#and how john handles his mood swings pretty well

[bluelolblue]

Hiiiiii!! 💙 So!

Tell me about annoyed Santino. We all know he’s moody and irritable sometimes. What are some of the things that annoy him? Things at work, things that John does, just general pet peeves? And how does he like to be treated when he’s annoyed?

Hiiii!! :D

Oooh annoyed Santino >:), always happy to make him like that in my fics, so easily irritable and moody, so he's like those spicy cats that spit and hiss 😭

Alright! Santino can get annoyed at anything, really.

The thing that annoys him the most and he literally can't stand it is, when something he planned doesn't go as planned. It's over then. He's just pissed off the whole day, snapping at anyone who tries to talk to him and maybe figure something else out. Even at John. John would try to find a solution for whatever went wrong, maybe they can fix it, make a slight change in the schedule, but he often gets cursed at in Italian. And later on Santino feels bad about it. John just tried to help him and he snapped at him.

However, there are moments when John succeeds at calming him down with that and they make a new schedule. Then Santino's feeling better, at least he's not in that horrible mood.

Something changes in his schedule, everyone get away from him. If you're his staff, don't even bother, just walk away.

One more thing that really annoys him. When he's doing something, writing some papers or whatever, and someone interrupts him. Nope. Just walk away before he completely snaps. When John does that, he's not really THAT pissed off, but he still is. "I have to finish this." He HAS to finish his work, meaning being sat down for hours, without food or drink. And that's why John "interrupts" him. To bring him food and something to drink because this man ignores all that and just locks into his work. We talked about this before, but it fits into this :P

"You have to eat and drink. Your health matters the most." John would tell him. So, that either annoys him even more or Santino realizes that he's actually hungry and dehydrated. And he actually enjoys John's company then.

Other than that, if he's overall not in a good mood and John tries to be affectionate, snuggling against him when they're relaxing in bed and he's just not in that mood, he'd kinda snap at him, just a little. Yet, most of the times he ends up blushing. He's annoyed but one part of him likes it when John is like that.

"Stop it, I'm really not in the mood for that now." But when John catches his blushing, "Then why are you blushing?" Yeah, he blushes even more. John gives him space then, he knows Santino would snuggle against him when he feels like it. And yes, most of the times, moody Santino ends up cuddling him. It's John. He can't be annoyed with him. At least not for too long.

Sometimes when he's in that horrible mood, he needs John. Needs him close against himself, and to tell him that everything's gonna be okay and that it's okay to feel the way he feels. Sure, there are times when Santino wants to be alone in that mood, but there are times when he really just wants to be with John and needs his comfort.

John would hug him and tell that they will figure out everything together. That he's not alone in this. Sometimes it's easier to calm him down, sometimes it's harder. Especially when Santino gets overwhelmed and just is completely lost in his head. Even if he pushes John away, he would often regret it, apologize and tell him that he wants his help.

So yeah, Santino wants everything to be like he planned it, and if it isn't, he gets extremely annoyed. But then again, it's Santino, he's moody, he's irritable, it's the way he is. And John accepted that about him. And I feel like most of us did, too, since we all agree he's like that sometimes :)

Thank you so much for the ask!! 💙🖤

[manicplank]

How do they act when they are sleep deprived

~~totally not asking cus it's 3:14 am and I can't sleep~~

well it's 1 a.m. where I live and I also can't sleep

Peppino: He handles sleep deprivation pretty well, considering he's almost always sleep deprived. He's sluggish and slow. He looks extra depressed. He gets pretty quiet.

Gustavo: He gets sooo tired. He can barely keep his eyes open. If he leans up against a wall and closes his eyes, he'll fall asleep. He's not as nice as he usually is.

Mr. Stick: Can't stay awake. Lays his head down wherever he can and rests. He gets very cranky and snarky. He drinks twice as much coffee as usual.

Pepperman: He starts losing his mind and talking nonsense. You would think he's on drugs, but no. He just hasn't slept in a few days.

The Vigilante: He gets super grumpy. He has the most tired and mean stare imaginable. He'll fall asleep super easily. You'll be talking to him, and then he starts snoring.

The Noise: MEAN. NASTY. CRANKY. He is the biggest asshole in the world when he's sleep deprived. That, or he gets whiny and moody like a toddler. Fucking manchild.

Noisette: She. Is. MEAN. This sweet little lady instantly turns into the devil. She will scream and snap. No amount of coffee will soothe her. Or, like Noise, she gets whiny and sad easily.

Fake Peppino: Grumpy! He either gets really angry or really sad. He is more likely to throw a tantrum when he's sleep deprived. However, he can go a long time without sleep before he needs it.

Pizzahead: FUCKING MOODY. He gets mood swings real bad. He might be happy and giddy one moment, then BAM! FURIOUS! He's also more likely to cry.

Pillar John: He becomes very stoic. He's not jolly like he usually is. He's very numb and will stare off into space a lot.

Gerome: He's his usual self. Except, somehow, he manages to care even LESS than he already does. He already barely cares, but without sleep? Nah, nothing.

[yandepostal-fanfic]

YandePOSTAL - Chapter 0 "Prologue"

First Blood

“Damnit, he's dead.” said the Young Dude, as he held a bloodstained Pipe in his hand.

“We can work through this, Dude.” Said a Young Woman standing next to Dude. “Even then, I dunno if we had much choice about saving ourselves.”

This young woman was Dude's college Sweetheart, supposedly named Janet Kobayashi. Dude & Janet had just killed a man trying to attack them in an alleyway near an EZ-Mart.

“Are you kidding me?!” Dude exclaimed in slight disbelief. “You're handling this a bit too well, considering we just took a guys life…!”

“Damn it, I don't see you panicking either, Dude!” Janet shouted.

In that moment, both Dude & Janet realized something else they had in common - they both have committed murder before.

The couple sat down back in their car for a smoke that lasted about 15 minutes, until Dude broke the silence.

“I actually killed someone after leaving High-School, trying to protect my dog." Dude confessed. “What about you…?”

“My name isn't Janet Kobayashi…” Janet spoke softly, but very clearly. “It's actually Ayano Aishi.”

“How come you didn't tell me…?” Dude asked, genuinely curious.

“I wanted to start a life here in America, as New as I can make it.” Ayano explained in slight hesitation. “Back in Japan, I've… been through these situations way too many times than I could count.”

Ayano then told Dude her story. Back in her High-school days, Ayano had killed many of her classmates for the affection of her former crush. Eventually after the two graduated, that very young man that Ayano loved had discovered her misdeeds & confronted her through a Bloody, Steel-Swinging duel. Ayano ended up as the last one standing, but it was all too bittersweet - countless classmates whose lives were taken for the Affection of a Young Man that ended up being added to Ayano's brutal body count.

Dude & Ayano held each other tightly for a while before bringing the corpse into their trunk to be cremated elsewhere.

Double Kill - Some Years later

Dude & Ayano had their first Child - a little girl named Emira. On top of that, Dude is having success with his new job at a Radio News Station. As joyous as the occasion was, the couple had underlying worries on their minds - they were apparently being stalked.

Thankfully, Dude had a friend of his visiting to make sure him & his new family were safe. This friend was named John Murray, & he had been Dude's best friend since Elementary School. And for the sake of Extra Safety, Dude also brought his Little Step-Brother from Russia, nicknamed Corkscrew, who looked almost just like Dude, but with Fluffier Hair & a slightly larger forehead. Dude arrives out of the Kitchen & into the Living Room, carrying a plate of homemade Sandwiches with Gruyere & Chicken Katsu.

“Man, I've been wanting to try these for a while!” John says, as a small grin of comfort forms across his face.

Dude sets the plate on the table, as Ayano holds a sleeping Emira closely while John opens a can of Cola. Dude's pet dog, Champ, arrives to beg for a bite of their food, but is at least well behaved enough to sit & wait patiently, albeit whining a little bit here & there.

“Nyet Champ, you can't have Human food!” Corkscrew says to Champ in a thick Russian Accent.

The doorbell then rang. The light mood of the entire house turned into a slowly creeping shadow of dread.

“Dude… you're not expecting anyone else aside from me & Corkscrew, right…?” John shuddered.

“I'm pretty sure I'm not.” Dude responded with vigilance. “Everyone Stay here.”

Dude went for the front door & looked through the peephole. He saw a Stocky blonde woman holding a baseball bat in her Hands & a Katana on her waist - the Handle was wrapped in white leather & red straps, & the tsuba was Gunmetal Black.

“Oh shit…!” Dude gasped while rushing back to the living room. The woman Dude saw at his door was the one stalking him & his Family, known by others as… The Bitch.

“Guys, it's her; that stalking Bitch is here!” Dude exclaimed as he made it back into the living room, desperately catching his breath.

“Oh shit, this is bad.” Ayano shivered as she handed Emira over to John. “John & Corkscrew, keep Emira Safe!”

Suddenly, a sound echoed through the house that made the tension extreme - the front door was kicked down.

“Come on out, Dude~!” The Bitch taunted. “Shit, bring your wife out too, since I know she would love a good Sword Fight, like old times for her!”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me! How does she know who I was?!” Ayano snarls defensively, before turning back to Corkscrew & John. “Nevermind, both of you, hide in the attic with Emira & be ready to run if things get a lot worse.”

Corkscrew & John both rush to the Attic, Emira in Corkscrew's Arms. Ayano rushes to the front door searching for Dude, only to see him on the floor covered in pieces of destroyed door in front of a figure that made Ayano’s blood run cold. Towering above Dude's unconscious body was a Ghoulish Franken-Dragon of a Man in Ragged Clothes with a Foul Odor of Rotten Flesh & Sea Water.

