#AND WHIRL CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT

[bad-tf-fic-ideas]

(318) Whirl develops telepathic powers aboard the Lost Light. You'd think he'd use them for causing problems on purpose. HE'D also think he'd use them for causing problems on purpose. And he does.

Whirl loves having superpowers!

Then, when he inevitably experiences an agonising mystery-telepathy-overuse headache, he hides in his suite in the dark and just waits it out. Simple, right? He'll be back to causing problems on purpose in no time.

But when he isn't around for a few days and Tailgate and Cyclonus arrive to check on him... he starts to run into real telepathy problems. It was a LOT easier to be telepathic when Whirl was just antagonising people who already hated him. Now he's forced to confront Tailgate's genuine, and affectionate, concern, and Cyclonus's steadier regard trailing along somewhere behind him.

...Whirl kind of hates having superpowers, actually.

[hellyeahpancakes]

GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUNN

[thirteendaysintaunton]

thinking about my pjox3h crossover and how if I were to write it id actually have poseidon sire two children: claude and shahid. and I'd paint their sibling rivalry as a commentary on how their father's pure bias and favouritism is what drives shahid away and forced him to go against him and rail against his brother

[yuukirita]

Love with your babybee series so far. Will there be any transformers crossover with your aus? I love to see a babybee crossover with transformers lost light.

Imagine the lost light dimension hopping to tf one universe and meet the tf one crew. Many members of the lost light will have mix feeling about tf one universe with sentinel prime stealing tcogs from newborn cybertronians to orion pax becoming optimus after being murdered by his best friend to bee being an actual baby!?!?

Cue lost light ratchet, first aid, and velocity working on giving optimus, elita, and other miners a medical examination. Meanwhile babybee is looked after by rodimus prime and the rest of the lost light since some members of the lost light have experience taking care of sparklings.

Lost light megatron left Iacon and took drift and the rest of the lost light deadliest fighters with to beat up tf one megatron and his decepticons from making the same mistakes that lost light megatron did in his universe. Tf one megatron have no idea what hit him with his alternate self leading a team of the most insane transformers of universe. Warning some decepticons will be killed during the confrontation because of the dangerous weapons made by brainstorm and whirl being whirl.

Babybee with rodimus, rewind, swerve, and tailgate watching Bluey and eating energon cookies that swerve made while waiting for optimus and elita (lost light ratchet examine bee first to check any issue that will affect bee’s development as he grow older). Bee is drawn to talking puppies especially the character named bingo.

Bee eats his cookie and look to rodimus, “Hey rodimus, where’s meggy and rest of your crew go? They’ve been gone for 2 hours already.”

Rodimus knowing he can’t tell bee that his megatron took half the crew with him to beat up other self for being an idiot instead told bee, “Meggy and rest of the gang decide to go walk around Iacon to do some exercise since we haven’t been stopping for planets for a while.”

Bee seems to be satisfied with rodimus answer as he decides turn back to the screen.

I prob won't do any crossovers no- But they're fun to think about!

I like your headcanon! But I would change one lil thing

It's funnier if Bee just Knew.

[tinydefector]

Other characters' reactions to Megatron in a romantic relationship with human liaison reader.

Question's and Quiries

Megatron x human reader

Warnings: non

Word count: 1.6K

Request and ask open read pinned post.

Megatron masterlist

__________________

Many aboard the Lost Light would be shocked and concerned to discover Megatron in a secret relationship with the human ambassador for the ship. As Ex leader of the Decepticons, whose sole purpose has been conquest and destruction, becoming emotionally attached to an organic seemed unfathomable to many of the bots.

Word of the unlikely pairing would spread quickly through the vessel's corridors and hab suites. Many Autobots who suffered under Megatron's tyranny for vorns would recoil in disbelief and distrust, and even other bots more worried about the human, were they in a decent state of mind, were they being threatened?. Even neutral crew members found it difficult to accept. Had their captain truly changed after all this time? Or had he simply developed a new, disturbing method of manipulation? Either way, keeping the ambassador closely aligned posed serious risks. 

Rodimus was the first to hear rumours among the crew of the Lost Light that Megatron had taken a human ambassador aboard as something more than a diplomatic liaison. He had heard it from Swerve who had apparently heard Megatron drunkenly confess he adored them, loved them even. 

"Megatron? In a relationship with an organic?" Rodimus laughed incredulously. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Maybe if it was Optimus, but Megatron? He hates all other lifeforms." Rodimus had stated which made Swerve hit him with a cloth. 

"I'm telling you he was mopping around the bar drinking Energex like it was nothing, trying to work on poetry, he's fraggin smitten with the Ambassador!" Swerve states while cleaning more glasses. 

"The mech may scare the shit out of me but he becomes a sobbing mess when drunk, I can see why he never drunk during the war, could have ended it so much earlier with a drunken poetry night" Swerve jokes, trying to calm his own racing spark after the earlier interaction with the ex warlord.

Swerve, ever the gossip made news spread like wildfire.

Rodimus, Tailgate, Cyclonus and Skids and heard it from him. Rodimus told it to Drift who told it to Ratchet, tailgate told it to Whirl who shouted about it publicly. Skids had told it to Rung, who in turn relayed it to Ultra Magnus. 

"Can you believe it?" Swerve asked other members at his bar, optics wide. "The big, bad tyrant of the Decepticons has gone soft! I never thought I'd see the orn." Though said lightly, there may be an undercurrent of hope in his voice.

Tailgate, on the other hand, would be fearful yet curious. A secret admirer of the human ambassador, they were friends in his eyes, he nonetheless knows of Megatron's violent past. The idea of a human so close to the warlord would fill him with terror...yet also he himself was with a Decepticon,  ex decepticon.

As for Cyclonus, his reaction is the hardest to read. Stoic and stalwart, the former Decepticon says little. But observation of his microexpressions hints at deep surprise. 

When Rodimus approaches Drift with a similar story, having heard it from several sources, Drift doubts begin to fade, he had watched them for a while but now it seemed as if he theory had been confirmed. "This can't be true... Can it? Why would Megatron bother with a human?, he isn't very... open to contact”

From there Drift finds himself in the medibay, Ratchet let out an exasperated sigh when Drift told him about the rumours. "Megatron, caring for an organic? I'll believe it when I see it with my own optics. That mech is still as twisted and dangerous as ever, no matter who he chooses to consort with.”

When news finally reached Magnus, an emergency session was called. Shouting matches erupted as Rodimus and Ultra Magnus demanded explanations, one in shock and excitement the other wanting to make sure This wasn't a ploy. How did this happen under their watch, and what were Megatron's real intentions? The safety of the crew and their mission was of utmost priority, something the ambassador's unusual relationship with the former warlord could jeopardise. 

As chaos reigned aboard the ship, few knew what to make of Megatron and his human companion. But most agreed their unforeseen bond, if genuine, heralded great uncertainty for the future...Cybertronians had never tried courting outside of their own species, and so many questions came from it. 

Rodimus couldn't believe it when the rumours started spreading. Megatron, in a relationship with an organic? It seemed too bizarre to be true. Rodimus decided to confront Megatron directly to find out if it really was true. He had found Megatron deep in discussion with the human, hands gesturing animatedly as they spoke. The familiarity between them was unmistakable. 

"So the rumours are true," Rodimus said abruptly. "You and the... ambassador?" 

Megatron turned, his optics glowing dangerously. "What I do is no concern of yours, Rodimus." He tries to defend before eventually sighing and confirming. Megatron said impassively. "They enjoy listening to my writings, and I enjoy watching them when they work on their projects. Now leave us in peace." But when he confronted Megatron about it directly, the warlord didn't deny it. A smile crosses his face as he talks about them.

 Rodimus shook his head in disbelief as he hassled Megatron for more information,  how did a relationship like that even work, the size difference itself, one being Cybernetic and the other Organic. 

Ultra Magnus was deeply uneasy about the whole affair. An organic aboard one of their ships was risky enough, but for them to be fraternising with Megatron of all bots it worries him. He had fought against Megatron countless times and seen the depths of his cruelty.

"Are you certain of this?" Ultra Magnus asked gravely.  "Megatron and a human?" Ratchet could only nod grimly in response, he continues working as Drift sits off to the side. “Shocked me when the Ambassador came in for a health check, learned too much on megatron's interface life, for a lifetime” Ratchet confirms. 

"What does this mean for our relations with humans?" Rung wondered aloud. "Will they still see us as allies?” he asked, slightly worried. 

 It seemed impossible that the Decepticon could truly care for another. He feared this relationship was merely a ploy by Megatron to manipulate the ambassador and advance his own goals.

 But watching them had changed his feelings on the matter. Watching Megatron lift them up to watch the stars throughout the observation deck. Listened to Megatron laugh, a true laugh when in their presence. How Megatron went out of his way to make sure they were content. 

"I do not understand," Rodimus said slowly, turning to his companions. "Has Megatron gone soft? Or is this some new trickery, like dont get me wrong I'm glad that they are happy but does it feel unreal to anyone else?"

Brainstorm, ever the scientist, was endlessly fascinated. "Just think of the advances we could make by studying their physiology up close!" he said excitedly. "Too bad Megsy's being so selfish, keeping them all to himself." Nautica smiled and reminded him that they was a person, not a lab experiment. But privately, even she wished to learn more about these "humans.”

Drift frowned thoughtfully. "The ways of the spark are mysterious. Perhaps even one as Megatron is capable of love." His optics linger on the Larger mech who was discussing paperwork with the human sitting on the table in front of him. Red optics look down at the human softly as they chat softly amongst themselves. 

Ratchet scoffed. "Love is it? I'd believe Unicron had a change of sparks before Megatron. Mark my words, this will end in nothing but trouble and spilled energon. That human has no idea what kind of Mech they're dealing with." 

Tailgate let out a squeak of surprise. "Aww, they look so cute! He looks like a love sick sparkling!" tailgate was wrapped in Cyclonus' arms as they watched the two. 

Drift shoots Ratchet a look, in turn the medic sighs at his harsh words, he knew all too well what it was like falling in love with a Decepticon, he was being. A hypocrite and he knew it. 

And yet, as they watched, Megatron's actions remained gentle, protective even, as he spoke softly with the ambassador. Rodimus found himself hoping against logic that Drift was right - that even the coldest spark held the potential for warmth. 

Rodimus ran a hand over his faceplate. "Primus help us, the Senate is NOT going to like this." He states while downing his drink. "We'll need to address them, try to do some damage control before this blows up in our faces. Once we get back to Cybertron”

As for the senate, they were outraged that Megatron would fraternise with an organic, Megatron has a long and deadly history of oppression, war crimes, and casual disregard for other species. 

 Many councillors would express grave concern over any influence or leverage Megatron might gain through the relationship. 

Some would even demand the ambassador be removed from the ship for their own protection. Cooler heads would argue for letting the relationship play out, while closely monitoring for signs of abuse or manipulation. 

Ultimately, the senate would likely ban Megatron from direct contact with the ambassador until a full psychological evaluation could be conducted. 

 But after Optimus steps in stating it was inhumane and cruel they allow the two back together.

That night, Megatron spends it under the stars with his lover, both of them trading stories of poetry, philosophy, and astrology. In his spark, this was where he wanted to be, with them, and he would fight to keep that spot by their side. 

[singingcicadas]

More thoughts on Cyclonus.

Nova's evaluation of him in this panel is brutally accurate. That last sentence. Ouch.

On the surface level Cyclonus appears to be portrayed as this stiff proud warrior with an austere, diehard take on his own internal code of honour and patriotism, but the more I think about it his actual character is pretty much the opposite? He doesn't have any hardfast values or stances of his own aside from shallow romanticism for the preachings of others.

His whole life is comprised of hanging onto other people. First it's Nova and his group, despite Nova and Jhiaxius looking down on him and insulting him to his face and being very forthright about the actual purpose of their mission, which Cyclonus apparently had different ideals about. Theoretically. But he didn't say anything after Nova corrected him.

Then it's Galvatron, after Galvatron backstabbed Nova. Even when Galvatron became increasingly unhinged and violent toward him and also started insulting him to his face, he still continued to follow Galvatron around because Galvatron's powerful, hope he stays on our side.

Then after he broke off from Galvatron post-Chaos Theory he joined the Lost Light, an Autobot ship, despite not liking Autobots, because it had something that he wanted: the chance to start again.

His defense for murdering all those people in Kimia is literally "he made me do it." That's all he can come up with. He even knows it's a bad excuse.

And he always corrects people when they assume he's a Decepticon. Here he directly says that he doesn't want to be a Decepticon. Why not, if he clearly admires their ideology?

One possible reason is maybe he doesn't like their ideology that much. Enough to romanticize it from a safe distance but not enough to commit to it himself (since doing that would force him to do actual introspection about his own role in what made the Decepticon ideology so appealing in the first place). Second reason's simpler: Decepticons have to wear inhibitor chips. No thanks. They're the losing side.

Once on board the Lost Light he followed Rodimus' command fine despite Rodimus accusing him of murdering Red Alert without any proof. Then after he developed a relationship with Tailgate, he put Tailgate up on a pedestal and made Tailgate the center of his universe.

But then there's also this 🔽 after he thought Tailgate dumped him:

I don't even know what he's trying to do there😂

His lack of true conviction is evident in the little things too: he thinks it's unethical for Rodimus to perform mnemosurgery on Tailgate while he's unconscious and unable to give consent but drops the subject after Rodimus distracted him with fireworks. He thinks that mutiliating an enemy's corpse is appalling but doesn't say anything when Rodimus said they were going to use Skip's corpse as a shuttle to get off Necroworld. It's Nautica who raised ethical objections, not him. He's supposed to be really religious but when the guiding hand did their big reveal at the end of Lost Light, he got nearly zero lines because of compressed screentime except to argue with Epistemus over sending Tailgate into danger.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that Cyclonus is essentially a go-with-the-flow sort of person. Nothing he holds is uncompromisable. Not his ideals, not his values, not his pride, not his faith. To an extent, not even his love for Tailgate, at least not completely, because he left when Tailgate told him to leave even when he suspected that Tailgate was lying about not loving him without making more of an effort to understand why. It all depends on the person he's hanging on to at the moment. And his choice of which leader to follow is ultimately based on self-serving reasons. This pattern is first broken when he turns on Galvatron, then fully subverted after he learns to love Tailgate as a sign of character growth.

He's not an intrinsically cruel or callous person. The way he learns to love Tailgate, befriend Whirl, and being kind and supportive to everyone when Rodimus left him in charge on the Necroworld are all attestments of his better nature. Water takes the shape of the container in which it's kept; surround him with people like Galvatron and Nova and he'll be their murder machine. Put him in the company of people who's mostly decent like the Lost Light crew and he'll grow into a compassionate person and a reliable friend.

[huevobuevo]

I CANT FUCKING SLEEP SO IMMA JUST POST THE SCU COUNCIL DRAWINGS AND HOPE TO THE GODS IT LETS ME REST.

Erm I really like pantheons and shit so uh. I made lore

Essentially each council member are gods similar to the Aspects from APOTHEOSIS, except instead of aspects of humanity they’re aspects of the universe. They each are gods of their respective campaign-worlds, the other council members can only interact with them through the creation of their player characters. I made three designs for these fuckers- their initial godhood form during the Hardest Difficulty Video, their present forms after their respective churches & worlds have been established, & their Higher Divine Form that’s basically just their fursonas (except Slimecicle since he’s just like. A Slime Hybrid already so now he’s just Cooler Magical Slime Guy yipey!)

Much like the aspects, the Council Members are referred to by their domains instead of their original names. In the case of Condi he has a secondary name, Yonder; in the case of Charlie, he can be referred to by either Fortune or Misery- more on that in a bit

the gribble -> Bloom

🍃bro is in charge of the biomes of the Overworld, including the tools and weapons that are crafted using its resources

🍃Bloom is ONLY in charge of the Flora, NOT the Fauna. The creatures of the Overworld are owned by Evolution

🍃weather phenomenon and natural disasters are also his strong suit

🍃MYTH TIME!!! Bloom hasn’t learned to change into his Higher Divine form until after his first Fall, thus his bright red and black wings were never appreciated. After he arose again, the ash of the Nether stained his wings and hair, turning them a deep grey. Many birds of the Overworld had grieved his loss, so after his return most of them had rolled in the ashes that fell from his skin in tribute- thus the Grey Parrot was born.

🍃he grew an affinity for the sea after the creation of his first universe (Mana; Riptide), thus a majority of his time is spent in the Overworlds ocean, where his presence is spotted through the whirling winds of a hurricane.

