#And they kept benefits from me just long enough to nearly go in debt

[bishimightwing]

Guess who has two thumbs and might be suing their state and a previous employer soon?

[stars-trash-18]

Home II

I’m thinking of doing weekly to bi-weekly updates since that seems to fit my schedule better. I’m in the process of moving so between packing and getting my house ready to sell I’ll use my spare time to write. Also as many of us know the well of writing goes dry leaving us in a writer’s block.

I hope you enjoy the second installment to this series. Reminder that if you see any errors, or mentions of race or gender to let me know so that I can fix it. I want this fic to be for everybody.

You didn’t speak to them for weeks after that, wanting them to come to you when they were ready. Until Big Blue decided to disturb the peace.

He flew in when you were re-thatching the roof of the barn, you clutched your hat to your head as the wind picked up as he was landing. He sent dirt everywhere and blew several stacks of thatch off the roof, the chickens running around in panic, and Tusker went into an overprotective tizzy. The Tusk Cat circled the man warily with a low growl, but stopped when Paz held his hand out, concluding that the man half the size of a Bantha was no threat.

Paz looked up at you and you swore you could feel his apologetic look as he hoisted a few bundles of thatch into his thick arms. You would’ve been impressed if you weren’t sweating like a TaunTaun on Tatooine. Paz carefully climbed the ramp up to your spot and set the thatch down next to you, lowering himself to his knees to help.

“I’m here to let you know the clan agreed to repay you in labor, a few of us are able enough to help you work the land and the rest have skills that you’d benefit from,” he explained as he tightly weaved the long reeds and grasses together. You were slightly impressed, you had him down as a plain warrior not a craftsman.

“Alright, just know I won’t treat you like slaves, I've helped too many escape so it’ll be fair pay for fair work,” you said as you fixed a few of the strands.

“The most I’ll ask for is basic repairs, some help during harvests, and maybe some help gathering the herd when winter rolls in,” You rattled off handedly , “it might take awhile since it is a big piece of land but you'll have more use than I did so you should work it off in a few years,”.

You glanced up at the giant to see his visor pointed directly at you. You quirked an eyebrow at him as you stabbed a wooden pin into the weave, he flinched slightly at your sudden move and refocused on weaving.

“That’s kind of you more than we can ask for, pretty sure you’re one of the only decent beings left in the forsaken galaxy,” he huffed as you finished one section of the roof. You stood up and dusted your hands on your pants and held a hand out to help him up. He took it and with a grunt pulled himself up .

“If we’re going to be working together I'd at least like your name,” you said as you walked carefully down the ramp, Tusker waiting patiently at the bottom for you. You used him to help balance yourself after walking down at such an angle, leaning some of your weight onto him.

Paz seemed to have better footing than you did because he was able to walk in a straight line down, sending a chicken scurrying out of his path with a squawk of protest.

“Paz, my name is Paz and who has my clan put themselves in debt to?” he asked, though his tone was joking you didn’t miss the thinly veiled threat behind his words. You knew that anyone who messed with the clan had to answer to this blue mountain.

“Y/N, and don’t consider it debt, consider it an exchange with delayed payment,” you teased slightly as you heard your son’s scream getting closer. You pivoted in the direction of Attila and had a blaster in your hand and held at your thigh primed before Paz could even react.

“ZAZAAAA,” he cried as he launched himself into your legs. You nearly toppled over but a strong hand on your back kept you upright and a quick glance in the corner of your eyes proved that it was Paz who kept you upright.

“What is it, my little womp rat? Don’t tell me you were up to your antics again,” You scolded lightly as you placed a hand onto your son’s hair and softly ran your fingers through it to calm him, bending down to be closer to his height as you spoke. Attila reeled back from you hold and lightly battered your hands away from his hair, running his own hands through to keep it in place.

“Zaz I'm too old for that, I just wanted to show you my project,” he grumbled, his eyes glancing from you to Paz who leaned against a hitching post. You blinked at your kid for a moment, forgetting he’s almost a teenager. He may love your attention most of the time but when people are around he acts like every other preteen, wanting to impress others. 

You only sighed and lightly shook your head, “sorry kid, I forget you’re older now, but what is this project you were so excited to show me,” you said. You stood up again and watched as Attila reached into his back pocket and brought out one of your broken blasters.

“I know you hate me messing with weapons zaza, but I read blaster repair and wanted to try it out for myself, and look it works again!” he exclaimed, holding it out to you. You tried not to get angry with him, he was intelligent for 10 and always liked taking things apart to see how they worked. But you didn’t want him messing with weapons until you could find him a mentor, too many incidents from a blaster being rewired wrong flashed through your head.

“You know I’d normally ground you for this Attila and you’re lucky I’m in a good mood, so let’s see how this’ll work out,” you sighed defeatedly, taking the offered blaster from his hands. You carefully inspected it for anything out of order while it warmed up, glancing at a few of the components to find anything amiss. It was when you felt a large presence behind you that you glanced over your shoulder, having forgotten about your guest.

“If you’d like I could fire it for you, the armor protects me better if anything goes wrong, besides I’m a weapons expert and I've been blown up by a few of my own projects,” Paz offered, almost shyly at the mention of his own projects. You gave it little thought before dropping the blaster in his waiting hand, you’d rather he take the hit to his armor than you in nothing but your work clothes.

“Of course, there’s a can up on the fence post across the yard that I use for practice,” You mentioned offhandedly, taking Attila by the shoulders and moving yourselves back a few paces. Attila giggled in excitement as he kept his eyes glued to Paz’s armor, your son obviously taking a liking to him. Paz nodded in your direction and placed himself in a shooting stance, lifting the arm with the blaster up as he lined his shot. With a loud pop you saw a bolt send the mentioned can flying several yards away, and Paz let out a pained grunt as electricity flowed through his arm, causing him to drop the blaster into the dirt.

You rushed to his side and placed an arm around him to steady the man as Attila stood stock still in shock. Paz leaned heavily into your side before straightening up and letting you guide him into your house, kicking the door open and settling the man onto your dining chair.

“Attila, run and grab my kit from the bathroom, then put on my electrical gloves and get that blaster out of the yard,” you ordered as you wrangled Paz’s glove off his hand. Paz seemed to protest at first but relented when you glared at him and removed the glove, seeing slight burns on his fingertips and his hand stuck like he was still holding the blaster. 

“I’m fine, it’s just a little shock, kid put too much power into the firing module and it backfired, I’ll be fine in a few hours,” Paz lamented, gritting his teeth and balling his good hand into a fist to try and distract himself from the pain.

You only huffed before grumbling about his stubbornness, “what I see is different, you have some nerve damage in your hand and if I don’t get some Bacta on it now you won’t have use of your hand for the next week,” you retorted. Digging through your kit for the bacta spray, pulling it free and popping the cap off with your teeth, spraying a generous amount onto the burns and surrounding nerves. You started to massage the hand, trying to get that bacta deep into his skin to better heal.

Attila came running in and set the blaster down onto the table, wringing your gloves between his hands as he stared at Paz’s hand, his eyes slowly filling with tears. 

“I’m sorry mandalorian, I should’ve listened to zaza and now you’re hurt, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” He sniffled letting a few tears roll. Paz seemed to relax and extended his good hand out to Attila, moving the boy closer to him so he could rest his arm around Attila. You watched on in caution but refocused on wrapping his hand in bacta infused bandages when you saw how Paz softened at the crying child.

“It’s alright little one, accidents happen, this is just a lesson that needed to be learned,” He soothed, rubbing Attila’s shoulder comfortingly, “Now you know to listen to your Buir better and that I need to shock-proof my armor better, I’ll be alright,” he continued. This seemed to soothe Attila as he wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve and nodded, scurrying to his room to curl up with Tusker to calm down.

You sighed and watched him until he closed his door, turning back to your patient as you secured the glove back onto his hand, “thank you for that, it normally takes longer to soothe him, he hates failing,” you said, watching as reached for the blaster on the table. Turning it this way and that to inspect it.

“I told him he can mess with blasters when I find him proper training, but out here it’s hard to find a weaponsmith without an apprentice already,” you lamented softly. Paz turned his visor towards you and extended the blaster out to you to take before settling back into the chair.

“I know what it’s like, I was the same way when I was his age shortly before I joined the fighting Corps, I'm just glad I took the hit and not you or the boy,” he explained, running a hand down his thigh plating. It drew your attention briefly, knowing it was probably a scar from a similar incident, but you quickly looked back up at Paz as your face started to heat up.

“Kid’s good I’ll admit with his limited knowledge, if you ever find him a mentor I think he’d make something of himself,” He added, before standing up and heading towards the still open door, pausing briefly to look back at you.

“If you need anything you  know where to find us,” he said before closing the door behind himself. A minute later you heard his jet pack fire up and you heard him disappear towards the bunker. 

You sighed heavily and cradled your face in your hands to breathe deeply and decompress from all the activity. Rubbing your hands harshly down your face before you stared at the seat Paz had occupied a minute ago. What had you gotten yourself into.

[lambourngb]

Why can’t I change

The irony is, you inspired this story. You posted a ficlet about Michael and Max going out to distract themselves from the pain of being separated from their soulmates...  and this hit me hard:

Max is drinking too much tonight.  This is a good bar – Michael’s actually been in here before.  Twice.  Both times over the last few months, since Alex and Forrest… yeah.  He’s left with guys, both times. He’s… he’s trying to figure some stuff out, with himself.  What he likes.  What he wants, outside of Alex.  Um, and hopefully, eventually, with Alex. It’s been… fine. Fun.  Light.  Uncomplicated.  Pretty much everything the rest of his life isn’t right now.

So I started writing a fic where Michael is exploring things about himself, dating and figuring out what he wants, while he lingers in that “hopefully eventually” feeling in place. Of course, dating is hell, and especially it’s hell when there is so much about Michael that is hard to explain to someone- not just the alien parts, but his genius IQ, his “adopted” siblings, his past in social services, no parents, etc. Then the awkwardness of how he can’t stop from watching Alex whenever their paths cross.

SNIPPET :

It started innocently enough like most of Michael’s life-ruining decisions, during a beer break from his newly re-established lab bunker. 

“Alright, worst date you’ve ever been on, and go!”  Charlie started, taking a long pull of her IPA, before sending a look over to Michael. “You win on the most embarrassing sibling, Guerin, someone needs to teach your sister to knock, but I bet I have you beat on bad dates.”

So five minutes after she had decided to stay in Roswell, Charlie Cameron had ended up tracking down Michael at Sanders, and opened the conversation unceremoniously with, “So aliens are real and I’m guessing you’re one. Consider me the newest member of your Scooby Gang and tell me everything.” He had dropped a heavy wrench on his boot, pain stealing his voice for a moment. Perhaps there was a man out there that was able to resist the no-nonsense stare of a Cameron woman, but that wasn’t Michael, or even Max for that matter.

And that was that, one more person in on the second biggest secret Michael held (he was still in love with Alex being number one). It came with it’s own valuable reveals, finding out from Charlie that although Helena Ortecho had covered her tracks with the group as a red herring for Flint’s sake, Deep Sky was a very real paramilitary group and they were the source of the depowering serum that Helena had used on Michael to keep him compliant.

So ten minutes after catching her up on all things ridiculous and real in Roswell, New Mexico, Charlie had raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him and drawled lazily, “Any plans to combat that drug, or are you just going to hope that the next time it’s another benign manipulator? Because the way I see it, I’m a genius biochemist, and you’re a genius period, maybe we can do better than blind hope?”

Whether it was hubris at play to see if it was even possible, or a renewed determination to just fuck up whatever military sponsored plot that was in play, Charlie Cameron signed on to research an antidote to the depowering serum and in the process had become Michael’s newest, and surprisingly easiest, friend to have. 

It was strange but Michael was starting to number his friends beyond just Max, Isobel and the currently absent Liz Ortecho. He could begrudgingly add Kyle Valenti to the list, now that Max had come clean with everyone over his heart condition. Although it was exceedingly awkward at times in the wake of their breakup, Maria was trying for friendship with him and it probably said something about them that they fell into that rhythm much easier than he had with Alex. 

On paper he could consider Alex his friend. They shared beers together at neutral locations, there was always a conversation to linger over with coffee, and finally, Michael was the person Alex called now, every time he was scheduled to go out of town for work. That was less friendship, and more of a coping mechanism for them both after his abduction by Jesse then Helena. 

It meant that Charlie Cameron had won the contest of easiest friend probably by default, but that didn’t make being the target of her knife-sharp sense of humor any easier to deflect when she smelled blood in the water. Thinking about his past, he knew that any conversation about dating was sure to leave him bleeding out.

Michael eyed the open hatch of the bunker lab, wondering if the spanse of time they had spent in the open air was enough for Charlie to nip this conversation to a close and return to the task of experimentation. Long periods of time in solitary confinement in a military prison had left her with a dislike of closed spaces, and it didn’t matter what sort of faux-Restoration Hardware light fixture he hung from the ceiling of his bunker; the walls would start closing in on her after two  hours or so of work.  

“You win this round, okay?” 

“Come on, no bowing out. I told you about the ‘bring your child to work day’ my father suffered through with his conservative asshat co-workers, you can tell me about your worst date.”

“I haven’t dated enough to have a bad one, okay?” Michael admitted, looking away. There was no way he was going to talk about the drive in charity benefit with Alex, when he couldn’t be legitimately sure that it was even a date. Did sharing a six-pack on his tailgate even count? The way that night had ended was better off forgotten. Then there was Maria, where drinks at her bar had started as the natural postscript to an evening together. Did that count? He remembered bargaining with debts to arrange a dinner with Chinese food, that had been postponed almost indefinitely after her visions took center stage. 

“Bullshit! Almost the second thing my sister told me about you was to be careful I didn’t end up in your bed.”

Michael ducked his head with an acknowledged wince. Well, Jenna Cameron did have a front-row seat during most of his questionable decisions regarding women and his poor restraint when it came to a certain brand of asshole at the Wild Pony. When he ran across men who reminded him of Foster Dad #5 who thought respect could be beaten into Michael, or men who were like Foster Dad 3 who kept his wife nervously popping pills for her nerves and caked in pancake makeup most Sunday mornings. Some people just needed punching. Michael was always happy to be the one doing it if someone gave him reason to and drunk assholes often did.

He tipped the bottle back to drain the last swallow of nearly flat beer to buy some time as he thought about what to say next. There was little hope of escape, Charlie had the mind of a scientist, sharp and inquisitive and ready to press for more answers. “I’m no virgin, that’s for sure. But that was mainly sex.” He shrugged, dropping the empty into his trash barrel. “From all the movies Izzy makes me watch with her, I gather going on a date is something of a higher tier than a one-off in my truck after last call.”

“What about with Mr. Complicated?” Charlie’s smile was closer to a smirk. Michael revised his assessment of her, from scientist to sadist. 

“More than a one-off in my truck,” Michael agreed quietly. “Everything else was why it was complicated. And no, I don’t really want to talk about it, just to say, I have no stories about lost entrées at dinner or suddenly being a part of someone’s wedding reception with him.” 

Instead of pressing the knife deeper into him with more questions about Alex, Charlie backed off with a mixed expression. Shit that was pity on her face, wasn’t it? God, it really was a sad story, his relationship with Alex and his life currently, Michael thought. Charlie, who had spent time in the last couple of years in a military prison and was actively evading a paramilitary group interested in her research, actually pitied his life. 

“You’re trying to tell me you’re thirty years old, and you don’t have a single dating story to share?” She shook her head giving a sarcastic *bzzz* sound with her lips. “I don’t buy it. What about the hot bartender you were with last year?”

“You ever try to date someone who works in a bar? Her work hours were prime recreational hours. Who wants to go see a movie after last call and closing the till? You especially don’t want to go to another bar during off hours.” Michael pointed out. “Anyway, we kept it low-key. I cooked. Or we had drinks at the Pony. I dunno, life kept getting in the way of anything more.” 

“That’s just sad.”

Michael placed his hand against his chest, “Ouch, don’t hold back!”

Charlie straightened up from where she was sitting, on the steps of the old school bus to get to her feet. “Okay you’ve basically described two relationships with feelings, but I’m talking about something different. You swipe right on someone, trade messages, ghost them when they are creepy, you’ve never done any of that? No one has ever slipped their number to you when you’ve gone out with friends?”

“I just told you, those were just one-offs in my truck.”

“Oh my god, give me your phone, we’re downloading some apps.”

[frenemies-to-lovers]

A Tether, A Bond | A Jude/Cardan Conversation The Morning After QoN

Tags: Canon-Compliant, Post-QoN, Rating: T+, maybe verging on M? I don’t know, Heat Level: Medium | Word count: 3646

Wherein they discuss the benefits of not having to rule alone and try to work through what it means to be married. Also a small argument because it's just who they are as people. Also things get a little spicy. Because honestly, WHY DIDN’T WE GET A FULL DEBRIEFING CONVERSATION BETWEEN THE TWO OF THEM?! 

----

Preview: "I fear that I also have not found ruling alone to be to my taste,” Cardan says.

I am a little overwhelmed by that. By how sincere that admission feels.

“Lucky for both of us that we don’t have to,” I say with a wry smile.

“How fortunate, indeed, that we are bound to each other for at least as long as we reign,” he says quietly, turning his face to press a kiss to the rounded top of my ear.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

I find myself waking with difficulty from a very deep sleep. I feel as though I’ve slept for a hundred years, but the stiffness through my body also makes me want to sleep for a hundred more. I open my eyes slowly, reaching out a hand toward the other side of the bed. . . only to find it empty. 

Empty. 

My chest lurches in panic as I throw off the covers and launch myself out of bed, all thoughts of soreness forgotten. 

“Jude?” Cardan says softly as I whirl around. I put a hand over my thundering heart, relieved to see him sitting in a chair by the fire, a dressing gown draped around him. There is a tray of food and tea things on a low table beside him, and a mug steaming in his elegant hands. 

My knees nearly buckle at the sight and I plop ungracefully onto the edge of the bed, still grasping at the front of my night shirt. His shirt. That I wore to sleep in. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, giving me a concerned look, and I wonder if he can hear my heartbeat. 