“Did you miss me, classmate?!” Spoke the ghoul in a raspy, devilish hiss - like he was speaking while being waterlogged.

This Revenant was Taro Yamada, Ayano’s former crush & second-to-last victim.

“No…! You're supposed to be dead!” Ayano Shuddered, grasping her sword, ready to attack. Suddenly, The Bitch Grabbed Ayano & kept her restrained from Behind. Ayano struggled to get herself free, but The Bitch’s arms were as unyielding as a crocodile's mouth.

“I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU ALL OVER AGAIN IF YOU LAY A SINGLE ONE OF YOUR ROTTEN CLAWS ON MY HUSBAND!” Ayano screamed in fury. Taro then picks up Dude by his Neck & pierces his skull with the tip of a Claw. “What Husband?” Taro Taunted. “He won't remember a thing.”

Ayano struggles more until she stomps on The Bitch’s Foot, freeing herself & allowing her to charge forward. Taro then catches Ayano mid-charge & Throws her to a wall.

“Stupid Crone!” Taro shouts, as he stabs Ayano's sword into her abdomen, pinning her to the wall.

“You think you could escape to another country, become a mother, & turn a new leaf?! I won't let you have it.”

Taro then grabs Ayano's face & opens his Mouth, revealing several rows of razor sharp teeth, oozing with venom that looked like Magma. Taro bites Ayano’s neck, as his Glowing orange Venom coursed through her body & solidified her flesh into Stone, turning Ayano into a Statue.

As all of this was going down, Corkscrew & John were in shock. Dude will never remember his dear brothers. Before Corkscrew thought of intervening, his shirt was grabbed by John as the two boys & infant escaped.

—

Corkscrew & John decided to hide at a nearby hotel.

“H-he turned her into a fucking statue, John…!” Corkscrew sobbed, with his shoulders held by John's Arm, with Emira in the other arm. “THAT SUKA & HER MONSTER WON'T GET AWAY WITH THIS FUCKING BULLSHIT!”

“CORKSCREW, STOP!” John hollered. “There's nothing we can do - at least right now.”

The two boys looked at the Infant girl, who fell asleep, albeit whimpering & with tears on her face. It was then that John & Corkscrew made a plan for the Many years to come for Emira's Life - they would train Emira to be a fighter & eventually reunite with her family at some point.

[minjix]

summertime sadness → JJ maybank x reader

requested! hi! i don’t know if you still take requests for jj maybank since i noticed it’s been a while since you wrote for him, but if you do, can I get a jj maybank x reader where the reader is unusually very drunk (doesn’t handle emotions very well) and the reader somehow gets jj’s gun, waves it around and accidentally shoots themselves in the foot? Just pure chaos lol. Like I imagine they’re all just chilling around the bonfire before the incident, sorry the request is so long lol <333

a/n: lmao this was pretty fun to write :) but i am also very much sleep deprived so ignore the broken english <3

summary: in which you shoot yourself in the foot.

warnings: gunshot wound, blood, usage of marijuana and alcohol. sad!reader and conflicted!jj maybank + the usual swearing

masterlist:

The sun was setting, peaking over the horizon before the moon took its place in the sky. You were all gathered around the bonfire, drinks in hand and stomachs filled with food that Kie brought.

Laughter echoed well into the darkening area as JJ tried to play the guitar whilst drunk. His fingers plucking the wrong chord as his raspy voice tried to sing a song.

The group had organized the get together after they noticed your mood decline during the week. The once comforting words turned into snappy remarks which ended with tears of embarrassment.

No one really knew what to do, how to help. Except for JJ of course.

The blonde haired boy quickly set it all up and had everyone play a part. Kie brought the food, Sarah and John B brought the alcohol while Pope set up the actual bonfire and the string lights that decorated the trees, and JJ brought his stash.

He knew you never smoked before and immediately knew that his way of relaxing was the only way. It worked for him, so why wouldn’t it work for you?

An hour later and everyone except for Sarah was way past gone. Even Pope sat slumped in his seat with a loopy smile on his face. That went away quickly when he set his eyes on you, digging through JJ’s backpack for whatever reason.

“Aha!” You stood up, a triumphant smile on your lips, your eyes unfocused. “Found it!”

Pope was frozen in his seat, eyes never leaving your form as you emerge from the shadows with the gun in hand. JJ’s gun.

“Found what?” The blonde haired boy in question slurred, his fingers absentmindedly plucking the strings of the guitar. A soft, out of tune melody playing.

“Your gun!” You exclaimed, almost tripping on the uneven ground.

Everyone sobered up.

“My what?” His head snapped up to look at you, his hair wild. His red cap laid before his feet, forgotten.

“Uh, JJ,” a hesitant voice began, “are there any bullets?” It was Kie, her eyes wide as she sat straighter.

Still drunk, he snorted, “of course there’s bullets, Kie. What’s the point of having a gun without bullets?” He gave her his best dumbfounded expression, momentarily forgetting about you and the gun.

“I don’t know!” Kie yelled, panicked as you started to spin around, the gun resting comfortably in your hand.

“Ohh, look at me, I’m JJ, and I’m so hot.” You imitated, not seeing the offended look on JJ’s face.

“I do not talk like tha-“ Sarah interrupted him. She was still sat beside John B, too scared to move.

“Shut up, JJ,” she turned towards you. “Why don’t you put the gun down?”

“No!” Everyone flinched. “How is it that you get to go on these cool fucking adventures, leaving me behind all alone and sad and stupid!” The gun was swinging around in your hand, forgotten as you continued your rant.

“Have you ever thought that, ‘hey, let’s not exclude our other friend’, have you? Cause I don’t think so!” You were yelling now, the familiar sting of tears in your eyes that glistened in the light from the fire.

And then it went off. The loud bang sent Pope flying off his seat while John B covered Sarah’s head while Kie was screeching, throwing herself to the ground. And JJ sat frozen, his hands clutching nothing as half of his guitar ended up in the bonfire, feeding the flame, making it brighter.

JJ couldn’t breathe as he stared at you, you looked fine, he thought to himself as he assessed you from afar.

“I shot my foot?” You whispered in shock as you started down at the hole in your once white vans that was quickly turning scarlet.

And then it was panic. Pope was clutching his head as he screamed for someone to call 911, which quickly turned into him believing you were dying once he saw the blood. And you believed him too.

Sarah made you sit on a discarded chair, shushing you as she held your hands. “You won’t die,” she gave you a reassuring smile, turning around to the group that had gathered behind her and hissed, “unless, any of you have something to stop the fucking bleeding.” That got them going.

You were openly sobbing now, confused wether it stemmed from the gunshot wound or the pent up emotions resurfacing, thick tears rushing down your tears.

Sarah did her best to wipe your tears away as you both absentmindedly listened to Kie and John B argue in the back about who’s sacrificing who’s shirt to stop your bleeding.

She sighed and took her shirt off and as gently as she could, applied pressure to your foot. “JJ!” She yelled, her eyes never leaving the ever growing stain of blood that soaked her shirt. “Help me,” she was almost crying too.

The boy in question looked pale as he stared at your shaking form, your skin looked clammy and he was fucking terrified. He didn’t mind seeing other people hurt, but seeing you this way made his heart clench painfully in his chest. His chest that wouldn’t let any air in the longer he stared at you.

“Please,” the Cameron girl pleaded and he listened. Sinking to his knees beside you, he looked at Sarah, waiting for instructions. “K-keep pressure on the foot.” He nodded and took over, cringing when he touched the warm and wet fabric. Sarah ran to John B.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice was quiet, but JJ heard you clearly. Your voice was always the one he listened to. The one he preferred to hear over all others. “It’s okay.” He was quiet too, giving you a smile, or at least tried to.

Sarah drove up beside you and JJ with John B’s van, the brown haired boy in the passenger seat. “Let’s go!”

JJ whispered a small apology as he lifted you up, cringing when you cried out and with the help of a crying Pope, made you comfortable in the backseat.

————————

You stared at the x-ray, the bones in your foot broken from the force of the bullet.

“Looks pretty dope.” A voice came from beside you, beer in his hand as the sun was shining through the windows of the chateau. His blonde hair still wild. He grabbed your legs and propped them up on his lap, his finger drawing invisible patterns into your skin.

“Yeah,” you agreed, and and glanced at the white cast encasing your foot adorned with scribbles. You placed the x-ray picture on the table and made yourself comfortable.

He took a deep breath and began to speak his mind. “It was never our intention to leave you out of things, I have no excuse for it and I think it’s my fault.” His words were rushed, not thought through, merely just letting his thoughts out.

“What do you mean?”

“I never wanted to hurt you, or see you get hurt, and I thought that you being left out was the answer to that.” His eyes met yours, a storm of thoughts behind his blue eyes. “I like you, a lot. A lot more than friends should.”

You could only smiles, feeling giddy despite the pain in your broken foot. “I like you too,” you breathed.

“You sure?” He raised on eyebrow, mischief written on his forehead, “ because I’m pretty irresistible, and I don’t want you to get obsessed with me.” He tried to keep a straight face but the smile that made its way to his face gave him away.

You grabbed his face gently, and with great difficulty leaned forward and connected your lips to his.

[jaxx-attack]

Look how pretty she is when she falls down →

It wasn’t as if Jaxx particularly favored the days of the week to begin with, however waiting until next Thursday was truly hell on earth. The days between seemed to drag and drag, especially when she’d see Amelia at school, catching the girl brushing her hair over her shoulder as she chatted to her mini-me’s in the cafeteria, it was only when Jaxx felt her breath actually catch one of the times she caught the action that she knew she needed to come to her senses. She just had to wait a few more days then she could have Amelia all to herself again, to kiss her, touch her, make her blush and hopefully make her moan. Truly it was all that was getting Jaxx through the week were the thoughts of having Amelia in her arms once more.

