”  Yasha thought for a moment, her features softening as she did so, “I think that she would,” she said, finally. “She liked things that made me happy. And you make me happy, Jester.”

Link: AO3

Jester bounced onto her bed, legs crossed, and pulled her sketchbook towards her. She would have to draw for the Traveller all she had seen with Yasha, and the lightning ball, and how she had looked up in the mast, storm winds whipping her hear around her, those huge big skeletal wings blossoming behind her. It would be awesome, and she knew the Traveller would appreciate it, but she had something to do first.

Careful as she could be, Jester pulled out her special pot of paint and the special paintbrush they had found on the ship with the grumpy guy, and the deckhand she had so beautifully tattooed.

Tongue between her teeth, she began to create.

She concentrated as she had never concentrated before. This was important. She had to make it perfect. Every line, every detail, every stroke of colour was expertly crafted as she allowed the process to carry her away, as it had done so many times before.

This time, though, she kept herself anchored on Yasha.

She thought of her eyes, mismatched as they were, and the emotion in them when she had spoken of her wife.

A lot of people thought Yasha looked really scary with her big, bulging muscles, and that crazy huge sword she had. Jester had always thought there was something about her that looked sad. Now she knew what that was. But there was a softness in her, too, even after everything she had been through. It was in the eyes that you could see it, and Jester drew on that as she painted feverishly.

Halfway through her blooming masterpiece, she heard a familiar voice in her ear.

“What are you doing here, my Jester? Is this another gift for me?” The Traveller had come to her.

He had always been drawn in by her intense bursts of creativity. When she was little, he had told her there was power in it, in her imagination, her drive, her focus and passion. Now that she had her magic paint, there really was, and Jester knew just what to do with it.

“No, it’s not for you, Traveller,” she said, not looking up from what she was doing, but he expected that, so it was okay. He knew her, knew how consumed she could get by her painting. “I hope you don’t mind, but my friend Yasha is feeling sad right now, and I want to cheer her up.”

“Not at all. This is a great gift you have, the gift to make people smile, and feel good about themselves, about you. You should use it. But never forget-“

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” she cut in, shaking her head and smiling, knowing what he was going to say. “You’ll always be my favourite!” he could be silly like that sometimes, always asking her that. He was her best friend! He had to know that by now.

“Very good,” he said, silkily, lightly caressing her hair with his hand. “Paint something pretty for me when you’re done, won’t you?” He said.

“Of course!” she replied brightly.

“She’s lonely, you know, my friend Yasha,” Jester explained as she painted. “She needs someone to be her friend, like I needed you when you found me,” she thought he would be pleased by that, how well she had learned from him. “I suppose she has her Storm Lord,” she mused, suddenly thoughtful, absently chewing on the end of her brush while she worked. “But I don’t think he seems very friendly if you know what I mean,” she added, continuing.

Jester cocked her head to one side, screwing up her memory, trying to picture exactly what she was painting in her mind’s eye, making sure she had every detail.

As she did, she continued to talk to the Traveller. He liked hearing all about her, he always had, even when no-one else had listened to her, he always had. She could tell him anything.  

“Beau told me she was lonely when she was little, too,” she went on quietly, feeling sad as she thought about it. Her melancholy seemed to bleed into her piece as the bright blues, and turquoises of Beau’s robes began putting colour into her work.

“I think we’re all lonely, and lost, in different ways,” she said, softly. “Yasha lost her wife, and her home, and her tribe and just everything before the Storm Lord found her.”

She darkened the colour of her paint, and began using it to create shadows, and depth to her piece. Without that darkness, the drawing looked false, and hollow. When she had been little, she had only wanted to use the brightest of colours, without the ones that made her feel sad, the dark, cold colours. But she had grown up, and she knew now that life, like her art, needed that darkness, and those shadows, were necessary to make the bright colours pop and matter.

“Caduceus’ home is sick,” she went on,” and the colour softened as she thought of her new firbolg friend. The soft pastel greens and pinks melded with Yasha’s dark shadows, lightening them, and gentling them.

“He’d never even left it before!” she exclaimed, trying to imagine what it might have been like to live her whole life in a graveyard full of dead people, trying to find the beauty and the creativity in that. But Caduceus had done it, she supposed, he’d done it well.

“He lived his whole life just in that graveyard, I mean, even I got to see Nicodranus when I was little. The world must feel so big to him, even though he’s quite big, the world is much bigger. He must miss his home, and his family, just like I miss my mama.”

She frowned slightly as she thought of her mum. She was glad they had helped her, and taken care of the mean guy that had been harassing her, but she was sad they hadn’t been able to spend more time together.