Condifiction. -> Yonder

🔥god of the Beyond- any of the upper and lower realms in any universe belongs to him, including;

🔥The Nether

🔥The End

🔥The Spirit World (prime defenders)

🔥The Chaos Zone (prime defenders)

🔥The Faewilds (riptide)

🔥The Celestial Plane (apotheosis)

🔥The Land Between Time (prime defenders)

🔥Yonder is also in charge of all the interdimensional creatures and entities that live in these domains. Potions are.. also technically his deal since to make them one must acquire interdimensional items such as blaze powder

🔥the boundaries between worlds and the magic to traverse them also fall under his rule

🔥Yonder has a spear called the Aether Piercer, a blade strong enough to even cut through the fabric of reality. It is the strongest weapon in the entire multiverse, and the boys use it for their “dnd campaigns”

🔥he is also called the Quartz Dragon

🔥 FUN FACT! He actually has TWO outfits- the Nether Regalia & The End Regalia. However my stupid ass drew the End one first despite the fact that the Nether outfit is his main one (molten lava dress and cape with deep reds and brilliant whites & gold). That’s why the end suit doesn’t really match his dragon form, but I ran out of time so I couldn’t draw it out. Also im never gonna use these designs most likely so honestly it doesn’t matter but STILL FUCJ IM SORRY :[

the bibbl -> Evolution

📡ok this one was hard to figure out but bear with me

📡Evolution is the protector of all living creatures and time- he can see the past, present, & future, and is in charge of the development of every single organism that can breathe. Humans, especially fall under his command.

📡Evolution is also the patron of technology, society, and history

📡he can personally control how mobs & humans evolve and adapt

📡his higher divine form is usually a strange gryphon like creature, but he can just about change into whatever form he desires. He is the only God who can truly shapeshift with no limitations- Yonder & Bloom only have their Higher Divine Form, while F&M is still pretty visibly Slime no matter what form he takes. Speaking of

the slible-> Fortune/Misery

🎰the god of many things, but can all be simplified into one word- Luck. Everything has a risk, and F&M can make it happen

🎰gambling, yes, is a part of his domain, as it involves a risk of either a win or a loss

🎰destiny & fate are intertwined with his powers, due to how extremely fluid they may be

🎰harvest & agriculture TECHNICALLY are his thang as well, since he’s not really in charge of the PLANTS per say but rather the possibility of either a plentiful harvest OR a miserable famine

🎰F&M have two different names for two different occasions- Fortune, for instances of prosperity, & Misery, for instances of disparity.

🎰he is also called The Great Gambler, Magician Of Chance, He Who Reaps, The Debt Collector, The Slime Lich, and The Nightmare King

🎰he’s like a Lich but not dead lol. More on that later

[ FORTUNE ]

🎰wealth

🎰dreams

🎰arcane wisdom and enchantments

🎰skills in crafting and smelting

[ MISERY ]

🎰nightmares

🎰plague

🎰curses

🎰loss of control

🎰debt

🎰punishment and penance

🎰yeah so haha if someone has cheated and exploited their way to fortune then Misery with a capital M comes down and basically sucks their life force out and turns them into goo, which is what he uses to sustain himself like a Lich. Luckily for him, greedy men spawn like rabbits

Some extra notes for the council in general plus some insight in how their religions work

☀️Yonder and Bloom are both patrons of Travelleds, Adventurers, and All Who Voyage On. However, Bloom offers protection from the world itself such as wild animals and weather phenomenon , while Yonder helps ease the passage itself. Basically Bloom helps people not die in a storm while Yonder focuses on getting to the destination in the first place I.e. not getting lost in the fucking woods

☀️Evolution y F&M are conceptual gods while Bloom y Yonder are more physical. Bloom y Yonder are everywhere, omniscient and omnipresent, encapsulating the world around us- meanwhile Evolution and D&M control the hidden sacred systems of the world such as time and luck/magic

☀️Evolution and F&M have highly selective religious followings, only specific followers are trained and perfected to wield the power of their gods domains. In the same vein, Evilution and F&M have two symbols- one for prayer and one for summoning. Unlike the other two gods who just have one for both of these purposes, the powers of time and chance are far too chaotic in nature to be possessed by many. Instead of being able to talk to plants and go to a funny new world, the highest followers of the Conceptual Gods can literally harness time itself and perform the Ultimate Spells that could level cities- thus not only are these followers specially picked and trained, but in Eder to actually USE them they must first reviver a blessing by their respective gods which requires a summoning. This requires their summoning sigil which not only requires EXTREMELY rare items BUT are also forbidden without express permission from elders. The summoning sigils are kept secret, sharing the sigil to others is punishable by death. The symbol for prayer is used to just represent the Concptual Gods following, much like the symbols for the other gods are used to represent them as well. the Pjysicak Gods need no summoning since they’re technically all around us soooo-

☀️slimecicle, bizly, and grizzly haveANOTHER outfit for their other campaigns (blood in the bayou, wonderlust, and total monster kill) BUT once again I had No More time Left so I sorta just Didn’t draw them my bad homeboy

This took an hour to type out dear god im exhausted

[mistystepmoonbeam]

Reborn into BG3 14 - Tav's Night

You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.

Chapter 14 (Tav's Night): Your first night in the Underdark. You catch Tav sneaking back into camp, and he finds out you're more injured than you let on.

Astarion's Night

Gales Night

Word count: 1.8K

A/N: Thank you all for your patience while I was on hiatus!!! <3. Since you all voted for Tav to have the first part, here he is! His ended up being kinda sad >.> but I'm looking forward to developing his character/background more.

You get a blissful couple hours of sleep before your eyes open and refuse to close.  The only comfortable position you could find with your bruises was on your side, but now there’s no position that gives you any relief.  Finally you sit up, wondering just how bad your back looks for it to ache so much.  You would give all your gold for an aspirin right now.

It’s too dark in your tent to check your wounds.  Even if you use your staff the light won’t be enough to tell the difference between the shadows and the bruises.  With the camp quiet you step out of your tent and into the firelight.  The braziers are still going, flames a little smaller now but giving off plenty of light.

The first few nights you’d been too scared to take off any of your clothing to sleep.  Your jacket, socks, boots, everything had stayed on.  But you’ve grown comfortable enough to take some of it off.  You walk on the balls of your feet to get to a brazier, enchanted socks whisking away the dirt as fast as it touches them.  Those, your loose pants and untucked tunic are all that protect you from possible attack.  You’ll be fine within the base, surrounded by weirdly overprotective barbarians and Scratch.  The dog lifts his head when he spots you, tail wagging but he remains laying by the campfire.  You hold up a finger to your lips and he sets his head back on his paws, eyes closing.  His tail gives a couple more wags before settling.

It’s hard to manoeuvre your body well enough to see all of your injuries.  You can see the dark blue bruise on the right of your hip, which wraps around to your back, the edges fading to lighter colours.  There’s an equally dark bruise on the right side of your ribs—had you been jabbed there?  Between the goblins' pikes and a couple of falls you’re not sure who is to blame for what bruise.  But those ones aren’t the ones bothering you the most.  The ones in the middle of your back are what keep you from a comfortable sleep and you can’t see them at all. 

You poke at the bruise on the right of your ribcage when a voice startles you.  “You’re still injured.”

You whirl to find Tav crawling through the side exit that leads to the Spectator.  Though there’s no sign of injury on his person your heart skips at the possibility of him going into that fight alone.  You notice part of his casual clothing is scorched.

“What happened?”

“Apparently some of those mushrooms explode,” he admits with a smile.  He jumps down to your level and starts to approach but quickly steps back.  His tail lowers, nearly wrapping around his leg as the tip draws circles in the dust.  

“What’s wrong?” you ask.  

“Are you mad at me?”  He keeps his eyes on the floor but glances up at you to ask the question.  “I’m sorry about Astarion.  With the Gur and then…earlier.”

You grind your teeth together, remembering the blood on your hands.  “I’m not mad anymore.”

It’s a half truth.  Some part of you still simmers with anger but it’s directed at yourself more than Tav.  And after everything he’s done for you…

“I’m sorry about before, too.”

You meet his wavering gaze.  “About what?”

“At the hag's house,” he says.  “When I tried to stop you.”

“Why would you be sorry about that?”  He was trying to help you, hardly something to apologize for.  Especially considering the very life and death dangers out there.

“I thought maybe…”  His eyes scan the ground like he’d find the answer there.  “I thought maybe I was annoying you.  That’s…usually what I’m told.”

You tilt your head as you contemplate his words.  With the way he runs around, gets in people’s faces, and takes the lead you could see how that might annoy someone in normal circumstances.  Anger flares in your chest at the thought of someone calling Tav annoying, almost the same as you felt when you’d killed the Gur.  You tell yourself to calm down—there’s plenty of dead around to accidentally raise…

“Who told you that?” you ask.  Shadowheart?  Astarion?  

Tav thinks for a moment.  “Just people.”

You frown.  “You’re not annoying.  I’m not annoyed by you.  And I’m not mad anymore.”

Relief floods his face and he lights up.  He rushes you before you can stop him, wrapping his arms around your middle and lifting you off the ground in a bruising hug.  If you weren’t so bruised already, anyway.   Tav gives you a spin so you wrap your arms around his neck for stability.

When he completes another circle the bruises on your back are screaming.  You say, “Injured!  Still kinda hurt!”

Tav quickly lets you go.  “Right, sorry!”

Despite his words, he has a wide smile on his face.  You take careful breaths, debating on how to hobble back to your tent.  Maybe Scratch can drag you…

“I can help,” Tav announces.  He grabs your hand and pulls you into his tent in front of the statue of Selune.  He’s left a small lamp burning inside, giving the area a warm glow.  He’s as messy as one might expect, considering he fell off the ship without anything but his clothes.  But the bits and bobbles he’s picked up on the journey so far decorate the area, from dishware to colourful rocks to what appears to be a lineup of well-chewed balls stolen from Scratch.

Tav darts around the tent and shoves a few random items off of his bedroll, waving for you to lie down.  You sit as instructed while he rummages through a nearby bag.  When he finally finds what he’s searching for and holds a small tin in the air triumphantly.  He turns back to you, opening the and scooping out a blue gel.  “Take your shirt off.”

Your brow furrows.  “Pardon?”

“It’s a healing ointment,” he says, “it’ll numb the pain.”

“Oh, well…maybe just my back.”  You turn and lie on your stomach, lifting your tunic until your bruises show.  Shockingly, Tav is silent.  

The ointment is cold against your skin.  Tav is gentle as he rubs it in and announces when he’s done.  You lower your shirt and sit back up, the pain wonderfully numbed.

“What are you doing?” you ask.  Tav is sitting by you picking at under his nails, an attempt at getting the ointment from beneath those claws of his.  

“It’s hard to get,” he admits.  He holds his hands in front of his face as if that would help.  You laugh and grab one hand, forcing him to display it palm up.  The ointment is only stuck under the index and middle nails.  Internally you fluster at the size difference between you and the barbarian.  Whether you’re short or tall, petite or large, he’s a tiefling barbarian.  He’s bigger than everyone and it shows as you hold his hand.

You manage to scrape out what little ointment is left between his nails with one finger.

“There,” you say.  You let go of his hand but it hangs in the air.  Looking at the ointment on your own you tuck your hand beneath your shirt and rub it to the bruise on your hip, the pain fading immediately.  You look up at him to say your thanks but you find him staring at his own hand.  “Tav?”

Tav startles, lowering his hand and straightening his back.  Even in the dim light you can see his cheeks darken, though you’re not sure why he would be embarrassed about the skinship considering how easily he hugs people. 

Eventually he shows a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.  “Do you know what you’ll do when we reach Baldur’s Gate?”

You blink.  The question feels to come out of nowhere so you just shrug.  “I have no idea.  I guess try to find someone that knows me?  I still want to help you guys, even if it’s just getting cream out from your fingernails.”

You chuckle and scratch behind one ear.  Really that one action was the most useful you’ve been this entire journey.  When you look back at Tav there seems to be something he wants to say, but his mouth only opens and then closes.  He smiles again, fake as Astarion’s.  

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he says.  His voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard.

“Oh, yeah.”  You bite the inside of your cheek.  You’ll figure it out.  Not we.  Just you.  “Um…I’ve said it a lot, but I feel like I haven’t…thank you for everything, Tav.  I’d definitely be dead if not for you, and if I somehow managed to survive I’d be totally lost and—and confused.  I mean I am confused still, but…you’re making it easier.”

Now you give him a smile, hoping the tears stinging at the corner of your eyes are hidden in the dim light.

But you don’t have to worry about your own tears because when you look up at the tiefling he’s the one crying.  It’s silent as the tears fall down his cheeks, eyes wide as they stay on your face.  “Really?”

“Yes? 

Tav lets out a long breath and closes his eyes.  You glance at his singed clothing and wonder if he’s hurt, but there’s no visible wound on him.  You remember moments earlier when he’d asked if you were mad at him, annoyed with him.  Had it weighed on him so much that you thanking him made him break down?  He’s a lot softer than you originally thought. 

You climb onto your knees, unsure of how to comfort him.  “You’re-uh-you’re really important to me Tav.  I’m…I’m sorry if I—”

Tav’s arms open and suddenly you’re engulfed by a hug.  Even his tail comes around to wrap around your back and pull you closer.  It would have been nice, were your own arms not trapped at your sides.  

The air is knocked from your lungs, but thankfully the ointment he’d applied keeps you from feeling too much pain.  He mumbles something into your shoulder, face buried and a horn poking at one ear.

“Tav?” you ask, voice strained. “I can’t hear you…or breathe.”

His grip loosens, but he keeps you there leaning awkwardly forward on your knees.  His forehead is still pressed against your shoulder, but he turns until it’s also against the curve of your neck.  The tent starts to feel way too hot, even without your coat. 

“I said thank you,” Tav tells you.

You aren’t given a chance to respond when the flap of the tent opens and Shadowheart pokes her head in.  “Not to interrupt, but we have a visitor.”

Tav lifts his head from your shoulder and you both turn your heads to look at the half-elf, and then past her. A new pit of anxiety settles in your stomach when you see who is there, and looking directly at you.

Withers.

Taglist:

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[theecholegend]

*gasps

This idea literally just occurred to me:

What if Legend went to Termina?! So many headcanons are whirling in my head.

He had to save Termina because Time died before he even reached his second quest? Or because he got tricked like Time?

What if.... so many what ifs.....

I like this train of thought, it's fun to think about. What about you?

(also sorry I haven't chatted with you in a while, my brain was empty. Ironically enough, as soon as I break my finger the ideas start coming at me full force lol)

Wait you broke your finger??? What??? For real?! I hope you're ok! 🙏

For the question... Legend in Termina would be GREAT. character development and Trauma wise. Koholint but much MUCH worse. Especially of he's already lived through Koholint then this will only remind him of that.

This idea actually reminds me of another idea I had forever ago. I didn't have much of anything put together but it was fun to entertain for a bit. (This kind of strays from your question and I'm sorry for that)

so, something happens, rest of the chain were either cursed somehow or kidnapped and unable to be freed. Though, Legend was untouched because there IS a way to save them, but only one person could do it. And, well, it's him. Hylia herself saved him from whatever happened to the others.

Now, he has to save them, and to do so, he has to literally live their adventures. kind of like a Termina/Koholint scenario where it's the other persons dream in a way. So boom Legend's life gets 100 times worse because now he has at least eight other adventures to go through. maybe more if he has to do ALL of their adventures.

so, for example, we'll take Twilight's adventure and stick Legend in it. Rusl, Ilia, Colin, all the people Twilight would interact with just see Legend as the hero of Twilight.

It's basically a simulation and the only purpose is for Legend to live through this simulation, grow attached to people who won't even remember him because the ones he met aren't even the real them, and then leave, only to immediately be thrown into a new adventure seconds after an intense battle with Ganondorf or some other big bad dude.

Though, as fun as that idea is, it takes away from the others too much. It takes away their individual experiences, all their secrets and things that made them the hero they are. I wouldn't write a whole 37 chapter fic for this (even if I could T-T) but maybe if I ever have the motivation to I'll write some small scenes.

Also, if anyone wanted to ask me questions about it I would happily answer them. Like... things about the others and their experience with this or Legends thought process and slow descent into madness. things like that 😊

I call this the "hero of countless Legends AU" or just "hocl au"

[tieronecrush]

hot & heavy

chapter fourteen: stuck forever by the glue

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 7.4k

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, pet names (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl, mariposa, etc.), feeling familial and self-pressure, established relationship, spanish cause joel is latino, soft joel, very minimal like sweetie possessive joel, struggling with self, discussion of parenting, this is honestly just an ooey gooey syrupy sweet chapter y'all

a/n: this is so wild. it's done! (basically....epilogue to come) i seriously can't express how much it means to me that y'all read and kept up with and cared about my little story. i have fallen in love with writing and i just really thank you all for everything you've given me! i feel so lucky to have so many incredible, talented, all-star humans reading something silly i've made. THANK YOU.

and an extra special thanks to el @northernbluess who has been such a big support throughout my process of writing this story. she's beta-read nearly every single chapter and has helped me so much in developing the characters and the story and just everything. can't write without you, el. love you!

alright, enough from me - enjoy joel & mariposa's ending! and please drop any thoughts or scenarios or milestones you want to see for them in the epilogue into my inbox!!!