“Yeah, I just…” I resist the impulse to deflect, or to lie and say it was a nightmare. We’ve been through too much for me to be embarrassed by the truth, or to feel like he’ll somehow hold this vulnerability against me. He already knows how I feel. “I thought for a second that maybe yesterday hadn’t happened at all. That I had dreamed it all up, and you were still cursed.”

“I really am pleased that you prefer me alive, despite the unbridled power you would have if I were otherwise,” he says, giving me a sly smile. 

I roll my eyes. “We’ve already had this conversation. I much prefer you both alive and not as a giant snake. And besides, ruling alone was awful.”

“Is that so?” he asks. His black eyes lock on mine, one eyebrow quirked up. He looks beautiful with his face bare and his hair rumpled from sleep. “I had thought that you would like being fully in charge, not having to share your power with me or worry about whatever nonsense I might be up to that wasn’t in line with your schemes. I am surprised that it wasn’t to your taste.” 

He looks equal parts sincere and bemused, and I’m not quite sure what to make of him right now. I am unsure if I will ever fully get used to the idea that we are working together.  That we are . . what? A team? 

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m not exactly practiced in the art of diplomacy.  You’re much better than I am at charming the folk and putting them at ease.  Not to mention that I’m widely known to be a liar. And a murderer.”

As I’m speaking, Cardan crosses the floor and sits down next to me, close enough for the length of his thigh to press gently against mine. He rests a hand on the bed behind me, casually leaning in.  His warmth beside me, this close, feels comforting in a way I am unaccustomed to.  I wonder if he is as aware of every point where our bodies are touching as I am.

“I think those are both strengths for a mortal queen,” he says.

“Perhaps. But I’m afraid I don’t quite have the skillset for ruling alone -- murderous, mortal queen that I am,” I return. 

That elicits a soft laugh from him. “Perhaps now you understand some of what I felt when you were prisoner of the Undersea.  Only I was foolish enough that I had not considered, even for a moment, that I would truly make a poor king without you running the kingdom for me.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Of course you hadn’t.”

“Truly, I had not realized how much easier my job as High King was with you making all of the decisions and whispering them in my ear. I learned much about ruling while you were prisoner of the Undersea, and more still while you were in the mortal world. Even so, I fear that I also have not found ruling alone to be to my taste.”

I am a little overwhelmed by that. By how sincere that admission feels. 

“Lucky for both of us that we don’t have to,” I say with a wry smile.

“How fortunate, indeed, that we are bound to each other for at least as long as we reign,” he says quietly, turning his face to press a kiss to the rounded top of my ear. The brush of his lips and the tickle of his breath on my skin makes me shiver. 

I feel his mouth hovering so close to me, feel it pulling me like gravity, and I turn my head to bring my lips to his. He kisses me back — gently and slowly at first, then more deeply and thoroughly. He pushes my hair out of my face and threads his fingers in it, cupping the back of my head. I bring one of my hands to his neck, trailing my fingers down his chest as our mouths continue sliding together, again and again. I want to grab him tighter, or maybe push him down on the bed. 

I pull away for a moment, assessing, and Cardan smiles with some satisfaction at the flush on my face. I pivot onto his lap, straddling him and bringing his mouth back to mine greedily as I tangle my fingers into his curls.  I expect him to grab me with equal force, but he runs his hands over my back gently.  I try to kiss him with more urgency, to tell him what I want, but he remains gentle, slow. 

“There’s no need to rush, Jude,” he whispers, pulling his mouth away and resting his forehead against mine.  He traces a finger down the mostly open collar of my shirt. The touch down my chest, all the way to my sternum, makes my breath catch.  He rests his palm gently over my thundering heart. “I like seeing you in my clothes. In my bed.” 

My cheeks heat and I keep my eyes closed, unsure if I can bear whatever is on his face as he watches the effect his words have on me. I am overwhelmed by his touch, as he brushes a hand gently down the length of my spine then trails the outside of my thigh.  As he crosses from touching fabric to touching bare skin, I feel a sharp spike of heat through my core. I am completely unaware of what my own hands are doing, only that they are on him.  He begins tracing slow circles on my leg, the touch of his fingertips feeling charged with electricity. 

I can hear my breathing grow ragged and audible, but I no longer have control of it. I can feel myself clenching my thighs around him, can feel myself arching into him and my head drifting back as he presses a gentle kiss to the hollow of my throat.  I have slid into a sense of unreality many times with Cardan, but this feels particularly intoxicating.  I am not sure I know how to surrender to this.  To his lazy, gentle touches.  To the idea that we have all the time in the world.

“This is weird, right?” I say breathlessly, unable to hold it in, to give myself over to the feeling. 

“I believe you started it,” he murmurs, and I can feel him grinning into the skin of my neck.  My breath hitches as his hand flattens up my thigh, his fingertips sneaking under the hem of my shirt.

“Not this.” I dig the nails of one hand into the fabric of his dressing gown with a squeeze.  “Just. Being on the same side, not fighting, and not in any immediate danger.”

“You realize that’s exactly what I am trying to enjoy right now, right?” His mouth is still at my throat, and each gentle touch of his lips as he speaks sends a shock through my whole body. My hand in his hair clenches into a fist, the tension beginning to overtake me.

“We can find something to fight about, if that would make you feel more comfortable,” he says, the tip of his nose dragging with deliberate, agonizing slowness from my collarbone to my ear.

“That’s not. . .” I begin, but he interrupts me.

“We’ve already discussed your exile at length, but you’re welcome to yell at me again. I haven’t brought up your killing Balekin, against my wishes, because I think perhaps your anger at the exile far outweighed my own.”

His words wash over me like a bucket of ice water, snuffing out that heat that had been building, and I suddenly do want to fight.  I pull away far enough to cross my arms in front of my chest and stare him in the face. Does he really think that Balekin gave me any other choice? 

“Balekin poisoned you,” I say sharply. “He would have kept trying to kill you. And he was going to kill me if I didn’t kill him first. And it settled our debt with the Court of Termites.”

I expect him to rise to the bait, to argue back, but he just gives me a steady look. Both of his hands now rest on my bare knees, my legs still bracketing his body.  “Did you enjoy it?” He asks, a little coldness creeping into his voice. 

I withdraw myself from his lap and take a step back, staring down at him with as much indignation as I can muster while wearing nothing but his ridiculous shirt. I am very nearly furious, but his eyes seem sincere. As though this is something he’s wondered for a long time. 

“He deserved to die, you know. And not just for poisoning you,” I say defensively. 

He is still looking at me, assessing. I take a steadying breath, trying to tamp down my anger.  Trying to sort out how I actually feel about killing Balekin, without wearing that defensiveness as my armor.  This -- learning to be unguarded with him -- is going to take practice.  

“I wasn’t sorry to see him dead, but I didn’t relish the killing,” I add, my voice a little steadier.

We stare each other down for a long, tense moment.  

“I suppose I would have been even angrier at you for losing that duel than winning it,” he responds, with a softness in his voice that I have heard a few times before.  A softness that I want more of. He reaches out a hand and I let him take my fingers in his, although I still stand and study his face.

“Wait … did you . . .?” I whisper, some knowledge shimmering just outside of my grasp, something I want to believe but can’t quite accept.

“Already love you? Yes.” How he knows precisely what I meant to ask, I have no idea.  Perhaps he knows exactly what is written on his face as he looks at me now. “I knew when you were taken by the Undersea. Imagine my surprise when I realized that I was even more anxious than Madoc to secure your return.  Imagine my surprise when I missed you.  Not just you running the kingdom for me, but being near you. Arguing with you, provoking you, flirting with you, watching you. All of it.”

My heart stops, and I feel I owe him more.  Not an apology, exactly, but as close as I can get to one without lying. 

“I didn’t intend to kill Balekin when I left to meet him that night. I didn’t even have Nightfell with me. Or a sword at all, for that matter. I know you didn’t exactly have a great relationship, but I didn’t want to have to kill him. He was the person who raised you, after all. And the last living member of your family. Other than Oak, I suppose.”

He squeezes my hand at that, maybe relieved that I didn’t seek out his brother in cold blood. I can see how it would be easy to believe I had. 

“You’re forgetting my mother,” he grins. I grimace. I am trying to forget his mother. “Although, as my wife, technically you are now my family.” 

My heart stutters. Oh. Oh. I haven’t thought it through this way. 

“Wait… that means Lady Asha is my mother in law. And Madoc, who tried to take the crown from you…”

“From both of us,” he corrects me, his face entirely lit with mischief. It is clear to me that he is enjoying witnessing me stumble upon this little revelation — something he has clearly already considered. 

“... is your father in law,” I finish, feeling both indignant and somehow awed. 

“Yes, I do believe that is how marriage works,” he says dryly. I want to wipe that stupid, mocking smile right off his beautiful face. 

“But… Taryn and Vivi are your sisters. And Oak is your brother now, as well as your nephew.”

“Are you really just realizing this?” he teases, his face now full of mock innocence.

“Yes. Obviously,” I grumble. 

“You haven’t thought of me once, this entire time, as your husband,” he says, voice soft, all teasing gone. It isn’t a question.  

“I couldn’t think of you as my anything,” I snap, feeling suddenly defensive again. “I thought of you as the High King. And a jerk. And I thought of myself as the Queen. But not of you as…” I trail off. I’m the one who feels like a jerk. 

“Say it, Jude,” he whispers. He tugs me back toward him, bringing me to stand between his legs as his hands go to my waist.  I look down into his black eyes, suddenly feeling unable to speak.  My mind is still whirling, rewriting everything I had thought I understood.  I feel a little as though the earth is shifting beneath my feet as everything that has happened over the last days, weeks, and months reframes itself through his eyes.

He had told me that the letters he’d written were full of pleading for me to come back.  I am so used to being tricked by the folk, that I hadn’t really considered that he had truly meant it, that he wasn’t still just toying with me.  I had not thought of him willing me to come back not just to Elfhame, but to come back to him.

Each memory makes me feel as though I am being pummeled by waves, unable to regain my bearings before being knocked down by the next. The way he had spoken to me when I was pretending to be Taryn and he knew it was me. How he had tried to keep Madoc from taking me. The fact that he went to my sisters, to the mortal world, to find me. Vivi said he’d been desperate to find me, but I could not believe that his motives had anything to do with his feelings for me. He himself, Cardan, had come with the Roach to Madoc’s camp to get me out.  He had shielded me and given me Mother Marrow’s cloak.  He had nearly watched me die, and then let me bleed out onto his sheets for days.  

And the whole time, he had loved me.  

I feel both wholly unmoored and more steadily anchored than I have ever felt before.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says, scanning my face. I have no idea what he sees there.  

I realize I have been frozen for a few moments and bring one hand up to cup his face, the other tracing the top of his pointed ear.  He leans his cheek into my palm, and I feel my heart speed, feel as though there is not enough room inside my chest for what I am feeling. I still cannot speak.

“Please, Jude,” he whispers, his eyes still on mine.  

“I am so used to being tricked by the folk that I didn’t consider you had meant it. That you had wanted anything more than just your freedom from your vow of obedience. And that you used my desire for power to get it in the only way you could,” I finally reply, the words coming out more softly than I intend.

His fingers dig into my waist, and he continues to look up into my face as he says, “Then let me say that I did trick you, but perhaps not in the way you thought.  I had begun to fear what would happen when my vow of obedience was up and I was no longer useful to you.  If you would depose me from the throne and not ever have need of me again.  If you would not make me abdicate before my vow was up, if you would bide your time and join Madoc in finding another way to get Oak on the throne when he was older.  I did use your desire for power. Not just to convince you to rescind your power over me, but also to convince you to tether yourself to me for longer than a year and a day.  To rule beside me, and to grant me what I hoped would be enough time to win your trust. And perhaps, eventually, your heart as well.”

I lean down and kiss him then, soft and sweet. I know that nothing I say in return could possibly be an adequate response to what he just confessed.  So I settle for a confession of my own.

“When I agreed to marry you, I had hoped that it meant I could stop being afraid to love you,” I say.

The way he kisses me in response makes me glad I told him.  Although I don’t think either of us knows what to do with this much sincerity, this much trust.  All of this is going to take some getting used to.  

“I am certain we have many conflicts ahead of us, but I hope never to make you afraid to love me again.  I am yours, Jude.  I would like for you to think of me as such.”

“As my husband?” I ask, unable to stop the shy smile that is breaking across my face. It’s impossible not to be affected by his words, by the truth of them. “I guess after that little speech, I can do that.”

He pulls me to him and I oblige, ready to climb back onto his lap.  But he moves until we are lying on the bed. One of his hands makes its way back into my hair as he brings his mouth to mine again, this time with some of the urgency I was looking for earlier.  He is touching me gently, though, one of his hands tracing up the curve of my hip. I clutch him tightly, wanting to feel the press of his body against mine. It is simultaneously too much and not nearly enough, the way he is kissing me over and over again. The heat of him and the weight of him as he rolls me onto my back and settles his body between my legs.  

I feel his warm palm drag up the side of my thigh and am dimly aware that the hem of my shirt has ridden up dangerously high.  I slip one of my hands inside his dressing gown, which has fallen mostly open, and dig my fingernails into his back as he brings his mouth to my neck. I arch into him.

“Tell me again,” he whispers.

I am about to ask him what he means when I am hit with the memory of the first time his hands were on me like this.  

“I hate you,” I say softly into his ear with a smirk.  He nips my earlobe in a way that sends a shock of pleasure through my whole body.

“The truth this time, Jude. Please,” he says.  But I see that he is smirking, too, as he pulls his face away to look at me.  It still feels too intimate to say to him, this close, his gold-rimmed eyes burning with hope and desire.  So I close my eyes and close the distance between us again, our mouths sliding together. 

“I love you,” I breathe into his mouth between kisses. He stills for a moment, his fingers digging more firmly into my skin. 

“I love you,” he returns with equal softness. Then he continues kissing me. My mouth, my ear, my throat. I feel like I am burning up, overcome with a heady combination of affection and desire.  It is too much. 

I try not to shy away from the feeling, try not to push it down.  Instead, I think about how I can feel his heart beating with his body pressed on top of mine. I think about his mouth moving along my throat, my collarbone. I untie his robe and think about his warm skin under my callouses as I drag a hand down his chest, his abdomen, lower. I think about his sharp intake of breath, his low moan against my skin as I touch him. 

I think about his hands and nothing else. One is still tangling in my hair. He sweeps the other underneath my clothes quickly, the shirt gathering around my ribs. He traces a slow burning trail down my throat, my chest, my stomach, making his way down, down, down.

I think about how much I have wanted this, and how much more it is than I even allowed myself to want. To be wanted. To be loved.

Then suddenly, blissfully, and without my notice, I am no longer thinking at all.

[desparikon]

MacGyver fanfic misfire #7

Written for @pridewrite2021, pw15 Polyamory & pw alt3 Angst

Of course I had to do something for my absolute favorite MacGyver pairing, Bozer/Murdoc/Mac! I’m just sorry it had to be so heavy.

(Spoilers for 5x05) Mac's grief is breaking him down, and turning him into a different person. He’s an outsider in his own life.

Murdoc was going to die on this job.

Tonight had been too comfortable, too routine. Too quiet. Quiet was a luxury Mac would suffer, his life indebted at a price too expensive to be borne alone.

Yes, Murdoc was going to die on this job, and Mac would regret not spending their last evening together.

Even though Mac would’ve ruined it. That’s what his presence did anymore. Ruin other people’s good time, dampen their good spirits.

They never know what to say. He was unable to move on, broken beyond repair. Everything hurt, and he was exhausted, and life was colorless. It hurt to move, to breathe, to exist. His breaking point inched closer.

He got attached too quickly, gave too much, loved too deep, in a world that endlessly took. His love hadn’t protected Jack. And now he was gone. Forever. All eternity, to time’s end.

It was brutal, and unfair, and irrational.

Death didn’t need to steal when Mac was right! there! He’d gladly offer all of himself! More! Why wasn’t his love valuable enough to pay the debt?

The opportunity would never come again.

The Old Mac was gone. Dead. Like Jack. A part of himself had been ripped out; no going back. He had nothing to offer anymore, no brainpower, no energy, and no reliability, oscillating between distant and clingy, flat and short-tempered, cold and emotional.

The New Mac was ugly.

Manipulative. Volatile. Dangerous.

He didn’t understand why everyone still reached out, or tried to spend time with him. Why Bozer and Murdoc kept him? Their unconventional relationship would benefit, subtracting one. Didn’t they see their lives were better without him?

All his chances to re-earn trust, experience kindness, receive help? Wasted. Used up.

(He always longed for one more chance anyway.)

“Mac, you’ve barely eaten in days. I can make something, or we can order food, or ask Murdoc to pick some up on the way over. Anything. Please.”

“That’s OK, Boz, I’m not hungry. My stomach hurts, so I’m probably just coming down with something.”

His eyelids fluttered shut as Bozer’s fingers gently pushed his bangs to the side so he could feel Mac’s forehead for fever.

“I should really take you somewhere, get you checked out.”

Boz called his bluff.

It hurt to pull away.

“I’ll be fine.”

Why did they try so hard to reach him?

“Angus!”

He nearly cried, hearing Murdoc call his name with such concern, his strong arms catching Mac before he fell to the floor.

“Are you alright?”

Do Not bluff Murdoc.

“I’m just tired.”

Murdoc gently held his chin, slowly rubbing his thumb along Mac’s jaw.

“After all the energy drinks I’ve seen you pound back in the short time I’ve been here?”

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t redeveloped a slight fear of Murdoc.

Why couldn’t they leave him alone?

“Pretty good for a first attempt.” Murdoc presented his origami shark.

“He’s cute!” Bozer took it, bobbing it, imitating swimming, “I think he’s missing something though.”

Murdoc paused before taking it back, and drawing angry eyebrows on its face. “Much better! Looks just like me!”

“I meant company.” He held up his own creations: a giraffe and a lion. “Look Mac, I made us!”

(Careful, careful! Don’t poison the household mood!)

(Did he smile back?)

Murdoc tapped his shark’s snoot to both figures’, earning cheerful eye rolls from both Cassian and Bozer.

“Big flirt.” Bozer put their figures down, into the growing paper zoo, before scooting closer, and snugging into Murdoc. He closed his eyes and bumped their foreheads together.