Taking a deep breath, she made herself keep talking to the Traveller about her friends, rather than feeling sad about her mother. “Fjord lost his ship,” she said, and the soft pastel greens she had started with Caduceus darkened, and the deep sapphire blue of the ocean began to bleed in. “And he lost all his crew, and his friends, and he doesn’t seem to know what to do now,” she said, drawing out sweeping wave-like shapes of green, and blue, and gold.

“Nott drinks quite a lot, because she’s afraid a lot, and that makes her feel brave,” she went on, the deep, rich ambers of her favourite liquors, and the mead they’d bought, and the bright golds, and silvers of the coins and trinkets she loved so much.

“Sometimes I think about what might have made her so afraid that she had to leave her home, and her clan, and everything,” Jester went on, shaking her head, “She’s so little, but she tries to take good care of all of us, and I wonder if that’s because no-one ever really took care of her.”

“And Caleb...” she said, sighing softly, “When I look into his eyes, I see ghosts,” she murmured, shivering slightly, in spite of the bright burning yellows, and oranges, and reds of his fire now filled her painting. “I don’t know who they are, or what happened to them, but they obviously haut him, and hurt him quite a lot.”

“And then we all lost Molly,” she said, sadly, as the lavender of his skin poured from her brush, followed by the whole rainbow that had been contained in his coat, and his laugh, and his love for soul, finally breathing real life into the piece. “He was a good man, a good friend, I liked him a lot. I still think about him, and get sad about him. But I don’t think he’d approve of that, so I try not to be but...It’s hard sometimes.”

She took a deep breath, moving to finish the piece, the details, drawing on everything she was thinking, and feeling.

“Losing people is hard. Sometimes I think maybe my mama was right, and I would have been better staying at home, where it was safe, and I couldn’t get hurt by people leaving, like she was...”She trailed off, thinking about all of her friends being sad was making her sad.  

But then she brightened, a smile sparking across her face again, “We all needed a friend, and that’s why we found each other, and we’re all better now that we’re together.”

She looked down at what she was making, and though it made her sad, she was pleased that she could do it, and that there were friends in her life to do it for.

“Thank you,” she said in a small voice, looking up for the first time since she had started, “For helping me to find them.”

But he had gone.

The room was empty, but she knew he had heard. He was always with her.

Smiling, Jester redoubled her efforts and watched the paint glow before it popped into existence. She stared down at it, and smiled, proud of herself.

Getting up from her bed, she crept out of her cabin and along the hall as quietly as she could so as not to wake the others. When she got there, she saw a pale glow flickering from under Yasha’s door. She was still awake, as she had hoped.

“Yasha?” she called softly, knocking on the door. “Don’t worry, it’s only me, Jester, I promise I’m not a scary lightning ball in disguise!”

After the events of the day, she felt Yasha might need that reassurance. But then, if she was a scary lightning ball in disguise that would be exactly what she would say.

Yasha didn’t seem to share that particular worry, however, because all she said was, “You can come in.”

Jester pushed the door ope, wincing slightly as the old hinges creaked. Avantika really hadn’t taken good care of her boat.

A single candle was flickering on a low table. Yasha was curled up, knees tucked against her chest, gazing out of the window at the distant storm that was disappearing into the distance. Lightning flashed, illuminating her face, making her look momentarily like some kind of heavenly angel that had gotten lost and begun walking among mortals. Then it passed, and she looked just like Yasha again.

When Jester sat down on the bed beside her and said, “I have something for you,” Yasha turned to look at her.

Jester thought her eyes looked red, as though she had been crying, but obviously she wasn’t going to say that. She didn’t think there was anything wrong with crying, especially if you were sad, but she knew Yasha would be embarrassed and she didn’t want to do that.

“You do?” Yasha said, blinking owlishly at her.

“Well,” Jester said, biting her lip and considering the matter, “I suppose technically it’s for Zuella? But it’s also for you to give to Zuella so...”

Having successfully confused herself into a corner, blushing, Jester thrust the flowers at Yasha without warning.

Yasha stared down at it while Jester chewed harder on her lip, suddenly hit by a wave of uncertainty about whether or not she had done the right thing.

She watched Yasha trace the edge of one of the delicate blossoms with a large finger, her touch surprisingly gentle. She could see grief, and sorrow, and something like awe in Yasha’s face, but she didn’t know what that meant about her gift.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, Jester burst out, “Do you like them?”

Yasha looked up at her slowly, away from the bouquet in her hands and blinked.

“I- Where- How did you get these?” she asked, frowning in confusion.

“I used my magic paint,” Jester replied in a small voice.