“Fuck, oh shit, Joel!”

You’re whisper-yelling as you scramble to throw his comforter off of you, kicking it away from your feet and jumping out of bed. One arm moves up to cover your chest as you whirl around the room looking for your clothes. As you slip your panties up your legs and let them snap against your hips, Joel stirs awake enough to pick his head up, glancing around in a daze.

“What is happening? What’s wrong?” he groggily asks, turning over from lying on his tummy to his back, arm bending to rest against his forehead and shielding his eyes from the early summer morning light peeking through the curtains.

Puffing out a breath to blow the hair from your face, hands occupied with attempting to clasp your bra behind your back, you shoot him a look.

“Check the time,” you order flatly, nodding your chin to his alarm clock at the bedside.

After a delayed beat, Joel’s head turns, studying the display before his bed shoots back to look at you, arm dropped from his head. With his eyebrows raised and mouth formed into an ‘O’ shape, he chuckles quietly at your distress.

Amid your activities from the night before, much like the last week of nights spent with Joel, the alarm on his side had forgotten to be set. Normally, you would brush it off, so long as the two of you were up in time for work, which Sarah usually made sure of thanks to her promptness, even as a ten-year-old.

But today, no, today was a weekend and also the day of the neighborhood’s annual block party and summer barbecue. And you had promised — assured — your mother that you would be up and at ‘em early to help her prep all the food she promised to make and to help decorate the street and all the tables.

Joel had promised — assured — that he set the alarm last night before the two of you started fooling around, distraction imminent for the man with his wandering hands and blood pumping. Turns out, you were apparently too tempting, and too exhausting, of a time to focus on anything else.

“Darlin’, it’ll be fine. Doubt your mom has even noticed your absence, she’s probably so busy already she’s just fluttering around your house.” Joel’s face returns to a drowsy expression, one eyebrow quirking up for a moment as you angrily groan at your t-shirt when struggling to find the head hole with it pulled over your head all lopsided.

He rises from the bed, padding over to you and reaching up to pause your frantic hands. Slow moving, he rights the material and gently tugs it down, revealing your frustrating and pouty look.

Joel coaxes your arms out of their stubborn crossed position over your chest, aiding them into the holes and fully pulling the t-shirt down. Fingers graze the top of your panties from underneath your cotton shirt, satisfied smirk when he feels goosebumps rise.

“She may not notice, but my Dad, who’s probably doing nothing, will notice and tell my mom. And she’ll tell him to go downstairs and check on me.” You swat his hands away gently, stepping backward and turning your head this way and that way to find your shorts. “And if he goes downstairs, and I’m not there, but then magically appear minutes later from my studio, well, I think they’ll clock that something’s up.”

Thick arms wrap around your waist, freezing you in place. One hand gently grips the tip of your chin between his index and thumb, tilting your head to look into his eyes.

“It’ll be fine, Mari baby. You’ll get home and you’ll go upstairs and they won’t even know you were gone for a second.” Joel punctuates his reassurances with a kiss, rubbing slow circles in your lower back.

“You are extremely calm in this situation. Why aren’t you more stressed out than me?” you interrogate, raising one brow and pursing your lips. He chuckles and shrugs, incredibly nonchalant, before pecking your lips once more.

“S’cause I woke up with you next to me.” The grin is evident in his next kiss, pulling one from you no matter how much you fight it. “Plus, had some pretty great sex last night.”

“Oh my god, okay, I’m leaving. Such an idiot—” you smack his arm playfully and untangle from his arms, “ruining a perfectly sweet, wholesome moment.”

“Didn’t ruin anything. Y’know you were thinkin’ the same thing,” he counters as he throws on boxers, following you out of the bedroom and down the stairs. 

You glance over your shoulder, shooting him an eye roll while biting back a smile. Padding quickly into the kitchen, you slip your shoes on from where they sit next to the back door, turning toward Joel in a rush as he strides over to you. Still sleepy eyes take you in, grabby hands finding your waist and pulling you in tight to his chest while you groan.

“J, baby, I gotta go.” He buries his head in your neck, shaking it enough for his messy curls to brush against your skin in a tickle. “I’ll see you later, okay? We jus’ have to make it through the party, and then I’m all yours. Deal?”

Lifting his head with an elongated sigh, he nods subtly and sneaks a quick kiss, “Deal. But I kind of don’t want to share you with the whole neighborhood tonight. Wish it was jus’ you and me.”

“Me too, baby, but we’ll survive. We’ve made it this long, haven’t we?” Fingers glide through his hair, pushing it up off his forehead. Before you step back and reach for the door, he pulls you in again, one hand finding your jaw to hold you there as he gives you a slow, syrupy, toe-curling kiss. The linger of it tickles your lips when he pulls away, a drowsy, beaming smile filling his face.

“Love you, Mari baby. See you later.”

“Love you more, J. See y’all later.” One last effort breaks you free of him, slipping out the door with him still on your tail, large palm making contact with your ass in a smack. A look back at him gives you a wink and smirk in return, Joel’s wide frame filling the threshold as you descend his deck stairs and scurry across your lawn to make it home in time.

God, you’re too old to be sneaking around with your boyfriend.

But damn, if he doesn’t make it fun.

Late afternoon, when the sticky, humid air has cooled down only fractions from the peak of the day, the whole onslaught of the neighborhood gathers on your cul-de-sac. Lawn games litter front yards of everyone around, the food tables set up between your driveway and Joel’s. Two grills are lit and manned on the asphalt in front of your garage, barely enough space to cook all the food that could feed an entire army, plus all of your neighbors.

The skirt of your baby blue sundress swishes against your thighs as you flutter around the folding tables set out to frame the street. Borrowed, mismatched tablecloths have been blanketed over the surfaces, and it’s been your latest task to arrange simple centerpieces of wildflowers from your garden beds built by Joel, and vases pulled from the backs of cabinets in your house. With every inch of your movement, your eyes flicker to track Joel’s, licking your lips as you watch the fabric of his muted blue t-shirt pull and strain across his shoulder blades. The hair at the back of his neck curled more from the perspiration that he was building while carrying coolers full of ice, beer, sodas, and water all about the street.

While putting the finishing touches on the last centerpiece, it seems that when you look up again, the whole neighborhood has shown up all at once. Joel’s gone from your line of sight, and you resign to finding the nearest cold beer and being pulled into a conversation with Mrs. Clarke and some of her book club ladies from the street over that you don’t know as well. They fuss over you, admiring your dress and your hair, and commenting repeatedly about ‘how gorgeous and youthful’ you are. As you open your mouth to accept the compliments again with a polite ‘thank you’, a familiar voice cuts in from over your shoulder.

“Excuse me, ladies, I hate to interrupt y’all but I was hoping to steal her away for a bit. Kind of need a partner for some cornhole and we’ve got a winning streak to maintain.” Joel shoots all of the older women a charming grin when you turn to your side to see him, his eyes finding yours for a split second.

“Oh, god, another one of you youngin’ neighbors! I have been loving to see so many new folks move in and all you kids that have returned. It is so lovely,” Mrs. Clarke shares, nodding her head with a mischievous grin toward Joel, “Y’know, y’all are pretty handsome together. Maybe it’s just 'cause y’all are young and beautiful still!”

Mrs. Clarke and the other women laugh, a wide smile on your face as you shake your head, “C’mon, Mrs. Clarke, you’re beautiful — Joel’s actually been tellin’ me he’s got a crush on a neighbor, my bets are on you.”

She laughs again, waving off the compliments, “Well I wouldn’t go gambling if that’s how you bet, sugar. I think you’d be at the top of all the lists if you ask everyone here; you’ve been the talk of the neighborhood since you came back from that big ol’ city you were in. Everybody’s been saying how you are still such a sweet girl, but I can tell something’s different. In a good way.”

She shoots you a wink and you soak in the sentiments, looking over to Joel when he cuts in again.

“I think I’d agree with ya, ma’am. Definitely different in a good way. Like whiskey in a teacup.” The look in his eyes is filled with the silent affection that his words coil around, saying all that he can’t say at the moment. Instead, he wraps up the conversation for you, thanking the four women before letting you step ahead of him, his hand barely ghosting over your back in what would look to be an innocent gesture.

“Now did you really want to play bags or was that just an excuse?” you tease, taking a sip of your drink while you two wander over to the game set up in the grass.

Joel shrugs, smile toying at his lips, “Had to be able to find a way to sweet talk my crush now, didn’t I?”

A roll of your eyes and growing smirk encourages him, nudging your side with his elbow, “Y’think Mrs. Clarke is gonna go around gossipin’ about us when the whole neighborhood finds out I’ve got a crush on you and not her?”

“Oh definitely. Lived here my whole life, that woman knows everybody’s business before they know it themselves. Don’t be surprised if she’s told everybody you’re in love with me by the time this evening’s wrappin’ up.” Squatting down, Joel gathers up the bean bags from the surface of the handbuilt gameboards, handing you the green while he takes the yellow.

As he deposits them one by one in your open palm, he shoots you a genuine, shy smile. “Well, wouldn’t be a lie so I guess it would jus’ help me out. Maybe we should tell Mrs. Clarke and then everybody will know tonight.”

“Haha. Very funny, Miller,” you reply dryly, shooting him a playfully annoyed look before starting the game between the two of you.

The back-and-forth flows easily for the two of you, both in gameplay and banter. At the game-point throw, you sink it in the hole, cheering for yourself when you nail the score of exactly twenty-one. Joel tosses his own, flicking his wrist only slightly at the last moment to scratch the throw, leaving you victorious. He smiles to himself as he watches you eagerly clap for yourself, turning to him and nodding toward the spread of food that was finally laid out.

You’re so beautiful.

The look you’re giving him sends a jolt into his spine, fuzzing his brain while the butterfly in his chest rapidly pumps its wings.

“C’mon, let's eat. All that losin’ probably worked up an appetite for you.” Without clasping around his, your hand brushes your fingers against the back of his palm. The softness leaves an itch on his skin, his nerves simply jumping for the chance to touch you. You lead confidently while he trails behind in your wake, observing as everyone sends you a smile or a greeting that you return right back with a glow.

He’d follow you anywhere.

And he knows how damn lucky he is that you’re willing to let him.

It’s what he can’t help but continue to think about as the night rolls on, watching you from his place at a table with a handful of the guys from the neighborhood, including your dad and brother, and Tommy, who stopped over after his own plans for the evening went belly up. While he nurses the beer from the glass bottle in his hand, you are bouncing with a baby on your hip to the beat of the song playing over the speakers. It’s the kid you nanny, having taken her from her parents to let them eat and enjoy a moment of calmness with everyone while you keep the young one entertained.

The happy baby babbles in your arms as you dance with her subtly, standing in a small group of other neighbors. It’s so natural for you, the way you’re nurturing and easily adapting to having a little human attached to your side. He can’t shake the way his body is begging him to get up and go over to you, wanting to help you, to play pretend for a moment that it’s an addition to your little family in your arms.

He nearly stumbles over himself to get out of his seat when Sarah pulls you away from the group, thanking his daughter inside his head for giving him the perfect excuse to be close to you in the moment. Tommy chuckles to himself when he follows where Joel’s gaze is aimed, shaking his head subtly at his older brother’s obvious stare.

Joel doesn’t pay him any mind as he walks over toward you and Sarah, brushing against your side as he folds forward at his waist to press a kiss to the top of his daughter’s curly hair. The baby is babbling again in your arms, wiggling and mouthing on her hand while she stares at Joel. He shoots her a smile, opening and closing his fingers in a loose fist to wave.

“Hey there, little one. Now who’s this?” he asks, eyes finding your face while you grin at the happy baby girl in your arms.

“This is Amelia. She’s Brian and Steph’s daughter, the one I’ve been nannying this summer since Steph’s gone back to work,” you adjust her again and Joel nods, reaching out absentmindedly to lay a hand on Sarah’s head.

“Isn’t she so cute, Daddy?” Sarah laughs quietly when Amelia squeals excitedly. Her hand tugs on Joel’s shirt to grab his attention back from staring at you, eyebrows raised, and the same look on her face that she gets when she desperately wants a toy from the store. “I want to get a baby!”

He nearly chokes on his breath when he rushes to respond, hearing your quiet giggle as he coughs before clearing his throat. Addressing Sarah, he gives her an understanding smile, “Babies are pretty cute, aren’t they? But you’ll need to be much, much older until you can get a baby, mija. Like you’ll need to be Posey’s age or even better, you can be Daddy’s age and get a baby for yourself, alright?”

“That’s not very fun. You’re old, I don’t wanna wait that long. It’s like an eternity,” she replies bluntly, causing you to laugh and Joel to shoot you a warning look before he returns to Sarah.

“Trust me, Bug, it’s not that long in the grand scheme of things. Before I know it, you’ll be out of my house and I’ll be even more ancient, apparently, and you’ll have your own babies. All in due time, mija. Don’t wish away your life.” He pats her curls while she stands, thought clearly turning in her head.

A lightbulb goes off and she gasps, clapping her hands together as she says only to the two of you, “I know! You can get another baby, Daddy, and then I’ll have a cute one to play with. You can get one with Posey.”

Sarah beams with what seems like a completely genius idea to her, waiting for a response or a plan of action to get this all set in motion for her. You laugh again, stepping in when Joel can’t seem to find the right words to say.

He doesn’t want to outwardly deny it. Definitely doesn’t want you to think that is something he wouldn’t want. He’s told you as much.

But he also doesn’t want to step in any hot water, doesn’t want to put his foot in his mouth if it really is something you haven’t thought about much.

“That is such a smart idea, Sare-Bear,” you grin comfortingly and reach out a free hand to brush her hair back, “Y’know who else you could ask to have a baby? Uncle Tommy. Why don’t you go ask him why he doesn’t have a girlfriend so that he can give you a cousin?”

Sarah giggles and matches your mischievous energy, scampering off to go wholesomely harass her uncle. You turn to Joel, your face twisting into curiosity when you can’t read the look on his face.

“What? Should I have explained where babies come from to her or something instead? Was it a bad idea to sick her on Tommy?”

“No, not at all. To answer both your questions,” he bites back from absolutely beaming, turning his gaze to baby Amelia’s chubby cheeks when his voice drops to a level only audible to you standing inches from him, “Would you?”

“Would I what?” Your head tilts to the side, adjusting Amelia on your hip and hiking her up. Joel opens his mouth to clarify his question when Steph sidles up next to you, thanking you profusely while she takes her daughter back into her arms. The interaction warms Joel’s blood in his veins, the wings of the butterfly pushing the rattle of nerves into his throat.

Everyone loves you so much here, and you really do have love for everyone.

A fucking solid gold heart inside of you and Joel can’t believe you’ve given even a piece, a sliver, of it to him to safeguard.

Turning your attention back to him when the two of you are left alone, you lift the corner of your lip up in an anxious comfort, “So, would I what?”

“Would you have a kid? With me. Would you have a kid with me?” It all rushes out, words blending together but you understand all the same. A quiet laugh rolls from your chest, skyrocketing his worry in the moment before you shake your head and give his bicep a quick, but reassuring squeeze.

“Course I would, J. Don’t think anything would make me happier.” Your eyes sparkle in the setting sunlight, the solid and steady beat of his heart surely heard over the music and noise by everyone around you both. Pressing his lips together to restrain himself, he nods slowly and attempts to remain casual.

“I wanna kiss you so fucking much right now, Mari.”

“I want that, too. But I think Mrs. Clarke would be jealous. Stealin’ you away from her.” The joke breaks the tension, sending him into a small fit of laughter, shaking his head at your ridiculousness.

“Guess I better go ask Mrs. Clarke the same question then, huh? Keep my options open.”

“Better go. Give her enough time to tell Mr. Clarke she’s running away with the neighbor forty years younger than her.”

“Definitely think that’d go over better than you, the beloved, sweet neighborhood girl, running away with me.”

“Oh hush, doesn’t matter how well it’d go over. Jus’ matters if we can run fast enough away from the angry mob that’s gonna come after ya.” You wink and laugh again, your head shaking back and forth before it whips in the direction of your mom calling your name. Another soft and subtle touch is fleetingly felt against his skin, turning over your shoulder to mouth a quick ‘love you’ to him as you walk away.

He returns it before searching around to fill his hands before returning back to the table and sitting down next to his brother. Joel sets the full beer bottle next to his half-full one, eyes still trained on you before Tommy grabs his attention with a hard jab to his side and snags the full beer.

“So why the hell is my niece asking me when I’m gonna get a girlfriend so I can have a baby?”