Groaning as her alarm went off Jaxx dug around her bed, reaching for her phone to quickly shut it off only to instantly grin as she noticed the date. Thursday. Fucking finally.

Bringing up her text conversation with Amelia she quickly ran her fingers against the buttons.

“Sup Sleepin’ Beauty. I’ll see you after school.”

Was it still lame to put an x or an o? It totally was and she wasn’t that lame, no way in hell. Even if she really wanted to.

Rolling off of her mattress and on to the floor Jaxx groaned a little to herself as she stood up, stretching her arms over her head and wincing as her ribs stretched. They were getting better but still not a hundred percent yet. But getting there, another thing she truly credited to Amelia.

Making her way into the kitchen once her teeth were brushed and she’d gotten dressed Jaxx was just about to scrounge around in the cupboards for something to eat when she heard her phone go off, instantly pulling it out of her pocket she smiled a little to herself as she noticed the rose and crown lighting up the screen, meaning Amelia had replied.

“Little early for your Johns dont you think?” Came her fathers voice from the kitchen table.

Rolling her eyes Jaxx went to reply to the text, only getting a few letters typed before her phone was quickly knocked out of her hand and on to the ground.

“What the fu-”

“Focus up when someone’s talking to you.”

Shaking her head and sighing a little Jaxx bent down to grab her phone, just as she went to close her fingers around it her fingers soon found themselves squished under the toe of her father’s boot.

“Fuu...alright I’m listening,” she panted, attempting to pull her hand away only to wince as her father put more pressure on to her hand before he moved his foot. Cradling her hand to her chest Jaxx sighed a little to herself as she glanced at her already red fingers.

“I’m really not in the mood for this, I’m going to school.” she commented, using her own foot to kick her phone away from the table and her father before she bent down to grab it, making sure to stand up quickly this time.

“Who are you talking to?” her father demanded, giving Jaxx a look that made her feel like he could see right through her.

“No one, a friend.”

“Uh huh, you expect me to believe you have those?”

“I don’t expect you to ever believe anything I say,” Jaxx replied with a shrug.

“Give me your phone,”

“No,” Came the instant reply as she went to shove the device into her pocket. The moment her phone was away was the same moment her father forcefully stood up from his chair, swallowing thickly Jaxx went to back up only to end up smacking into the fridge.

“Just a friend huh? What are you hiding.” He demanded, getting closer.

“Nothing, it’s just none of your damn business.”

Clearly this was the wrong thing to say as soon her father was lunging at her, shoving her up against the fridge and trying to snatch her phone back.

“Fuck off! It’s mine,” She exclaimed, attempting to shove him off, which she managed to for a moment and within those split few seconds Jaxx took the opportunity to swing out and connect her fist directly with her father’s face.

Looking wide eyed as it connected what she had done all signs started flashing ‘abort!!” in her head as she went to scramble out the back door, only to have her father grab the back of her jacket and forcefully tug her back into the kitchen. Using his hold on her to his advantage as he shoved her up against the fridge, keeping a strong hand against her back to hold her in place while the other roughly pinned her head against the fridge door.

“Now that wasn’t very smart was it? Considering we’ve both seen you can’t even win a fight, that was pretty damn stupid of you.”

Attempting to struggle against his hold Jaxx groaned as he took the hand holding her head to pull it back and push it against the door once more.

“You come at me again, I’m gonna hurt you bad. You understand me?”

“Y-Yeah...” she mumbled, stumbling into the kitchen chairs as her father shoved her towards them.

Watching as he walked over to the counter Jaxx looked down at her hand, noticing her fingers still bruising and swollen she narrowed her gaze at them. Catching the reflective glint of something in the corner of her eye she let her gaze travel over to the drying rack on the counter, her eyes falling on the meat tenderizer in the rack. Taking a glance between the tool and the back of her father’s head everything seemed to move in an instant as before she knew it she had her fingers curled around the handle, arm raised towards her father as she moved behind him. Only he ended up catching her reflection in the glass of the cupboards before she could land a hit on him, quickly spinning around he grabbed the front of her shirt, pulling her closer and landing a harsh punch to the middle of her face, causing her to drop the tenderizer. However the punches kept coming, and coming.

Jaxx found herself falling in and out of consciousness, with every hit, however the last one had her father holding her up by her shirt as her legs gave out underneath her.

“You don’t fucking listen do you? You disrespectful little bitch.” With one last hit to her face he tossed her on to the floor, her head being the first thing that hit against the linoleum tile.

“Told you not to do that.” Her father stated simply, walking out of the kitchen and leaving Jaxx in a bloody heap on the floor.

Barely able to keep her eyes open, tasting nothing but iron on her tongue as her mouth pooled with blood the last thing Jaxx could think of was the fact she didn’t fully text Amelia back before everything went black.

****************

Slowly opening her eyes and realizing she could barely open the right one Jaxx winced as she slowly uncurled her fingers, feeling the cool tile around her she began to gain consciousness once more, the moment her vision focused and she could see the chair and table legs that was when everything came flooding back to her, what had happened, where she was, along with the throbbing pain in her face.

“A-Amelia....” Attempting to look around she slowly pushed herself into a sitting position, slumping against the cupboards she pulled her phone out, noticing the time and the fact it was well into the night now. She must have passed out, for the whole damn day.

Fuck.

Shifting a little more to try to situate herself to type a text to Amelia she found she couldn’t focus on the screen, everything was blurry, her head was pounding, this was never going to work. For all she knew Amelia would think she’d blown her off and never want to see her again.

Of all days, why did this have to happen on a damn Thursday.

With a lot of effort Jaxx managed to use the cupboards to pull herself up into a standing position. Trying to push down the instant feeling of nausea she felt. Okay, she could do this. Taking a few minutes to steady herself at least until she could walk.

Once she found her footing Jaxx stumbled her way out the door and into the cool night air. She knew she could go to the bathroom, access the damage, clean herself up. But all she could think of right now was one thing, one person. The only place she wanted to be.

It took a long time to walk the distance and for a big part of it Jaxx had thought she was walking in the complete wrong direction until they came into view. The rose bushes.

Breathing a small sigh of relief she glanced the house over, noticing a light on in one of the upstairs rooms, what she was hoping was a bedroom. Shaking her head a little to try and focus her vision she looked over everything again with more detail this time, trying to plan out her route.

Bingo.

Making her way closer to the house she hooked her fingers into the lattice, instantly wincing as her swollen fingers made their discomfort known. Telling herself to toughen up she sucked in a breath as she hoisted herself up, making sure not to damage any of the rose bushes along the way as she climbed. Pushing herself onto a small side roof she sighed a little in relief, okay half way.

Cradling her head in her hands for a moment as the world started to spin once more she groaned internally. Just a little bit more.

Blinking a few times as she got her gaze to focus she noticed the window she’d been looking at was getting closer, and lucky for her there was a ledge in the siding.

Perfect.

Crawling across the roof she curled her fingers around the ledge, pulling herself up and quickly wedging her foot against the ledge to keep her held up. Managing to get high enough to peek into the room in question. Well it was a bedroom for sure, however an empty one.

Maybe it was Amelia’s, maybe she would come back. It was worth a shot, after all worse comes to worse the St.James parents call the cops on her, hell it would be better than going home.

Raising her hand she lightly knocked on the window, pausing for a moment to make sure neither of Amelia’s parents came into the room before she lightly knocked again.

She knew her biggest concern should have been her appearance. She could only imagine what she looked like, knowing her eye must be bruised and bloodshot, considering she could taste dried blood on her lips she was sure there was some around there still as well, and who the hell knows what else was wrong with her considering the way her head was pounding and her vision kept getting blurry at random times. 

Sure she should probably be in a hospital, or a mental institution, but all she wanted right now was the girl she was praying would hear her knocking.

[twistedtummies2]

Moriarty’s English Dub

As of today, “Moriarty the Patriot” - my new favorite anime - has its own English Dub. As of the moment I am posting this, I have binged all eleven episodes of the first season with the Dub. I must admit, I was both extremely eager and somewhat worried about how the Dub would turn out: as anybody with even a modicum of interest in anime will tell you, the English Dubs for shows tend to be hit or miss. For every FullMetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, you’ll have a Beyblade. And given how much I love(d) this series and its original voice cast (even if I couldn’t understand a word without those lovely subtitles), I was both excited to hear how new actors would handle them in my own language, and yet had some trepidations, worried the end result could prove vastly inferior. SO...the obvious question you readers are asking is...what do I think of it?