“You did that- You made this for me?” she mumbled in quiet disbelief.

“Should I not have?” Jester said, “Oh! Oh, I made you more upset, didn’t I?” she exclaimed, clapping her hands over her mouth, “I was trying to cheer you up, I thought it would make you happy, but-“

“No,” Yasha interrupted, quietly but firmly, “No it did, I just...I can’t believe that you would do this for me.”

“Well of course,” Jester said, reaching out tentatively and placing her hand on Yasha’s shoulder. “You’re my friend, Yasha,” she said, reaching out and squeezing her hand. “So you like them?” she blurted out, unable to stop herself.

“I do,” Yasha said, softly, still touching the delicate flower blossoms with wonder, “Thank you, Jester.”

“You’re welcome, Yasha.”

Then she saw Yasha frowning slightly, picking through the bouquet and examining the different types of flowers in the bunch. She bit her lip, hoping she would notice what she had done.

“These are...Molly’s flowers, aren’t they?” she said, softly, “From his tattoo?”

Jester nodding, growing more serious, “Yes, all the ones that were on his tattoo. I thought, maybe, this way, you could take him with you when you go to see Zuella next. I thought you’d like to tell her about him.”

A soft, sad smile tugged at Yasha’s lips as he nodded and said, “Yes, I would. I do not think she would know what to make of him.”

“He was a lot,” Jester agreed, nodding again, “But he was good, and he was your friend.”

“He was. He is,” Yasha said.

“Maybe!” Jester burst out, “Maybe they’re together right now, Zuella and Molly. And he’s, like, reading her fortune, and showing off with his swords, and making her laugh?”

“Perhaps,” Yasha murmured, slowly, “Yes, I would like that.”

“Then that’s how it is,” Jester said with finality.

“You really believe that, don’t you?” Yasha said, quietly.

“What?”

“The best. About everything. And everyone,” Yasha said, looking al ittle baffled by this attitude.  

“Well, sure,” Jester said, shrugging, “I mean, I could think the worst all the time, but that would just make me sad, and I don’t like being sad. I would rather be happy!”  

Yasha was smiling softly, “I would tell her about you, too, Jester.”

Jester gasped, delighted, clapping her hands together, “What would you tell her? I mean, you’d have to tell her I helped you get some flowrs, and that I’m a really great cleric, and about the Traveller, and my painting, and that I’m really, really pretty, and really cool, and like, one of the best people you know, and-“

“You are one of the best people I know, Jester,” Yasha said, softly, but so sincerely that she stopped mid-flow.

“I mean, I do not know very many people,” Yasha added, frowning slightly, “But I think even if I did, you would still be one of the best people I know.”

“Thanks, Yasha,” Jester said quietly, for once not able to think of anything else to say. “Do you- Do you think Zuella would like me?”

Yasha thought for a moment, her features softening as she did so, “I think that she would,” she said, finally. “She liked things that made me happy. And you make me happy, Jester.” She smiled softly, picked up her book, and began carefully tucking all of the flowers inside.

“I’m really sorry that she died, Yasha,” Jester said, softly. “I bet she was really cool.”

“She was,” Yasha said, nodding, half-sad, half-happy.

“And I want you to know, too,” Jester went on, more serious than she’d been so far, taking Yasha’s hand between both of her own as she spoke. Yasha blinked, looking a little surprised, but did not pull away. “I know that you lost Zuella, and then we- we all lost Molly,” her voice faltered a little bit, but she kept strong, and said what she wanted to say. “But you’re not alone.”

Yasha’s expression softened a little as she said this, and that gave her the encouragement to keep going.

“We’re all here, me, and Fjord, and Caleb, and Nott, and Beau, and Caduceus, and his tea,” Yasha smiled again. “We’re your friends now. And we can’t bring Zuella or Molly back, and we can’t replace them or anything but...But you’re not alone.”

“I wanted to be,” Yasha said, softly, “For a very long time, I wanted to. I did not want people close to me again. Molly changed that for me. I think he knew that I needed people again.”

“He was a pretty smart guy about things like that,” Jester agreed.

“And he brought m to you all, and I will always be grateful to him for that,” Yasha went on. Jester had never heard her speak as much as she had done today, but she knew that she needed this, too, and kept herself quiet, letting her talk. “Even though he left...” She trailed off for a moment, swallowed, then went on, “He taught me that no matter what has happened in my past, I cannot let it stop me from living now.”

Jester nodded, “I think Molly taught us all that,” she said. “And,” she added, resting her head gently on Yasha’s shoulder, and looping her tail around her waist and squeezing gently, “I don’t think that Molly or Zuella would want you to be sad about them forever.”