Night has overtaken the sky, with sprinklings of stars and a waxing moon as its centerpieces. Everyone along the road has turned on their porch lights, extra portable camping lights, and hanging lanterns brought out to make enough light to continue the party. The handful of neighborhood kids run around to catch fireflies while the adults either stand around in conversations or gather in the open space between all of the tables to dance. Your parents, ever the hosts that they are, have popped back into the house to gather more drinks and desserts for everyone. Wrapped up in a chat about a potential hire for a job with a guy from a few streets over, Joel hasn’t paid mind to where you’re at or if Sarah’s running along with the other kids. He shakes the man’s hand and promises to stop by when he can during the week to check out exactly what the job would entail and if his guys can get it done.

Turning away, the sight of you is perfectly framed by warm lights, a tunnel of everything else fading away while he observes you from across the street. The mop of curls he loves dearly bounces around with you, your hands holding Sarah’s and spinning her around the dancefloor. His daughter’s laughter hits his ears over the sound of the music, tugging a smile onto his face that nearly matches your beaming grin.

This whole night, he hasn’t been able to stay away from you long. And he hasn’t been able to shake the feeling of how desperate he is to stay in your pull, to be able to make you smile and laugh, to make you happy.

You do so much for others, offering a hand or making them smile with your genuine care and humor. Everyone is so drawn to you, he’s not the only one who wants to have you around. And he knows about what you’re going through behind closed doors, the things you tell him about when no one else will listen or understand. The same things he heard from you when you were thousands of miles away, voice crackling over the phone. All he wants to do is to be there for you, to show you the same kindness that you show him, that you show everyone you encounter.

Ever since he met you, he’s never wanted to be apart from you. But he didn’t trust himself not to make selfish decisions, so he pushed you away that first summer, and let you go the second. Now, with no endings in sight at the end of summer, anything is possible.

One thing’s for sure though — he’s tired of hiding.

All it does is take up more energy that he could be giving to you, to Sarah, to a better future for all of you.

And fuck’s sake, if he doesn’t want everyone to know that you chose him. The best person he knows — has ever known — chose him and continues to choose him, to forgive him, to love him. He doesn’t know what the future holds, doesn’t know what everything will look like for y’all in a week, in a year, in a decade, but all he can say is that whatever it all entails, however much it scares him, he wants you there by his side. He needs you.

Without a second thought, he moves toward you as the song changes, depositing his nearly empty drink on the nearest table. Swiping his clammy hands on his jeans as he walks, he takes a deep breath before he taps you on the shoulder. He shoots Sarah a wink over your shoulder while you turn around, her giggle bringing a lopsided grin to his face.

“Oh, Joel, what’s up?” you ask casually, cocking an eyebrow up in confusion.

He addresses Sarah in the next moment, putting on a formal tone and clearing his throat, “Excuse me, Miss Sarah, but would you mind if I steal Mariposa away for a dance?”

“Of course not, Daddy!” she grins widely, showing off her missing tooth that came out a few nights ago, “Have fun, Posey!”

Sarah scurries off to find her friends from the neighborhood, and Joel holds his hand out with a soft smirk. Utterly puzzled, you glance around before focusing back on Joel at the sound of his voice.

“May I have this dance, Mari?”

You’re surprised, stumbling out a response as you tentatively place your hand in his, “Yes, I mean — yes, but — What are you doing, J?”

With your hand in his, he leads you further into the couples dancing along to the sweetly slow love song playing. In the middle, he stops and faces you, keeping your hand in his, holding them up close with a bent elbow while his other finds your waist and pulls you in closer. The two of you start to sway and Joel’s lips settle next to your ear while you dance.

“Joel, everyone’s staring…and talking amongst themselves. What are you doing?” you ask in a hushed voice, pulling away to look into his eyes. Anxiety flashes in yours and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze before replying.

“M’letting go, mi amor. Let ‘em stare,” he replies, the corners of his lips rising in a tender grin. He slips his hand from yours, fingers trailing down your arm to bring it to rest on his shoulder like your other one. Both of his hands spread across your hips, pressing into the fabric of your dress and pushing around to settle at your lower back.

“But they’re gonna start spreading shit and I know you weren’t ready before to tell anyone else — my parents might be around, J. I don’t want you to do this if you aren’t ready, or if you’re just doing this for me.”

He leans closer, tilting his head down to lay his forehead against yours. Holding your eyes, he speaks quietly, voice rasping with the strain of the volume and the emotion coating his words, “El amor es ciego, pero los vecinos no. (Love is blind, but the neighbors aren’t.) There’s always going to be people to gossip, or to whisper about us. All that matters to me is what you think, and how you feel. I want to be able to tell everyone that you’re mine, and I’m yours. I’m so lucky, and I am so proud to be your partner in life, Mari baby. M’tired of trying to predict what the future’s gonna be for us, and m’tired of trying to keep the reality of life away from us. Truth is, I don’t think there’s anything that life could throw at me or you that we couldn’t get through together. I need you there, always, sweet girl. Todo va a salir bien. Everything will work out.”

“I-God, I don’t even know what to say…” Tears well at your waterline, none daring to fall over the edge while you attempt to remain composed for the crowd that is surely watching everything happening. “All I can think about is how much I love you, Joel. And I want all of the same things, and I know that with you, we can handle whatever life has planned for us.”

“I love you too, baby. Te amo siempre, mi Mariposa. (I love you always, my Mariposa).”

The song’s last few notes fade out, some of the couples filtering out of the dance floor when the music changes over. After another short peck from Joel, the bubble the two of you were in dissolves when Sarah runs up, asking Joel if she can have another cookie. He gives her the quick go-ahead, watching her rush off as quickly as she came, and suddenly you’re reminded you’re in the middle of the whole neighborhood.

No one says anything as you lead Joel away, hand-in-hand. But a few looks are exchanged and the eyes of everyone feel hot on your neck. A glance around proves your parents aren’t outside still, and your stomach flips with the real possibility that someone, particularly nosey neighbors, may have beaten you to the punch in terms of telling them about you and Joel.

Tugging him from a good few steps ahead, Joel widens his strides to catch up easily as you beeline toward your garage, the mechanical door wide open for people to come and go as needed. You stop in your tracks right in front of the door to the inside, taking a deep breath before turning around to face Joel.

“Alright, it’s now or never, J. Either we’re the ones to tell our parents, or they find out from Mrs. Clarke’s book club that we were on the dancefloor and kissin’ each other and—”

Joel interrupts your ramblings with a gentle chuckle, tilting his head to the side as he looks over your face before locking his eyes with yours.

“So are we the ones meant to be saying we were on the dancefloor and kissin’ each other?” he asks with a smirk, one eyebrow raising in question.

“Oh, c’mon, Joel.”

“M’kiddin’, Mari. It’s now or never, and I am not a man that says never. So lead the way, sweet girl.” He gestures to the door behind you, a genuine smile on his face quelling your heightened nerves.

If you could read his mind, you know he’s freaking out right now.

But no, instead he’s keeping it cool on the outside, trying to be a calming presence for your own anxious thoughts.

Can’t help but ask himself questions. What if your parents get upset or angry? What if they dismiss it, not believing that it would ever work between the two of them? What if they take it out on you? It’s not your fault that they didn’t find out earlier — would they hate him if he defends you in an argument? What if they don’t think he is good enough for you?

He has his own doubts, but hearing it from your parents would crush him.

You walk ahead of him, holding onto his hand while you walk inside and through your empty living room. He drops his hand from yours right on the threshold of your kitchen and gives you a tight smile when you look back at him. Wiping his clammy hands on his jeans, he takes a deep breath before following you into the room.

Clearing your throat to grab your parents' attention, you saddle up to the island and lean forward with your elbows on the cool countertops. Joel stands next to you, a respectable distance away but you feel the itch to bring him closer. Your dad turns around first, pausing his task of filling a cooler with ice from the freezer.

“Hey there, kiddo. Oh, and heya, Miller! Y’all havin’ a good time tonight? Need anything?”

“Or are y’all bein’ sweethearts and have come inside to help us with all this?” Your mom nods over her shoulder to the rest of the desserts plated across the counters.

She turns around next after washing her hands at the kitchen sink, patting them dry with a towel before she crosses the small walkway to settle on the other side of the island. Joel shakes his head when you’re silent for a moment, giving both of your parents a smile.

“No, don’t need anything. And I would be happy to help, ma’am—” Joel ever so politely offers before you interrupt him.

“I, uh, I actually wanted to talk to y’all about something.” Your voice wavers only slightly, a stuttering sound coming from your throat as you clear it again. One of your mom’s eyebrows raises in curiosity, much more sprawling thoughts happening in the subtle twitches of her eyes as she looks at your face, then at Joel’s, and back to you.

Your dad is a bit oblivious.

“Joel and I will leave ya to it, y’all can fill me in later,” he faces Joel, nodding toward the direction of the door and closing the top of the cooler he packed full of ice a minute ago. Joel opens his mouth to respond when you fill in again quickly, holding a hand up to stop your dad’s movements.

“No, um, actually, it’s better if you’re both here and Joel’s here ‘cause, well…” A flip of your stomach nearly sends your dinner back up, but you swallow it down and lock your eyes on your hands as you finally spill the secret you’ve kept for the last three summers.

“Joel and I are together. Like in a relationship. A serious one.” You kept adding clarifications to fill the silence that’s fallen over the room, and Joel steps closer, reaching a hand up to rest on your back between your shoulder blades. He braces for ridicule, eyes trained on you as you keep yours on your hands.

Nothing. Your parents are saying nothing.

And you cannot take the silence anymore, so you begin to recount it all from the first summer, meeting him and getting to know him — sparing the details of the two of you…getting together. The short month-long second summer, Joel holding out his hope for you to stay but eventually letting you go. The year between that time and the beginning of this summer, infrequent phone calls and life updates. And finally, this summer, when you came back with no end in sight and nothing holding the two of you back. Given the chance to finally give it a proper go, and falling even more in love with him than you thought you could love anyone.

Your eyes flick to Joel’s as you confess that, and he returns the sentiment with a warm smile and his hand rubbing slow circles against the bare skin of your back exposed by your thinly-strapped dress. 

God, you really do love him.

So much so, it occurs to you that it doesn’t really matter what comes after this. You choose him, and he’s chosen you, and your family would have to accept it. You’ve spent too much time without him in your life, completely, and there isn’t going to be another summer ending in heartbreak.

At the end of your three-summer abridged summary, Joel turns toward your parents, speaking up for himself. “I just—I want to tell you both that I care very much about your daughter. I love her dearly, and my life’s gotten astronomically better since she stepped into it. Mine and Sarah’s. You’ve raised an incredible woman, someone who is kind but never lets anyone push her around. A complete force.” Joel turns back to you, a growing, shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “I can only hope that Sarah gets the same fierceness and is as self-willed as you. I’ve said it before, but you’ve got a golden heart. You’re magic.”

The four of you talk it through, fielding their questions and small concerns as best as you can to reassure them. They share a look before your mom speaks, taking a deep breath that lifts and drops her shoulders.

“We can’t say that it’s not going to be an adjustment. I mean, dropping this all on us after not telling us for so long is a lot to process—”

“Of course, of course. I should’ve said something earlier, I’m sorry.”

“No, no. Don’t apologize. I just…Did you feel like you couldn’t talk to us about it or something, sweetie?” There’s a thickness in your mom’s voice, one that makes your chest ache.

“Oh, mom, no. It wasn’t like that, I—”

“I was the nervous one. I asked for more time before we told you this summer. I know how extraordinary your daughter is; she is definitely too good for me, and I was real nervous that you wouldn’t approve. I mean, I definitely have a different life than probably what you pictured. But I want to promise you both that I am proving myself every day to her. I always want to be better.”

To your surprise, your dad cuts in before you or your mom can say anything.

“You’re right. Our daughter is extraordinary…” He paused, continuing, “But you’re a good man, Joel. Trustworthy, dependable, respectful. And you very clearly love our daughter. There’s nothing more I could ask of someone for her. So long as she has a good, happy life, I’m content.”

Joel exchanges a relieved smile with your dad, your focus on your mom again as one arm snakes around Joel’s back to hold you closer.

“Your dad said it. If you’re happy, honey, then we’re happy…” She studies the two of you with tender care in her eyes, holding her hands to her chest before releasing them with a content sigh. “And I mean, I knew.”

Immediately, your brow furrows with confusion and Joel laughs, holding it back when you shoot him a warning look. Returning to your mom, you raise a question in response, “I’m sorry, you knew? How did you know?”

“Well, nothing was ever confirmed. But I did mention to your father quite a few times how I caught you sneaking glances and smiles toward Joel.” She directs the next question to your dad, whose focus has been lost on the plate of desserts in front of him, “And, how often did I mention to you catching Joel looking at her like all of the sunlight was radiating from her? Like he was completely head over heels.”

“Oh, all the time,” your dad answers nonchalantly. You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief, Joel’s laughter bubbling over while he tugs you into his side and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“To be honest, I thought maybe he was just in love with you and you were either oblivious or waiting for him to say something. Glad to hear that I was right!” she jests, laughing to herself and exhaling dramatically.

“So does this mean I can get my renovations done with a discount?” Your dad tilts his head up to look directly at Joel who holds a hand up in oath.

“Free labor from me always, sir. Can’t promise the discount for Tommy’s help, though.”

“Oh god, Dad, seriously?” you groan, rolling your head back while Joel looks on with a smile.

‘What? What’s wrong with asking that, kiddo?” Once again oblivious, your mom waves him off to drag the cooler of drinks outside. When he’s gone from the kitchen, she rounds the island, beaming with a grin.

“Well, I just can’t wait to already live next to my grandbabies! Don’t even need to move to be any closer, unless we move in with y’all into somewhere bigger—”

“Alright, Mom, I think the party’s probably missin’ these desserts, yeah?” You usher her by handing her a tray. She gives you a motherly eye roll before resigning her thoughts and taking the plate.

“Fine, fine, I’m going!” She shuffles in her sandals before glancing back at the edge of the threshold, “We really are happy for y’all.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Oh, Joel, c’mon. You’re part of the family now, call me Jen. And you can call her dad Mark, even if he gives you shit for it, he’s just trying to make you nervous. And then tell me, I’ll give him shit right back.”

At the click of the door shutting behind your parents, you face him and grin ecstatically, clasping your hands together. Joel’s shoulders relax with a sigh and your arms hook around his neck. He scoops you up in a hug, laughing when you shriek excitedly. Spinning the two of you around in a small circle, he settles still again, eyes locking with yours as a wide smile replaces his once apprehensive expression.

Joel nudges your nose with his, slow, warm breaths exchanged in the closeness before he kisses you. Slow, delicate, light melting into fervor — hot and heavy with all your love for each other.

Breathless, you pull away and he chases your lips for a chaste kiss, pressing his forehead against yours while you both start to laugh quietly.

“What a summer, huh?” you ask, another fit of laughter leaving your mouth.

“Definitely was a fun summer, sweetheart. And the last two, too.” Joel shakes his head, thumb brushing your cheek as he grins back at you, “Can’t wait to have all my summers with you, Mariposa.”

An ache is felt in your cheeks from smiling, but the dull pain pales in comparison to the all-over lightness; adrenaline and excitement make you feel as if you’re buzzing head to toe. Stealing another kiss from Joel, you feel him grin against your lips. Breathy chuckles fill the space between you when you pull away, tilting your head back in his hand to see more of his face.

“Wanna dance, J?”

“With you? Anytime, Mari baby. Lead the way.” He nods toward the door, taking your hand and following you closely as you head back to the party. Coming back out, all the eyes and whispers aren’t feeling like heat against your skin, instead the warmth of Joel’s palm grounds you and sends a shiver down your spine. He takes the lead in the moment, stepping ahead when you falter for a second and pulling you to the middle of the asphalt-turned-dancefloor.

The ever-so-familiar piano trills, along with the bright, smooth voice of Don McLean start to play out on the speakers, bringing wide smiles to both of your faces. As the beat picks up, Joel starts singing along, taking your hands from his shoulders and spinning you around as if you were swing dancing.

Both of you were clumsy, tripping over each other, but your laughter only brought brilliant, broad grins to your faces. The rest of the party fell away — it was only you and Joel, and all the memories that this song brought back.

The skirt of your dress kicks up as he spins you around and around, pulling you into his chest and swaying with you for the entire song, his deep and drawling voice singing along to the lyrics and sending goosebumps spreading across your skin despite the humid, sticky heat of the night. His steps slow down at the end, turning you both in one final, exaggerated circle before settling on the last note.

Joel looks down at you, adoration glinting in his eyes and his dimple showing as his mouth holds his smile. One of your hands slips away from his, reaching up to skim your fingers along his patchy beard and rest at the side of his neck. With another song turning over on the speakers, Joel leans down and catches your lips in a supple kiss. It’s slow and saccharine, savoring the taste of you on his tongue before he pulls away, waiting with bated breath.

 You break the moment with a sweet, melodic laugh and a shake of your head. 

“Of course, that song came on. Did you plan all this, Miller?” you interrogate playfully, the world still tunneled between the two of you.