My overall opinion of the Dub is that it is a good one...GOOD, mind you. Not perfect, nor brilliant. I wouldn’t say it’s as good as the original voice cast...but it’s not BAD, either. There are just one or two points where I feel the original cast is decidedly superior. The minor side characters and supporting roles of the show are mostly pretty good; the only places where I feel things don’t quite work are some of the characters who are meant to be kids, where they are...very, VERY obviously voiced by actors or actresses who, bless their talented hearts, just cannot sound like kids. XD Having established and settled that fact, let us consider the major characters. Of the Moriarty Gang, Howard Wang is absolutely spot-on as Louis: prim, proper, usually gentle, but with a coldness and viciousness to him in necessary moments. Chris Guerrero as Albert, meanwhile, is not quite what I anticipated: he has a lighter, somewhat more theatrical voice than I imagined. The more I hear of him, however, the more I warm up to him: he’s a case where the unconventional casting actually works in the Dub’s favor, bringing a new dimension and element of the character to life while still feeling like the one I’ve come to know and perceive from earlier interpretations. And just like the one from the original cast, I somehow never question him as a younger man, either. Clearly a good sign. Less spectacular are Caleb Yen and Christopher Wehkamp, as Fred Porlock and Sebastian Moran, respectively. Now, I should point out neither necessarily does a BAD job - there’s nothing wrong with their ACTING, they’re handling the characters well enough, and if I hadn’t seen the original, I might not have any issue (might not; hard to say for sure. In the case of Yen, the issue is simply that he sounds too old for Fred’s rather obvious youthful standing...and as for Wehkamp? To be perfectly honest, it’s hard for me to say just what my issue with his performance: while Albert’s voice has warmed up to me after seeing eleven episodes, Wehkamp’s just leaves me trying to figure that problem out every time I hear it. I don’t know what the matter is because, objectively, there shouldn’t BE any problems: the dialect makes sense, the quality of the voice is fitting, and yet, for some reason...I’m just sort of always aware of the fact he’s being dubbed, if that makes sense.  On the Holmes side of the spectrum, let me just start off by saying that Suzie Yeung is PERFECT as Miss Hudson. She is at least equal to her original Japanese counterpart, if not better. Dr. Watson is played by Ryan Colt Levy, who evidently is a big Holmes fan and was ecstatic when he got the part. Well, his passion is evident in the power of his voice, because his Watson is pretty perfect: he’s got something of a laid-back quality to his voice, which surprisingly matches the grounded, rational normalcy of John in the show, and there’s a quality to his voice that reminds me of some of my favorite Watsons in the past, most notably Jude Law. He captures both the sweetness and the tenacity of Watson in this version brilliantly. Again, most assuredly on-par with the original so far. Once again, a weak point here is Inspector Lestrade. He is voiced by David Matranga. He has both the same and the opposite problem as Yen’s Fred Porlock. The same in that his voice really doesn’t seem to match the age of the character’s design and demeanor; opposite in that, instead of sounding too old, he sounds much too young. Honestly, he’s my least favorite casting choice of the bunch, possibly: it’s just so distracting hearing that voice from this big, gruff fellow who is very clearly older than the tone seems to indicate. All this brings us to our two leads: Sherlock Holmes and Professor Moriarty. I am happy to report that both impress me a great deal. Holmes is played by Theo Devaney; he’s perhaps SLIGHTLY older-sounding than I’d imagine, but unlike Fred, it’s never to a degree that’s distracting. What I love about Devaney’s voicework is it really does match THIS Holmes, if that makes sense. The brilliance of this series is that, for all the changes it makes, Holmes remains basically the same character we’ve always known, at his core. Devaney’s voice matches that idea brilliantly; some of his lines and deliveries call such actors to my mind as Basil Rathbone, Nicholas Briggs, Jason Gray-Stanford, Barrie Ingham, and other great classic Holmeses of the past to my head...yet he still brings a unique spin all his own, his dialect having a roughness others lack, and keeping the energy necessary for this version. I can easily imagine his voice when reading the manga or especially the Conan Doyle classics. I do still prefer the original voice actor more, mostly because he was just so intensely exuberant in his style and I think captured Holmes’ mood swings more incredibly, but Devaney still does a grand job. So, we come to the main man himself: William James Moriarty. He’s voiced by Aaron Dismuke, whom I primarily know as the voice of Lucifer from “The Devil is a Part-Timer!” I wasn’t quite sure what to expect here, but...honestly, the more I listen to Dismuke’s Moriarty, the more I adore him. I’m not gonna lie, I think, astonishingly, I might like him MORE than Soma Saito, the original voice actor. Now, I don’t like the changes to some of his dialogue (”Come and catch me if you can, Mr. Holmes”...seriously, that line was IN ENGLISH in the first place, why change it?! It sounds all clunky THAT way!), but in terms of the voice and his performance, I think he hits the nail on the head beautifully. It is more or less exactly the voice I would imagine this Moriarty to have. I have no idea if he and Devaney were ever in the same room at any point, but the way the two characters bounce off one another is as powerful as ever...and for every line change that feels odd, there are line changes throughout this series (not just for him, but in general) that either have no effect and therefor are not very noticeable, or actually come across as BETTER than what was originally said. Which still doesn’t excuse them changing...you know...arguably the most famous line/moment in the entire thing, but...whatever. Win some, lose some. So, in conclusion...while I overall prefer the original subtitlted version to this dub, the dub is not necessarily bad. There are better ones, but there are certainly worse, and I would say this is even better than being “just okay.” I’m not sure exacatly where to rank or rate it, but I think the bottom line I can give is this: if someone wanted to watch the Dub of this show instead of subtitles, for any reason, I wouldn’t discourage them in the least. To me, I think that’s ultimately what matters.

[murdereraisuha]

Classpecting TWST: Octavinelle

Time to assign Homestuck classpects to the fish mafia!

Spoilers for chapter 3 and some of the trio’s personal stories. No knowledge of Homestuck required to read.

[Image description: A banner containing a picture of Azul, the symbol for the space aspect, and the words “Azul Ashengrotto: Thief of Space”]

For Azul, I think it’s easier to narrow down what his class is first.

To get back at his childhood bullies, Azul developed his unique magic “It’s a Deal,” which lets him make contracts with others. 

He uses clever loopholes and tricks to shift his contracts in his favor, letting him reap the magic and abilities of his victims. 

However, despite his power and skills, he still has self-image issues. 

In chapter 3, he overblots during a desperate magic stealing spree to make a more perfect him who isn’t a “stupid, clumsy octopus who can’t do anything by himself.”

What I get from this is that he steals from others, he worked hard to shape himself into a successful person, and he perceives fault in himself. Based on this, I think his class is either thief, the active theft class, or knight, the active exploitation class.

With that in mind, what exactly does he steal/exploit, and what do his insecurities relate to? Rather than concepts like luck, freedom, or the soul, Azul seems centered on concrete objects. In his childhood, he was tormented due to his physical appearance. In the present, he carefully controls his diet to maintain a slender physique. He also hoards things like coins and his contracts. 

Based on these things as well as the creativity he exhibits in his elaborate schemes (exam notes, beans day, investigating Scarabia, etc.), I think that Azul’s aspect is space, the aspect of physical attributes, creation, and patience.

So, thief of space or knight of space? After research into both, I think that thief fits the best. First of all, though Azul has amazing abilities on his own, he relies a lot on maintaining a hoard of contracts. Rather than working with what he has, he constantly seeks out more: more power, more profits, more restaurant locations. Similarly to how Azul’s downfall in chapter 3 stemmed from trying to steal too much (Yuu’s house & the photo), the 2 thieves in Homestuck also get into trouble for being too overconfident. Finally, while a knight generally protects and shelters those around them, Azul isn’t afraid to do stuff such as wring Floyd out like a towel to use his eel slime for developing a beauty product. Therefore, Azul is most likely a thief of space.

[Image description: A banner containing a picture of Jade Leech, the symbol for the light aspect, and the words “Jade Leech: Rogue of Light”] 

To figure out Jade’s aspect, let’s consider some facts about him. 

His unique magic, “Shock the Heart,” forces a person who looks him in the eye to truthfully answer a question he asks them. 

He dislikes predictable things, which is a reason why he loves his chaotic brother and enjoys growing unknown plants. 

He prefers to stay in the shadows while Azul/Floyd takes the spotlight.

Based on these factors, Jade seems well suited to either the void aspect, the aspect of secrets, confusion, and irrelevance, or its opposite the light aspect, the aspect of truth, awareness, and importance. Now, how does he interact with his aspect?

Though Jade, Azul, and Floyd are equals, Jade still usually acts in a supportive role to them. For example, in his ceremony robes story, Jade gives the list of the new students’ private Magicam accounts to Azul for him to use instead of using the list himself. Therefore, I think that Jade probably has a passive class.

Jade does not have a deficit of light/void and he does not have a destructive relationship with light/void, ruling out page and bard. He doesn’t truly embody either aspect, ruling out heir, and he doesn’t seem to do much creating/healing of light/void, ruling out sylph. That narrows it down to seer of light, seer of void, rogue of void, and rogue of light. 

Though I originally thought he was probably void and just kept the light option open just in case, Jade might actually be a rogue of light. A rogue, the passive theft class, invites theft of their aspect and through their aspect. Jade reveals knowledge (ex. contract violations & the Magicam accounts) and then leaves Azul and Floyd to do with it as they please. Also, Shock the Heart is activated using his eyes, and eyes are a symbol of the light aspect in Homestuck. 

Furthermore, the rogues of Homestuck often have trouble coping with having their aspect, correlating with Jade being uncomfortable with having people’s attention on him. He also has problems with giving information/the truth about himself. For example, his exaggerated fake tears after Idia doubts his wish during the Wish Upon a Star event strengthens Idia’s belief that Jade's wish is insincere, even though Jade might have really wanted to use his wish for Azul and Floyd’s benefit. Though Jade is pretty different from the typical descriptions of rogues of light I have read, I think he probably is a rogue of light.

[Image description: A banner containing a picture of Floyd, the symbol for the blood aspect, and the words “Floyd Leech: Bard of Blood”]

For Floyd, I have an aspect already in mind.

Breath represents freedom and flexibility. From his general refusal to wear his uniform properly or take on responsibilities to specific events like trying to play dodgeball during basketball club, Floyd certainly exhibits freedom. His unique magic, “Bind the Heart,” references the concept of freedom/captivity in its name. By deflecting any magic aimed at him, it basically ensures his freedom from injury and other harmful effects like Riddle’s” Off with Your Head!”

Just so we’re not narrowing our focus too much though, I’d like to point out that the rage aspect is also a possibility. Rage represents negative emotions, defiance, and persistence. For Floyd, he rebels against conformity and also exhibits some stubbornness in his teasing of Riddle. Floyd’s aspect might also be the opposite of breath or rage, blood or hope, since each aspect and its opposite are just 2 sides of the same coin as we saw with Floyd’s brother.