The affection between Murdoc and Bozer was one of the only things that still made Mac’s broken brain feel good. It wasn’t immune to their cuteness. Especially not when they did...

Murdoc’s palm found a particularly sensitive spot on Bozer’s chest, causing him to squirm, and press against Murdoc’s hand.

THAT.

Their Thing. Boz loved it. Something about warm, gentle pressure over his heart, and Murdoc being able to feel his heartbeat, and tingling, both relaxing and ticklish.

(Maybe Murdoc could try that on him?)

Selfish, thinking about diverting their attention from each other.

It wouldn’t matter after tonight, when Murdoc died.

Losing another loved one...Mac would simply have to leave.

Bozer would lose both partners in close succession, but he was strong. Stronger than Mac. He’d be fine. He’d still have Cassian, their friends, his family. He’d get the house. Absolute financial security, thanks to Murdoc.

Maybe he’d leave Phoenix to pursue creative endeavors. Or move closer to home, so Cassian could have the same positive influences Mac had been so lucky to have. Maybe--

Bozer’s phone chimed, the alarm resuming time and life’s passing.

“Gotta go catch your flight, huh?”

“’Fraid so.”

Mac escaped into the front hallway. The goodbyes. He hated them. How to explain what Murdoc meant to him, and summarize their entire history and relationship, while simultaneously apologizing and begging him to stay, all in one neat goodbye? Because with Murdoc, it always felt like they were unknowingly parting for the final time.

Working a more stable schedule meant Bozer stayed at Phoenix headquarters. He was safe there, and Mac could visit, on one of his better days. He never knew with Murdoc, and that’d been the point when they’d first gotten together; keep his criminal activities private, give Bozer and Mac a better chance if they were discovered.

No location. No details. Nothing but a faked, vaguely 9-5, job in a broad, monotonous field: stock market, real estate, business. The stability, and increased time with his dad, eased Cassian’s anxiety and separation issues, but the facade made Mac’s worse.

What had Murdoc done on any given day? Had he been careful to remain invisible? Had he taken a smaller, closer job? Had he made plans for a bigger, more dangerous job? Minor cuts and bruises were the only, albeit unreliable, hints.

“Take it easy these next few days, OK?”

Mac jumped, the startle, and careless suggestion, converting his anxieties to anger. Take it easy?! While Murdoc threw his life away, recklessly risking everything for nothing?!

“Mind your own business!” Mac snapped, Murdoc’s surprise pissing him off even more. “What! What’re you staring at?!”

At least arguing with Murdoc might keep him from leaving. Negative attention is still attention.

Murdoc didn’t take the bait. He sighed quietly, and went out, Mac following closely behind. The door clicking shut behind them signaled the monster’s release.

“Why do you keep doing this to us?! You don’t need the money! What is it about torturing people you just can’t give up, huh??” He didn’t give Murdoc a chance to respond. “Grow up, Murdoc! New hobby! You’re not the badass shadowy assassin anymore!”

“I—”

“Or maybe the real reason is because you don’t want to admit you’ve been domesticated. You’re a tamed Murdoc now!”

Mac regretted it before it’d finished leaving his mouth. Murdoc’s wild streak was one of the traits he most admired. Unapologetic, and self-confident, in ways he couldn’t be.

“I’m sorry!” Mac whispered, pulling his arms across himself, “I’m sorry! God, Murdoc, I swear, I didn’t mean it like that.”

He shied away as Murdoc attempted to physically comfort him. This isn’t how you treat loved ones.

He wished Murdoc would just put him down.

“What??”

Shit, had he said that aloud?

“No, no, it’s fine, I was joking!” He carefully avoided looking at Murdoc, not wanting him to see the few stray tears that’d fallen. “I just thought it’d be funny because that’s how we used to be, and you know what? I’m an asshole tonight. I’ll be better when you get back. I’ll make it up to you!”

Mac retreated inside, silently pleading Murdoc not to follow.

Please let Murdoc forget. Please don’t let him text Boz. Please don’t try to corner him in his own house--

”Mac?” Bozer called from the living room.

“Yeah, be there in a minute.” Mac’s shoulders slumped.

Three days to come up with a plan to fix this.

He needed to be alone.

[crossiantgay]

So I got really inspired right when I woke up, so low and behold, this happened.

Royalty AU

Ships: logince

Warnings: implied sex, (nothing graphic, very brief mention) cuts and wounds mentioned (again, nothing graphic) virgil swears once, almost death (tell me if there' anything else)

(------)

Roman put on his grey pants. 

“And there’s another month of safety for my kingdom” He looked at Logan, who was laying on the bed. Logan stood up and nodded, also putting on his pants. “Indeed, my prince” He couldn’t help but smirk at how the prince stopped halfway through fixing his hair in the mirror and blushed. 

“I a-am a king, thank you” Logan started walking towards him. 

“Mm, some king that needs to solicit the safety of his kingdom each month.” Roman crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. Logan stepped towards the king, so they were only inches apart. He tilted Roman’s chin up with a finger so he was looking Logan in the eyes. Logan smirked and admired how flushed the king’s cheeks were. 

“Bratty bottom.” He leaned in closer and the king pushed him away. 

“Hey, you know our rule, no kissing.” He said sternly. Logan stepped back and nodded, putting his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Of course.” 

Roman sighed and handed Logan his sword. Logan looked the king coldly in the eye, drawing a shallow gash across his chest. This was his least favorite part of their interaction, to be honest. Everything about it felt wrong. Was it really necessary to harm his lo-King Roman just so it looked like they got into a fight? Roman turned slightly and Logan drew a few cuts on his arms. Nothing deep enough to cause harm, just enough to look impressive. Roman winced as Logan drew another one from his shoulder blade. Logan wiped the tip of the sword on the bedsheets and handed Roman the sword. Roman slid on his shirt, grimacing as blood soaked through the shirt, staining it. 

“Well, I best be going. Same time as always?” He put on his sash and slid his sword in his sheath. Logan nodded. 

“Of course. Your presence was pleasant, as always.” Logan winked and Roman chuckled. 

“You too” He slipped out the dark oak door and it shut with a resounding thud. 

(-----) 

Logan tapped his foot on the ground, impatiently. He kept glancing from the clock to the door. Roman was more than 3 hours late, an odd thing for Roman, who was never late. Logan sighed and slid his black cloak over his shoulders. He slipped a few potions into his satchel. 

“Well guess the prince’s kingdom isn’t going to be safe anymore.” He mumbled under his breath, as he quickly made his way down the stairs. He saddled his night-black horse and began to race towards the kingdom. 

(-----) 

He pulled on the reins as his horse skidded to a stop. There was not a person in the kingdom’s usually bustling streets, and all of the lights in the kingdom were out. He rushed over to a guard in front of the castle, the only person he could see. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” He exclaimed to the guard. 

“The king is in the medbay. He was stabbed by a citizen yesterday and is in critical condition. It is tradition that all the lights be turned off-” Logan cut him off as his expression paled. 

“He-he what?” The sorcerer looked the guard in the eyes and the guard nodded. “Until his final condition is known, all citizens are ordered to stay in their homes.” Logan shook his head and burst through the heavy oak doors and began racing through the castle, searching for the medbay. 

“HEY-” The guard yelled, but sighed as she realized she wouldn’t be able to catch the mysterious man. 

“Medbay, medbay….” Logan murmured to himself, reading the signs above the doors that told what room was which. 

“Grand hall-no, library-no… here! Medbay!” He burst through the doors and felt his knees buckle as he saw the king. He looked frail and pale. His usual glorious king seemed like he would break if he was hit by a gust of wind. All the tubes coming out of his arms and such weren’t helping. Logan kneeled by Roman’s bedside. 

“Hey, hey, Roman, it’s me,” He cupped Roman’s face with one hand. 

“...mom?” Roman asked weakly. 

“No, no, it’s me, Logan-” Logan felt himself breathing heavily as roman reached up his hand and held Logan's, bringing it down from his cheek. 

“Mom, I missed you.” Roman’s breathing became laboured. 

“No, no, roman, please-” Logan felt cold tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“I’ll be with you soon, mom.” Roman weakly smiled and Logan’s eyes widened.

“No, no, roman, no, please” Logan begged. “I’ll-I’ll never threaten your kingdom again, I-I’ll do anything you ask, please just stay with me. I-I can’t lose you, I can’t.” Logan started crying. 

“I love you, mom.” Roman smiled up at the man and Logan’s heart broke. 

“I love you too, Roman.” Roman’s hand went limp and Logan nearly screamed. 

“ROMAN-ROMAN please! Please stay with me!” A nurse walked over to them. He checked Roman’s pulse and nodded. 

“He’s not dead, he’s been slipping in and out of consciousness all day. You were lucky you got to talk to him.” Logan wiped his eyes and looked up to the nurse. 

“Is he going to d-” Logan couldn’t get the rest of it out. The nurse gave him an uneasy look. 

“We’re doing all we can.” Logan climbed into bed with Roman and held him, cuddling into Roman’s side and started crying. 

“Roman, please I love you so much and I can’t lose you” He said through choked sobs. “I don’t know why it took me this long to realize it, but I love you so much. I wish there was something I could do to make you-” Logan’s eyes went wide. He was a sorcerer, goddamnit. He was never good at healing spells, but he was more than an accomplished sorcerer. He was sure he could figure out a healing spell. He ran out of the doors of the castle quickly, mounting his horse and racing towards his castle. He raced up the stairs of his watchtower and began flipping through the pages. 

“Healing, healing healing, here!” He put his finger on a page. “Wound repair- perfect!” He read. He began reading off the ingredients, all of which he had. He gathered the ingredients he needed, reminding himself to get more thanor root.

(-----) 

He kneeled by the prince’s bed and flipped him over. The nurse let out a noise of protest and he shot her a glare. He started by mixing the ingredients together, then pouring them along the edge of the wound. He pressed a hand and almost winced at how cold roman’s back was. 

“Potion, work your magic

Fix his body and mind. 

Let this story not be tragic 

Restore what once was mine” 

He sighed and felt his own strength be drained slightly, as what happened when he performed a spell. He watched in awe as the skin around Roman’s wound began to knit itself back together, quite literally magically. His eyes flew wide as Roman began gasping for air and rolled over. 

“Wha-logan?” Logan smiled widely and kissed Roman. To his surprise, Roman wrapped his arms around Logan’s neck and kissed back. 

“What is this all about, specs?” 

“He thought you were dead and was crying. Then he did some voodoo stuff and your back is good now.” A grumpy nurse said flatly as he walked in. Roman laughed, a noise Logan didn’t realize he missed as much as he did. 

“Thanks for the 411, virge.” Who he assumed to be Virgil gave him a salute and began cleaning the medbay. 

“Really though?” He said, looking back at logan. “You-saved me?” Logan looked to the side, pushing his wavy black hair out of his face. “It’s not a big deal, reall-mph!” Roman cut him off with another kiss. Logan pushed his round glasses up the bridge of his nose as he felt a blush rise to his cheeks. 

“I am hereby in your debt, Logan” Roman did what he could of a bow in a hospital bed and Logan chuckled. 

“You broke your rule,” Logan pointed out. 

“Well you broke it first and to hell with rules, I almost died!” Logan smiled at Roman. “And if everything Virgil said was true, then I’m guessing a certain someone has caught feelings” He smirked and pointed at Logan. 

“Well I-um-”Logan sputtered. Roman laughed. “It’s ok, I love you too, Lo” Logan looked at Roman, shocked and Roman nodded. Roman offered out a hand.

“Who says to being more than enemies with benefits?” roman asked. 

“Enemies with benef- ROMAN HAVE YOU BEEN FUCKING OUR ENEMY?” Virgil called from the back

“Shh, Virge.” Roman cooed. 

“Whatever you say, your majesty.” Virgil said with a smirk. 

“I will accept your offer graciously, your majesty.” Logan said. 

“Hey, now you’re my majesty, technically.” Logan smiled before kissing Roman again. 

“Love you, my king.” Roman said and held his hand. 

“I love you too, my prince.” 

[random-imagines-blog]

The Dream {Eomer x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: @groovyfluxie Wordcount: 2897 Summary: You weren’t exactly like anyone in Rohan. Perhaps on the outside... but inside? And what happens when you admit this to your husband, the King, Eomer? Mod Note: As requested, I did this as a non-binary come out story. I myself am not NB but I took care to read interviews of people who are. I hope I did this alright.

You weren’t exactly like the other women of Rohan. Not that being a woman of Rohan was a bad thing. They were all extremely wonderful. They were strong, they were caring, they were hard workers and they were good mothers. You would be honored to be like them. But you didn’t want to be a wife to a rider, and be expected to give children and take care of the home. That’s not what you aspired to. Nor did you really look to the men as inspiration for your life. You liked horses, but you didn’t want your life to be riding around on them all of the time. In fact - you wanted to be a Blacksmith. You looked to the weapons that were used, even the tools used by women for farming and cooking, as a goal in life. But there was only one thing preventing you from going down that path. It was the fact that you were a woman between your legs that stopped anyone from training you. Too fragile, they always said. Find yourself a good husband and you’ll never have to worry about work. Wouldn’t want the flames to damage that nice face of yours.

You didn’t blame them for saying that. That’s what the women have been doing for years. It was as natural as the sun and the moon, which frustrated you. Because you felt as if you were unnatural for not feeling like the woman your body had made you out to be. But nor did you wish that you were born a man because those bodies also seemed troublesome. Having a cock seemed to have a weird affect on the mind.

So only to yourself did you identify as neither. You didn’t tell anyone about this for it would have to include a lot of explanation. And you weren’t even sure they would understand even if you did explain. Perhaps you should have been born an elf, for the stories that you had heard made them out to be nearly sexless beings. You were sure you would be able to follow your dream of being a blacksmith in Rivendell without any issue.

However, since you weren’t in a position to leave and go journeying for the elves, you only really had two choices. Suck it up and be the woman that everyone expected you to be, which wasn’t the greatest. Or appeal to the newly appointed King Eomer for permission to study your passion. The second option held promise so it was what you were going to do.

An audience with the King was not hard to achieve. He was a very attentive King to his people, and welcomed them in to air their grievances. Not that there were all that many. Rohan had survived the great war and many of the people were just happy to have returned home. He granted you an audience right away.

Beneath the long dress that you wore out of tradition, you wore riding pants, just like the men. You had stolen them from your brother quite some time ago and enjoyed wearing them under your skirts. They were much less cumbersome than the heavy skirts that only seemed to get in the way. You slowly approached the King and realized immediately just how well the throne suited him. He looked good up there.

You met his eyes and gave your curtsy automatically, knowing that it was expected of you, and perhaps might even help you gain favor. “Good morning, my King.”

“Good morning,” He said, bowing his head, his long blonde hair forming a curtain. “And what can I do for you, Lady Y/N?”

Lady. The words of your mother went through your mind. Ladies should be seen and not heard. Ladies should have children before they are your age. Ladies should tidy the house and brush the horses and mind the children and take care of her husband.

You pasted the smile on your face, though. There was nothing wrong with being a lady, nor being addressed as one. You just wished you could feel like one, and want those things. But you didn’t and that was why you were here. “I have come to request permission for something that isn’t really available to me, my King. I believe that you could open the doors for me with just a few simple words, however. I would be forever grateful, and in your debt.”

“What is it that you want?” Eomer asked, his curiosity peaking.

“I wish to study as a Blacksmith. I did apply to Theoheort, for his is the best forge in the city, but he said that he did not train ladies. Then I went to Leodan, and Deorgar, but they both refused as well.” You were leaving out the rather nasty comments that they had made about your gender, for they would be eating those words when you created better swords than they did. “I’m not asking for special treatment, either. I just want to be trained like any other apprentice.”

“A blacksmith?” Eomer repeated to make sure that he heard you right. You nodded the affirmative. “Are you not frightened by the concept of working closely with fire and steel? Because it is not easy work.”

“The only things that I am afraid of, respectfully my King, are mediocrity and boredom.” And the thought of never being fully accepted for the way that you felt, but you didn’t want to bother the King with those thoughts.

“Then I don’t see a problem,” He said, smiling pleasantly. “As long as I get to see the first sword that you make, and see how it handles. A blacksmith is a very important person to a King, and I like to make sure to have them as my friends.”

“Of course, My King,” You said, curtsying again. You couldn’t help the smile on your face - it came out, though you would much rather of kept it hidden. But Eomer continued to smile as well. You took your leave, grinning smugly until you were back out on the sun-drenched streets.

-

Theoheort contacted you a fortnight later, agreeing to give you a position as an apprentice. He kept a close eye on you, waiting to see if you would break down and leave because of the hard work. But you didn’t even consider that for a second. You were eager to show you passion, and you did. Even Theoheort had to admit that you had a natural talent, once you toughened up a bit. Within a year, the muscles on your arms have grown from handling the hammer.  You liked the changes, and the way that you looked. It gave you a confidence.

It was noticed by someone else in particular. Word was sent to the King when you had finished your first sword, something that you had spent many months upon. You planned on not only showing it to him, but gifting it to him as well, for believing in you. For giving you this amazing opportunity.

The hilt was shaped like a horses’s head. There were ears that stood up from the mane that you had very carefully carved into the wood. You took just as much time on that as you did the steel for the blade, which was sharp enough that someone wouldn’t even know they were cut until they were bleeding to death. It was a special sword, and one worthy of a King - you hoped.

You presented it to him with frazzled hair, sweaty arms and cheeks aglow from being near the fire for so long. Eomer took his time testing it, cutting little niches into a wooden column with ease, spinning it around like he was attacking someone, testing the handle to see if it was comfortable. It was like watching a warrior in action, which you supposed, you were. When he looked at you, you had a hopeful expression on your face, which made him chuckle with amusement.

“It is a very good sword. You should be proud of yourself,” He said, holding it back to you to take. You shook your head and gave him your best bow, rather than curtsy this time. It felt like a more appropriate measure to take, since you probably smelled more like a dirty man than a lady.  

“I made it for you, My King,” You insisted.

“Thank you, I’ll be honored to have it.”