“Absolutely not. But pretty serendipitous, yeah? Guess we should take that as a sign. Right person, right time. Finally.” His response gives you another laugh, nodding before going in for another short kiss.

“Yeah, think it’s safe to say it's the right time, finally. Was always the right person.”

“You can say that again, Mari baby.”

taglist: @beskarandblasters @undrthelights @swiftispunk @joelsversion @asirenbyanyothername @ellenmunn @ja-ehyun @sw33tp1xie @marisemonteiroo @brunetteeras @bongsrconfusing @addictedtotlou @angie2274 @pedrostories @pedroholic @theelishad @johnwatsn @elissa @felicityofbakerstreet @atinylittlepain @northernbluess @cannolighost @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @fishingforpike @msjarvis @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @yazsos @peppesgirl @pastawench @anoverwhelmingdin @wolfbook87 @mswarriorbabe80 @planet-marz1 @kiwisbell @lizzie-cakes

[ragnarokhound]

Hi wife. Staring at the green dot on your profile like my boy Gatsby and sending increasingly ridiculous asks in the hope of winning your heart.

not to bring up chapell roan, but have we considered the lyric “You could kiss a hundred boys in bars” for recently broken up jaytim?

I’m thinking Tim freaks out about love and affection™️ and totally ghosts Jason after their first kiss/near death experience. Jason runs into him at a club a few weeks later and sees that Tim is potentially kissing boys that ARE NOT JASON — cue angsty drama, maybe another near death experience where they save each other, and jason figuring out Tim ghosted because he’s a big chicken. Then (important for plot and character development) they have dirty dirty sex

Hi wife. You're yearning for something you already hold. Now come inside off the dock, the only thing you'll catch is your death of cold out here 💖 (I swear one of these days I'll find you dramatically floating face down in the swimming pool and it's gonna give me a goddamn heart attack /affectionate)

I'm so glad you know exactly what I like because a) good luck babe plays in my head 24/7 it was absolutely in the rotation when I was writing Secretary fic so how dare you and b) this is so up my alley for jaytim like you don't even know skdjfjks

In fact it's so up my alley that I'm gonna have to slap my response to this one under a cut cause it spiralled out of control:

Idk if you've noticed but I am deeply obsessed with Tim figuring out his own feelings re: Jason first and having a mcfreaking meltdown about them lmao.

Between the two of them, imo, he is much more of an anxious overthinker who will think he's making the most tactically sound decision because he really has thought it through with all the information he has access to -- but he always fails to give full weight to considering the best case scenario when it's something he wants. When it's something he feels selfish about. And boy, does he consider Jason Todd a best case scenario.

And mmmm I am so very here for jealous! and possessive!Jason. Especially when Jason didn't realize what he was feeling until after he's already acted on it. It is the bread and butter. Bonus points if he's not even trying to show it to Tim. Tim isn't the problem.

For instance: Tim's in the club, looking to see if he's just horny and needs to get it out of his system, come on, I cannot muck up the good thing I have just because I want some fuck-- and his prospective dance partners just start to dry up.

Because the big guy who looks like he's done time and a half keeps glaring daggers, keeps shoving his old partners off the dancefloor or knocking into them when they've come back with drinks for the cute twink they were totally gonna score with. Not anymore.

Jason thinks he's doing it because he's looking out for Tim. Because anyone with eyes can tell they just want Tim for one thing, and he deserves so much better than that.

When Tim realizes what's going on, he's already been grinding on this hot buff guy who came up behind him for two songs in a row. Tall, dark and silent keeps stopping Tim from turning around, and he doesn't slip a hand any lower despite all of Tim's silent offerings. Weird, but the anonymous gentleman act is kinda hot, so--

And then he glances at the round, silvered mirror in the corner. He clocks the white streak in the head of black hair dipped low over his, the gun callouses running rough over his bare stomach. He stiffens up in Jason's arms just long enough that he knows Jason knows he's been made. He drags him off to the bathrooms ("come on, handsome") and the second the doors shut and they're alone, he whirls on him.

They argue. Tim is embarrassed and it's coming out as anger, Jason is annoyed (and still processing the revelation he'd been having on the dancefloor, the one where Tim was lithe and warm in his arms, his long fingers twining through what hair he could reach at Jason's nape, where he smelled like sweat and musk and Tim and Jason found himself wanting to know if the gleaming patch of skin in the bare crook of his neck would taste the same--)

Jason is annoyed and has no explanation that will satisfy Tim. He wants to know why Tim ghosted him when the last mission they worked ended in bloody, near-disaster, and the case it was tied to still hasn't fully wrapped. He gets taking a few days off to recover, but it's been longer than that. Way longer, with no contact, no explanation, no 'I got shot so I'm gonna need a week or maybe three'. Wasn't Tim going to finish the job? He told Jason he would help. Did he lie?

It yanks the rug out from under Tim. Makes him feel small, and selfish. He promises Jason he'll come back to the case, he just had some things to figure out. But that's done now.

Jason loses the thread on his irritation as Tim deflates, hates the hunched, defensive hug he's giving himself, looking vulnerable and tired in his scanty clubbing fit under the cold LEDs flickering above the bathroom sink. He catches sight of the fresh pink scar, the one he'd just felt out under his palms not ten minutes ago with something bordering on relief. (And hunger.)

He wants to reach out, "Tim--?"

But Tim brushes past him, fleeing out the door and disappearing through the crowd before Jason can stop him.

-

Everything is fine. Totally 100% fine and dandy--

--is what they both are telling themselves.

Tim is doing his best to stifle his feelings, stomps down on them ruthlessly every time he catches them flaring up, and is counting the seconds until this is finally over and he can get to work dousing the massive fucking torch he's been holding in peace.

Tim comes back to help Jason with the rest of the case, but he's palpably distant, brittle when they banter-- and Jason hates it. He still remembers how Tim felt against him, how he'd melted into Jason, silently begging to be touched. For Jason to touch him.

It's been quietly rearranging some things in Jason's head. He's replayed their argument in the bathroom over and over. He thinks about Tim, about the timing of his disappearance--

(About the bullet he'd dug out of Tim's body, silver and red, and the desperate flow of his blood over Jason's wrists. About the night spent monitoring Tim's condition in a rundown safehouse, feeding him ice chips and brushing the hair out of his eyes, brushing off every bullshit attempt he made to tell Jason he was fine.)

--about figuring things out and avoiding Jason's eyes. And Jason wonders.

They have one last big bust to make, after days of stewing in their own unresolved tension. It goes down textbook; easy. In and out.

Except, at the last minute, during extraction, Jason gets shot. And Tim freaks.

He puts their plane on autopilot the moment they're clear (maybe a few moments before they're clear, actually) and dashes to where Jason is groaning just inside the bay doors. He's tight-lipped and grim-faced; his hands are fast and efficient, but shaking.

"Tim," Jason tries to say, but he gets shushed with a glare.

"Don't talk," Tim clips out. He undoes straps and disarms panels Jason thought were secret, and then he pulls out a pair of medical scissors.

"Tim--" Jason tries again, more urgently, but Tim doesn't even glance at him, just cuts through Jason's undershirt to expose--

"Oh," he breathes.

"Yeah. I'm okay," Jason sighs.

The crunched up bullet is caught in Jason's last layer of kevlar. The round they'd fired on him had been dramatically big, but Jason gets in firefights basically 24/7. He's padded to hell and back, even more than your average Bat. He'll have a wicked bruise and his rib might be sore for a week, but that's about it.

That's it.

Tim is still for an achingly long ten seconds, breathing shallow as he stares at Jason's armor. The proof that it's effective. And then he collapses.

He sits back heavily, elbows on his bent knees as he rubs his pale face. Jason watches as he visibly tries to pull himself back together, but relief keeps shaking him apart. Jason sits up.

Tim startles, tries to stand; Jason doesn't let him.

"Come here," he entreats, tugging Tim closer, firmly by the knees, to sit between Jason's legs with his thighs around Jason's waist, trembling under Jason's hands. "Don't go."

Tim twists his fists in Jason's jacket collar, eyes squeezing shut as Jason tips their foreheads together. Like he can't stand it. Caught in fight or flight-- but flight has been denied him.

"I know," Jason murmurs. "But don't go this time. Don't."

Tim drags in gasping breaths, and Jason runs soothing palms over his thighs, his waist, his arm, his neck. He thinks he understands. This feeling is too big. And if Tim is feeling half of what Jason feels, he gets why he'd want to run from it.

"Don't," he begs against Tim's mouth anyway. He kisses Tim until he moans into Jason, until he's sunk his fingers into Jason's hair; until he's sure he'll stay.

--AND THEN THEY HAVE DIRTY DIRTY SEX ON THE FLOOR OF THE PLANE AMEN

[the-possum-writes]

[Monster Mash] 🔞

❥Character: (Hugwolf) Finn Mertens

❥Tags: NS/FW, smut, non specified private parts, gender neutral reader, kn0ts, size difference, teratophilia

❥Synopsis: Jake entrusts you to watch Finn while they look for a cure.

❥Wordcount: 1028

❥A/N: Happy Halloween! I couldn't do October themed stuff but I had this request in the bin from AO3 and I figured today was an ideal day to post. 🎃👻🐺

❥Taglist: @foxpearlwilder

"Keep an eye on Finn while we track down the Alfa Hugwolf, don't let him out of your sight!" Is the responsibility Jake entrusted upon you.

"Good hunting!" I'll do whatever it takes to keep him here." Is your vow to Jake as you shakily grasp the walkie talkie, but throughout your conversation, you failed to notice Cinnamon bun being used to free hugwolf Finn from his confinement that was designed particularly to keep him locked up. You dropped the walkie talkie as you turned around slowly and saw a set of yellow canine eyes peering down at you with the utmost need for affection. The warm breath huffing over your shoulder had startled you into a chilly position. His big fluffy arms lift you up faster than you could run away, not that you'd get very far, but it's better than passively being squeezed that has your sides aching and your heart fluttering, and even then, there's only so much of his hugs you can take before falling limp to the hugwolf's touch, Finn sniffs you curiously before huffing in disdain that you couldn't handle his cuddles like many others.

The Hugwolf was more than willing to abandon you in search of a new hug victim, but you're not ready to let him go so easily. Jake trusted you, and you'll do whatever it takes to see it through, especially since it involves your best friend's safety.

"is that all you got?" You manage to stand on unsteady legs, but your arms are sturdy and ready.

This caused the hugwolf to run up to you for another large hug, knocking you off your feet and onto the floor, but instead of feeling the dungeon rock, you collided against Finn's coarse fur as he protected you from the fall, holding you up to him as he rubbed himself all over you. This wasn't too bad if you ignored the fact that you were caught in his grip like a pet owner overly devoted towards their pet; you found yourself snoozing away unconscious because of how pleasant Finn's hold was on you, but then something different startled you awake.

"So soft." With short huffs and playful growls, the Hugwolf caressed you over his chest and midriff, letting you feel a hardened hump pressing against your plump bottom. One of your hands crept away from your side and gently touched the firm bulge that was now warm against the fabric of Finn's shorts, or what remained of them.

The Hugwolf makes you gasp. There's a warmth whirling inside your gut at the idea developing in your head, consequently Finn responded by thrusting his hips forward in a frantic whimper. "Whatever it takes," you say to yourself as you put your hand inside Finn's shorts. His snout nestles into your shoulder as he adjusts his grip on you in a more gentle squeeze, laying the two of you on his side so he can enthusiastically wag his tail, dry humping his growing cock against your open palm that doesn't slow down its stroking. "Argh, I'm gonna hug you so hard," he breaths in your aroma before tasting you directly by licking the side of your cheek, making your face burn warm because it's the closest thing to a kiss you've had from Finn. Except for the one time you gave him mouth to mouth, which doesn't count. Your heart races against Finn's chest as soon as you think the hug can't get any hotter. Finn pulls you up to him and tears your lower clothes, including your underwear, leaving you blushing profusely. "Whoa! Take it easy, there! You're at least twice my size-!" Instead of warning him, it made you want him even more. Particularly now that his heart-shaped paws have turned you over in such a way that your private parts are in full view of his ravenous glare, lapping you and leaving behind enough saliva to give the impression that he was drinking water from a bowl, Finn's tongue stimulation has you jerking and squirming in his grasp as the ecstasy takes over your body and senses.

"Won't let you go" Hugwolf Finn growls greedily. Finn left you so stunned that you were unable to recognize that he had flipped you again, with your back against his chest and both legs raised as he tried to slide inside of you. Finn kept trying to push the leaking tip of his cock inside of you, but it kept slipping away and brushing against your sensitive areas, so you cried out in desperation and grabbed hold of his heated shaft, hoping to guide it straight into your waiting insides. You give a strained, "Oh fuck-!" as Finn doesn't wait for you to calm down and just begins pounding on you like there's no tomorrow. But he also hugs you while you're gasping and groaning, giving you sloppy hugwolf kisses and lovingly telling you how nice you feel.

You imagined he'd already filled you to the full with his entire cock, but there's a lovely little surprise waiting for you just at the base of his length, something round and throbbing, like an unexpected gift wrapped in a gorgeous knot. "Fiiinnn... I don't know if it'll fit... But, but... I want it inside! All of you!" You gasp at the extra heat stuffing you full, practically swaying your hips in sync with Finn's just to try to match his speed to no effect. But who needs speed when the rhythm of this dirty dance begins to lose its pace as you climax right here on Finn's hugwolf cock. Your smaller form twitches in the aftermath as Finn pumps you up full of his warm cum, unable to measure how much of it there is due to his knot keeping you in place, but hey at least you accomplished your mission.

"Hah... I did it~ I'll be keeping you here until Jake comes back with the cure..." You say with a triumphant smile as Finn cuddles up to you like you're a teddy bear. Although now that you think about it, this hugwolf curse isn't so bad, deep down you hope it'll take a while for them to find that cure.

[enchantingkryptoniteheart-blog]

Best of Intentions - character development - relationship building - snippet #2

They reached the eastern part of the forest that lay in the shadows at the foot of the Lonely mountain. Thorin saw Dwalin and the guards pacing the line of the forest, their horses antsy.

 

Thorin cursed under his breath as he scanned farther up the treeline.

 

“Am I mistaken or is this where they found those…things.” Kili grimaced as his dismounted and walked up towards Dwalin and the other guards.

 

“You are not mistaken, Prince Kili. We have been trying to clear them out but haven’t cleared this area yet. “One of the guards answered.

 

Thorin heard Fili groan quietly as he fought the urge to shudder at the memory of what their currently infestation was. The forest surrounding the Lonely Mountain had shot up and filled out quickly after the defeat of Smaug. That unfortunately had been an invitation for the unwelcome visitors. Thranduil had been relentless in his hunting of them, and many had fled into these shadowed woods.

 

“We will split up. We have to find her quickly. She has no idea they even exist.” Thorin jumped off his calmed steed and tied him off to a fallen log.

 

“Do you think that’s wise Uncle?” Fili whispered to him, his eyes nervously scanning the dense wood.

 

“We have no choice. The longer she’s in there, the higher the chance she’s caught. And I know she has no weapon.”  Thorin growled. He looked over at Dwalin and the guards, who all shared a knowing look before nodding in understanding.

 

“Make it quick. In and out.” Dwalin ordered gruffly before he chose a direction.

 

“Watch each other's backs.” Thorin gave a pointed look to his nephews before he chose an area that looked disturbed. His grip tightened on the hilt of Orcist as he pushed through the undergrowth as quiet as possible.

 

Thorin lost track of the minutes as he crept through the brush. He scanned diligently, his ears straining for any sound of movement or her distinctive voice. He could pick her out of a loud, crowded room he was so fine tuned to her presence. As the minutes passed, he grew increasingly worried for her safety.

 

In the light that flickered through the green canopy of trees his eyes were drawn to a piece of fabric that hung snagged in a broken branch. He crouched down and gently tugged it free, rubbing it with his fingers as a not-so-subtle trail of crushed bushes and upturned moss emerged before him.

 

His jaw clenched as his eyes narrowed in determination. It was a fresh trail.  He quickened his pace as he followeditl, and before long he heard a muffled, yet distinctly frustrated voice.

 

“No! No! You come here right now! I’m sorry I pushed you too far, I thought we had reached an understanding last night!”

 

He slowly looked around a moss-covered tree trunk and peered into the small clearing where we he found a very roughed up Mistlynn and irate mare in a challenging stare off.

He scanned her for any apparent injury, due to the obvious evidence that she had been clearly thrown off into a giant bramble of bushes and wet earth.

Her riding braid was completely unraveled and snared with broken twigs, stickers and leaves that stuck out in every angle atop her head. Her riding breaches and jacket were jaggedly ripped in several places while wet leaves and mud covered her, her face streaked with fine bloodied scratches and decaying forest matter.

 

He let out a breath of relief seeing that she was holding herself upright on both legs, both hands placed defensively on her hips as she glared at the white mare. She whirled around at the sound of his breath rushing out of his chest, her eyes wide in horror.