Anyway, on to class. First off, thief and rogue are out since he doesn’t do much theft. He doesn’t hide behind any masks or act very pessimistic, so knight, page, and prince are out, and he doesn’t seem to struggle with knowledge of things, so mage and seer are out. Of the remaining classpect combos, I was thinking witch of rage, bard of rage, heir of breath, or maid of breath. However, as I just said, the aspects blood or hope might also apply. After looking into god tiers of those aspects, one stuck out at me: bard of blood.

Bard is the passive destruction class, which invites destruction of their aspect or through their aspect. Bards and princes, the active destruction class, are notable in how they exhibit traits of the opposite aspect since they destroy their own aspect in themselves. In Floyd’s case, his abundance of freedom & spontaneousness can also be seen as an absence of commitments & responsibilities.

However, a bard doesn’t destroy all traces of their aspect, which is how I can find evidence that Floyd’s aspect is actually blood rather than breath. In Homestuck, those of the breath aspect tend to be rather emotionally detached or passive. For example, John handles shocking revelations with ease and Tavros uses sleep to escape sadness. On the other hand, blood players tend to be emotionally explosive and assertive. Karkat and Kankri are well known for being rather... cranky. Now, for Floyd,

I don’t think an emotionally passive person would have a murder mode face like this. There’s also the fact that Floyd specifically hates shackles, while a breath player would probably take their freedom more for granted. Anyway, going to how being a bard would interact with Floyd’s aspect, as a bard his actions lead to destruction of bonds/responsibilities. However, a bard’s aspect is still a part of them/an inevitability even if they try to act like it isn’t.

Let’s take the one big example of anguish within Floyd that we have: his school uniform story. While Floyd is having a blast riling Riddle up and trying to bait him into a game of tag, Riddle remarks that Jade doesn’t bother with this sort of mischief and he’s completely different from Floyd even though they’re twins. This causes Floyd’s mood to take a 180 and he abruptly leaves. Even though Floyd does stuff like steal Jade’s clothes or shove work on him—things that might suggest Floyd doesn’t care about Jade—Floyd actually doesn’t want their bond with each other to break. This also holds true for Azul: though Floyd explicitly says in chapter 4 that he and Jade will leave Azul if he becomes boring, that seems like a half-truth: with Azul being the person he is, how likely is it that he would ever become boring?

Floyd is a genius, talented in everything from academic subjects to music to sports. However, as noted by some other characters, his mood swings and flippantness prevent him from being the even more terrifyingly powerful person he could become. His personal challenge may very well be to find a middle ground between running from and depending on his bonds/responsibilities. Therefore, based on Floyd’s values, attitude, and faults, I can say that he is very likely a bard of blood.

-- Final notes --

Firstly, If you actually read through all this and enjoyed it, I recommend checking out mia-pon289’s Octavinelle theories and Dahniwitchoflight’s classpect stuff since this post drew a lot of inspiration from those. 

Secondly, I am going to flip my shit if Ace’s aspect turns out to be blood too once I get to analyzing Heartslabyul. Is basketball club just gonna become blood club?

Thirdly,

[Image description: A venn diagram with 2 circles. One circle is labeled “Animal with 8 legs” and contains “Vriska” in it. The other circle is labeled “Aquatic” and contains “Meenah”. The intersection between the circles contains “Azul”. The whole diagram is inside of a rectangle labeled “Thief”]

[peakyswritings]

Everything that matters

Arthur Shelby x female!reader

Requested by: @fandom-puff

Warnings: swearing, childbirth

The gif is not mine, credits to the owner

Arthur could tell that something was wrong with you lately. You seemed always tired and exhausted and your mood swings were becoming more and more frequent. Also, you had started to have a lot of cravings. For example, one day you had told him that you wanted a peach, out of nowhere.

“Love, you do realise that it’s autumn, right?” he asked you, knowing too well that it was impossible to find peaches during that season. The look you gave him made him understand that you didn’t care at all.

Long story short, that’s how he found himself going into every grocery store in Birmingham looking for peaches.

Last but not least, you had started making comments on your appearance.

“I’m gaining weight” you said, staring at your reflection.

“You’re always the same” he shrugged his shoulders, not removing his eyes off the journal he was reading.

“No, I’m gaining weight. And of course you don’t see it, I could balloon up to 600 pounds and start rolling in the living room and you wouldn’t notice” you stated, placing your hands on your hips, making him laugh.

“I think I would notice love”

He put away his journal and he got up from the couch, walking close to you to hug you from behind.

“But you would still be the most beautiful woman to me” he said before placing a kiss on your temple.

Being the eldest sibling, he had seen his mother having a pretty similar behaviour when she was expecting. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but it made sense and it was the only explanation for the way you were acting.

You had your suspicions as well. You were two months late and you had been waking up feeling sick a lot of times in the last month. You were afraid of finding out the truth, because even though you really wanted to become a mother, the thought of having a child scared you. One day you gathered up the courage and you told Polly, who called a midwife. As you expected, you were pregnant. You spent the last few days trying to find a way to tell your husband. Little did you know, he already knew and that he was just waiting for you to tell him.

“Arthur, I need to tell you something” you told him, while you were cuddled up on the couch after a long day.

“Yeah? What do you need to tell me?” he asked, holding back a smile.

You raised your head from his shoulder, sitting straight on the couch to look at him.

“I’m pregnant”

Even though he already knew it, hearing it from you was on a whole other level. He smiled as he shook his head.

“You finally decided to tell me”

You looked at him with wide eyes.

“You knew it?”

He just nodded, leaning forward to gently grab your face in his hands and kiss you.

“We’re going to be parents” he said, looking you in the eyes with a visibly emotional expression.

“We’re going to be parents” you repeated after him.

He rolled on top of you, holding his weight on his arms as he started placing kisses all over your face, tickling you with his moustache and making you chuckle.

“I love you” he whispered, looking at you with loving eyes.

“I love you”

******

The following day, Arthur stormed into the private room of the Garrison with a bottle of champagne, eager to give the good news to his family. However, he didn’t talk until they were all there.

“C’mon Arthur, are you going to tell us what this is all about or do we have to guess?” John asked, already having enough of his brother’s behaviour.

“Y/n is pregnant. I’m going to be a father” he said with a smile, uncorking the bottle. Everyone in the room cheered, raising their glasses for him to fill them.

“Well, Arthur, you wasted no time” Tommy joked, making everyone chuckle.

“You’re fucked man” John teased him, wrapping an arm around his neck and ruffling his hair “you have no idea of how fucked you are”

“Don’t scare me, John-boy” he laughed, putting his hair back into place.

“Congratulations, brother” Tommy smiled at him and pat him on the shoulder.

******

After nine long months of waiting, you knew that the baby would be born at any moment. What you didn’t know was that the moment would have come during a family dinner. When your waters broke, everyone basically freaked out. Luckily you had Polly, Ada and Esme with you, who helped you while the men of the family were waiting in the kitchen, drinking whiskey.

“Where the fuck is Arthur?” Polly asked, taking a look around the room.

Your husband was actually pacing back and forth in the kitchen, his nervousness was eating him alive. Ada walked in the room, smacking his head.

“Arthur! You should be with your wife now!” she scolded him, pointing towards the door.

“No Ada I can’t do this” he shook his head. She raised her eyebrows and she put her hands on her hips.

“If she can handle so much pain then you can be by her side. Go. Now.” she said with a tone that didn’t allow any form of disagreement. He hesitated for a moment, then he walked in the room you were in, sitting next to you and holding your hand.

“I’m here love” he said, rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand.

You had never felt so much pain in your life, you squeezed your husband’s hand as you cried.

“Arthur I swear to God” you stopped for a moment, taking deep breaths “if you even think about having another baby, I’ll kill you”

******

Hours later, your baby was finally born. The women of the family had helped you clean yourself and the baby up and he was awake in your arms while you walked back and forth in the living room, cradling him. You walked towards Arthur, who had never been so emotional in his life.

“Look Nathaniel” you whispered to your baby “here’s daddy”

Your husband smiled and gently stroke his face with one finger. The baby moved and took Arthur’s finger in his little hand.

“He’s so small” he said, looking at Nathaniel in adoration.

“Do you wanna hold him?”

Arthur nodded and took him in his arms, gently cradling him.

“Hey you” he said “you’re finally here with us”

You rested with your head against his shoulder, looking at your son.

“It feels like nothing else matters in the world”

“That’s because it’s true” he stated, placing a kiss on your head “nothing else matters now. Just us”

You walked towards the rest of the family, who were standing in the kitchen.

Arthur placed his cap on Nathaniel’s head, holding him up to show him to the others.

“See, he looks just like me”

“Poor thing” John joked, making everyone laugh.

“Nathaniel Shelby” Arthur said “welcome to the family”

You were everything that mattered.

[northcarolinanative]

𝐏𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐞

Requested by anon: Hi! I have a request where John b has a younger sister and her nick name is Poguie/ Little Poguie but only John b and the pogues are allowed to call her that. So one night at a boneyard party, Rafe and topper won’t leave her alone, just being annoying and low key harassing her, and one of them call her the nickname and she punches them, like no, no, can’t call me that. And Rafe is not happy about the punch, so he goes for the grab And leads to Pope, JJ and John B getting involved. Thank ya!

A/N: I have no idea how long ago you requested this but I know it was a while ago! I’m sorry!! I hope you still enjoy it! I wanted to put a little *twist* on it because that’s what I do:) As always let me know what you think:) My requests/asks/messages are open!