It wasn’t the only thing that you gave him either. Six months after this, you had given him your hand in marriage. You wore your mother’s dress, because you knew that it meant everything to her to see you in it. As you looked at your reflection from the waterbowl that you washed your face in, you realized that you did feel beautiful, which made you nervous. You hadn’t come clean to your future husband about how you felt about yourself yet. That although you liked aspects of femininity, you did not feel like a woman. Just like how you liked some aspects of masculinity, but you did not feel like a man either.

The wedding went off perfectly. You met his sister, Eowyn, and found yourself charmed by her immensely. You heard about how she had disguised herself as a man and gone to war. How it was her who had plunged the sword into the Night King’s helmet and killed what no man before her had been able to kill before.

“It is just a shame that you had to dress up like a man,” You said after a few sips of your goblet at the after-wedding feast. She sat beside you, and her husband, Faromir, on her other wise. “I believe that any army would be benefitted from women. After all, we are much more accustomed to seeing blood than men give us credit for.”

Eowyn seemed pleased by you, while Faramir smiled until he realized what you meant and quickly drank wine to get rid of his red cheeks. You and the blonde woman got along like fire and kindling.

-

The honeymoon was incredible. Eomer made you feel alive. He kissed over each burn that you had gotten from working with the forge. He rubbed at the muscles that you had gained from using the hammer. He made you feel loved - and you loved him so much in return.

That’s why you knew that you had to tell him, and hope that he would not regret his decision of marrying you.

You rolled onto your side to face him, your eyes connecting with his instantly. He looked worn out. You were as well. It had been a very busy couple of days where you only left the bed to use the toilet or to get food to get your strength back. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Sounds serious,” He said, all amusement coming off of his face.

“It is,” You admitted. “It’s not about us because this ... is perfect. It’s about an aspect of myself that I think that you should be aware of. It’s a huge part of who I am. And it will definitely affect who I will be in the future, especially as, well, a Queen.”

“Explain it to me then,” Eomer said, patiently. You held onto the blanket, running the corner tassels through your fingers. You knew the words that you wanted to say. You’d been thinking of them for years. You had planned on telling your parents but now you felt that you didn’t need to stress them with this. You weren’t theirs anymore. You were Eomer’s.

“Okay, here goes. And please, don’t think that this is some evil curse. It might have felt like it a couple times, but this is one hundred percent who I am. And it took me a lot of time to realize that it didn’t mean that anything was wrong with me, or that I was a bad person, or even that I should be outcasted. I became comfortable with it and I accept it, though it means that it will always make me different.”

“Walk me through it then. Help me to understand,” Eomer said, continuing to show a patience that you weren’t even sure he had inside of him. He was hasty to make decisions, verging on a stab now, ask questions later kind of King. He was learning.

“Well, there are types of people, as we know. The women and the men. Male and female. That part is simple enough, you’re definitely a man.”

“But you don’t feel like you’re a woman,” Eomer finished, surprising you. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, being so thrown off by his observation. “I sensed something when you first came to me with your request. At first I thought you were just giving into some sort of feminine whim, or trying to prove somebody wrong.”

“That wasn’t the case-” You interjected, but he continued on.

“Blacksmithing isn’t a job that women take on, it’s too tough for them but-”

“Eomer,” You said, a little sternly. “Why don’t you let me explain to you about myself, rather than have you tell me? I think it would be a lot easier if it’s up to me.”

“Oh, of course.” Eomer never had anyone shut him down like that, but it made sense. Who was he to tell you what he thought you were? He pressed his lips together and nodded at you to continue.

“I don’t really feel like how women are supposed to feel. I don’t crave children or stability nor did I spend my life thinking about marriage. I know not all women are this way, but the ones I grew up with were. When my mother would put me in my best dress, I wouldn’t look into the mirror and see myself as a pretty girl. I’d just see me in a pretty dress. Like the clothes are wearing me. But I’m not saying that I feel like a man either. I don’t want to go to war, or be tough, or drink beer and try to hit on women. I don’t like women like that. But I value strength, like in the blacksmith. And trousers. You would not believe how nice it is to wear trousers sometimes.”

“You in trousers?” Eomer asked, cutting in with wide eyes. “How have I not seen this?”

You chuckled at the awe that he had just over the idea of you wearing trousers. “I mended an old pair of dad’s and kept them for myself. They’re for riding so they’re a bit tight but I like them. I wore them under my dress for a confidence boost when I came to make a request of you. Then I got a second pair when I started working at the blacksmith’s. Managed to convince Theoheort that they’re less of a fire risk since the fabric is right up against my legs instead of being loose.”

“Very smart,” Eomer grunted with approval.

“So I guess what I’m really trying to say here,” You said, getting back on track. “- is that I don’t really feel like I fit into either category. Male or female. I’m just sort of on the outside, or in the middle, I don’t know that part exactly. But it’s something that I want to explore in the future. I know that it would cause a lot of trouble to try to explain this to the people of Rohan, so I have no problem with wearing the gowns in public and being addressed as Queen. I just can’t promise that I would be comfortable doing that in day to day life. But for you, I’d be willing to try if you really can’t handle the thought of it.”

He brought his hand up, cupping your chin gently. His thumb rubbed against your skin. “I’m not going to pretend to be anyone except for who I am. I could never ask you to either. We’re in this together, as I told you in our vows. Besides - I’d quite like to see you in your trousers.”

You laughed, taking a pillow from behind your head and hit him in the face with it, sending a few sparse goose feathers flying, and a surprised sound from your husband. “I think you just want to take them off me.”

“Is it that obvious?” He rolled over so that he was on top of you, keeping his weight on his elbows and his knees, which you fit snuggly in between. His hair was just about everywhere, with feathers stuck into it, making it look as if he had just emerged from some sort of chicken snowstorm. “Whoever you are, I love you.”

“I love you too,” You said dreamily, looking into his eyes.

This was never the dream that you had in mind for your life, but it turned out better than you could have imagined.

[tory-ben-hi-shelton]

my favourite quotes from seizure

That's what we call ourselves. Virals. It seems appropriate to have a group name after becoming a gang of genetic mutants. It's good for morale.

Observing Ben'a struggle, Hi scratched his chin. Glanced at me. Shrugged. Then he quietly slipped around Ben. And, without ceremony, kicked him in the ass. Hard.

Faster than thought, Ben grabbed Hi and wrapped him in a vicious bear hug. "Smart ass."

Hi sputtered, gasping for air. "Back off! I don't like you that way!"

Ben laughed.

Hi slogged back to the beach. "I let him win. He needs the self confidence."

"Right."

"Hey, I'm a giver."

"A saint."

It was good to see Ben laugh again.

"Not nice," I joked. "You'll sour Jewish-Sewee relations."

"It's true, I take it back," Hi said. "Our people have a rich history of mutual respect. Long live the alliance!"

"Score one for your honker."

"Thanks, I think." I cocked my chin at Hi's substantial midsection. "Nice abs."

"Yeah, I work out twice a month. No exceptions. But stop hitting on me, it's embarrassing."

Then, almost as one, the boys looked at their screens. Directly at me.

Huh? I was the youngest. The only girl. Why was I in change? No matter. I was in totally agreement.

"You can't be serious." Shelton groaned, eyes returning to his laptop. "I'd nearly hacked Ben and Jerry's website when you called. We could've been eating free Chunky Monkey right now."

"This is a rip-off dude. Twenty pages, and I still don't know what these people do. But here's a JPEG OF A DIAMOND RING. VERY HELPFUL."

"We need some kind of plan," Hi said. "We can't allow ourselves to be split up. I don't want to be a freak alone. Been there, done that. I like having friends."

"Stop whining, hippie." Ben crossed to Hi and mussed his hair. "We'll figure something out. But no spazzing inside the bunker. I won't allow it."

"I have a cotillion event. Some yacht-club charity fundraiser thingy. Whitney is insisting and Kit took her side." Three wide smiles. "Oh shut up."

But now Ben was here. For some reason. "Fine by me." A wry smile crossed Tom Blue's lips. "But you don't have to ride with my boy if he's bothering you, Tory."

Ben scowled, reddened, but kept quiet.

"No, that'd be great!" I said quickly. "Thanks, Ben. Thanks anyway, Tom!" Ben cast off with more haste than usual. I could hear his father chuckling as as began to pull away.

It occurred to me that Ben was an attractive guy. Even when brooding. Hell, especially when brooding.

Wolf: Haha. Come over now. Grab Shelton if you can.

Green Lantern: Boo. I thought you were hitting on me.

Wolf: Nope. Still intimidated by your good looks.

Green Lantern: Understandable.

"Why does everything girlie smell so delightful?"

"Because we acknowledge the importance of basic hygiene. And periodically clean our bathrooms."

"Brilliant. I should write that down. After all, it takes a village."

"She's famous, really famous, because..." He stopped dead. "Wait."

I met his gaze levely. No point in being discreet now.

"No." Shelton shook his head. "You can't be serious. That's your plan?"

"What plan?" Hi asked.

"You have a better idea?" I crossed my arms. Defiant. And a little self conscious.

"But that's not even a real plan. It's a joke. Why not just chase rainbows looking for lucky charms?"

"What plan?" Hi repeated.

"I'm not claiming it's a slam dunk." I said.

"It's not even a full court shot," Shelton said. "Blindfolded. Underhand. With a bowling ball."

"We have to try something."

"WHAT. PLAN." Hi. Exasperated.

Ben walked in and popped the back of Hi's head.

"WHY. ARE. YOU. YELLING."

"Wonderful." Hi slid to the floor. "First ignored, then attacked. I need new friends. And a lawyer."

"I meet very few people your age who know of her."

"We're very advanced," Hi said earnestly. "I can even zip my own pants. Most times, anyway."

I glanced over my shoulder. Ben, Shelton, and Hi stood behind me, shoulder to shoulder. Scowling. A solid wall of opposition.

Deep breath.

"Guys..."

"Absolutely not!"

"Crazy woman!"

"I just got out if trouble!"

Okay. Bad start.

"Who sold you that box, anyway?" I asked.

"Piss off."

"Hey!" Ben shouted. "Watch your mouth."

Ben stepped towards the counter. Hi grabbed his arm as Shelton placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Thanks, but Ben is picking me up."

"Ben." Jason shook his head. "I guess you're taking community service to heart," he quipped.

"Out of bounds," I warned. "Ben's a good friend."

"He's a prince. Enchanting. Tell him I miss him."

"Fine." Not a care in the world.

Hi leaned close to his screen. "What'd do you mean, 'fine'?"

"Don't come with me," I said. "I'll go by myself."

The boys all spoke at once.

"Don't be a drama queen." Hi.

"You can't go alone." Ben.

"Somebody has to watch your back." Shelton.

I grabbed Hi's shoulder. "Go! Do your thing."

"You're pretty casual with my life, you know."

"Go!"

"Let's see those elbows," Ben demanded. "You left a bloody streak in the shaft."

I let him inspect my wounds, glad he'd forgotten to be mad at me.

"Hi." Shelton panted. "I love you, man."

"Back at you." Hi spat globs of filth. "I'm going to kiss Ben now, in case some of you don't want to watch."

"I'll pass." Ben ruffled Hi's hair.

My head broke the surface. I took a giant breath.

"Tory!" Ben's face was inches from mine. "You okay?"

"Fine," I said. "Dandy. I bonked my head."

Ben looked at me oddly.

Hi shuffled over, grasped my hand, and deposited a sloppy kiss. "I'm in your debt milady."

"Tory!" Eyes popping. "What in God's name are you doing here?"

"You said you needed rescuing. I haven't slain any dragons yet, but the day is young."

"Humouring you means getting in the water." Hi grumbled. "It better be worth it."

Shelton slapped Hi's shoulder. "Seeing you in a wet tee is reward enough."

"Thanks, guys." Flat on his back, rubbing a shoulder. "Don't worry about me."

"Suck it up," said Shelton. "You dropped our fearless leader."

"Just hear me out!"

"I don't wanna!" Shelton whined. "You'll start talking, and pretty soon we'll all start nodding, and then the next thing you know, I'm hang gliding off the Effiel Tower at midnight chased my ninja vampires. No deal!"

Ben smacked the back of Shelton's head.

Once I got them listening, their curiosity always won out. It's what I loved best about them.

"I already counted them," Ben said. "Lose any, you'll be less a few fingers."

"That's twice you've insulted my honour, Blue. Pistols or swords?"

"Correction. That was your last warning. Test me again, and you'll limp for a very long time."

I caught the other Virals in the corner of my eye. "What?"

Ben was staring, jaw open. "Good Lord, Tory."

"Nice shooting, Scarface." Hi handed me Duncan's weapon. "Remind me to never owe you money. Who taught you to fire a gun?"

"Long story." I wasn't answering 'drunk grandfather' true or not.

"Tory, a father isn't suppose to fear his fourteen year old daughter. That being said, you terrify me."

"We need to thank my great-great-great pirate grandma."

Kit's eyebrows shot up. "Your what?"

"Nothing. Just kidding."

Maybe.

Kits generosity had benefitted the Virals as well. Though a shockingly long list of museums, landmarks, and wildlife organizations had banned us for life, we'd avoided criminal charges.

[capricornus-rex]

Playing Pretend (8)

Requested by: @calkesttiss | Prompt:

Hi! I just watched isi & ossi (rich girl and poor boxer boy AH) on netflix and now i cant stop thinking about cal and fake dating. Do with that what you will

Additional prompt: ❛  I wasn’t pretending with you.  ❜ [x] 

Cal Kestis x Reader

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | Next: Part 9 | Masterlist

8 of ?

You strode through the empty, lifeless hallways. Thunder rumbled from the outside, you hoped that Cal could get back home before the rain falls. When you reached the open arch that leads to the living room, you discover your parents in there. They appeared to be stiff as statues; your mother was positioned like a queen on the throne as she sat on the velveteen armchair, whereas your father stood by the window that overlooks the garden. You wondered how long have they been staying there.

“Mom, Dad…” you dryly greet.

“Sweetie, sit down,” Sorhan gestures the couch to you. “We need to talk.”

You obey. You toss your jacket to the empty space next to you as you lazily bounced down on the couch, back slouched, arms crossed over your chest, and your leg propped up on your knee.

“You’ve got to stop seeing that… boy,” Yasina evidently had to struggle in finding the right word to use in addressing Cal.

You roll your eyes at your mother, “His name is Cal. Would it kill you if you say his name?”

“Sorry, dear. But, listen to me,”

“To you?” you cut off, but your mother continued nonetheless.

“This charade isn’t healthy. These past few days, you’ve been staying outside more often than in the house. A woman of your stature deserves better.”

“A woman of stature,” you repeat the words mockingly. “Really, Mom? And what kind of guy is good for a woman of my stature?”

Your mother stood her ground, “A man with good reputation, upholds a good imagem and has a good grasp of influence.”

“No, Mom. You’re speaking about yourself. That kind of man you’re talking about… is Dad. I’m afraid you don’t know what’s good for me, you just think you do.”

You’re astonished with the act your mother is putting up. You couldn’t look at her in the eye, you could not bear to listen to her voice for long, because when you do—all you can visualize is how she talked her way into making the Ithrels think that marrying her own daughter off to their son was a good idea. You imagined her thinking of you like some kind of livestock to be sold to the next owner, and it disgusted you straight to the bone. Just thinking about it made you hiccup as you fight back the tears coming on.

“Do you understand [y/n]? This has got to stop,” Yasina firmly said.

“Not until you postpone my engagement with Logan,”

“At with that again, [y/n]!” Yasina hissed. “Why can’t you understand that what we’re doing is only for the best for you?” Yasina sighed but deliberately dodging the engagement subject.

You’re not sure how long you could endure this charade.

There was a resigned look in your mother’s face, but you couldn’t empathize with it because something valuable to you was at stake—your own freedom to choose.

“Don’t you understand? I have your life figured out for you!”

Thunder bellowed over your house.

That sentence didn’t sound right to you. In the back of your mind, your conscience—that tiny but loud voice in your head—was violently thrashing like the wild lightning flashing through the windows, throwing questions left and right until the words would reach the tip of your tongue. That’s when your mother has crossed the line. You jolted up from your seat on the couch and that’s when you let it all out for the first time in your life.

“You know, Mom, just because you think you got my life figured out—with all the decisions involving me that didn’t have my consent or anything—that doesn’t mean it’ll make me happy and content by default! And now you’re suddenly caring about me ever since I started being with Cal? I have been with him for weeks and you’ve only noticed just now! I’ve never been this happy until I found Cal!”

“That boy will do no better than the Ithrels in securing your father’s winning step to the Senate election! We need the Ithrels!”

“And in exchange, you sold off your own daughter as a dowry for that!” you clap back.

“We need their money and influence!”

Your mother’s outburst was a bitter epiphany for you. Your heart sank. Tears welled up behind your eyes and your stomach cramped as you tried to fight back the tears.

So, they’ve chosen that instead of my happiness. So be it. The voice in your head said in a sullen tone.

“I have my answer now…” you choked. “You never cared for me at all. I’m not your daughter.”

A single tear rolls down on your cheek, without waiting for your mother to explain herself, you walked out of the living room; at that moment, you know that it’s hopeless to expect anything from them. You slipped into their bedroom, you located the small safe inside the closet and cracked the code. It never probably crossed your parents’ minds that one day you would pry the vault open and take the money inside. You took enough for you live off from and the debt you’d promised Cal.

You quietly returned to your room and lock yourself in, barring the doorknobs with a chair.

Bags and clothes spilled out of your closet and drawers after rummaging them wildly in a fit. You looked for the best backpack you could find and stuffed it full of your clothes and other daily things.

Two knocks on the door startled you and the muffled voice of your mother on the other side can be heard. You ignored it as you continued packing. Seeing that your primary way out has been blocked by your parents, the window was your next option. Upon opening the shutters, you assess your escape route—the blossom tree’s branches were conveniently near enough your window for you to reach.

You carefully dropped your bag to the hedge below your window. You were next. You balanced yourself on the windowsill and kept your focus on the branch, your mother’s calls to you fell to deaf ears, you blocked out the sound of her knocking so you could concentrate.

“Okay, [y/n], you can do this,” you pep-talk yourself out of it.

A leap of faith.

You gripped onto a sturdy, thick branch extending to a close distance to your window. You make your way down the tree as quickly as possible, another hedge broke your fall, and you snatched your bag right where you dropped it.