 

“What are you doing here?” she huffed, her already ruddy cheeks flushing even hotter under his icy gaze.

 

“Looking for you!” He growled, his relief quickly shifting into agitation as he quickly scanned the forest around them. “We have to leave, now.” He grabbed her hand and began to pull her towards him.

 

She wrenched her hand out of his grip, eyes flashing. “I am fine! You didn’t need to come after me. I got this under control.”

 

Thorin raised his eyebrows as he looked at her incredulously. “Of course, how stupid of me to assume you were in need of assistance.”  He gestured sharply at her ragged appearance. “I didn’t realize this wasn’t a new look for you.”

 

Mistlynn’s nostrils flared. “I don’t need you running to my aid at every turn! How did you even know I was here?”

 

Thorin blinked slowly at her before a deep chuckle rumbled his chest as he shook his head. “It was hard to miss the ruckus that erupted from our stables when you decided to go for an unexpected joyride on a runaway horse that is as good as wild.”

 

Mistlynn swallowed visibly. “You saw that?”

 

“Hard to miss a white horse with a screeching dam jumping the paddock fence. I would be impressed if I didn’t know it was unintentional.”

 

“I did not screech.” Mistlynn huffed as she turned away from him indignantly. “There is no need for you to stay here, I will get her back to the Erebor.”

 

“You are coming back with me now. Sod the horse.”

 

She whirled back to face him, her eyes wide in outrage. “No! absolutely not! I will not leave her out here to fend for herself. It is my fault she is out here.”

 

“I will send my master trainer back to retrieve her. It is not safe here we must leave now.”  

 

Mistlynn threw her arms up in the air.  “No! I will not leave without her.”

 

Thorin took a step towards her, so that she was forced to look up at him while trying to maintain her defiant stance with his close proximity. She watched the muscles in his jaw tick as his stormy eyes bore into her, making a shiver ripple down her spine as her stomach erupted with the fluttering butterflies she loathed.

“If you refuse to come with me willingly, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of this forest in front of my nephews and my guard.” 

She swallowed thickly at his threat, his deep voice unbelievably low.

 

“You wouldn’t dare.” She hissed challengingly.

 

“Would I not?” he shot back.

 

A clicking sound seemed to echo through the treetops, rattling the branches. Mistlynn didn’t miss how Thorin immediately tensed at the noise. She heard the mare shriek in alarm before turning and bolting off deeper into the forest.

 

She gasped, moving as if to chase the horse but Thorin grabbed her firmly and pulled her towards him. She looked over, her protest dying on her lips as soon as she saw the look on his face. He held his sword at the ready as he scanned the treetops above them, his face grim.

 

“What was that?” she whispered, suddenly aware of how quiet the forest had gotten. She hadn’t realized at some point how the birds had stopped singing. She had been too distracted with trying to lure the mare back to her; then their following argument.

 

“We have to move. Now.” He growled lowly as he switched his grip from her arm to her hand.

She tried to ignore the nervous fluttering’s that raced through her as his fingers interlaced with hers tightly. He pulled her directly behind him, so that his broad shoulders and chest could shield her if needed.

 

He was protecting her.

 

She blinked as it registered. The King of Erebor was protecting her?

 

She pulled her hand out of his and stepped back.  Thorin whirled around to look at her, surprise and irritation evident on his face. “What are you-“

 

“I should be making sure YOU get out of here in one piece. Why are you protecting me?”

 

Thorin’s jaw went slack momentarily. “Excuse me?”

 

“You're the King! Why are you here, if it is so dangerous to be out here? Shouldn't it be you who is being protected from whatever danger that is out here?” She hissed, gesturing wildly between them.

 

Thorin cocked his head to the side, studying her as if she had grown a third eye on her forehead. He pressed his lips into a thin line as he seemed to process her words, his expression somewhere between alarm and indignation. “In what realm would you ever think that my safety is to be placed above yours?”

 

She was taken aback at his answering question, but before she could form a response her eyes grew focused on something just over his shoulder. Her eyes grew wide in alarm, her mouth opening as if to scream.

He spun around quickly, wielding Orcist with a frightening accuracy that cleaved a long legged spider the size of a midsized dog in two. It dropped to the forest floor, its legs twitching and rustling the brush underneath them.

 

“What in Mahal’s name is that?” Mistlynn gasped in horror as she stared, unable to take her eyes off the grotesque creature in front of her.

 

Thorin grabbed her hand again and pulled her into a sprint. “There are many more where that baby came from. Its parents are much larger.”

 

“Larger?” she shrieked as she fell into a run alongside him. “What are those things? It looked like a –“

 

Three more fell from the canopy around them, two in front of them one in back seemingly out of nowhere. Thorin attacked the two advancing upon them viciously, hacking at their legs before aiming for their fanged heads. Mistlynn took note immediately that these one's, were indeed, bigger. More like the size of a large ponies.

 

Her skin crawled in disgust as she heard the monsters screech as Orcist’s blade severed their limbs. The third one was skittering quickly towards her where her back was facing Thorin’s.

She cursed under her breath that she didn’t have any weapon on hand. She scanned the forest floor in front of her and spied a fallen branch.

She grabbed it, quick enough that she was able to wallop the spider on its head with the club like base of the branch.

 

It hissed aggressively at her as its fangs dripped with venom, spewing towards her. Her stomach recoiled at the sight as she spun deftly, bringing the branch down on one of its side legs, crushing it with the force of her blow.

 

The spider screeched at the impact before lunging at her, its quickness taking her off guard. She felt so out of her element she found herself struggling. It was one thing to fight a frost drake, but another to fight a giant bug that she had never seen bigger than her thumb nail.

The spider grabbed onto her boot and took her down before she could register what had happened as it began to drag her through the underbrush. With an outraged yell she brought the branch down on its head with a sickening crunch.

It released her boot with a blood curdling squeal, she panted as she brought the branch back over head to hit it again. In a flash of black, Thorin jumped in front of her, cleaving the spider in half.

She didn’t realize she was trembling until the branch fell from her shaking hands. Thorin whirled around, his eyes frantic. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

 

She shook her head as she fought to calm her nerves. She had never seen such disgustingly evil creatures before. He quickly pulled her to her feet, his eyes scanning over her quickly, his gaze leaving goosebumps in its wake like she had been submerged in ice water.

 

His apparent worry for her both scared and thrilled her. The only one who had ever shown such worry over her had been Argos, and he was gone, because of her.

Her throat suddenly felt swollen as she tried to brush that thought aside.

 

More of the chittering noises cascaded down above their heads. His head shot up, his expression darkening as he scanned the treetops. “Run, that way. Don’t stop!” He pushed her ahead of him.

 

She stumbled as she looked him, fear rushing up somewhere deep within her at the thought of him staying behind. “I’m not leaving you.”

 

He growled as he grabbed her and pushed her forward again. “I will be right behind you. Just run and don’t look back.”

 

“But-“

 

“Run! Now!” he thundered, his eyes flashing with a powerful emotion that made her heart stop. A similar expression had been on Argo’s face that day he pushed her out of the way. Her body tensed at the harshness of the command. She turned and bolted ahead before she could second guess, but was relieved her hear him running directly behind her.

 

She could hear scurrying behind them, and her chest tightened in dread.

 

“Keep running!” Thorin commanded, as if sensing that she was fighting the urge to look over her shoulder.

She leapt over a fallen log, her boots sliding in the waterlogged leaves as soon as she landed. She stumbled slightly before regaining her footing and began to weave through the dense trees.

 

She could see the edge of the forest ahead, a line of buttery light gleaming through the thick canopy and branches. “I see the treeline!” She shouted ecstatically, her adrenaline pulsing through her. She slowed her running when she didn’t hear his response or hear his heavy footsteps behind her. She skidded to a stop and turned sharply, her breathe labored as dread filled her.

 

She could hear him grunting with an occasional yell of aggression in the short distance. She grit her teeth in determination as she scanned the forest floor around her. She eyed another branch, and a smooth rock partially concealed with moss that would fit perfectly in her hand. She picked them up and sprinted towards the sounds of fighting.

 

As she neared, she saw him surrounded by another five spiders between the sizes of a large dog to a full-grown reindeer. She narrowed her eyes in rage at the loathsome creatures. She channeled that rage into a lethal ferocity as she braced herself for battle. She ran up on a fallen tree, launching herself off of it and onto the back of one of the spiders that had been trying to sink its fangs into his leg.

 

With a savage war cry erupting from deep within her chest, she brought the rock down onto the spiders head with a sickening crunch, making the creature crumple upon impact.

She whirled around, her branch coming into contact with another spider, uppercutting the beast right between the fangs with the thicker end of the stick before ramming the rock into its face repeatedly with a savagery she had learned to weaponize from a young age.

 

Her eyesight became tinged with a hazy red as she zeroed in on her foe, her initial disgust forgotten as the rush of battle coursed through her. It became a blur, swing after swing, branch and rock alternating in lethal rhythm. She heard a snap from behind her, prompting her to act on instinct, the hand holding the spider gored rock flying out to take out whatever was coming up from behind her.

 

A strong, callused hand enveloped hers with a firm grip, stopping her with an abruptness that made her torso protest. She looked up, chest heaving as she blinked away the haze. Familiar eyes of a stormy sea met her fierce green, both bright and feverish from the rush of battle.

 

Thorin’s lips quirked up into a playful smirk as he took her in, in all her crazed, bug slaying glory. “You’re such a savage thing.” He chuckled, despite standing in the middle of crushed and twitching bodies of mulched spiders. He flicked his gaze over to her hand, still clutching the rock covered with the gore of her victims. “All with a mere rock and stick.” He mused. “Now that is impressive.”

 

She released the rock and stick simultaneously as she took a step back, shaking her head as if waking herself from a daze. She flexed her hands, willing them to relax after clutching her makeshift weapons so tightly.

She cleared her throat, “I had to make do, given my current circumstance.”

 

“Which is why I told you to keep running for the edge of the forest and to not look back.” He pointed out with a raised brow, his tone more amused than scolding.

 

“I wasn’t going to leave you alone with those …. things.” She pointed an accusing finger at the one larger spider that lay dead by her feet. “Do you have any idea how bad it would look if I made it back to your kingdom without you? As if they would believe me that giant spiders ate you.”

 

Thorin huffed a laugh as he wiped the blade of his sword on a moss-covered log. “Is this going to become a habit, You running about and doing the exact opposite of what I tell you to do?”

 

Mistlynn folded her arms over her chest as she bristled at the jab. “Perhaps? Are you going to make it a habit of telling me what to do?”  She forced a close lipped smile on her face, before turning her back to him and began to walk towards the treeline.

TAGLIST:

@fizzyxcustard @mrsdurin @lathalea @exhausted-humxn-being @dustie-faerie

[theresattrpgforthat]

Learning How to Play Protect the Child: Part 5: Rest Stops.

If you have never played a Forged in the Dark game before, picking up one can be intimidating, and that includes Protect the Child. In Part 1, I introduced the Action Roll, as well as Position & Effect. In Part 2, I talk about assembling your dice. In Part 3, I talked about Resistance, and in Part 4, I brought up stress and how it works uniquely in Protect the Child.

Today, I’m going to talk about Rest Stops and bonding. In Blades in the Dark, every mission undertaken is followed by something called Downtime, which gives your characters a chance to heal from harm, work on long term projects, and mitigate their stress. In Protect the Child, however, this works a little bit differently.

After the monsters have completed a significant obstacle or found a natural break in the story, the group will shift to a Rest Stop. This is a moment for your characters to breathe, bond, and figure out how to parent.

There are two options for actions you can take during a Rest Stop: bonding with the Child, and bonding with each-other.

When you bond with the Child, you are doing one of two things: helping them work through their Emotions, or building a relationship of Trust.

If the Child is feeling angry, sad, or another emotion, your character will need to find a way to connect with them and help them process what they’re feeling. You will roll dice and add any pips you have in Heart. As usual, if you have no pips in Heart, you must roll 2 dice and take the lowest; although you can spend stress just like you would if you were undertaking an Action Roll.

You can also Bond with the Child when they don’t have any Emotions marked. You’ll still roll Heart, but what you get from the results will change.

As you can see, helping a kid who doesn’t quite have a handle on their emotions can be quite stressful! Now let’s talk about a way you can try to mitigate some of that Stress.

Your other option during a Rest Stop is to bond with each-other. The player who chooses this action describes a short scene that involves their character and one other player character. The instigator of this action then has a chance to confront the other character about an Impression that they’ve developed over the course of their acquaintance.

The recipient of this question has two options: to respond honestly to the question or confrontation, or not. If they respond honestly, both the instigator and the recipient clear 2 stress. If they lie, evade, or refuse to respond, only the instigator clears 2 stress.

After two people bond with each-other, both characters have an opportunity to change their Impressions of each-other. This change could be for better or worse!

Finally, at the end of the Rest Stop, you can clear some of your Knocks. Minor Knocks (Level 1) go away. Moderate Knocks (Level 2) are downgraded to Minor, and Major Knocks (Level 3) are downgraded to Moderate.

There is a longer version of Rest Stops, called Time Passes, that can also take place in campaigns of Protect the Child, but I think we’ll save those rules for another time!

Next week, I’ll talk about the Trust Track and player Weaknesses!

If you want to start learning how to play Protect the Child, I recommend taking a look at the Google Spreadsheets linked on the store page and flipping through the character tabs. The Quickstart characters are 90% fleshed out and can give you an idea of what different character pieces can look like, and there’s a rules reference for how to roll underneath the stats for each character.

I also believe that playing is one of the easiest ways to learn, so if you want some hands on experience, hop into the playtest discord! There is at least one game happening every week designed to be easy for first-timers to hop into and give it a whirl.

If you want to read more about Forged in the Dark play, you can check out my intro to Forged in the Dark, as well as my explanation of clocks!

[wildbluesorbit]

London II: Uncensored || JTK

18+MDNI

LONDON SERIES MASTERPOST

Paring: Jakexreader(f)

A/N: Howdy! I am honestly so nervous about the turn of this story. Although London is only my first, and is honestly a big smut sandwich, I’m a whore for character development and really wanted to challenge myself to dive into the potential of these characters …for now. This piece in particular exists in two variations. In the interest of everyone looking for the easier read, mama @tommie-gvf advised a revision to care for all their soft readers, which dawned the “London: Refined” alteration. However, for all my trauma junkies alike you’re in the right place. I still wanted to share my original draft for the full teeth-gritting, soul-grating, angsty flourish. I’m really crossing my fingers y’all enjoy the twists and turns to come but I am honestly already awed by all the love received. As always I am very open to criticism so pretty please let me know what you think!

p.s. I apologize for all these alliterations you’re about to read

Summary || Wounds fresh and head spinning, you try and find your footing without Jake in the picture. However, you are found by the dawn of a different peril.

Content Warnings || toxic relationship, depressive disposition, sickness such as fever, fatigue, vertigo, nausea, vomiting, and fainting, verbal aggression, graphic depictions of physical aggression/voilence/sexual assault and bodily injuries such as bruising, gashing, swelling and inflammation, and body aches, ptsd, nervous breakdown, mentions of alcoholic consumption and drugging, brief mentions of being undressed and bathed while unconscious, technical kidnap, allusions to rape

Word Count || 7.4k+

The sweeping sound of the door swinging shut behind Jake only solidifies his parting words. Like a fool praying for snow in the desert, you remain still, naively pinning for him to rush back through that door and take back what he said. You swear to every star if he will just reappear you’ll forgive and forget every trivial thing he’s said to hurt you.

You are more than capable of leading a fruitful life without him, you just have no desire to. With every molecule of your being you ache for him to please just walk back through that door.

When he doesn’t, you can’t help the hot tears that now downpour.

Consternation weighs heavy on your limbs with the understanding of just how bonded you had become with the concept that there is always a next time with Jake. You had taken advantage, maybe even abused, his phone number underneath your finger on speed dial; you became cozy in the comfort of knowing that when you pressed it he would always answer.

It harrows you to think Jake might be right. Maybe you are no good for each other. Maybe he did the right thing. Too little too late is a cruel ascertainment; Jake is not just an ecstasy, a high you procured an addiction for, but he had become a sanctuary. One you’ve never met in anyone else. A shelter not even you could provide for yourself and like a child you went and broke it.

You will your begrudging limbs to ooze forward but as soon as your feet lead their trek the walls around you begin to whirl worse than before. You don’t dare let it deter you though; you fear the grief that threatens to swallow you whole in that very bathroom if you’re to stop for air.

You catch the corners of the sink for stability, your disheveled appearance ruthlessly relays your casualties. You smooth your hair down, wipe your running mascara, and run your hands down your skirt.

You sloppily make your exit out of the bathroom, no longer being able to withstand the ghosts of the haunted room where Jake had just kissed you goodbye.