Warnings: Violence/Fighting 

Being John B’s half-sister was fun for the most part. I had a built-in set of friends, the pogues. Each of them being protective over me despite the minuscule age difference, less than a year, between the two of us. Kiara was the older sister that I would never have and also my ‘mom’ friend. While it was embarrassing at first to ask her questions, the older we got the more normal it became, she helped me navigate girly things that I missed out on living in a house full of boys. JJ and Pope were like two peas in a pod, one always picking or bickering with the other, but just like John B, teased me to no end, but the moment a Kook, or hell even a pogue, tried to talk to me they made sure they knew I was off-limits. 

My fingers moved swiftly across the smooth surface of my phone screen. I felt my face flushed at the words that were being written to me, but even more so from me. I had met a boy, on my way home from work on the pier. He was cute, and so far sweet and flattering. I had not met him before because he went to the Kook Academy. My phone buzzed again, signaling that I had gotten another message from him. 

Kelce: I heard there was a Party at the boneyard tonight. Do you think I could meet up with you there? 

Me: Ehhh, we’ll see;) 

I replied back quickly, a soft smile and blush rising to my face.

“Hey poguie, what are you doing?” JJ said barreling in the door, startling me. He used his knuckles to rub across my head, sending my hair flying in every which direction. I quickly locked my phone, tucking it under my leg so that they wouldn’t see I was on it. The last thing that I needed was John B or the others finding out. They would lose their minds if they found out I was talking to a boy, much less a kook. I never quite understood what they others had against the Kooks in general, sure they had their bad seeds, but so did the cut, right? 

“What are you all smiley about?” JJ asked as he made his way through the door carrying two cases of PBR in his hands. 

“Just so happy that all of you are back!” I retorted sarcastically, watching the others file in the door behind him. “What took you so long?” I joked with them. 

“What are you talking about Poguie, we’re right on time!” John B said, shitting the door behind him. I rolled my eyes looking at the clock, signaling that they were in fact an hour later than they said they’d be. “So what time is the party tonight?” 

“Eh, We’re leaving in a few minutes I think,” Kie said, fixing her watch to look at the time. “Are you coming tonight?” She said smiling. 

I blushed at her enthusiasm and nodded my head. Pope raised his eyebrows, immediately looking to see John B’s reaction. John B was pulling beers from the fridge and into the cooler that JJ was holding. He looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “You want to come?” He questioned, leaning onto the door. I just nodded my head, giving him another expression of confusion back. “Oh, just that you, you know?” He said, moving to keep stocking the cooler. “You never wanted to go before.” He shrugged

“Awe. Our little poguie is growing up!” Pope exclaimed in a mocking tone, causing me to once again roll my eyes. 

“Well if you’re coming, maybe you should, I don’t know? Help us out?” JJ deadpanned as he struggled to hold up the heavy cooler. I laughed before moving from my spot on the couch, careful to slip my phone in my back pocket. I grabbed the other handle of the cooler watching JJ dramatically wipe sweat from his forehead. 

-- 

The party took less than an hour to reach full swing. There was a mix of people around, from Pogues to Kooks, and the few Tourons that were holding to the last bit of summer vacation. The air was still warm and tinted a warm golden yellow as the sun had barely fallen behind the horizon. I was sitting on the white folding table that the boys had set up to hand out beers from. John B was pulling the cans from the cooler and passing them to JJ and Pope, who stood at the front, handing the beverages to the lines of people. The night was still young so everyone was itching to get their drinks. Kie was setting up trash cans in hopes that people would actually use them. 

I was waving at the familiar faces that came through the line and hugging a few girls that I knew from school. I was laughing with boys as they commented on the naivety of the tourons. They were all ‘so totally drunk’ off one beer. One took a sip and sighed “This is good shit,” as if it wasn’t PBR the boys stole from the gas station, causing us all to laugh. Every boy that would move to my side and talk to me quickly wandered away, I could only assume it was due to the death stares that JJ and Pope were giving them. 

Kelce caught my eye from across the way, he was on the edge of the party, drink in hand. We smiled at one another, as he waved at me. I blushed before trying to figure out a way to get out of the situation with the boys. I looked back at Kelce to see him nodded toward the fire, motioning me to join him. I nodded before turning to the boys. 

“Hey!” I said, all of them sparing a glance at me before getting back to their job, the line slowly dying down. “I’m gonna go find Kie, haven’t seen her in a bit?” I questioned. They all just nodded their heads. I smiled, suddenly feeling the nervousness in my stomach build and a small shake come to my hands. I slid myself off the small table and into the soft sand below me, I made my way through the crowd of bodies, pushing my way through. That was why I stayed away from the larger pogues parties, all the people. I finally made it through to the more open area that was around the orange fire. I locked eyes with Kelce a few feet away, he was illuminated with the same firelight that was heavy in the air. I could not hide the smile that made its way to my face. Our steps finally met in the middle and He wrapped his arms around my middle, picking me up and spinning me. I giggled at the action but hugged him back before he set me down. 

“You look really pretty tonight Y/N” He smiled at me. I felt my cheeks heat up as I took in his appearance as well. He was dressed in normal casual wear for him. He had on a teal polo that complemented his tones body nicely, dark khaki shorts, and a pair of Sperry’s. I took in his figure and looked back at his cheeky smile, realizing he totally caught me checking him out too. 

“You look pretty good too,” I said, suddenly feeling myself get shy. Kelce laughed at my new awkward tone, easing the mood a little bit. He took my hand softly, and lead me to a log on the far side of the fire. I looked over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of the pogues, still distracted, before following Kelce. I felt the butterflies in my stomach start again with the way that he held my hand closer to him and kept it as we sat down. The warmth from the fire hiding the blush on my cheeks. Kelce’s smile made me want to melt, and not to mention he looked so good, the way that the flickering light was dancing across his chiseled features. We fell into a light, casual conversation naturally. Texting had helped us to get to know one another on the surface level, but it was nice to look at him while talking. The night grew darker and the fire was slowly dying since no one added anything but a few beer cases to it and we continued to talk. 

“Oh Kelce man, don’t tell me this is the girl you were telling us about?” I heard a voice come from behind me. I looked up at Kelce, my eyebrows knitted together in confusion, but the redness that covered my face was proof of my embarrassment. 

“Dude! Why would you say it like that?” Kelce said, moving closer and pulling me into his side, wrapping his arm protectively around my shoulders. I was able to turn and see who was speaking. I looked up to be met with none other than the Kook royalty, Rafe Cameron and Topper Thornton. “But yes. This is Y/N” He said while a smile before looking at me. 

“You were talking about me?” I giggled, the blush on my face staying there like a stain. Kelce just nodded, he opened his mouth to speak but was stopped by Rafe. 

“You mean Poguie Trash?” Rafe said, mocking a baby voice when he called me by the nickname. I felt my hands clench into fists. “Not even good enough to be a Pogue, Y/N.” Rafe’s voice degrading. It was only making my anger continue to rise. “Not even you’re brother lets you in his group. What makes you think you’re good enough for a kook like Kelce? Poguie” Rafe taunted. 

I’d had enough. As soon as I the nickname fell from Rafe’s lips, I was up on my feet, closing the short distance that was between us. Rafe’s tall figure stood over me, but heald no fear against me. I didn’t realize what I was doing before I had slung my right fist into the left side of his face. Obviously taken aback by the blow, Rafe stutter-stepped backward. 

My grew wide, not expecting myself to really do it. Rafe brought his hand up to his face, pulling away and looking at the blood on his hand. A small crowd had gathered around us. “You fucking Pogue,” he spat at me, lunging forward. Kelce was quick to pull me into his chest and out of Rafe’s line of fire. That’s when I was able to see the three taller figures that had approached from behind me. 

John B was leading the pack, making his fist colliding with Rafe’s face. JJ and Pope stood back, holding Topper out of the fight. “You don’t get to call her that” John B managed to get out between punches.”You don’t get to say those things to her!” He said, his fist meeting the boys face over and over again. I locked eyes with JJ, seeing the same worried expression on his face. I moved towards John B, JJ moving from the other side, as we tried to get him away from the boy underneath him. 

“John B come on!” JJ yelled as he pushed him toward me. 

“He’s had enough dude!” I called, pulling him up by the shoulders, and passed him to Pope who quickly pulled him away from the beach. I looked around for Kelce, to say something. I caught his eye and walked the short distance between us. 

I stood in front of Kelce who had his hands dug in the pockets of his khakis, the air heavy between the two of us. I knew that we didn’t have much time before the pogues pulled me away. “Are you okay?” Kelce asked I watched as his eyes searched over my face and body. “Did Rafe hurt you?” He breathed out, closing his eyes and shaking his head with his last statement. 

“Not physically no,” I said, bluntly. “I guess the others were right tho.” Kelce knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. “You know? A kook and Pogue, we can’t be friends Kelce” I said with an awkward laugh. “It’ll be too complicated.” 

Kelce stared at me with wide eyes. I heard the others calling my name and JJ ran up to my side. “We said come on Poguie!” I could feel the frustration radiating off of him as he slung an arm around me, pulling me away from Kelce. 

“Y/N! Wait-” Kelce started, but it was already too late. JJ and I had already started our trek back to the chateau. 

A long and uncomfortable silence filled the walk home. The waves from the beach were slowly replaced by the crunch of gravel until we got to the front of the chateau. 

“What the hell were you doing with the Kooks to begin with Y/N?” John B said. I was stunned. He never used my real name unless he was really mad. I blinked a few times trying to register his tone. 

“I’m sorry?” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You‘re the one who almost beat Rafe within an inch of his life! I had it covered!” I said, my voice rising with every word. 

“Me?” John B said, his voice breathy. “Me?” He repeated, raising his voice. “What was all that about with Kelce huh?” He questioned. Pope and Kie took it as their cue to give us some privacy. John B pointed at JJ. “Why did he have to get you? Huh?” He asked his voice condescending. 