You made a run for it and then you were out of the manor’s premises. You ran as fast as your legs could carry you, hoping that the path you’re following could be the way Cal is going from your house to Mobara Palace.

Little by little, cold droplets landed on your cheeks until they all fell in succession. The rain was the least of your problems. Fog wafted out of your mouth each time you exhale and the cold air seeping into your lungs was starting to slow you down, but no, you tell yourself that you must keep going.

You arrive to the city. Lampposts lining the streets in the dead of the night was your guide in finding Cal.

“Cal!”

Your voice was nearly drowned out by the rainfall, you went straight ahead, following the directions leading to Mobara Palace but you never stopped calling his name.

“CAL?!”

Under the light of a lamppost, someone walked past it in the darkness of the streets. A sliver of hope convinced you that it was him and so you come running to it.

“CAL…! CAL!!!” you cry at the top of your lungs until he turned to the direction where his name was coming from.

He stopped in his tracks, turned around and saw you.

“[y/n]?”

Cal shielded your head from the raindrops with the flap of his poncho. He puts his arm around you as you walked together through the rain. When Cere saw you drenched and cold, she offered you shelter in their ship without a second’s notice.

You and Cal took turns in using the shower to get changed into warm, dry clothes. It was already late and most of the crew have already retired to bed, except for you and Cal both settled in the couch below the galley.

“How’s the tea?”

Your only reply was a gentle grunt. Your hands clasp the curvature of the mug, letting the heat radiate from the ceramic to your flesh. Cal reaches for you and gently places his hand on your thigh. He was getting tired of your silence, you haven’t spoken ever since you got in the Mantis—except for saying “thanks.”

He decided to sit by your side, scooching closer to you until your sides touch.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t know, really… I mean, I still can’t wrap my head around it,”

He didn’t push it, he kept quiet, though it was a comforting kind of silence. The muffled sound of the thunder and rain while you were in the confines of the Mantis was surprisingly relaxing; leaning against the couch, the two of you began rambling to one another, shifting from one random subject to the next.

“Look, I have the money. I’d rather not have you ask me how I got it—”

“I don’t really care about that,” Cal cuts you off, looking into your eyes intently.

You blinked and stammered as you tried to regain yourself. All you could ever do is take another sip of the tea. You stared into the dark, transparent liquid in the cup and saw your reflection. You sighed.

“My parents and I had a fight earlier,”

“Is that why you ran away?”

“Partially. What convinced me to leave was that they made me realize that I never mattered to them as their daughter. Perhaps to them, I was an asset that they can use for their own benefit—the engagement for instance. Not once, did I ever hear from them that they considered what I’d feel if I knew that I was being married off against my will. I’m afraid to think that they never cared about me. They tell me that they care for me, that they only want what’s good for me…” you bite your lip, your grip around the mug tightening.

You continued on rambling, Cal still stood there by your side, listening. Perhaps, that’s all he could ever do to help you right now. You just needed a listener.

“But all this time, my whole life—it was just a big, nasty game of pretend. A game I never wanted to be part of.”

You sniffled and resisted the tears, chugging your tea so that the tears won’t fall. You apologized for suddenly rambling. He noticed that your voice was trailing off, your eyes were drooping, and you could barely hold the mug securely in your hands.

“Aww, look at you, you’re beat,”

“I’m fine,” you stammered.

Cal wasn’t taking that for an answer, he takes the cup away from your hand and scooped you up from the couch and right into his arms. He brought you to the quarters, he asked if you were claustrophobic and apologizes in advance for the condition of your would-be bedroom.

He settles you down on his bed, but you stretched out your arms to him—gesturing him to stay and lie down with you—he gave in and cuddled you. His musk entered your nostrils, you nuzzled your nose on his chest as you cuddled. His hands softly and smoothly glided across your arm, his fingers danced on your sides to exposed tummy back and forth. He felt a chuckle vibrate from you.

“What is it?” he hummed.

“Nothing. I just think this feels nice—even if we’re just pretending,”

“But I wasn’t pretending with you,”

“What?”

“Somehow, I thought you always knew. Back at the park, at the fountain—everything just started to feel different with you.”

You angled your head up to face him, your grip on his tightened a little that his shirt crumpled. He didn’t see it coming—you inched closer to him and you were the one planting a kiss this time. His hands crawled to your neck, he shifted in bed—standing on fours over you—and returns with a more passionate kiss.

Trapped in this intense embrace, you gave in and let go. Cal’s free hand wandered down your side, tracing your curves, his fingers sank into your flesh as he groped you by the thigh. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your nails left red marks as you scratched the skin of his back; you rake his hair back with slender fingers as tender kisses mark your neck. Your back arches as his lips crawl downward from your neck to your chest, Cal’s eyes fixates on your expression and listens to the sighs that escape your lungs.

For the first time in your life, you’ve allowed yourself to give in and let go. No words were spoken, but your emotions were loud enough. Secret smiles revealed themselves as you and Cal gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes.

[halberdierminister]

I have been here for an entire year.

Within one week straddling late March and early April 2019, I found out that I got passed over for the dream job I was certain I had in the bag, that the writing I submitted to Steam Ticket wasn't going to get published, and the job I had been doing for nearly two years and had seriously begun to loathe was firing me.

I did not recover from this smoothly.

Instead, I didn't find a new job, and months of being short on rent and bills caught up with me very quickly, and I was threatened with eviction. Luckily, a few of my friends were willing to help me with bills so that I did not get evicted, and another friend was willing to let me stay at her house once I had to leave the apartment until I had somewhere else to move to.

That move would be to my parents' new house outside of Sauk City, Wisconsin. They offered to let me stay with them on a few conditions. These conditions are here reproduced without any editing: You will daily look for a job Maintain a first shift sleep-wake schedule No video games No gaming equipment No anime or comics No occult books No hard rock music If friends come to visit, you will remain chaste in our home. We expect your help as we settle in, and that may vary as to tasks You will keep your room clean So over the course of the move, I sold my PS2 and my N64 and gave away my PS4 and my Xbox 360, though I kept the hard drive. I tried to sell my Gamecube, but it wasn't in good enough shape for anyone to buy. I kept my Nintendo Switch, my New 3DS XL, and my PS Vita, figuring I could keep those hidden enough as handhelds. My PSTV I had lent to a friend months previously. I also sold nearly all of my physical video games, my soundbar and my television set.

On June 19th, 2019, with the help of the friend who had housed me and now owned my old PS4, I moved from La Crosse, Wisconsin -- the city I had lived in on and off since 2008 and permanently since 2014 -- to my parents' house. On the way, we stopped in Madison, Wisconsin so I could rent a storage unit. In there I put a bunch of stuff I wouldn't need at my parents' house, including almost everything that they would have objected to. In went my Magic the Gathering cards. In went my anime wall scrolls. In went my comics and manga and Gamecube and remaining physical console games and books like "The Ethical Slut" and "Werewolf: The Apocalypse" and "Things Not Seen" which isn't even about magic or the paranormal but my mom still decided to steal it from my room once many years ago and hide it in the tool shed with my Harry Potter books and Bionicle trading cards. I also felt I should keep my Legos and stuffed animals in there too. But it wouldn't be long before I could find a full time job, get my own place, and get these things back where they belong. Except I have been here for an entire year. I was never supposed to be here this long! I really wasn't! I worked a hell of a lot. Daily looked for jobs. Even found a few. Overworked myself just about to the point of breaking. But just as I finally got a full time with benefits that would help me build a groundwork for the future… well, people realized that there was a global pandemic going on and shut down stores. My company laid off everyone who had been there 90 days or less. And I mean completely laid off with absolutely no promise of a return. My boss said that if they manage to get to a place where they could hire new people again, they would love to have me back. But she also said that she doubts that they will be in that position any time in the foreseeable future.

So.

I am still here. Which is not to say that it has been a complete wash. After all, as devastating as it was to lose my job, I cannot imagine how much more devastating it would have been if I had been living on my own and had to worry about rent or food. It really is too easy to dwell on the feeling of failure that comes from realizing I have been here for an entire year. I suppose I had better take stock of all the good things that have happened and that I have accomplished since I moved in. 1. I finished my writing portfolio, a project I started for a class in 2013 and had been absentmindedly poking at since then.

2. I rebuilt my entire resume from the ground up. 3. I read a total of 54 books in 2019. Not bad for only having read 2 the year before. 4. I started volunteering at the Sauk City Public Library, which has been fun and fulfilling. 5. I have been hired at Target, Madison College, PrePlayed and Half Price Books. I even managed to work several weeks between 40 hours and 65 hours, something I didn't think I was capable of. I may not have those jobs anymore, but being hired four times in a year is nothing to sneeze at. 6. Except I haven't been hired four times. I have been hired five times. The library was so impressed with my volunteering that when a position for Library Assistant opened up, they asked me specifically if I wanted it. Though I originally turned them down in order to work at Half Price Books, I was pleased to find that it was still open once I had lost my job and once libraries were re-opened for curbside checkout. So I asked and they hired me. It's only part time, but it is far better than nothing. 7. I have read a total of 66 books this year and we are not even at the halfway point. 8. I have finished writing two long-form fics: the poem fic The Revelation of Takaya According to Jin and the literal actual novel A Legitimate Businessman. In fact, at least 30,000 of the words for A Legitimate Businessman were written since I moved in here. That's some pretty hardcore proof that I can actually write an actual novel, something I assumed I just did not have in me. 9. I have paid off thousands of dollars in debt. All that remains is two friends and my student loans. I do not expect to pay off my student loans. 10. Through working at PrePlayed, I acquired for free two PS2s, an Xbox 360, one or two more Xbox 360 hard drives, and a Wii, which I gave to a friend. I have acquired at low cost two wireless guitar controllers for Rock Band, a PS3, and all the controllers and cables I needed to make these and my gamecube work again. I also got a bunch of games and a Gameboy Micro. On Black Friday, I purchased a steeply discounted new PS4 Slim. All of these now reside in my storage locker, except for the Gameboy Micro and the PS4, which are hidden in my room alongside my handheld systems. My hubris may be showing, but so far I have not been hit with a consequence. 11. I bought myself a new ukulele as an upgrade from the one I bought in 2011. It has a built in tuner, a neck strap, and a jack to plug into an amp. 12. I am now paying my own cell phone bill, which I have done reliably for an entire year alongside my storage locker bill. 13. I have gotten three works published this year so far and may still yet have a few on the way. 14. I've made more through Redbubble in the last year than I ever have before. In the process, I have learned a lot more about graphic design. 15. I may not be writing every day, but I am writing MOST days, something that was certainly unthinkable even last year, let alone two years ago. So. There still is lots of work to do. I still need a full time job. I will likely need to rebuild my entire resume from the ground up AGAIN. I still want out of this place. I still need a way to be authentically me. But my parents have been supportive and caring, even with their restrictive rules. And the environment has probably been less restrictive than I imagined it would be. But there's so much I still want to do and so many things I still want to be that I do not feel I can do or be here. In exactly three months, I will turn 30. I truly, truly, truly hope by that time I will have a concrete plan to get out of here. But I guess I have still done a lot.

[alexanderlightweight]

Cryptids of Brooklyn

(somehow the text got deleted so putting it back in.  Malec (shadowhunters) prompt fill for @crispyoperawolfdean​.  Might not be quite what you were expecting but I hope you like it!  I had a lot of fun with it and thank you for the prompt!

If there was one thing anyone knew about Alec Lightwood -and almost everyone at least knew of him- it was that he was cold, eviscerating and just about the most vicious attorney in New York.

His clients thought of him with an almost alien sense of distant and somewhat terrified adoration.  He had little charm to speak of, instead working with blunt facts and ruthlessly twisting words and happenstance to sound as though what he said was the law.  

There were rumors -well hidden ones- that at one point in time, one of his clients had actually decided to plead guilty rather than work with him.  No one was sure if that was truth or a myth, but there was little doubt that it could have and probably had happened.  

For all the rather redundant and overused jokes made about lawyers and sharks, never was such a comparison or joke made concerning Alec Lightwood, as there was one glaring difference between the two ruthless predators.

Sharks smiled, Alec Lightwood didn’t.  

-

In the same city, but quite a different world from the one Alec Lightwood resided in, was Magnus Bane.  A young man with a brilliant mind and after quite a bit of hard work, a small kingdom made up of a variety of businesses.  Magnus was beloved by many, inspiring to all and even those who hated him tended to admire him with the reluctance of someone knowing they were being petty out of jealousy, rather than a justified dislike.  

His most well known and popular business was Pandemonium.  A thriving club that was a close distance away from yet another one of Magnus’ enterprises, Edom.  An upscale, classy and frankly gorgeous hotel that Magnus was rumored to live in, he didn’t.  Magnus Bane instead lived in a very discreet but wonderfully luxurious Brooklyn penthouse that only six people knew the address of.  The floor of Edom that he kept reserved for himself was where he had his parties and occasionally, where he stayed when his schedule became a dungeon filled with paperwork manacles designed to entrap him for hours on end.

All in all, the two men had such drastically different careers -not to mention lifestyles- that such a story containing both of them should normally have been titled in such similar fashions as to some of the great classics; The Two Towers, A Tale of Two Cities, The Road Not Taken and such on and so forth.  However, the eye of the beholder is often led awry and that is why this written articulation is not so aptly named.  Instead, the most fitting name for our tale is more likely to run along the lines of: Besotted, Ardent Admiration, Disaster Gay and Dad Jokes: A Guide to Accidentally Wooing Your Soulmate.  

-

To the world and the masses who thought it their business to know everyone else’s, Alec Lightwood was chronically single the way other people chronically breathed.  It was his way of life, he clearly didn’t know any other way to live and no one who knew him -or of him- could fathom it changing.  Ever.

Magnus Bane had a very different history.  A beautiful tapestry of love gained and lost and set aside that broke many hearts not his own and had many in mourning when he shifted his focus from romantic whimsy to that of business.    

It would be then, quite a surprise to many, to find that not only was the public perception of both gentlemen so vastly erroneous, it in fact bordered on blasphemous.  

No, the fact was that it was providential intervention that Magnus Bane had little to no reason to jaunt about New York’s finest court rooms, as his poor husband’s workplace persona would have quite melted in his presence.  For while he could in fact smile, even with that particular trait Alec still did not quite make the parameters to be inferred as a shark.  No, Alec Lightwood, or Lightwood-Bane as his legal name happened to be, rather turned into a jellyfish when his husband was nearby.  A rather useless but electrified blob all around.  

It was pure happenstance that their paths remained uncrossed in the public eye.  Alec being something of a private person, only in the fact that he cared little for others opinions and Magnus far too busy to deal with one more detail.  The secrecy of their romance and the obscuration of their marriage were all quite unique and coincidental happenings.  

Their first meeting was during a major power outage that attracted far more attention than they did and which had in fact turned into a first date which quickly became a slippery slope of tender and intimate romance and quite ridiculous gestures.  Their engagement was short and, while Alec loved his family dearly and Magnus loved his friends, both agreed that they could do an anniversary party later down the road.  This wedding was for them and if they told those they loved, it would be less about Magnus and Alec and more about everyone else knowing better and attempting to take over.

There was a very good reason why Alec’s family didn’t have their address and it was going to stay that way.

Out of all of this, the crux of how they stayed decidedly so under the radar came down to one abstract point of reality.  Human infallibility.

It was a struggle for people to comprehend the fact that someone like Magnus Bane even existed on the same plane of reality as someone like Alec Lightwood.  Therefore, the idea of them interacting -let alone being acquaintances- was so far outside their realm of understanding that it was concluded to be impossible.

Therefore, a number of people had what they assumed to be rather strange and oddly timed hallucinations, such as: ‘oh look, there is Magnus Ba-... no.  Nope, never mind.  That isn’t him.  That can’t be him.  I’m fairly certain I saw Alec Lightwood with him.  This is a delusion.  I must be ill.’  As such, in order to not be buried under vitriol by their online peers for their hallucinations, such sightings were never reported and instead were buried deep in the mental abyss of things one does anything not to think about.

In other words, Magnus and Alec Lightwood-Bane were the cryptids of Brooklyn.  

-

It would come as no surprise that Magnus knew more people than he didn’t and had more favors owed to him than he himself owed.  As it were, he continued to do favors.  It left other people quite in his debt, while he himself mostly managed to benefit from it.  As it were, he had been doing a long time acquaintance, Luke Garroway, the favor of letting his step-daughter and  pseudo-step-son work at his main office.  

It was temporary work that they split between themselves as they were both still in school.  It was also a decision that he regretted immediately.  

While his relationship with Alec was carefully contained, the rest of Alec’s family did not seem to share the same ability when it came to their personal lives.  A few months after hiring the duo Magnus learned that he had hired what may someday be Alec’s sister.  Either by way of Clary’s father marrying Alec’s mother, or because one of Alec’s siblings was besotted with her.  

As Magnus had a firm policy on not mixing business with his personal life, he felt rather disgruntled.  It didn’t help that neither of the two were particularly suited for office work and were more inclined to impulsive choices than anything involving well-reasoned decisions.      

The way he found out involved a rather alarming mixture of tea.  Both verbal and liquid.

It was a maudlin office day.  One that had started far too early and Magnus had been forced to leave a large and beautifully comfortable bed and a delightfully warm and sleep-muddled husband to get ready for a tedious day at work.  A quick exercise, a hot shower and a perfected beauty regime had passed in the blink of an eye and yet had been only just long enough for him to enjoy coffee and toast with Alec before he left.

As was the usual go of things, he was one of the very first to arrive.  It meant he could look over a few of the other offices, see that things were in place and settle down to make a rather large pot of soothing tea that he would take with him to his office and settle into an armchair as he perused his schedule for the day.

As Magnus adored plants, he’d had his designer include a very active and flourishing plant decor.  Which meant that when Clary and Simon both entered the outer office where they worked, the fact that his door was open was obscured by a rather gorgeous and lustrous monstera named Augustus.  

“Alright Fray, spill.  How was dinner with your new fam?”  Simon said, as usual he was overly loud and unfortunately Magnus could invision his eyebrows dancing as he teased Clary.