“That is true,” Yasha nodded. “Zuella would want me to be happy. That was always what she wanted for me.”

She smiled and awkwardly gripped Jester’s hand, half squeezing it, half shaking it, her calluses rough against Jester’s skin.

“And I’m glad the Storm Lord saved you and brought you to us. Hey!” she exclaimed suddenly, making Yasha jump a little, “Wouldn’t it be cool if, like, the Traveller and the Storm Lord knew each other, and they were like best friends, and they talked about us, and they were like, we should totally have Yasha and Jester meet and be best friends, too, because that would be really cool!”

“That would be really cool,” Yasha agreed in that slow, solemn way of hers.

They both smiled together for a moment, then Jester, suddenly serious again, asked, “Are you going to be okay?”

Yasha rested her other hand on top of her closed book and said, “I think so, yes. Thank you for everything you have done for me, Jester. For the flowers, and, and for listening.”

“You’re very welcome!” she said, “And,” she added, leaning in and speaking behind her hand, as though they were both spies, or something, “If you ever want an awesome tattoo, you just let me know because I’m, like, totally an expert now.”

“Are you really?” Yasha said, seeming genuinely interested.

“Yeah!” she exclaimed, “Orley has been teaching me for like a whole week now, and I was a complete natural, and an awesome artist to begin with, so yeah I’m amazing already!”

“Well, I think that I am okay with the ones I already have for right now,” Yasha said, seriously, “But if that changes, I will let you know.”

“You have tattoos already?” Jester gasped out.

“I do,” Yasha said, her eyes twinkling slightly, “Ask me tomorrow and I might show them to you.”

“Okay!” Jester said, feeling excited for that already, “I guess we should really sleep now, huh?” she added, suddenly realising how tired she was.

“It is very late,” Yasha said, “And it has been quite a long day.”

“Yeah. But if you need anything else, though, you just let me know, alright?” she said, trying to sound stern, and like Nott did when she was taking care of everyone.

“I will. Thank you, Jester.”

They both stood, Yasha hovering awkwardly, half-lifting her arms, then dropping them again, looking unsure.

Jester, however, knew just what to do, and bounced forward, saying, “Oh! It’s okay, Yasha, you don’t have to be shy! You can hug me if you want to! I’m a really great hugger.”

She didn’t give Yasha time to do more than open her mouth before pulling her into a big bear hug. Yasha stiffened momentarily, as though she had again forgotten what contact that wasn’t driven by violence felt like. Then she relaxed and patted Jester awkwardly on the back.

“Well, good night, Yasha!” Jester trilled, brightly, moving towards the door.

“Good night, Jester,” Yasha replied, quiet and composed.

Jester paused in the doorway and said, with a rather mischievous smile on her face, “I got some really great honeycombs in town today, and tomorrow, wer’re going to eat them both for breakfast to cheer you up some more! So get ready for that!”

And with that, she closed the door to Yasha’s cabin and skipped back to her own, satisfied that her work here was now done.

***

[mollymaymaukme]

Mollymauk x Reader: From Beyond the Grave, Part 1

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Dirt was tucked over you like silk sheets. Rain tapping on your skin and sending shocks of cold through your body. The sun’s warmth does not reach you but anytime a patch of light hits you through the shifting branches a brief buzz of energy hums in your veins. The breeze caresses you like a lover juxtaposed by the shivers that climb underneath your skin and settle into your bones.

It is a soft place. A safe place. Relaxing and peaceful despite the cold that you seem to permanently harbor within you. It would be so easy to just let go and give in to something far more deeper than sleep.

But you cannot. It is very important that you stay here, in this strange limbo half covered in dirt. You need to slowly gather your strength so that one day you can open your eyes. But more importantly you need to pool what you can spare and send it to him. To your Mollymauk.

You had been able to feel it when he had been laid in the ground. As though the soil could sing into your ears about it, even from so far away. So you siphoned away every last drop of energy you could and sent it away to your dear Mollymauk.

You kept his body from rotting first. Then you began to repair him. With the last bit you urged the insects and worms to stay away from him. It would take time, but eventually a day would come when you could restore his heart and fill his lungs with air once again.

“You’ve given up a lot today.” A soft voice calls near you.

You could tell the time by his comings and goings. He sat by your side, rain or shine, and drank a cup of tea. Chatting with you like an old friend even though you could never say anything back.

I know. But he needs it.

“You were far more pink yesterday. Now you’re grey. I don’t think you’re supposed to be that color.”

He had found you in the chains of your captors, lingering on the edge of life. He scared them away and had held you in his arms as your heart ceased beating. But you never died, not fully.