I felt tears prick in my eyes. “It was nothing okay!” I said, looking between the two boys. “You were right, they’re kooks, and it would never work!” I moved through the two of them making my way into my bedroom before slamming the door behind me. I let my back slide down the door. 

I felt like I had been crying for hours when a knock came to my door. I slowly moved to get out of the way. I took a deep breath before turning the doorknob. I opened it just a little to see JJ standing outside of it with a large grin on his face. 

“Can I come in?” He asked, his voice much softer than previously that night. I just nodded and opened the door wider. As he walked in I took it as an opportunity to look out over the empty living room. JJ sat on the edge of my bed, patting the spot beside him. 

I listened, moving to sit beside him, pulling my knees to my chest and looking at him. “I brought you some water.” He extended his arm with a cold bottle of water. “Kie said that you need to rehydrate or something.” He said with a short laugh. I took it taking a few sips, the silence over us become more awkward. 

“I’m sorry about John B. I know we’re protective over you, but we just want what’s best for you. And if you think that’s Kelce, then.” JJ paused taking a deep breath. “Then we’ll lay off.” He said with a soft smile. 

I smiled back at him. “Thanks, but I kinda blew it already.” I laughed awkwardly at my own mistakes. JJ looked at me, confusion clear on his face. “I told him it wouldn’t work, that it would be ‘too complicated’” I emphasized with air quotes. 

“Well, he’s stupid if that keeps him away,” JJ said. He pulled me into a side hug before moving to the door. 

“Hey JJ” I spoke up, causing him to turn in the doorway to face me. “Really, thanks. It means a lot to know you have my back.”I smiled at him. 

“Anything for you, Pougie.” 

Masterlist

Taglist: Just @kikifromtheblock​ rn (bc she asked to be tagged for everything:))

[kiara-carrera]

leah and jj + hugging while walking for the touches ask game?

season 2 spoilers for everything up to the bonfire episode (where this it set)! this is both canon and not canon because i will in fact adjust all of my ideas at least seventy-four times whoops ... we’re also gonna ignore the fact that the hug while walking lasts exactly one line, a true blink and you miss it kind of nonsense. is this well written? no, but that’s not my strong suit anyways.

18. hugging while walking: leah + jj

“I’m just saying — I don’t trust her. And I really don’t think we should be leaving John B alone right now, especially with her.”

Around them, the annual bonfire was in full swing. Music was blaring, drinks sloshing out of solo cups and dripping down the arms of kids too slow on a shotgunned can, bodies clustered in the middle as friends danced and chatted the night away. The bonfire was like a Boneyard party — neutral ground where Pogues and Kooks could (mostly) coexist for a night of getting shit faced and making terrible decisions.

Instead of being up in the mix, Leah found herself off to the side, a frown on her face as she watched John B get yanked into a conversation with a girl from their school — Yvonne, a junior like them, and also someone John B had gotten fairly familiar with the previous year, before dads began disappearing at sea, gold cropped up in wells, and mysteries and murder landed on their doorsteps.

Even if the relationship (marriage?) between John B and Sarah hadn’t just fucking exploded — okay, wait, maybe that wasn’t the right word to use all things considered. Either way, she would have been having the exact same reaction. Because like most of the people John B and JJ had gotten involved with over the years, Leah couldn’t fucking stand the sight of her.

JJ snorted from beside her, watching on as Leah glared across the party where John B had all but been wrangled into a conversation with Yvonne. “Remind me what your problem with her is again?”

Her head snapped towards him, finally breaking her one-sided glare session, regarding JJ as if he’d suddenly grown another five heads. “You’re kidding, right? Do you not remember how fucking exhausting she was when John B was doing ... whatever the fuck that thing he had with her last year was?”

“He was banging her,” JJ said bluntly, laughing when Leah wrinkled her nose. “And no, I don’t.”

“Figures, because you’d always run off with Pope and leave me alone with them. Like, she was fine at first until she started getting super weird and territorial over him with me, which was fucking weird because they weren’t even dating and also newsflash — I was so not trying to steal John B from her. It’s John B. I’d rather eat a bar of soap.”

“John B can handle himself,” JJ told her, taking a sip from his drink. He’d already had half a beer that he’d failed to shotgun and had scored a solo cup from some kid in their year. “He’s probably going to be bitching about missing Sarah to her the whole time anyways, and I know I’m not spending my night babysitting him with you.”

Leah raised an eyebrow at him, reaching out to snatch his drink from his hand. She grinned when he made a noise of protest when she took a small sip. Grimacing at the taste, she told him, “This tastes like lighter fluid, first of all. And who said you had to hang out with me tonight?”

Another grin broke out on her lips, watching as his eyebrows knitted in confusion at her words. There was just the tiniest hint of a frown that she might have missed if she hadn’t been watching him as closely as she was or if the flickering lights of the bonfire hadn’t casted a decent amount of light to where they were standing.

She wasn’t expecting him to turn it around on her though. 

His confusion disappeared at the drop of a hat, a somewhat cocky expression tugging at the corner of his lips as he replied, “Figured you wouldn’t be complaining about that.”

Embarrassed heat crawled up her neck at his words, eyes narrowing at him. Leah wasn’t sure why she expected JJ to not be a teasing dick about everything — perhaps it was the way he’d been far to eager to put his mouth on hers the other day that made her think they were on the same page.

Apparently not.

Everything was just weird. Between the kiss the night Rafe and Barry crashed John B and Sarah’s welcome home party and everything that had happened between then and now it was just ... it was like her world had been thrown off-kilter. They’d barely talked about it. Every conversation either got ruined, interrupted, or ended in a kiss. She wasn’t complaining about the third one, but it felt entirely too vulnerable to not know where she stood.

Did she like JJ? Yes. Did JJ like her? ...Wildly undetermined. On the one hand, he definitely liked the physicality of it all. But there was still that horrid little voice in the back of her mind that worried. Worried because he’d never actually been in a serious relationship, had never looked for one. Worried that she’d divulged too much too soon and that he was trying simply for the sake of their friendship.

She’d already seen the way Kiara and Pope had fractured. She didn’t exactly want to be the star of the sequel.

It was already hard enough accepting that her feelings for JJ were far beyond anything platonic. It was hard having to go around knowing what it felt like to have his mouth on hers, his hand tangled in her hair as she tasted weed and Natural Light on his lips. It was hard enough to know that there was something there, but not knowing what that something was.

He’d told her to stop putting words in his mouth, to stop jumping to conclusions about how he was feeling, but what the fuck was she supposed to do when it seemed like this was all just some weird way to pass time?

It was just her luck that she was shit at feelings like this and that she just had to go fall for her friend who was quite possibly worse than her.

And now he was fucking teasing her. Yup, saying shit to him was starting to look more and more like a colossal fucking mistake.

“You’re a dick,” she muttered to him, cheeks burning as she turned to go find Kie or Pope.

Leah made it all but two feet before two familiar arms wrapped around her waist, JJ doing his best to prevent her from going any further.

“Lee Lee,” he whined in her ear. “C’mon, it was a joke.”

“Must have forgot to laugh,” she replied, beer sloshing around the cup in her hands as she tried to keep moving. But his arms were wrapped around her in a bear hug, his boots shuffling in the dirt behind her converse.

“Jesus,” he muttered, finally tugging her to a complete halt, groaning in annoyance a little as she refused to turn around to face him. But she’d stopped trying to move forward, still wearing a frown as he released her and circled around her to be face to face once again. “Done pouting now?”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I’m gonna shove you into the bonfire.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Not really into that, but thanks.”

Another flush of heat, this more out of annoyance than anything else, rose to her cheeks. “Can you be serious for like five seconds and stop making it your night’s goal to annoy me?”

The seriousness of her tone made his smile falter just a little bit. “Oh, c’mon, it was a joke. I wanna hang with you tonight, you know that.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t see me standing around anyone else, do you?” He glanced around, as if trying to prove his rhetorical point.

The tiniest, most traitorous of a laugh escaped her, but she quickly doubled back with a semi forced frown. “Too late, your friendship privileges have been provoked for the night.”

“What about macking privileges?”

The frown? Gone. Eyes? A little wide. Heart? Well, she was lucky her ribcage was there to keep it from popping out of her chest like a fucking cartoon.

A little flustered, she told him, “Funny, JJ, should consider being a comedian.”

“Not joking.” His tone was as serious as his words, more serious than he tended to be, especially at a party which surprised her, but it was the next thing he did that really caught her attention.

Leah knew that JJ was annoying when it came to getting what he wanted, but nothing really could have prepared her for the way his hands pulled on her arms, tugging her close to him, closer than she had any right to be as his friend.

Leah knew that no one at the bonfire around them was playing a lick of attention to them — the Pogues had been a hot commodity for all of two minutes when they’d arrived, a bit of attention of the newly freed John B, but that spectacle had gone stale all too quickly. And yet, her heart didn’t seem to care because there was something daunting, exciting about him treating her like this in public.

She knew from experience that JJ was nonchalant about PDA, making out and dancing with people at parties before with not a care in the world. His standing close to her and tugging him into her like he was some fictional pretty boy starring in a cheesy teen rom com shouldn’t have made her feel as special as it did but this was just different.

It was him and it was her and there were so many things about this situation that seemed like they’d only ever exist in vague daydreams. It seemed like there shouldn’t have been a universe where he’d look at her like the way he was right now, with anything more than friendship.

“We can even ditch,” JJ told her with a grin, eyes sparkling just a bit in the firelight. His hands slipped from her arms to her hips smoothly, like being nonchalant about this kind of shit came all too naturally to him. “Me, you, and the lighter fluid.”