“It was really good, mostly good.  Great even!”  And that was the ever excitable and somewhat self-absorbed Clarissa.

“So why did you text me so many key smashes?”  Simon asked and Magnus mentally waged a very small skirmish on whether or not he wanted to get up and shut his door.  He was very comfortable where he was and he wanted to finish his tea rather than alert them to his presence.  They both had an appalling -he was working on it- lack of office etiquette and had decided he needed to be inundated with questions and that it was their right to barge into his office.  

“Well Maryse,” Clary started and Magnus nearly spilled his tea, “her last name is Trueblood so I thought that was her kids name too.  Turns out her kids are Alec, Izzy and Max Lightwood.”  

Magnus could hear the way Simon choked at that tidbit.  Also, he was going to strangle Lucian.  

“No fucking way, Fray!  You’re future bro is Alec Lightwood?  Guess you have a new bestie to bail you out of trouble.”  Simon teased.

“No, I won’t.  Because he’s a complete asshole and emotionless jerk.”  Clary exclaimed and Magnus’ grip tightened on his cup.  “He didn’t even pretend to smile at me and when I tried asking him about his life he wouldn’t tell me and then when Izzy tried to share stuff, he shut her down every time she started talking about him.  And, he said it was because he didn’t trust someone he’d just met to keep it to themselves!  The nerve of him.”

Considering the fact that Clary was currently spilling everything to Simon, and had a notoriously bad habit of telling everything to everyone, Magnus couldn't see why she was so offended.  It seemed a rather intelligent choice on his husband’s part.

“Rude,” Simon agreed, “wow. I always thought that maybe he was nicer with his family.  So he just doesn’t have a personality?”  

“If a personality can consist of a miserable lump of a human being who is never going to find love or happiness and just enjoys making other people feel terrible, than no.  He doesn’t.”  

“Savage.  I love it.”

In any other situation, Magnus might have felt indignant on his husband’s behalf.  However, Alexander could be quite standoffish and Clarissa’s rather... abrasive need to insert herself into everyone else’s everything would clash with Alec’s indifference to new people.  Especially since he knew this was the first time Maryse had seriously dated since her divorce and he remembered Alec coming home from that dinner, miffed on being interrogated by a little girl who had started in on why he was wearing a band on his ring finger.  Alec did not like it when people demanded things from him.

Instead, Magnus took a very long sip and decided that he was very much looking forward to whenever Alec’s next surprise visit to the office was.

-

It ended up being a few weeks.  Magnus was busy with travelling and Alec had a few very intense and complicated cases.  

It was Magnus’ good fortune that only Clary was working that morning and while he missed the first part of their interaction, he definitely was aware of something amiss when he heard Clary’s voice rise in volume with a, “no, I am not going to check and see if he’s busy.  You don’t have an appointment and I don’t care who you are Alec, you can’t just waltz in here and think you can use my connections to Magnus Bane because our parents are dating!”

When Magnus pushed his door open, it was to the sight an indignant Clary standing at her desk with her arms crossed.

“If I wanted an appointment with Magnus I wouldn’t ask you,” Alec said and Magnus admired the way his voice dripped with derision and the mocking arch of his eyebrow.  

Deciding to spare them all even more of a headache, Magnus smoothly interjected, “that’s because Alexander never needs an appointment, hello darling.”  

If there was one thing Magnus could be proud of, it was the way Alec’s complete demeanor changed for him.  All irritation ebbed away, as smooth as a tide flowing back home to the depths of the ocean.  Alec’s face transformed into the tenderest altars of adoration even as Magnus cupped his cheek and was gifted with a kiss to his palm.  

They both ignored Clary’s stuttered shock and Magnus pulled Alec in for a kiss before wrapping an arm around his waist.  

“Ah yes, Clary I think you’ve met my husband before,” Magnus said.  At his side, Alec pressed a kiss to his hair and Magnus could feel him shaking with laughter.  

[mutantsrisingrpg]

Congratulations NOEL! You’ve been accepted as IAPETUS.

This was the hardest decision we’ve ever had to make. Both of the applications for Jack were so damn good and we went back and forth on it. But, the way Jack idealizes Alma in your expanded connection has what hooked us, Noel! The way you ended Jacks bio to everything written about Alma, to this “He’d expected a gun to his face; instead, he’d gotten a lifeline.” This, this line right here had us SOBBING. We can’t wait to see you bring Jack to life on the dash! 

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

Out of Character Information: 

NAME/ALIAS: Noel :~)

PRONOUNS: They/them

AGE: 24

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: CDT / GMT-5

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: Jack Mizuno

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cismale, he/him

DETAILS & ANALYSIS:  

I see Jack as someone with an identity whose boundaries are constantly in flux, and the consequences of that endless/unsure sense of self. Someone (largely) unrepressed, unrepentant, unashamed, whose depth comes from his own unknown limitations, and the exhilaration that comes with exploring that edge. What could he do, what will he do? He hardly knows himself, but rather than being a problem, it’s a challenge, a philosophical question. He shares his brain with so much all the time, and sometimes the space between himself and everything else is more a suggestion than a defined line. 

He’s like one of those kids raised in excessive, grotesque wealth, except with information instead of money; information, which is often power. Definitely someone who never learned to shut up, turn down the drink or the job or the daring glance. No one can be tapped into the Internet like that, an endless sea of screaming neon and screens and signs and meaning and nonsense and desire, and not be a little bit unhinged. He combats this with a straight-forward, analytical nature, a temperament capable of riding the crest of all that data without drowning. Most of the time. 

Ultimately, Jack is someone with immediate access to anything and everything he could ever want to know, and a personality just morally flexible enough that he wouldn’t for a moment think to feel ashamed using it against someone.

BIO: (cw: neglect, violence, addiction, drugs, suicidal ideation)

Jack’s power had started as a party trick.

It was the first time he’d been invited to a sleepover. The other boy’s parents probably felt bad for him, the kid with no mom and no friends and an always-absent father, but the specifics didn’t matter much. He’d been hungry for their attention, anyone’s attention, and when the opportunity was given to him he intended to leave an impression. Do you have a computer room? There’s something you should see. He’d rested one hand on the mouse, one on the keyboard, scowling-serious like the hackers he’d seen on TV. The posture was more for the visual than anything else; he wasn’t going to need to press a single key tonight. Give me a name. Someone you hate.

One brush of his thumb against a wire, and the screen flickered a hundred colors. Garbled words and images, resolving into a series of personal photos, emails meant for someone else’s eyes. A social security card. A private world cracked open for him, as easy as asking please.

It was the last time he’d let anyone watch him work. The other kids had looked at him in horror, his still hands, the blank look on his face. Blank as the static on a broken TV, or the waxy face of a corpse. Freak. Mutant. It didn’t bother him— other people’s opinions rarely bothered him— but it made the reveal less effective. Distracted from the point, which was: Look what I can do. And, more importantly: What can you give me for it?

Jack had been glad when they'd moved states not long after. Moving every few months was mostly an annoyance, but it did give him an unlimited supply of second chances at first impressions. By his teens, he’d perfected his routine. Cash for information. Blackmail, answers to tests, access to any secret. Any question answered, for the right price. Even if he had nothing to spend the money on but video games, candy, cigarettes and (eventually) drugs, whatever— it was the power that got to him, the real fun of the exchange. Before long his clientele had expanded from his fellow students to the local teachers. Then their friends. Then, a more dangerous kind of customer. More dangerous friends. If his father noticed his new schedule of late-night outings, he never mentioned it. Richard Mizuno had never been much of a parent, coming and going with no notice, sometimes for weeks on end. When they were sleeping in the same house, he didn’t seem to notice Jack’s movements around him at all.

Jack got caught when he was fifteen. A client looking for dirt on a cheating spouse recognized him, his dark hair, those blank eyes. Hey, aren’t you Mizuno’s kid? It was inevitable, running in circles adjacent to criminals, that he’d eventually run into someone who knew his own criminal father. Rich was a small-time con man and a big-time gambler. What money he made never lasted long in his pockets; it was rare that he made more than he lost, and outrunning his debts had been what kept them on the move through Jack’s childhood. That evening, his father called him into the kitchen and passed him a cigarette over the cheap plastic table where they’d never eaten a meal together. That evening, his father looked at him with interest for the first time in his life.

Once again his ability was a party trick, this time for his father’s benefit. Something to show off to strangers in the back rooms of clubs and anonymous private basements. Look what I found on you. Imagine what I could find on your enemies. Blackmail was a dirty business, but it paid better than the various scams his father had been working through the years. Pretty soon, they were making good money, more in a week than they’d previously seen in months. For the first time, they signed an actual lease on an apartment. He swapped out his Craigslist bed frame for one from Ikea. Soon, all Jack’s evenings were spent scowling in corners, the prop for his father’s grand reveal, and his mornings were spent sleeping through classes. He didn’t need to be present for the actual deals, but his dad liked leaving an impression, and silent boy genius hacker was a pretty memorable one.

That routine lasted nearly three years. The Mizunos made a name for themselves as the ones who could get dirt on anyone, anytime, and bore no strict alliances; it was more lucrative that way. Their reputation began to precede them. Even at a young age, Jack knew enough about the world— enough from watching his father, and the men who came after him— to know it could never end well. Inevitably, his dad made a gamble on the wrong person, and got a bullet in the head for his trouble. Jack took what was left of their money and ran as far as he could run, all the way to the opposite coast, into the familiar arms of an anonymous face and an unfamiliar town.

In another life, that would have been his lesson to take a sharp right turn and set down some more legitimate roots. As it was, he’d spent his years honing his abilities, learning how to control them and sell them to the highest bidder. The money was too easy, the satisfaction of a new impossible puzzle cracked— it was addictive, all-encompassing. Where most people only accessed a trickle of information at a time, their own personal corner of infinity, Jack bathed in it.  All the world’s secrets at his fingertips, if he did things right, if he kept at it. Every puzzle had its solution. He could have anything and everything in the world he could want, and at that moment all he wanted was more.

He was so cocky. Cocky, and empty, and often bored. Sometimes high. It was a dangerous combination. First, he got run out of New York with his life, just barely. He’d bet on the wrong person, someone who knew that all it took to get him to do something was telling him he couldn’t. Nothing more attractive than a locked door and a challenge. Nothing better than proving someone wrong. Next stop, Chicago, where he hadn’t fallen into old habits as much as his only habits. It started with some high-powered mutant at a house party, looking him up and down with a raised brow— This guy? Really?— and it was like he lost his fucking mind. People could call him any name in the books and he wouldn’t bat a pretty eyelash, but questioning his abilities set him off like a rabid dog, what little common sense he had disappearing behind a smirk. All the mutant had to do was cock his head and ask, Can you? And Jack had said, Try me.

Jack would show them. He would show everyone in the entire world if he had to. And that was how he’d found himself on the wrong side of the Blackburn Syndicate.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS: 

ALMA: When Jack looked up from his crouch on the floor of the Blackburn server room and saw Alma, pure rage in a five-foot-two frame and looking ready to snap his neck, he’d laughed. In the split second between seeing their face and recognizing it, his mind tried the odds of getting out of that room alive and came up with the equivalent of an error message. So this was it, his penultimate moment, the last bad decision in a history of bad decisions. He’d lived his life from one increasingly risky gamble to the next, always left unsatisfied and searching for the next big thing-- assuming he didn’t get his face kicked in first. Not a great way to live if longevity was a priority, but he’d been running long enough on hubris to ignore that part. Until now. Now, it seemed the ever-chaotic universe had found a small justice to be done, one small moving part of chaos to put back in its place. He was going to be powered down for good. All that was left was to let go, with the finality of an animal going limp in the mouth of its mother, submitting to the inevitability of the narrative he’d always seen coming. 

Jack wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel. Disappointed? He should be. He’d gotten caught before he could deliver the product to his client. He’d failed the job. But he’d gotten into the Blackburn servers first, cracked open the deepest secrets of one of the most secretive gangs. The rest of the job was just… transportation. This was his biggest challenge to date, and he’d— somehow, incredibly— pulled it off. Which was how he’d found himself laughing in the face of the inevitable, expression lit only by the blinking red and blue lights of the monitor below him and his hands nested in a tangle of wires like the hair of a lover. 

He can’t imagine what she saw in him at that moment. A scruffy kid in old clothes living out of a hotel on the South Side, spending his days chain-smoking out the bathroom window while he waited for his phone to ring. Those days, he’d always had this feeling like he was about to vibrate out of his skin, worst of all when he was waiting for a job. Bouncing between all these intense, erratic impulses, always on the edge of shaving his head or robbing a bank or jumping in front of a car. He was a ball of tightly-would energy with no container, spinning and ricocheting and destroying everything it touched, and getting himself banged up in the process. An attack dog without a leash, biting its own tail into infinity. Jack was on his way to a dead end, full-speed, and changing paths wasn’t an option. Stopping felt like drowning; moving, outwitting every challenge, outrunning all consequences, at least it had a rush.

Until Alma Rosario looked at him and said, I’ve been looking for someone like you. He’d never been looked at like that before, like they were taking the whole measure of him, like they knew what he was and what he was meant to do. You’re with us now. Like he’d been theirs the whole time, and everything up until that moment was just practice for the real work of his life. He’d expected a gun to his face; instead, he’d gotten a lifeline. Someone who gave a fuck about him in a way no one ever had before. A cool hand on his shoulder, a direction to point his focus, and a leader who took his restlessness and alchemised it into blood-deep loyalty. The rest of the world could get fucked, but Alma Rosario had spared his life in more ways than one, and he’d follow them to the ends of the Earth.

EXTRA:

Jack speaks English, Japanese and Polish. The last he learned from his friend group in high school, who he had nothing in common with apart from a mutual interest in doing drugs and World of Warcraft. A fun side-effect of his ability is a natural aptitude towards languages, which could be cool if he ever cared enough to do something with it. In reality, he’d only learned Polish so he could talk shit as well as the rest of them during games. 

At one point in his childhood he’d gotten really good at card tricks as an outlet for his fidgeting. It didn’t stick, but he still has the muscle memory.

There is an irony to the fact he ended up in the Blackburn Syndicate, the most holier-than-thou of the gangs, considering he doesn’t give a fuck about mutant rights. He’s never cared about politics or paid much attention to life outside his circle, and the interiority of his ability has spared him from the abuse other mutants experience on the day-to-day.

The last romantic interest he expressed in a girl was Rei Ayanami from Neon Genesis Evangelion; to be fair, he was 12 at the time.

There was a period at the beginning of his work with the Blackburn Syndicate where he lived in Alma’s guesthouse, because he had nowhere to go, and had been kicked out of his hotel for not caring enough to pay their bills. While he didn’t spend much time with Alma personally, being literally taken in off the street solidified his trust in their promise that Blackburn takes care of its members.

Jack was born on August 6, 1990 (which makes him a Leo sun, Scorpio moon, Capricorn rising.) Yes, this is a year to the day the internet went public.

His mother left him with his father when he was five. He doesn’t remember anything about her, but if she was thoughtless enough to leave her child with a man like his dad, he doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t think about her much anymore.

Jack has a secret obsession/fascination with the arcane and occult. Possibly because it’s one of the few topics that remains mysterious, no matter how much digging he does.

His home computer has a Sailor Moon-themed keyboard. It is wholly incongruous with the rest of his place, which has as much personality as a cheap motel room.

Jack reads everyone in Blackburn’s emails. Because he can. Occasionally their texts, too, if he really doesn’t like them, or distrusts their motivations. (He distrusts most people’s motivations.)

On that note, he considers it part of his job to keep some amount of dirt on everyone he knows, from bank account details to embarrassing archived Myspace profiles. The only one he affords their privacy is Alma.

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/remusjlupin/jm/

ANYTHING ELSE: N/A

[talkwithateez]

I hold Mingi's hands in mind, too weak to arguing with him anymore about me going to find Chanyeol. He was right about me being in no condition to do so, mentally and physically drained from the last few days. "I'm ready... I-I don't know why I've been trying to avoid it. I just- Hwasa makes me feel like I have no real role in your life, like I don't fit in... All she does is manipulate people," I sigh deeply before resting my head against his shoulder. "Tell me everything love..." -👻

“Junmyeon and I knew each other from way back and we started to go to a gym together....at first to impress girls, but overtime we became pretty decent enough to be scouted...by Hwasa at that. She was a regular in the gym, but we didn’t know what business she was in. Not until she asked us to come fight under her boss. As time went on he got older and Junmyeon and I got better.....though Junmyeon was like your brother...known to fight dirty....at the time I didn’t think much of it. Just that he was easily antagonized... I mean we’re young guys it’s not that hard to do....and he was my friend so of course I’d stick by him. So one day Hwasa comes to us and says that the boss isn’t doing so good and that all hell was about to break loose with those trying to take his spot....she agreed to get us out, disappear from his spot like we were never there to not be hunted down....if we agreed to protect her....at the time the three of us were together a lot and both Junmyeon and I started to have feelings for her.....I-If I’m honest...I think she was the first person I ever loved....When we got out though there was no place that made us money like the fights did so Junmyeon and Hwasa convinced me to help them form our own ring. That I was the best fighter they know, I’d be the king of the ring....Hwasa would get the new recruits, and Junmyeon would run the business.....Only Junmyeon was using the fights as a cover for something much dirtier that Hwasa had gotten him into and they kept it from me.....Junmyeon had me take over the fights so he could take care of other business he said, just check in from time to time...Hwasa stuck around saying she loved me...that she chose me over Junmyeon....and she convinced me...for six whole months she convinced me....until some of Junmyeon’s rivals raided our fights....would have killed me too if Junmyeon hadn’t come to save me...that’s how I became indebted to him....the same time that I learned both of them had been using me to benefit themselves...the price of my debt being that I couldn’t leave their little world though....and Hwasa...she’s been sleeping with Junmyeon too behind my back....he had been paying her to sleep with me...to string me along....though for a long time after that if I needed information from Hwasa or something, there was only one way she’d give it to me....made me wonder if Junmyeon was maybe not treating her right...or maybe deep down she did actually love me.....but that was all they wanted...to continue to manipulate me and have a way to get information from me....it only stopped when I found Hwasa stealing information from me the morning after one time.....and then the rivals came back and found Hwasa. She chose to sell me out for her own life and tell them nothing about Junmyeon...nearly getting me killed in the process....so I cut them off as best I could...though Junmyeon always had a way of finding me to repay part of my debt when he needed something...”