You spill into the hall and rashly scour for any signs of your deserter. You figure he’s fled from the flat entirely as his twin has now vanished as well. Despite the vertigo, you propel yourself towards the table where Claire is without a Kiszka twin as well, but is now flirting with her own stranger.

Positively glowing, she radiates delight. A presence to be demolished by the foreboding whirlwind that you are. The last thing you want is to be the helpless girl who’s best friend can’t finish her regaling tale of a handsome stranger because of your shitshow, especially when Claire has made her stance sorely evident.

Mercy for Claire’s night presents itself in the form of a fleeting drive-by. You swiftly breeze past with a sweeping touch on her shoulder and briefly whisper in her ear that you need some air and are going to step out for a minute.

You know she protests but you make it your mission to distance yourself by half the room by the time she can process your abrupt bulletin and conceptualize her inquiries of, “But..," and, "What happened?”

It helps that your vertigo has germinated past tolerance; the sensation demands you not slow down or your body might continue its course without you, making a rolling tumbleweed out of you, held prisoner by this illness’s tempestuous winds.

You clumsy and cleat a path through the thicket of socializing bodies until you finally topple into an exit. You sling your body mass against the heavy portal to be transported to a stairwell that you pray spits you out in the main street.

You thrust yourself upon the railing and cling to it as you slosh down the stairs like a teetering toddler. The stairway traffic makes its way around you as if you are some stationary obstacle, some even slow down to behold the scene unraveling on the steps. Fortunately, the only concern that permeates through the fumes is the night’s cool air at the bottom of the staircase that promises remedy, and you have only a flight to go.

You brake your staggering down the incline to briefly rest against the wall. Fatigue has found a home as it settles in your bones. However, regret seeks you out the moment you become motionless as the spinning now invites a monstrous nausea.

Your want for fresh air has mutated into a need for your own bed. Any and all will to stay awake evaporates into the torrid air, and the concept of supporting your own weight any longer than necessary becomes a daunting notion.

You coach yourself into mobility again, telling yourself that you just need to make it out to the street and into a cab. You would feel better after you have a chance to recompose in a taxi until you reach your flat.

After you endure the marathon of the final flight, you achieve ground level; the price being your senses, including your best judgment, fogged by the fever’s stupor.

Foolishly, you pour out through the first exit door you spot and catch your weight against the opposing wall of a narrow alley.

You clamber against the wall a bit further to see where the alley lets out. By the time you realize the backway has no outlet the door has swung itself shut, the unnerving slam of the metal mass sending a jolt through your entire frame

You sluggishly creep back towards the door, your stomach kneading itself into nauseating knots as you discover the steel barricade is locked from the inside with no way back to shelter. With your sickly strength, you bang and beat on the door, begging for someone to free you.

You can barely hear your own knocks suffocated beneath the overbearing bass. Having foolishly spent what was so little of your energy left on trying to be heard through the steel frame, you finally accept that no one is going to find you unless they come looking for you.

You slump back against the wall once more, the fever journeys to the pit of your stomach. You hunch over, your weight finding balance against the brick wall and some sort of electrical box as your whole body begins to tremble devoutly. You burn alive as the high-grade heat rises to your face and you expel your guts right there.

Having all frail muscles tense up in commitment to the deed, you plunge to your knees and land on all fours. As soon as you feel able, you rock back on your legs and wipe the residual sickness from your mouth. You optimistically anticipate the familiar wave of relief to wash over you but it never arrives.

This sickness was not brought on by alcohol, this is something else entirely.

You momentarily careen, scrambling to summon strength to find your way back on two feet again just as the alley door swings open and you hear Hunter gasp out your name.

He runs over to you, paying absolutely no mind to the door due to shut behind him.

“The door,” you wheeze out and weakly gesture towards the entryway just as the lock clicks securely.

“What- Oh, I’ve got a key, don’t worry,” he mumbles as he leans down to gain access to you, “What happened?”

Your touch shoots for Hunter’s shoulders to regain your structure and you prompt him to help you back inside. Your request generates something of an indecipherable grimace to dart across his features. You can see the cogs turning in his head and you find your hands instinctively retract back to your sides. You watch the prospect of salvation wither away before you.

He must recognize your sudden vigilance as he immediately agrees to comply, but only after he’s made sure you’re okay. Hunter bluntly forces his mulish hands to your waist and sharply hoists you up against the wall, triggering upsetting shards to pierce your aching muscles.

Once you become vertical, you expect him to retire as your personal forklift and give you breathing room but he instead confines himself within your orbit, hands still digging into your hips.

“Okay, I’m up now,” you try to shoo him, “Would you just open the door?”

“Not yet,” he protests impetuously.

No longer bothered to maintain the cordial facade, Hunter’s gaze is now fully enamored by your pallid body; panic’s tide rising higher and higher.

His hands, ice cold against your feverish skin, shocks a hiss from you as his fingers slither their way under the hem of your top. He shrilly hushes you and takes liberty to plod his trail upwards towards your ribs. Forcibly, Hunter dips his fingertips into every ridge in your cage, eliciting another pained sibilation from you.

You make an effort to jerk away from his molestive frisking but are far too wasted to make any sort of adequate escapade. You huff at your defeat as your exertion only results in you scantily swaying to the side. A defenseless speck absurdly fighting to escape the current it's been sentenced to.

You manage to limply place your hands against his chest in an attempt to disturb his afflictions.

“I’m just trying to help,” Hunter poorly disguises his unwelcomed touch as a well-intentioned examination of your health.

With your hands still planted against his sternum you thrust in order to pry him off, but you know the only force you create is a dull pressure, your fingertips barely even sinking into his flesh. He almost snickers at your second failed escape; fatigue only setting in deeper by the second.

“Get off me you, fucking creep,” you grunt, still sickly yet stubbornly squirming.

“Oh, really-,” he hisses, ”you were so into it earlier though. Why are you being such a fucking bitch now?”

Hunter intrusively shoves his gangly frame into yours, further crushing your achy flesh into the callous concrete rooted against your backside.

He brutally crowds your head with his, invading your earshot, “Keep squirming if you want to make this worse for yourself.”

You ignore his warnings and he closes in trying to force his mouth onto yours. His foul breath reeks of liquor, cigarettes, and an unidentifiable sulphuric odor that stirs your nausea. You snap your head to the side to gag.

“Be that way but your body won’t be able to fight off that drug much longer. I’m only taking what would have been mine had that wanker not ruined my night.”

And there it is, he confirms your suspicion of foul play and you immediately remember how he brought you a drink and seemed so pleased when you finished it. But this isn’t what angers you most from his admission, but the way he slanders Jake.

The very thought of Jake’s name in Hunter’s cruel disparaging mouth catapults you to new heights of contempt. He doesn’t even know Jake and doesn’t deserve to. How could he possibly categorize your Jake and a piece of shit like himself in the same league.

Although the last few affairs had been less than ideal, you had seen the most concentrated parts of Jake. To most he is some mysterious charismatic poetic rockstar invention of a man, but whether he meant to or not, Jake had let you behind the curtain to reveal the inventor.

You found behind the facade is a truly kind and attentive man. A man who loves to laugh and will do whatever he can to bring a smile to anyone else. A man who hides behind big words because he still gets nervous when he speaks. Someone who doesn’t like being angry and always tries to be the bigger person. Someone raised on chaos, morality, and the classics. And no matter what he endures, he’s a family man first. He likes to operate on a low profile but won’t hesitate to become loud and brash to make sure everyone around him is taken care of. A delicate wholesome rarity. To know Jake is to love him and you know anything he asks of you is already his.

Therefore, hearing Hunter traduce Jake’s name like some foul swear, only to implicate your night that would always belong to Jake was actually his set you ablaze.

You rear your head back towards Hunter’s face and spit on target, “Let go of me you sick fuck!”

He flinches as your saliva coats his face and his lip peels back in a snarl of disgust. You can’t help but feel some regain of control as one of his hands releases you to wipe his new glaze.

You unwisely decree this your opportunity to flee, gaining some advantage by shoving him away. Yet, Hunter only refills the space and barbarically thrusts you back into his pinhold. Your vulnerable skin catches the teeth of the exposed brick as it grates into your backside, eliciting a broken cry from you.

He irately swipes the back of his hand over the rest of his contaminated features and lifts it to the air in a fist. He tempestuously brings it down to make agonizing contact between your eye and cheekbone.

The sudden blow sends trauma throbbing throughout your head. The abrupt pain bleeding into the drug induced haze is paralyzing. You stand apathetic, striving to stay conscious at this point. Hunter matches his left forearm up to your shoulders to pin you against the wall and he moves his right to untie your blouse Jake had just gracefully done up minutes before. He yanks the material off your shoulders, the dark’s frigid wind and Hunter’s greedy gawk pricks your helpless frame against your concession.

Hunter reaches his hand to grope you freely now, lingering in annoyance where you're sure the love marks Jake had left behind are beginning to develop.

Even as hope for some sort of salvation begins to flicker out, you refuse to concede in your tussle to shimmy out of his hold.

He lets out an offended grunt, as if you are being a rude victim. He rolls his eyes and moves swiftly and precisely to jab you in the ribs, knocking all air out of your lungs and remaining will from your limbs; as well as pummel whatever fortitude your body was using to brave the drug’s gravity.

“I don't even know why you’re being so stubborn, you’re little wanker boyfriend isn’t around to see what a slut you are,” he growls through concentration and clenched teeth.

Out of all the elaborate ways he could have invented to torment you, this cuts you deepest. Simply because he is right.

Jake isn’t here. And it’s all your fault. If you hadn’t driven him away, you wouldn’t be here.

You’ve never possessed a moment more worthless than this moment. The thought of Jake seeing you like this is a weight you are sure you wouldn’t survive. You hope to never see him again. He would be absolutely heartbroken.

All the torment and tears you had stifled while fighting for your freedom suddenly bubbles and bursts to the surface. You are startled by the loud ugly sob that leaves you. A howl so eerie and animalistic, you hardly recognize it as your own. You immediately throw your head up in a sharp inhale to abolish any other cries that plan to escape on their own accord, as if this would preserve some portion of your pride.

Hunter forcibly snatches your jaw into his hand and steers your face towards his so that no matter how you maneuver you are forced to hold him. His pupils swivel back and forth across your face studying this new breed of terror your eyes produce.

He curtly arrives at a diagnosis, “Oh, I see, he broke you.”

The last fiber of your sanity slipped through your clenched fists: the notion no matter how fucked up he was, he couldn’t possibly read how shattered you are. The only thought keeping your head just above the violent current.

But he now stripped that from you too.

The concept that he might feel some perverted pity for you only diminishes your spirit further. But as quickly as it comes, he zones back into his mission.

Instead of returning his hand to your chest, Hunter travels to fumble with the zipper of your skirt. As he struggles to pull it open, clarity of what is about to take place cuts through the smog. You contemplate what is about to be stolen from you and just how powerless you are to stop it; how you will most likely struggle with the unrelenting haunt of this moment for the rest of your days.

Your pathetic shrieks voidly echoes throughout the lifeless alleyway, “Stop! No- Red- Get off- please!”

He grows impatient, demanding you shut up as a note of tattering intersects your imploration. He mercilessly pinches the hem of your skirt and tears the material apart, the two assaulted shreds hanging from your hips granting him full access.

Enslaved to complete stupor, he’s admitted to run his fingers over the waistband of your underwear.

You finally accept this as your fate. You accept that this will be the horror story you will have to recite everytime someone inevitably asks why you are so prodigiously fucked up. You accept this is the warning label you will have to tow around for the rest of your existence.

Your teary vision starts to tunnel and you finally feel your conscious giving way to the void. You just hope it consumes you before his deed.

Just then, you feel a gap finally open between you and your oppressor. You spill onto unkind asphalt once again, scrambling to register what has occurred but you're unable to refocus. The only sight you can identify is the hazy reflective neon glow against the wet blacktop.

You flail about on the ground to best cover your indecency. As you can’t see, you listen for any clue of the phenomenon proceeding just above your head, except your audio is now faltering too.

You hear the slurs of two tussling and shouting. In between the intervals of din, a familiar rasp of your name rips through the tumultuous turbulence to grace your ears. Then again. And again.

You snap your head upwards to decipher whether this is just another trick of the drug. You can only make out his silhouette as your line of sight slowly becomes clouded with black spots.

It is Jake. It has to be. You need it to be.

Yet, you do not trust your senses as they are obviously failing. You hold your hand out to ward off the figure now reaching for you and faintly crawl away. The being flinches at your motion and frets your name out like a mantra, begging for something you can’t seem to process.

However, the poison in your blood holds no regard for this development. You are suddenly enwrapped in the amplified feverish fire you felt earlier and almost immediately eject the rest of your stomach.

All tension finally leaves your muscles as your body becomes a burden too heavy to support upright. You recognize the sensation of falling backwards but everything becomes so still, so quiet, so black before you ever feel the ground cruelly collide with you.

It's the sensation of the cool crisp white bed linens caressing your dormancy heated skin that wakes you. You force your lead heavy eyelids open and peer around what you suspect is a hotel room.

The space is dark except for a halo of light around the blackout curtained window, so you know it is daytime wherever you are. You tense in a stretch, freeing your bones of the deep slumber you had just escaped. You feel as if you have been asleep for a thousand years and struggle to recall anything existing before the darkness.

The recollection of how you ended up bedridden rushes through your mind in a searing headache. You spring yourself upward to find that the nausea and vertigo has left you but the febrile aching and a throbbing head remains.

Your first instinct is to flee until all at once your senses flurry with him.

Jake’s aroma fills the sheets and emits from your skin as well. You seek refuge in the sight of his well-loved shirt draped against your torso; along with a pair of boxers, and fuzzy socks. You assume he must have helped you shower and dress at some point.

You reach over to tug the remaining blanket off your limbs, the simple shoulder motion detonates a chain reaction of sore strain all over your body. A pain induced squeal resonates through you and against the foreign vanilla walls of the vapid hotel room.

You freeze and bite your bottom lip in an effort to stifle any other oncoming cries. You survey the room as if your siren can disturb anything within the lifeless compartment.

Nothing.

You draw in a deep breath against your aching rib’s wishes and wincingley scoot to the edge of the mattress to discover the bathroom is a few yards away. You vacillatingly make it on your feet, your legs shake as you stand but you are devoted to wobbling over to the bathroom.

Pitifully exerted from your trek, you throw your balance towards the counter and assign your weight to the marble slab by bracing the edge with your hand; careful to contain your yelps this time. You stabilize yourself before feeling out the wall behind you for a light switch, deliberate in your objective to only move the parts of your body necessary for this daunting task.

Immediately, regret pierces your eyes in blinding light. You swear the sudden attack on your sight is so vile it causes a ringing in your ears. What you logically know is mere seconds, seems to last for hours until your eyes finally focus.

As you cower your head to shield yourself from the bright sting, grisly bruises on your palms and legs that weren't visible in the bedroom are now illuminated.

You laggardly drag yourself over to the full body mirror in hopes the gruesome hues are an optical illusion and your reflection would prove you unharmed. You reexamine the skin in question, only for the glass to cruelly confirm your injuries. Sleeves of sporadic purple, green, yellow, and blue are strewn against your every limb.

You want so badly to be outraged at the sight. To be irate at how you were wronged. Yet the only words your mind will carve out for you are how could you be so foolish and so weak as to let this happen? It only further mocks your grief that you can’t seem to purchase any strand of anger.

But you don't let yourself succumb to the bleakness; your intuition anticipating the worst is yet to come.

You hesitantly raise your shirt to heed the discoloration traveling up your ribs. The sight abruptly brings back the petrifying sensation of Hunter excruciatingly shoving his prickly fingers into the crevices of your torso.

The intrusive recollection makes your stomach swell into your throat. For a brief instant, you think you might have to somehow shuffle to the toilet to be sick but you swallow it down.

You continue to raise your top past your breasts just enough to uncurtain your shoulders. The skin there is littered with dark fingerprint devised bruises.

It isn’t your victimhood now recorded all over your body that corrodes and eats away your insides, but is your inability to differentiate the assault from Jake's love marks. A palette of colors Jake left as a reminder in that moment you had given yourself to him completely; that he’d seen all of you, every last inch, and still he wanted more. He needed to consume you more than physically possible. A token he wants you to think of him just as much as he is thinking of you. A note that no matter how many times he unconvincingly tries to deny that he cares, he blatantly thinks of you as his. An objet d’art now defaced by the stains of a sick thief.

It is getting harder to see your reflection as grief starts to pool in your eyes and any desire you’d once had to examine your abrasions flees. You decide to barrel through the rest of your appraisal as you know your dark inquisitiveness will not let you rest till you have dug up the entirety of this aftermath’s hidden bones.

You try to lift the loose shirt completely from your body but are seized by an inadmissible fire catching throughout the flesh of your backside. Certain strips of your skin feel as if they’d split if you move too fast. Stubbornly, you trudge through the flames, determined to remove the piece of clothing. The sound of air shooting through your clenched teeth joins in with the rustling of the cotton material.