He had puzzled over the enigma that was you. Natural order would point to your death, but that had not happened, but was this natural order’s doing? He had taken you back to his home, talking aloud about this predicament. He introduced himself as Caduceus Clay and told you about his family and the temple and the surrounding forest.

The Wildmother liked you, he had said, he felt her heavily when close to you. So he decided to give you to the care of the Wildmother, have her do as she will. So he took you behind the temple, underneath an old willow he said, and tucked you into the dirt. Much like a parent tucking their child into bed.

The soil covered everything but the tops of your upturned arms and your face, ears just above the soil where your head was cradled by the earth. Caduceus told you all about the lilies and mushrooms that grew around you and about the five different kinds of moss creeping over the ground and up the tree.

His Crying Calla Lily is what he came to call you. You hadn’t been aware that you cried often until he brought it up in his musings. The feeling of falling tears not registering on your chilled skin.

You had lose track of the days after awhile. It was a waste of energy anyways. Caduceus never counted them as he choose to gauge time by the seasons, as he said. You couldn’t remember how long it had been since the slavers took you. How long it had been since you’d died. Or how long it had been since Caduceus laid you in the dirt.

You’re torn from your thoughts when Caduceus speaks again “I wonder what you do with it. The energy the Wildmother gives you.” He hums in thought “What changed? You’ve been giving it up so freely these last few days. I wonder if you’re rejecting it? Maybe tired of only being half alive?”

The warm timber trails off and you listen to the inhale and exhale of his breath.  You listen to the soft rustle of the dirt over your chest, a constant sound to your existence. But for a moment it stops.

It seemed that maybe Caduceus had been listening to the rhythmic shift of soil too, for as soon as it hesitates he voices “Calla Lily?” He is startled, maybe even worried.

After a moment your lungs continue the stilted exhale before softly inhaling once again. That was different. Over a month of existing in this half living state and your breath had never ceased. It had been a constant function ever since Caduceus had buried you here.

A heavy sigh of relief is followed by a long moment of silence. You think he might leave without saying anything more. But as the night breeze rolls across your skin and tostles your hair he speaks “I think I would be lonely if you left me Calla Lily. . .I don’t know what is happening to the energy Wildmother is giving you, but please try to hold onto some of it. I don’t wish to truly bury you.”

I am sorry. I didn’t mean to. I will be more careful. Promise.

---

When Caduceus is not there, he tends to the temple he says, you are left to the hell that is your memories. It takes to much energy to make new thoughts, so instead you let your mind replay old ones.

Your time in the circus is what you like to replay the most. One year of happy memories to hide in when darker ones tried to steal your focus. Playing with Toya, painting Desmond’s face for shows, and spending your nights with Mollymauk.

Gods you’d both been a sight to see. Constantly getting into mischief that would make the Moonweaver proud and spreading kindness to the less fortunate in the name of the Wild Mother. You taught him to be a force of good energy in the world and he taught you how to enjoy the life you’d been given.

Sometimes you get lost so far in the good times that you forget to rewind them before the bad ones start.

The night when the circus scattered and you took to the forest, hiding from the crownsguard with some of the others. They had left, but you had insisted to wait a little while longer, hoping Molly would escape, and you and him could flee this town together.

But he had never come.

Instead the slavers found you. With no one to report you missing, others under the assumption you had run without looking back, they had no problem in transporting you up North.

You weren’t suited for the cold. Never had been. You’d been thankful to succumb to it, assured by your captors that the buyers up here were hell incarnate. But something kept you tethered to this plane. Hesitant to let you go.

---

The next time Caduceus comes to you he sounds different. There is a soft clinking and an absence of the normal soft shuffle of his clothing. His voice is also lilted with something akin to excitement but not to far from his normal, gentle timber.

“Calla Lily, there are guests. . .I think I am going to help them.” You feel the pressure of his fingers brushing over your cheeks “Do not cry. I will return, just didn’t seem right to leave without explaining first.” He is rearranging your hair to how it was before the night breezes moved it. “Grow strong my Calla Lily. I will pray for the Wildmother to keep you close. I promise to come home as soon as I am able, and maybe then I will be able to pick you from my garden and help you leave too.” A hum of thought “Yes. I will pray to the Wildmother to give you enough strength to wake by the time I come back. . .Goodbye Calla Lily.” A gentle pat to your forehead. Then the same soft clinking as he leaves.

You are not sure if it is imagination or not, but you can almost feel the heavy flow of tears down your cheeks. Scared of being left alone with nothing but your mind. The fear moves your lips. A whisper that is barely audible, dissipating into the air with no one to hear it. “Mollymauk. . .”