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 35:  A Few Favorite Things

He supposed it would do no harm to admit it, but it was a carefully guarded secret all the same. He loved being summoned by royals. Perhaps this stemmed from those older times when he felt like no one was more responsible for his situation like those who were above him, oppressing him and forcing him to live in a way that was beneath humanity as well as him. He liked knowing that they were suddenly the ones in debt to him, bowing and begging and pleading with him to answer their heart's greatest desire. He had the power and he reveled in it, even when they didn't know exactly what they were face to face with.

"You're the Dark One?" King George questioned, keeping his distance by the fire.

He smiled. "One would assume…" he commented motioning to indicate his body as proof. He did love being summoned by royals but this one in particular brought him glee in a way he didn't know it could. King George, the man he'd seen at the party when he'd first met Cora, the time had finally come for him to call on him and he had a feeling that he knew exactly what he was going to ask for. And he would be quite happy to provide it. The False Prince was, after all, a key figure in his plans. This meant that it was imperative that he keep the King just as happy as he was. "Your Majesty," he flung out his arms wide and bowed low to the ground. "Rumpelstiltskin, at your service!"

"That's fine," he dismissed. "I didn't summon you here for pleasantries. I asked you here for a reason."

"Most do." He stood up tall again but continued to glare at King as he moved so formally about the room. Back straight, hands clasped behind him. A perfectly well put together gentlemen, everything a king should be! If it weren't for the fact that he turned his back on him so often. He had confidence in himself; he'd give him that. But his walking meant fear and unease, and turning around meant he dealt with it as a child who thought that if they simply kept their eyes closed, the monsters they feared lived under their beds would think they were asleep and leave them in peace. At his heart, he was an ignorant man.

"I'm not about to waste time. I'm going to get right down to the matter at hand."

"Ah, a trait I wish so many of my clients shared!"

"I need a baby," he stated simply, ignoring his final comments and turning to face him so that his foot stomped in place with the finality of his request.

"A baby!" he laughed giddily. He loved it when a prophecy came together the way it should. But still, it would be fun to twist knives into the heart of this royal and to see just how honest he would be. "Most King's would simply use their Queen's to fulfill such a request. Did your father never take you aside and tell you about that?" he teased as he threw an arm up and began to recite: "The Birds and the Bees? The Eel and the Cave? The Man and the Woman?"

"Are you quite finished?" he interrupted. Oh, now he was a lucky one. He needed him, and so he was one of the few who would not snap his neck for such a comment, but that didn't mean it made him want to help out of anything more than an urge to get back to Baelfire. "Such crudeness. Of course, I know how babies are made; that's why you are here. The Queen and I, we can't have children…Annie she…"

"Doesn't want a child?!" he toyed. If he hadn't interrupted, he might have admitted to him that he knew exactly why his dear Annie would never have a baby. Now he was just content to play with the man. "Well, now I'm doubting your skills at sealing the deal. That seems like something that a King should address before the wedding."

"Of course she wants a baby, you vile creature!" he shouted. "She wants a child more than anything but…"

"Oh! Let me guess!" he begged enthusiastically circling the man. Finally, he came up on his shoulder just so he could whisper in his ear, "Curse."

King George stiffened as he hadn't been before. It was visible and surprising. That straight posture was how he looked relaxed? What an uncomfortable life.

"By her sister," George admitted. "A foul woman who was jealous that I chose Annie and not her. She didn't tell me until after the wedding."

"Ruthless sister," he commented, flopping down into the chair by the fire and putting his feet up on the ottoman.

"Clearly. At first I…I didn't believe it, I would never have assumed her sister capable, but after all these years, I've come to see that it must be true."

"Now that's a sister who would make a good partner." He summoned an apple from nearby and took a bite with a hearty and unnerving crunch. For as formal as he was he could see the King longed to scream at him as he had before. But he was winding down to his ultimate deal, now he was on his best behavior as he prepared to ask for what he wanted.

"The curse…it was something that was drunk, are you familiar with it."

"Well, of course," he muttered, hoping the poor lad felt stupid for asking. "'Twas a former Dark One who invented the Curse of Infertility." Nimue as a matter of fact. She been a very…sexual being, in her time. But she'd had the good sense to be sure she wouldn't reproduce. A blessing on the world, as far as he was concerned. The spell was so simple any witch of even the mildest magic could do it. And once it was added to a drink just one sip would do the job. And a very good job it did. Odd…since Nimue, no Dark One had ever had a child…perhaps that was something that could be passed down through the curse. He hadn't even thought of that before he and Cora made their deal. Maybe it was lucky she hadn't taken it.

"So, you must know if it has a cure!"

He smiled as he tossed the rest of the apple into the fire. "None that is readily known." There were a few suspicions on how it could be cured, but there were no easy answers. Most of those involved gruesome sacrifices no person who ever wanted a child would be able to accomplish or healing waters that almost always had guardians. Better infertile than dead.

"That's absurd!" George sneered. "The Dark One who invented it didn't make note of how to reverse the spell?"

"Afraid not."

"Ridiculous! What kind of being does such a thing?"

He rose to his feet again, feeling, for the first time in nearly one hundred years, the voice on Nimue laughing in his skull. "Well, it was meant to be permanent," he explained with obvious gentility as if he was explaining something as simple as why the sun came up in the morning to a toddler. "Knowing how to reverse the spell kind of defeats the purpose of placing it…"

A rogue muscle twitched in his jaw. "Annie always said it never mattered, but…it matters."

"But of course!" he declared. To a woman it may matter differently than a man and to a pair of royals it would matter differently than it would for peasants. Everything mattered. The trick was knowing why. "Without a Prince of your own who shall ever inherit the Kingdom? Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but you have a cousin! Weak, little man; short, pale, balding…"

There went that muscle again; twitch, twitch, twitching away at the suggestion. Yes, suddenly, he understood the significance of that rope he'd seen that was tied from Queen Eva's womb to his head. That was all this was bound to be for him, a matter of the mind, not the heart. As a father, it pained him to know such a child would grow up with a man such as this, but as the Dark One, it comforted him to know the child would be fed, clothed, and well cared for and loved by all others. False Prince or not, he'd be a Prince, and that came with benefits.

"Tell you what…" he muttered as he began circling. "I've got a solution to your little problem…"

"A cure? We'll try anything!"

"Oh, no, no, no, certainly not! But you know, there is more than one way to have a baby, dearie." He stopped spinning and finally came to rest right in front of George, prepared to do business the proper way. Only the poor King looked nothing but confused. "Oh, well, perhaps I should say there is more than one way to 'acquire' a baby."

He brows suddenly furrowed together. "You mean steal one?"

"Steal?! No, no, no, of course not! I'm no Black Fairy! I'm not a monster! I am simply a man of deals and trades; one thing, for another."

"So…you would make a deal, convince a family to turn over their own baby…I'm not looking for a child, Rumpelstiltskin, I need a newborn, someone to raise and bring up without any knowledge of his true origins."

He gave a small bow of acknowledgment. "And so you shall have it. I do agree with you. Children with memories would make for a very risky deal in this case."

"But who would do such a thing, who would hand over their own flesh and blood for mere trinkets?"

Ah…the minds of the royal. They had all the intelligence in the world, but none of the understanding of the world. "Anyone will do anything when you're desperate enough," he admitted. "Leave the details to me. You'll have the child you seek…"

And the one that he needed him to have.

"About the payment…"

"So glad you mentioned it!" he cried suddenly excited once more. "For if you are summoning me, you must know, all magic does come with a price! And it's always such an ignoble thing to have to bring it up myself."

"I understand the cost. I also think that I have an idea of what will suffice. But it will be a fair amount of time until it can be prepared."

He narrowed his eyes. No payment? "Well, it would be a fair amount of time before I could procure a child, then," he challenged.

The King didn't bat an eye. "So we're in agreement then?"

He was almost speechless. They hadn't actually come to an agreement. He never agreed to anything without knowing what exactly he'd be getting in return, but…he could see the King wanted to keep it secret, perhaps on the off chance he couldn't get what he needed. And this wasn't like an ordinary deal. This was a deal for Bae. He knew whatever it was would work in the end and get him one step closer to seeing his son. Whatever he offered would be fine, but he couldn't let him know that. Allow one royal some leeway, and suddenly they'd all want it.

"So much mystery…" he commented, tapping his fingers together as he stared. "I don't ordinarily agree to a deal without knowing the reward-"

"I'll make it worth your while," George pressed. As he thought…the King didn't want to tell him. Well then, in that case, he'd take the price out in trade, after all it wasn't just an ordinary baby that he needed to procure but the right baby. He had a feeling he knew where to look but also had a feeling that now wasn't the time. If time was the key, then so be it.

"You've intrigued me, Sir. You have…" as he stepped forward he moved his fingers at the side of his head, a useless motion to him but magical enough that it allowed him to focus, to pick out the Seer's voice, to think about the child, and to find the number associated with it. Three.

"Three years!" he declared.

The King's eyes went wide, and while he was able to contain his shock enough that he didn't drop his jaw like a dog, his mouth did open a bit.

"Three years! That's absurd! That's-"

"Ah, ah, ah!" he replied, waving a finger in front of him. "I could always make it four." A gamble. His heart raced as he offered it, knowing that four years wasn't right. It was a sign of his nerves that he began to think of ways, loopholes to get around that all the while hoping the King would be silent on the matter. He was. "We all have our burdens, your wife's is infertility, mine is my own, and yours is time. We'll call it interest on whatever it is you owe me."

The King narrowed his gaze and straightened once more. The muscle in his jaw twitched. He was a very unhappy king, indeed. But if he could wait over a hundred years to see Baelfire, then he could wait three years for an heir.

"You better be as good as they say you are, Dark One."

He smiled. "Better, Dearie, much better. You have three years until I return with your child. Be sure to have everything ready or else…well…you are not the only couple desperate to have a child."

"What'll I tell my wife? The Kingdom?"

He let out a giddy laugh. He loved details that weren't his concern. "What you will…I'm sure you'll come up with something!"

"You won't help me?"

"I'm already helping you! Helping you lie to your wife isn't part of our bargain!" At that, he swept into a long, extended bow. "Three years, Your Majesty!"

Then he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

[frighthouseofalighthouse]

Alex, can you tell us about the duel, if it’s not too painful for you today?!who shot first? What were your thoughts going into it? What were your thoughts after being shot?

Now, this is a long story. A lot of various components. But I’ll do my best to make it straightforward. To make it easier I’m going to break it down into sections.

What were my thoughts going into it?

I have a feeling this is about my plan. This is a controversial topic. But let me tell you something many historians have speculated. I planned everything that happened. I may have been an emotional, sometimes irrational man, but I was still quiet, intelligent, logical, calculating. And I never took advantage of anyone’s character more than I did Burr’s in the weeks leading up to that day.

Here’s the situation I was in: My career in politics was over, and it was none but my own fault. The things that had led to the demise of the Federalist party, and my loss of status in the public eye, were a) my very public denouncement of John Adams, and b) the affair and subsequent Reynolds Pamphlet. Speaking of the affair, not only had that happened, but my oldest son was dead because of it, which in turn had caused our second oldest child, Angelica, to suffer a complete breakdown and be unable to care for herself for the remainder of her life. And the house (the Grange) that I had built for Eliza and the family as compensation for our grief had landed us $40,000 dollars in debt.

My whole life I had been suicidal, and I fought a war between my despair and my ambition. If I could not make it out of the darkness and rise, there was nothing for me. Nothing to drown out the thoughts I spent over 30 years trying to escape. I had little regard for my life in war, and I actively sought death far more than history records. This time I was determined not to fail, and I used my own reputation to get away with my plan. What about your family? you may ask. I thought of that. The only way my debts would ever be repaid was if I was dead, and Eliza and my children received military, government, and charity benefits.

As a fighter, I knew how to be stubborn, and had a reputation for not backing down. But as a lawyer, I knew how to concede. It’s curious to me how well this plan works, even today. Nearly everyone still believes it was my own stubbornness that led me into a duel. Consider this: if I was truly so stubborn, I would not have managed to avoid half a dozen duels over the course of my life. If I was unwilling to forgive, I would not have considered him a friend for many years. The man did something I had to forgive every damn day. Consider the text of my letters to Burr preceding the duel. Does it not seem to you that I was purposely goading him, igniting him, fanning each and every grudging flame he kept secreted away in his heart? And he fell right into it. I never planned to shoot. I always planned for him to shoot me. I did, however, expect to die quicker. Terrible shot, Burr. I wrote that note to Eliza never expecting to see her again, I assumed Burr would go for my heart. I went into the duel expecting the death to be far easier than it was.

You said you wanted to hear about the duel itself? Here’s the setting:

We arrived at the spot at approximately six o’clock in the morning Wednesday, July 11th. We had rowed across the river at five, but after mooring our boats there was a deal of walking in order to reach the cliff-side spot. Burr was late by half an hour. He hadn’t even wanted to commence the affair at this time, he complained that he preferred “afternoon duels.” Which is just stupid, by the way. That was the last item on my list of our grievances.

The property was owned by a man who was very peeved that the clearing was a popular site for duels, which was ridiculous because if he wanted to discourage duels on his property, he should have just landscaped a little to reduce the clearing’s size from the literal dueling dimensions (twenty-two paces long and eleven wide).

The rest of July so far had been hot and muggy, even in the mornings. Not that day. The most vivid memory I have between leaving my house and being shot was the way the air felt that morning. Cool and brisk, a low fog coming off the river. The sea breeze wafting up the cliff. It always fascinated me how different the Atlantic smelled from the Caribbean.

When I stopped the proceedings to put on my glasses? When I carefully checked my sight and aim several times? All designed to further convince Burr that I was planning to shoot him. All designed to make certain he’d shoot me out of self preservation.

Burr met my eyes. As I held his gaze I slowly aimed my gun up and to the left. Four feet wide. All the while holding his gaze as a distraction while my second counted down. And then. He. Shot. First. I had my hair trigger on, which is why my gun went off the second I was hit.

What were my thoughts after I was shot?

It wasn’t where I was expecting, and it hurt so much more. I knew exactly where it had hit, though. And I wasn’t stupid. I knew enough of medicine to treat my family whenever a yellow fever epidemic came through. I knew I wasn’t going to bleed out immediately. But I knew I was going to die. It was going to happen anyway. But now it would be much slower. And I hated Burr for that.

I looked up at him as I lay on the ground, my second and the doctor dragging me back and propping me against a boulder. And what did he do? He met my gaze with no remorse, turned and walked away. Yards ahead of his second. And he didn’t look back. I’m told he was rowed back across the river and then went to get breakfast.

First thought: I’m dying so much slower and more painful than I could have, you bastard.

Second thought: Now that I have enough time for a choice, fuck no, I am NOT dying in New Jersey.

And then the cold spread from my toes to my hips, and I fell unconscious. I was not conscious again until halfway across the river. I couldn’t move or speak or open my eyes, but I could still hear. They thought I was already dead, they couldn’t find my pulse for a long, long while.

I remember each and every conscious moment of the next 36 hours, but I will not relay them to you, as they are far more painful to hear than the events of the duel itself.

So there you have it, my plans, the duel, my eventual death. I hope this wasn’t too long to read? Thank you for your curiosity, as always.

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Flaring Out

Fifth part to series including:

Out of the Flames

Ashes in Bloom

Smoke and Mirrors

As The Embers Glow

Your appetite was lacking but you spent most of breakfast silent. You pushed the food around and stared at the golden edging along the plate’s rim, listening to the elvenking’s voice as he talked to you and the elves who sat nearest. You had never felt more out of place, and even with your scars hidden, you could not shake the sense of displacement.

Thranduil rose suddenly and you followed suit, knowing enough courtesy for at least that. He finished the dregs of his wine before turning to you, offering a deferential bow of his head, “Lady Y/N, it was lovely dining with you, even if you aren’t much of a talker. I should hope we have another opportunity to do so before your departure,” His eyes flicked behind you, “But I should begin my day before it is too far gone. I shall come see you later as promised.”

“Y-your majesty,” You stuttered, overwhelmed by his air of regality, “Thank you.”

He stepped around you swiftly and you turned to watch him leave. As you stood beside your chair, a dark figure appeared next to you and you looked over at Bard who peered at the doorway in kind. 

“Sometimes he’s nicer than you’d expect,” The king of Dale crossed his arms, “Though it doesn’t come across as any more genuine than his usual manner.”

You looked at Bard, measuring his warning as he finally peeked over at you, “I’m sure he means well, but…” He pushed his hair back and forced his arms apart, “He is not the type to do anything outside his own benefit.”

“I know his reputation,” You shrugged, trying not to reveal your own misgivings. It would be your riddle to unwind. “Don’t you have your own kingly business to attend to?”

“I do and I know Thranduil is not to be kept waiting long,” He said, “I was hoping, well, Tilda was hoping, you’d spend the day with her. It would keep me from worrying after her. I know you’ve not come as a child-minder, so I understand if--”

“No, no, it’s quite alright,” You smiled meekly, “I do not fancy spending my first day here alone.”

“Thank you,” Bard’s arm twitched and you watched his fingers twiddle as he stutter stepped un place, “I’ll owe you...I should go before I no longer have the will to.”

“You should,” You agreed, awkwardly watching him fidget. You didn’t often see him so unnerved, “I’ll go fetch Tilda before she can get lost.”

You stepped around Bard before he could trip over himself and nodded a silent farewell. You headed down the length of the table towards the three royal children of Dale, taking the seat their father had left vacant. You looked back to the other end of the hall. As you did, you caught Bard’s eye as he paused in the doorway to watch you before disappearing into the corridor.

The stone bench was cold through the flannel of your skirt even in the heat of the elvish summer. Tilda knelt across from you, her back turned as she gathered several stems from the elaborate garden plots. The hedges and flowers were arranged in a semi-labyrinth, twisting and turning out of sight.

She had kept you occupied for the better part of the day and it was comforting to have her near. She had grown familiar and you had not realized how much. However, there was tinge of sadness to your content. You could never see yourself having a child and Tilda could never be yours. It was almost frightening to realize how much you were coming to wish she was.