You finally rid yourself of the restriction and twist to see your back in the mirror, your expedition arriving at the concentration of the calamity; your skin tone a minority against the tyrenous bruising.

A shudder delivers the image of savagely being thrashed into that brick wall, rattling around your head like a pinball stuck on its course. A small sob drills its way into the room despite the defense of your palm sealing over your lips.

White rectangular bandages are taped exactly over where you had felt the splintering pressure threatening to tear your skin. You remove your hand from your mouth, no longer bothering to contain your shrills, and contort to the most accessible bandage starting at the bottom of your ribcage and extending to your pelvic bone. Your lethargic inertia only enables you to peel the material off slowly, the adhesive taking its time to part with your raw skin.

Fixating your gaze to your handiwork, you tug the gauze about halfway off to notice it is not white like the outside. The threads are dyed with streaks of dark red, brown, and discharge. Your eyes quickly flit up in the mirror to see a deep vile gash that hasn’t even yet begun to scab.

Your glistening brown eyes now overflow into warm streams down your cheeks. The left side of your face is pierced by a stinging sensation at the introduction of the salty tears.

You realize you have been avoiding your reflection above your shoulders and for the first time since the bar bathroom you allow yourself to study your own face. To your dismay, you discover your left eye and cheekbone are grotesquely swollen and bruised.

Ugly.

There is no other way to put it. No other word your brain would provide. No further way to break it down. You had never felt so broken and unlovable in your life.

You had never felt so fucking ugly.

You futilely attempt to wipe your tears away as they are already being replenished. As you vainly swat at your face your attention is drawn near the nape of your neck; alluring as it is the only pristine scene amongst your features. Your hair has been neatly brushed and delicately laid back into a single looped messy bun; just the way Jake always does his own.

A cruel notion ripples its way throughout your mind. Jake witnessed you beaten in that alley. He graciously undressed and bathed you and aided your wounds. He got to shelter you in his clothes and fix your hair and put you to bed.

And part of you hates him for it. You hate that he got to see you in such a vulnerable odious state. You hate that you let him.

How could he proclaim you are no good for each other only to turn around and take such inordinate care of you? You loathe his words of disownment that crash against such ardent acts of affection for you. This deep level of intimacy is the first for the two of you and most likely the last. Yet, you aren’t even sure if you were conscious, you certainly weren’t in your right mind. You don’t even get to archive the moment. He had no right.

You yank the band from your dotingly tied up hair, tangling it once again and thoroughly erase any evidence it had recently been combed. You thrust the band with as much might as your body will allow, intent for it to land in some bathroom abyss, never to be seen again.

Your glossy eyes dart to the population of hygienic products to pinpoint the first-aid supplies within the cluster. You swing your arm towards the kit, sending the medical equipment soaring off the counter. The clattering din of the tools crashing to the floor reverberates throughout the small room and rings in your ears.

You don’t even realize you are yelling until your voice cracks against you gasping for an air supply. You can’t bear the concept of facing your execrable appearance any longer and find your hands and knees bracing the piercing chill bathroom tile.

You give in to the malaise. You are swallowed whole by your own laments, the suite humming with the songs of your weeping howls. You have no will to ever cease your decimation. No desire to ever lift yourself from this very bathroom tile. You are going to decompose here.

But as quickly as you give in to your grief you are snatched from it. More than startling you, two hands from behind graze around your shoulders. You hadn’t heard any doors open or close, much less were you aware of any life stirring in the room.

Before any discernment or recognition can approach, you careen forward, leading with your pounding chest to cower near the floor.

You blare your terror in a panicked squeal, “No! Get off of me!”

“Whoa-,” the voice announces itself and you immediately recognize the lull as Jake, “hey- babygirl, you’re alright. It's me.”

He circles in front of you with his hands up indicating your safety and crouches down so he is eye level with you. Your favorite eyes, the prettiest pools of amber and fresh autumn now plagued by uneasiness. You immediately dive your beaten face into your hands not wanting to be held by those tormented brown eyes.

“You’re alright, you’re safe,” he passifies.

Jake places his hands to cup yours and slowly peels away the mask they were providing. You fling his hands away with your own and find you gain some unexpected relief from the slight blow.

Instinctually, you start to throw your hands towards him to achieve whatever contact you can, shoving at his shoulders and beating your fists against his soft chest. Jake doesn’t fight back or stop you or even protest. He only scrunches his eyes shut and lets out a shaky exhale; as if you are some toddler and he is simply tolerating your tantrum. He cups your jaw, freezing your thrashing movements.

He searches your eyes through his glassy ones and begins to fuss, “I know, babygirl, I’m so sorry.”

His sentiment does little to console you though. You shove him from your vicinity harsher this time, releasing you of his touch and knocking off his balance. He gently lands back against the nearby bathtub wall but he is still in reach. He frowns as you gain momentum again, thirsty for a mere drop of the initial remedy your first feeble impact released. Anything to rid you of this eroding ache in your chest.

His eyebrows turn upwards in clemency, which only makes you drive through your swings harder. However, it doesn’t seem to make any difference as he catches one of your wrists in his stark hands mid-swing, and then the other.

In one skillful motion, he jerks you forward into an upward kneeling position by both arms. Jake slings your limbs around his shoulders, causing you to lurch into him. Before you have any chance to protest, he nimbly takes hold of your hips and delivers the rest of your body into his lap.

Every nerve under your skin is on fire with the impulse to retreat, “No, Jake! I’m not worth it!”

Your own words draw light to why you are so hellbent on repelling from Jake’s touch. It hadn’t been that he said you are no good for each other but that some part of you had always felt he is too good for you. That's why when things got tough you would argue and run to someone else. You were constantly trying to flag his attention that never veered from you. He had fooled you with his placid exterior but little did you know you only had to ask and he would grant you the world.

You are not good enough for him, yet he still spoils you and when it came down to it he was your salvation; harbored you away from the monster that had its claws around you.

But you’re more trouble than you are worth. You are tainted now, only baggage he would grow to resent. Jake did not deserve to be dragged down by you. You won’t allow it. You certainly wouldn’t survive it.

You try to evacuate his embrace but he only squeezes you tighter, “I’m sorry, I never should have left you!”

You squirm further, lifting yourself to your knees in preparation to somehow walk away. But Jake is not having it. He clings to your waist and stabilizes you by placing his knees to the back of your thighs.

You frantically beseech him, “Jake, please, there’s no room for junk in your world, trust me.”

He shakes his head and nuzzles his face between your jaw and collarbone, sighing against your neck to speak a muffled decree against your skin, “Don’t speak about yourself that way. You’re more than worth it.”

Your need for space is overwhelming, but your urgency to be held together overpowers anything else in existence. Exhausted from fighting, you let your weary body go limp and melt back into his gravity.

He loosens his arms a bit that are sealed around you, no longer afraid you’re going to make a run for it. Your head heavy, you rest your forehead against his clavicle and your hands center against his supple chest, trapping your arms between bodies as you bend your legs to the side and lean into him.

Your grief returns to you as soon as you stop moving and you concede to its demands. You find that these clamors, though, are different. They’re muffled as they’re collected by someone else. Not echoing void into space, an expression lost and forgotten with no purpose once they’ve passed from you. Now there is someone to record your sorrow, you are no longer just an inconsolable calamitous clutter on the bathroom floor. You let yourself fall apart in the arms of someone you trust can put you back together again.

“Jake, he almost- I-,” you struggle through your hiccuping breaths.

“I know,” he doesn’t pressure you to finish your thought.

Your voice becomes concerningly soft, “You saw?”

“I did,” he gulps.

“I wish you hadn’t,” your shame doesn’t let you speak above a whisper.

“Don’t say that- what if," you can hear his voice begin to crack and splinter, rendering him unable to finish the unbearable horror, "what if I hadn't been there in time? What if I hadn’t- you could have-”

For the first time it occurs to you that you are not the only victim. You imagine Jake must have lost his mind at the sight of you. You most definitely would have been petrified if the roles were reversed. And though he doesn’t owe you a thing he took you upon himself as his own responsibility. He acted while his mind must have been racing up and down, pondering the right thing to do. Whether you would wake up okay or not. Whether you’d wake up and blame him. Would you forgive him for leaving?

But you would never blame Jake for this. Even if you had, you’d never been capable of sentencing Jake to your storm for long. You’d forgiven him so many times before for a hundred things and you would continue to do so for the next ten-thousand offenses. And you prayed he’d never wake one day with enough sense to forget about you because you know now that you need him in this new season.

“Jake, hold me tighter,” you heedlessly pule, acutely aware of how needy and demented you sound, consumed by the exigency to be closer to him than ever, “tighter, please?”

“I want to, baby, more than you know, but I don’t want to hurt you,” he fretts.

You could hear the compulsion to accommodate you in his trembling tone and the sudden tense of his arms that carefully circled around you.

“How could I be so invisible? I feel like some foul disposable thing,” your own words ambush you.

A blubbering tumble into the air on their own perturbing accord; subconscious thoughts you had not dared let slither into the forefront of your reality. Mere shadows come from the corners of your mind that have expedited any real contemplation.

“And I know I'm not supposed to but I feel like this is all my fault,” you sob out the confession.

Your sadistic ears register the fractious cries inhabiting the small room now as the same ones that haunted you in the alley. Sounds you hadn’t known you were capable of prior to your casualty. You have no idea whether the grotesque marks along your body would stay with you in a scar but you know that this despairing tune was one of an everlasting requiem and these tears would never dry.

Jake pulls away from you to tug his sleeves over his fists. He examines your face and shakes his head before swiping his cuffs to carefully towel the tears away from your afflicted skin. He kisses both of your eyelids shut and draws back into you, cradling the nape of your neck to bury you further into his shelter.

“Nothing you did, my love,” he begins to vow, “was even remotely deserving of what happened. Don’t you ever let anyone ever make you feel less than beautiful, not even me. You are perfect, I swear it.”

Your consoler rakes his fingertips along your backside, between your shoulder blades, down to your tailbone and back again. However the migration of his hand doesn’t follow your spine. The irregular pattern of his touch graces around your wounds without him having his eyes navigate. How long he must have studied your comatose skin to plot a mental map and detour your injuries. The cozy concept grounds you, enabling you to finally catch your breath.

The air eventually stills. The only stirring sounds of your sniffles and shared quaking breaths.

You hoarsely whisper, “Jake, where am I?”

“My hotel room, babygirl,” fragments of his side of the nightmare begin to spill out, “and I know I should’ve taken you to a hospital or something but- I’m sorry- I didn’t- I was terrified they might make me leave or not let me see you or something and I couldn't- I just- no- and we had to move on to the next city- I was not leaving you again- or ever.”

Now he holds you tighter as if he can no longer deny the urge; afraid you could still be confiscated from him, a kid clinging to his favorite blanket.

“I had one of the medics I trust come check you out,” he rambles on.

You choked a bit at the thought of another man having access to your unconscious body, “He-”

“No, no. She said you were going to be fine and your body was working through whatever it was you ingested. She only handed me pain meds and some heavy duty first aid for liability. I tried to dress your wounds as best I know how. I’m sorry if i-”

You slip your arms around his neck, cradling his nape to bring him closer into your orbit, “Stop apologizing. Thank you, Jake.”

“Don’t thank me, you could have told me you hated me a million different ways in that bathroom and I still would have done the same thing,” he precisely threads his words, conviction weighing down every syllable, “I take care of what's mine.”

The room grows quiet once more as you bask in contemplation of his last words. Jake starts to rub your back again and you find yourself tempted by a drowsy spell once more.

“Jake?”

His hand springs from your back, “God- Am I hurting you? I’m sor-,”

“No, just thank you for taking care of me,” you drowsily sigh against his skin as slumber cocoons you in its grasp.

You flicker in and out of consciousness until you wake to Jake carrying you back to bed. He sits you down on the edge and pulls a bottle of pills from his pocket.

“For the pain,” he gives the bottle a good shake and pulls a water canister from the amenities on the dresser, handing it to you.

After you’ve taken the medication he encourages you to drink the rest of the water. Once you appease him, Jake helps you recline, careful not to lay you on your back. In his assistance, you grab his hands, the bruised and split sight commandeering your regard.

“Your hand- It's bruised,” you gasp.

He lets out the smallest chuckle, “Yea, I broke his nose.”

“Jake, that's not funny,” you lethargically scold.

“I know-”

“But thank you,” you make sure he understands your gratitude before he can beat himself up.

Still holding onto his hand, you pull Jake to lay down next to you and curl around him. He reciprocates by tucking your head under his chin. The grounding warmth of him travels across your skin and brings you to safety.

He tilts his head towards your ear and bashfully asks, “No more games?”

“No more games,” you concur.

He draws in a breath deep of solemnity and panic as he runs a finger down your temple and tucks your hair behind your ear. You prepare yourself for his bad news before he can even speak the opposite.

“I think I love you but I can't keep chasing you from halfway around the world,” his confession so subtle you almost miss his first five words.

“Well, lucky for you I don’t think I can go back to London and I have nowhere else to go,” your antic tone does less than mesh with your words.

Jake mimics your earlier sentiment back to you, “That’s not funny, baby.”

“I know- I just- I don’t want to go to London,” you drop your facade.

“You know I have a few guest rooms at my house,” he begins fidgeting, twirling your hair around his fingers, “but they never see any guests. And I know my house gets so lonely when I’m gone.”

“You mean- your house-,” you gulp, “in Nashville?”

You can hear the smirk in his voice now, “Yes, gorgeous scenery and a lovely people. It also happens to be very far from London. You’d be doing me a real favor if you came and looked after it.”

You ponder his proposal as if you have a choice. As if you hadn’t slowly been moving towards this leap since the dawn of Jake and you. As if you could ever grant your caretaker any answer that isn’t yes.

And of course any life with Jake would be better than a life without but still you never thought the question would come, certainly not before others. You are clueless as to what role you are to play and what life is supposed to look like after this, outside of London. How would you even fit into his tumultuous musician’s life?

He breaks your thought flow. You can tell Jake is trying not to pressure you but your silence terrifies him, “What’s swirling around in that pretty head of yours?”

You tilt your face up towards his and speak against the corner of his mouth right where his lips begin to curl when he gets giggly.

The course hair there prickly against your whispered affirmation, “I love you too, Jacob.”

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[bethany-sensei]

For me, character development is vital to my writing. The quiet moments are just as important as the drama. No one can convince me to cut this scene:

“Now?”

“Not yet,” Sidriel said, and Ragheiyont tried not to sulk. But then he took the sting out of the correction by beckoning Ragheiyont closer and pointing into the sizzling pan. “You want the meat to be mostly done. You can tell by the color. See?”

“Is it supposed to have that much liquid?”

Sidriel smiled at him. “Yes, that’s normal. We’re going to use that to do a little alchemy later.” When Ragheiyont recoiled a little, Sidriel laughed. “It’s perfectly safe, I promise.”

Ragheiyont watched him stir the contents of the pan. “What if I don’t remember all this?” Cooking, it turned out, was every bit as complicated as picking locks.

“You’ll remember enough,” Sidriel assured him. “And don’t be afraid to ask for help. Go ahead and add the veggies now.”

Dutifully, Ragheiyont scraped the greens and roots and mushrooms he had chopped from the cutting board into the pan. The sound of the sizzling changed, and Sidriel stirred again. “What happens if I do it at the wrong time?”

Sidriel gave him a soft, encouraging smile. “The meat will be a little tough, or you’ll undercook your veggies. It won’t be inedible. Just not quite as good. Bring the sauces over here.”

“Well I want everything to be the best,” Ragheiyont declared loftily. For Seikhiel, who deserved the best of everything. He resisted an urge to touch his horn caps, which was happening a lot, and instead focused on watching Sidriel pour liquids into a measuring cup. The whole kitchen smelled wonderful.

The garden door swung open. Ragheiyont whirled, but it was only Tempest and Akieryon, talking about souls or something. Tempest gave an appreciative sniff. “Whatever you’re making smells wonderful.”

“It’s stir fry,” Sidriel said, “and it’s almost done.” He moved the food in the pan to expose the little bit of bubbling liquid at the bottom. “You just need a bit of starch,” he said to Ragheiyont, who watched while he whisked a fine white powder into the sauce, then poured the sauce into the bottom of the pan and stirred quickly as it thickened.

It was like magic.

Sidriel turned off the stove and stirred the contents of the pan until the sauce had coated everything. “Check the rice.”

Ragheiyont glanced at him, then cautiously lifted the lid of the pot they had left on the next burner. Steam escaped, and he stared. “It got bigger!” he yelped.

The door opened again. “Do I hear chaos in here?” Seikhiel asked as he limped inside, Raphael close behind him.

“First time cooking rice,” Sidriel replied matter-of-factly. He brought the food to the table, and Ragheiyont followed with plates.

…because Ragheiyont learning to cook is important to who he is in the future. It matters. It goes on the page.