She stood with her bouquet and walked back to you, holding out the bunch with a wide smile. You took it from her with a mumbled thank you as she sat beside you, swinging her legs from the tall-legged bench. You stared at the petals, each flower a different colour, and sniffed as wafts of pollen filled your nose.

“They’re pretty, Tilda,” You commented as you lowered the bouquet, cradling it lazily across your lap, “I know I’m not very much fun, but thank you for putting up with me.”

“I like being with you,” She shrugged, “Plus, I thought…” She paused and looked around, “The king scares me. The elf...I saw him talking to you and--” She bit her lip, her childish mind trying to articulate her fears, “Is that why you hide your scars? Because of him?”

“No, I hide them because of me,” You touched her elbow gently, “Tilda, look, I know you only mean well, but I just can’t. You’re young and you’ve got a whole lifetime ahead of you. You have hope. Me, I had that life and it all burned away in the matter of seconds. I know I can’t truly change what happened to me or my scars but it doesn’t mean I have to let everyone see what I’ve lost.”

“I think I understand,” She said quietly, “I just want you to be happy.”

“...Me too,” You sighed and hung your head, avoiding Tilda’s gaze, “I suppose we should get you back soon. Your father will be finishing his business shortly.”

You stood and arranged the bundle of flowers so they did not fall, helping Tilda down from the tall bench. She took your hand in hers as you peered across the hedges one last time. You had dreamed long ago of having a garden so immaculate, but in Laketown it had only been fantasy. Your small plots of bluebells and chrysanthemums had been more than enough. Had.

“Will you stay for dinner tonight?” Tilda asked as you turned to lead her away, but another voice rose and a shadow loomed from the garden entrance, frightening you before you could answer.

“My apologies, Princess,” Thranduil drawled as he neared with measured steps, “But I was just here to offer the same invitation to our Lady Y/N. I would be in your debt if you would allow me the honour of supping with her. Just this once.”

Tilda looked between you and the elvenking, your surprise still evident. You squeezed her hand but nodded slightly, assuring her that you be fine. “I-I…” She stuttered. You had forgotten she was not so forward with other people, “Okay.”

“Let’s get you back to your father first,” You offered, “He’ll be happy to see you after such a long day.”

“Yeah…” Tilda looked at her feet and dug her toe into the ground, “I guess.”

You sent Thranduil an appeasing glance, hoping he wouldn’t push the girl too much.

“Your father will be most happy to see you,” Thranduil offered his hand to Tilda but she sighed away. He rescinded it peaceably and instead, guided you through the entrance of the gardens. “I promise, you will have Y/N to yourself tomorrow. You have my vow as King of Mirkwood.”

Tilda squeezed your hand and stayed silent. You gripped the flowers tighter in your other hand and sent Thranduil another warning look before finding your voice. 

.“I think Tilda may just be a better florist than me,” You mused lightly, “She arranged this bouquet for me and I don’t think I’ve every seen anything prettier.”

“Mirkwood is blessed to have such an array of greenery,” Thranduil boasted, “Though I would say the flowers are nothing compared to you, Y/N.”

You nearly choked on your tongue at the unexpected compliment and you felt Tilda tug on your arm. Her face was scrunched in distaste as she listen to the elven king and you would have laughed if you were not so bewildered. Thranduil was likely trying to put on his best mask for the royal daughter. Nothing more.

“Thank you,” You mumbled, following Thranduil’s direction as you traversed the intricate palace corridors. You watched the sunlight steam along the woodland walls, trying to muster any conversation to abate the thickening silence.

“Here we are,” Thranduil stopped before a familiar door and you realized you had not been quick enough, “I’m sure your father is waiting for you just now.”

“Sure,” Tilda let go of your hand reluctantly as she stared down the elven king, “I guess…” Finally she turned to you, “Good night.”

“Tilda,” You leaned down, speaking softly as Thranduil backed away, taking the hint, “I’ll be back to see you tomorrow morning. Promise. But I think I owe it to the king to accept his invitation. He didn’t have to welcome me along with you and your family.”

“I guess,” She swayed guiltily in place.

“Besides, how often do I dine with you, hmm?” You pushed away a stray hair across her cheek, “I’m sure I won’t miss out on much. And your father deserves a night with his family to himself.”

“But you--” She stopped as you set your hand on her shoulder firmly, “Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Tilda,” You echoed and she hugged you before your could stand straight, “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She nodded as she released you and reached for the handle, sending one last skeptical look to Thranduil before she pushed inside. You glanced at Thranduil who seemed more amused than offended and he met your eyes with an even wider grin.

“Sorry, she’s shy,” You nearly dropped the bouquet, scrambling to keep the stems together.

“I understand...she’s a lot like you. She knows who she likes and who she doesn’t,” He held out his arm in a courtly fashion, “Best we be off. Our dinner should already be on its way.” You took his arm, the flowers clenched in your other hand. He led you along lithely as if floating across the polished floors. “Lorath is busy unfortunately. I had planned on us seeing him before we supped but healers are usually overworked.”

“It’s fine...not much can be done. The burns are healed,” You wanted to recoil from Thranduil but kept yourself in step, “You really don’t have to worry for me.”

“We will talk more of it after dinner,” He came upon two doors with attendants standing vigil outside.

The valets opened them without prompting and within awaited a table with two chairs. Food was already set out and lanterns lent the receiving chambers an amber glow. Thranduil led you within, detaching his arm from yours and pulling out a chair.

You sat as he took the flowers from you and searched along a shelf. He returned with a crystal vase and set the bouquet within. “We’ll have water added to it later,” He sat across from you and removed the covers from the platters, “So, how was your first day in Mirkwood?”

You took the silver fork in your hand, staring at its long handle as you thought. You felt as if you did not belong; sitting in a king’s presence, dining on fine foods, hiding behind your old face. You twirled the fork slowly between your fingers, forgetting the question he had asked. How was it you could not act normal for more than a minute?

“Y/N,” His voice had grown sonorous and as you looked up, his grin fell, “Are you--”

You could tell by his reaction and the sudden coolness on the left side of your face that your glamour had cracked. You had been thinking too much and the pressure of sitting across from him was overwhelming. Thranduil’s skin began to dapple and crack as he uncovered his own scars. They were as deep as yours but his confidence diminished their ghoulishness.

“Better?” He offered. Despite the disparity between your bearings, it was like looking at another iteration of yourself; his colourless iris, his mottled flesh, the exposed muscle.

“You don’t have to…” You stilled your trembling hand, only then realizing you were shaking.

“You told me I don’t have to worry for you, but that’s not what it is,” He explained as he took the ewer from the tabletop and filled your glass and then his, “It is empathy. Those who have been touched by dragon fire share a special affinity. We know a pain, a shame which no one else can understand. Not unless they too have been burned.”

You set down your fork and steadied your hand with the wine glass, sipping from it before you replied. “Bard...he tells me I shouldn’t hide. I see the disappointment in him when I put on my mask and it hurts. But he doesn’t realize how painful it is to reveal my real face. And I just can’t explain it to him.”

You drank deeper, the alcohol give you strength. You didn’t know why you were saying so much to the king. Perhaps it was because he knew your pain, or perhaps you had finally reached your breaking point.

“In Dale, I never go anywhere without my hood. It is my only shelter. Even after you taught me how to hide...that would be even worse. For those people, the ones who whisper about me and stare, to know how afraid I truly am,” You set down your empty glass, embarrassed by how much you had drank, “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“I don’t mind,” He sounded genuine for the first time. “It would be worse for you not to talk at all. I’ve been there, Y/N. If I were not a king, maybe I would be as you are. Likely I would. And it doesn’t make me weak, or you. We’ve survived the dragon’s wrath. Not many are so fortunate.”

You sniffed and rubbed your chin, feeling the roughened skin along the left side. You took your fork, suddenly ravenous, and speared a carrot on its tines. “You’re right,” You nodded, “So maybe I should appreciate what I have. This lovely meal you’ve had prepared,” You attempted your best smile, “Thank you. You were right. If I were still in Dale, I’d still be hiding in the dark.”

“I can’t,” You hiccuped as you tried to reassemble your glamour, giggling as you withheld a belch. “I think I had a bit too much.”

“It’s fine,” Thranduil’s own unburnt cheek was rosy from the wine, “Just put this up,” You had forgotten about the hood, still on your back as it had been all day. The king pulled the cloth up so that you were shielded in shadow, “Are you sure you can find your way back?”

“I should,” You sounded less certain than intended, “You’d barely be any help in your state.” The both of you had drained the entire jug of wine, “I’ll be alright.”

“I could walk you,” He insisted and you shook your head.

“No, no, you’ve done enough,” It had been a long time since you had felt so carefree. Even if it was the wine clouding your mind, it was nice. “Really, I should go.”

“Try not to get lost,” He sighed emphatically, “I’ve enough to worry about with that grim king of yours.”

“Yeah,” You pushed back your hood slightly to look up at him, “He is quite dour, isn’t he?”

“Shhh, we shouldn’t be so mean to him,” He chuckled, “I find most men are rather serious. I’d assume it’s inherent to the race.”

“So it seems,” You half-grinned; you were one to call someone dour, “Good night, your majesty.”

“Thranduil,” He corrected in a low voice, leaning down slowly and his lips grazed your cheek in a sloppy kiss, “Just Thranduil.”

You gulped as he pulled away and you half-turned to the doors, letting your hood fall forward to hide the blush rising in your cheek, “Good night, Thranduil.”

“Good night, Y/N.” He returned and you felt his gaze follow you as you reached for the handle, “Until the morrow, my lady.”

You hesitated before opening it, stepping into the hallway with bated breath. You exhaled in relief as you closed the door and found the corridor empty. You had feared the valets would remain and you’d be caught red-faced leaving the king’s chambers in the middle of the night. Not that it had been improper.

Had it? You swore you could still feel Thranduil’s lips on your cheek and you reached up to touch it beneath your hood. No, it had merely been a nicety, nothing more. The king was as drunk as you and had merely overdone his courtesy. How could it be anything else than your own misconception?

Even if he did share the same scars, he could not possibly see past yours. A king could not lower himself so far. You already knew that.

You awoke in the clothes you had worn the day before. You groaned as you rolled over and opened your eyes. You swung your legs over the edge of the mattress and stood, stretching your arms over your head. You yawned as you picked up your hood from the floor where you had shed it the night before.

You touched your forehead as you recalled what had happened. Everything was a blur except for the kiss. It had not truly been a kiss, though. You had seen men kiss their grandmother’s with more intent than that. You needed to just forget it.

A knock interrupted your thoughts and you hurriedly shrouded yourself in your hood. You kept your head down as you opened the door and Tilda stood before you, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked. You would have been disappointed if it was anyone else.

“Did you want to go to breakfast?” She asked cheerily, “Da says I can’t go by myself and he’s taking forever.”

“Oh,” You looked down the corridor curiously, “Sure, why not? I just need to dress before we go.”

You ushered her into the chamber, gathering up a skirt and blouse before disappearing into your bath chamber. You dressed as quickly as you could and stared into the mirror, mustering the concentration to glamour your scars. Your skin turned smooth before your eyes and you paused as you turned to grab your hood from the hook. You wouldn’t need it.

You left the faded black cloak in the bath chamber and returned to Tilda who sat patiently in a chair. She hopped up from her seat as you slipped on your boots, hovering by the door as you readied yourself.

“All done,” You announced as you rebound your hair and neared her, “Let’s go.”

You closed your door behind you as Tilda skipped into the hall. You were too groggy to share her enthusiasm.

“Was the elven king nice to you?” She asked.

“Hmm,” You had not expected the blatant question, “I-uh, yeah. He’s not so bad.”

“Maybe but....he scares me,” Tilda took your hand as she walked; a habit you had grown used to, “He’s nice but he’s an elf.”

“What’s wrong with elves?” You urged.

“I don’t know, I just--the dwarves said they aren’t to be trusted,” She stated, “They let Smaug take the mountain.”

“Well, it’s not for us to say whether the elves were wrong,” You were not eager to involve yourself in that rivalry, “But the elves have treated us well, haven’t they?”

“I suppose, other than stealing you away last night...and at breakfast,” She grumbled, “You’re my friend.”

“I can be the king’s friend, too,” You nearly laughed at her jealousy.

“What about Da?” She prodded, “He’s your friend.”

“He is,” You assured her as you entered the dining hall. Neither king was sat along the table yet. “I thought you said I should have friends, Tilda.”

“No, I said you should be my friend,” She let go of you and crossed her arms as you pulled out a chair for her.

“You’re silly,” You chided her as you sat beside her, “I wouldn’t have come all the way to Mirkwood if I didn’t have a friend like you at my side.”

“You mean it?” She widened her eyes.

“I do,” You smiled as you scooped egg onto your plate and you sensed someone pass behind you.

Bard appeared on the other side of Tilda and sat heavily. “Tilda,” He ruffled her hair before pouring himself some tea, “Y/N.”

“Da,” She pushed away his hand and smoothed her hair with her fingers, “I told you not to do that.”

“Sorry,” He apologized with a smirk, “So, Y/N,” He leaned on the table so he could see around Tilda, “How was your dinner with the king last night?”

“Oh, you heard about that,” You glanced at Tilda who avoided your gaze, “It was dinner,” You kept your voice even, “Nothing special.”

“Mmm,” His lips slanted skeptically, “Not many are asked to dine privately with a king.”

“What does it matter? He was being nice, which is more than I would expect.”

“Exactly, he’s not really the most receptive person,” Bard’s eyes narrowed as they wandered behind you, “So I do wonder at his...motivations.”

Once more, you sensed a presence behind you and turned to find Thranduil approaching with the vase of flowers Tilda had gathered for you. “Lady Y/N,” He stopped beside your chair, “You forgot these last night.”

“Oh, uh,” You pushed your chair out and stood, awkwardly taking the vase from him, “Thank you.”

“Not at all,” He grinned and you looked over at your shoulder, Bard and Tilda watching the exchanged with matching grimaces, “Lorath also said he would see you after breakfast. If you wouldn’t mind, I should like to escort you there. So that you don’t get lost, of course.”

“Of course,” You accepted as you set down the vase beside you plate, “Thank you.”

“I’ll leave you to finish your meal, though,” He looked over your shoulder and bowed his head, “Bard, Tilda,” His voice was sickly sweet.

You sat as the elven king retreated and looked to the other king and his daughter. “What?”

“Nothing,” Bard shook his head, “I just never expected you two to get on so well.”

“I get on well with you, don’t I?” You replied sharply, “You are more alike than you would think.”

“And you would know that well from one dinner?” He scoffed.

“One dinner. What’s the big deal?” You couldn’t figure out why Bard had grown so suddenly prickly.

“Nothing, nothing,” He rubbed his jawline and looked away, “I shouldn’t...I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s none of my business.”

“It’s fine,” You scooped up a forkful of eggs, “I know he’s just being nice. He pities me.”

“Y/N,” Bard sputtered but his words died at your icy stare. You knew exactly where you stood, with both kings.

You walked beside Thranduil, too caught in your own mind to say anything. You kept thinking of your tense breakfast with Bard and it was troubling more than you liked. Why did he have to be so vague? Why did he care about you or Thranduil? Why could he just not accept you and your decisions? He just didn’t know what it was like.

“Y/N?” Your thoughts were broken as Thranduil caught your arm, stopping you in place, “We’re here.”

He looked to the door and released you, knocking on it three times. It opened swiftly as if the elf within had been awaiting you. The healer had shiny dark hair and a long nose, his brows finely groomed above his hazel eyes. He was like any other elf you had seen.

“This is Lorath, Y/N, and Lorath this is Y/N,” Thranduil waved you inside first as he followed, “She’s the woman I told you of. She survived Smaug’s attack.”

“Oh?” The healer looked over you, “She’s wearing a glamour.”

“She is, I taught it to her,” Thranduil explained as he sat in an armed chair.

“She wears it well,” He raised his arched brows as he spoke, “Not an easy task for a human. If you would.” He motioned you towards a stool, “I should like to examine you closer.”

You looked to Thranduil as he watched. “It is your decision, Y/N, but you will have to show him your true face.”

“No, no, I can do it,” You assured him as you sat, “He’s seen worse, I’m sure.”

“He has seen mine many a time,” Thranduil said in a comforting tone, “He is the only healer I could find who could tend to dragon burns.”

You nodded and looked across at Lorath, letting the glamour fade away. He had no reaction to the change and for once, neither did you. You just stared ahead as he peered closer and when he touched your cheek and the ridge of your empty eye socket, you stopped breathing.

“There is much trauma but you’ve healed well,” He commented, “What did you treat this with?”

“Wh-what?” You repeated, feeling light-headed.

“What did you treat the burn with?” He repeated, his finger continuing to probe your scars.

“D-don’t!” You swiped away his hand away, a tear trickling from your other eye. It was too much. To have someone touching your scars and talk of them as anything but repulsive. “I can’t, I can’t.” You stood, your breath returning to you in gasps, “I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m…” You hid behind your hands as you fought back more tears, “...hideous.”

“It’s quite alright, dear,” The healer’s tone was kinder than before, “I shouldn’t have presumed to be so handsy.”

“Y/N, “Thranduil was beside you, his hand on your shoulder, “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“I thought....I’d be fine,” You pulled your hands away from your face, “I did. I tried.”

“That’s all you can do,” He let his hand travel to you back and he rubbed it warmly, standing snug against you.

“If I may though, I would offer a special salve,” Lorath spoke as if you had not just erupted, “Dragon burns carry ongoing effects, I know, and I prescribe the same to our king. He says it gives him relief.”

“Thank you,” You said in a small voice, taking the vial he offered you.

“Come on,” Thranduil snaked his arm around your shoulders as if he were afraid you would fall and turned you towards the door, “Let’s get you some air.”

“My face,” You reached up suddenly as you entered the corridor, the glamour having not been restored, “My face.”

“No one will see us,” He turned you down a narrow hallway, “Not where we’re going.”

You wondered at his ominous words but let him guide you further. You gripped the vial desperately at your side, blindly clinging to the king. Thranduil was unusually warm against your side and you let yourself be comforted by his presence.