She was certain that he could see her sour mood diminish embarrassingly quick as she asked, “Oh really? To do what, exactly?”

“That all depends on how you wanna spend your time tonight,” JJ answered, giving her one of his easy, mischievous smiles, that fucking smile that had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

Leah wasn’t sure how long she’d cared for him like this. Maybe it had only been a few days, maybe since Midsummers, or hell, maybe it had been forever, her subconscious just waiting for that perfect moment for it to click that her joking I hate you’s were laced with something else, something more.

“Know a good place, too,” he added, gesturing his head towards the tree line past the wall, into the woods where most people only vacated to for hookups, which definitely didn’t go over her head.

“If you’re taking me to where you take all your bonfire party hook ups to, I’ll pass,” Leah remarked dryly. She didn’t intend the words to come out slightly bitter, and she thought she passed them off as joking as she could, but she couldn’t ignore the twist in her chest at the thought.

Before all of this, she wouldn’t have even batted an eye at JJ possibly having secret bonfire hookup spots, but now? Now the thought made a ball of lead form in her stomach.

“I mean I took Pope there once when I didn’t want to share my good weed with anyone.”

This time, she didn’t try to hide the laughter that bubbled over her lips. “Oh, perfect, I get to see where you wander off with Pope, wonderful.”

“So you’re in?”

She pretended to ponder it for a moment, but it was clear to just about anyone — especially JJ who knew her better than anyone in the world — that she’d had the answer sitting on her tongue. “I guess I could spare you a few minutes.”

JJ grinned at her, once again shooting her that fucking smile and she wasn’t sure if it was that or the way he replied with, “That’s my girl!” made her feel like she could fucking conquer the fucking world, off-kilter or not.

[consumedkings-archive]

@shallow-gravy jess..... jess jess jess...... where do i even begin huh? what do i even say? you are the sweetest, the most obnoxiously talented, and i just!! hm!! i just really adore you all to tiny bits and pieces. merry christmas my beloved friend, thank you so much for all of your love and support and listening to my ramblings, for loving my girl elliot, for letting me gush over diana. the list really do be endless!! i could probably wax poetic about how grateful i am to have made a friend as wonderful as you, but in the interest of time, i will just say: thank you thank you thank you! and merry christmas!

ii. a venom dripping in your mouth

elliot honeysett/john seed/deputy diana baker, the unholy trinity, in full-fledged terroristic force. this is pure self-indulgent trash, and i can’t believe this is an acceptable christmas gift to give you but i so hope you like it! 

canon? who is she. i don’t know her. herald!elliot au, largely canon divergent but like it doesn’t REALLY matter bc i don’t go into detail that much. idk man just roll with it

words: 8.8k because i’m incapable of having any Chill

warnings: naughty language, some blood warnings, mentions of past trauma. nothing super explicit but like idk when elliot and john set their sights on diana i do think they need a warning of their own lmao. also, i guess i should warn i don’t know how anything works ever and don’t come for me, don’t drag me, this is supposed to just!!! be fun!!! thanks!!!

“Who the fuck is that?”

Burke’s crossing the street with Pratt and the rookie in tow. Diana drags a few feet ahead, smoking and attempting to not be a part of the conversation, which is hard to do when there’s only a handful of them at the office anyway.

Pratt glances up at the blonde they’re about to pass. She’s propped against the hood of a jeep, the hem of her daisy dukes barely reaching mid-thigh, taking a long drag of a cigarette. He notices the head of a snake tattoo coming down her thigh. It’s hot; the air is buzzing with bugs and heat from the midday sun, and Burke can feel the sweat collecting in the hollow of his collarbones and at the nape of his neck.

From here Burke can tell she’s not looking at them—she’s looking at Diana. Hungrily.

“Elliot Honeysett,” Pratt replies, keeping his voice low, and he spits on the ground. “John’s wife. Fucking psycho.”

Ah. A Seed, Burke thinks, with no absence of venom. A Seed but with her own last name. An uninteresting but unexpected detail.

“You know her, rookie?” Burke asks, looking over at Diana. The brunette stares at him and drops her cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with her shoe.

“No,” Diana replies shortly. “I’m not from here.”

She says it like that’s supposed to explain it, like that’s going to make it make sense why the blonde’s eyes are fixed on her, and of course it doesn’t.

“I went to school with her,” Pratt offers up, and Burke looks at him curiously.

“Yeah? She a psycho then, too?”

“Nah.” The deputy crosses his arms over his chest, refusing—pointedly—to look at Elliot even once after identifying her the closer they get. “John made her that way.”

Diana’s been quiet, lighting up a second cigarette, when she says, “I dunno. To join a cult you've probably gotta have that shit in you all along.”

Burke makes a low noise of agreement. He watches Elliot wiggle her fingers at Diana in a little wave as the cluster of them nears, flashing a most pretty smile; at first glance, he thinks that the blonde looks more bubblegum than cyanide, all curled hair tucked up in a high pony and red cupid’s-bow lips and white, white teeth.

“Howdy, deputy,” she calls, Southern drawl honeyed.

Diana visibly grimaces, pointedly pushing her gaze forward and fixing it on the office. There’s a split second where Burke thinks he sees something flash across her face, but she’s stuffed it down and the sharp lines of her expression smooth out.

And then Elliot looks at him. Burke waves, but he doesn’t smile—it’s not meant to be nice, it’s meant to relay the message that he sees her. When she regards him expectantly, he goes ahead and greets, “Mrs. Seed."

I fucking know you. No surname fuckery is going to throw Burke off the scent. There are so many boogeymen and monsters in the world that don’t want you to know their name, and he thinks Elliot Honeysett might be one of them.

She doesn’t stop smiling at the misnaming, necessarily—her expression smooths out into mild amusement—and then she opens her mouth and pushes the lit end of her cigarette onto her tongue. Pratt says, under his breath, “Jesus Christ,” and Burke thinks he can hear the sizzle for a split second before it’s out, and then she tosses the cigarette to the side.

“Marshal,” she greets him, and he slows his walk for just a moment. “Lookin’ a little flush. You not used to the hot weather, honey?”

“It’s cooling off up in D.C.,” he replies, keeping his tone conversational despite the urge to punch those pearly whites in, “but I used to come here every summer. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Elliot smiles. It’s all teeth. Burke thinks about how most animals do that as a threat. “Good. I’d hate for you to be uncomfortable.” And then her gaze turns to Pratt, and she says flatly, “Pratt.”

“Honeysett,” Staci returns, and he might not have been able to sound more disingenuous, but it’s well-deserved—the blonde makes no effort to hide her disdain. She rolls her eyes, mouth twisting in amusement before she swings around the front of her jeep and into the driver’s seat.

Like he can’t resist the blatant dismissal, Pratt tacks on, “Tell the hubby I said hello.”

The engine revs. Burke watches her pop a pair of blue shades on, leaning against the rolled-down window. “Eat shit, bud,” Elliot says, and smiles just before she kisses the air in Burke’s direction and pulls a hard u-turn. The tires squeal on sizzling pavement, and she waves at them through her open window before she speeds off.

Burke watches the receding vehicle and says, “They all that peachy? Can I plan on Joseph being a fuckin’ breeze?”

“Fuckin’ whatever,” Pratt says, biting the words out as Diana swings the door open. “She’s all golden princess until you get close enough to see she’s picking the wings off of flies. Why’s she so interested in you, rookie?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Diana snaps. “I don’t know what goes on in that psycho’s brain.”

Burke grimaces.

“Might do well to find out,” he says, “before we learn the hard way.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“John.”

He makes a low noise, staring at the map stretched out before him; it’s his first mistake, because Elliot has never been very patient when she has something to say, and this time is no different. She ducks under his arm and settles herself on the table, on the map, effectively breaking his eyesight with the thing which is keeping him perfectly and completely unfocused on her.

“Do you remember what you said to me when we got married?” she asks him, her voice suspiciously light and unfettered by the usual components of her timbre—like venom, or sharpness. Elliot skims her fingers along the skin exposed by the undone buttons of his shirt.

He watches her. She’s up to something. “I remember every single thing I’ve ever told you,” he replies, stifling his amusement, “and I said many things. Which are you referring to?”

“Pick one and try.”

The neckline of her tank top brushes the bottom of her Wrath scar, the jagged lines marring what was otherwise perfectly unblemished skin. What game are you playing? he thinks, but not without affection, digging his thumb past those little shorts she likes so much. “How about... ‘I can’t wait to rip this fucking dress off of you’?”

“Try again.”

Ah, so that kind of game. Not the sexy kind. “‘I’m going to give you anything you want’?” He says it with a border of cautioning, because Elliot doesn’t cash that line in very often, but when she does it’s almost always for something big. She’s in a mood tonight, this wife of his, the kind of mood that he’d normally like to take advantage of if he wasn’t busy trying to make sure they keep eyes on the Marshal.

Elliot beams at him. “You know me so well, handsome,” she murmurs, and tugs him down by the front of his shirt for a kiss; luxurious, open-mouthed, and slick, and then against his mouth she says, “I want the deputy.”

“For what?” John asks. “Dinner? She’s been around that Marshal, who’s almost certainly here for something to do with Joseph.” When the blonde blinks at him, as if this has no bearing on her request, he barks out a laugh. “You’re asking too much.”

“You said anything.” Elliot pulls back to look at him, fingers still fisted in his shirt.

“I did,” he says, slowly.

“So,” the blonde murmurs silkily, “get her for me.” And then, as though she is the most gracious: “Consider her a belated wedding gift.”

John exhales out of his nose. He’s hard-pressed to say no to Elliot, but he’s got the sneaking suspicion that this is one of the instances where he should. It’s not like Elliot ever asks for anything that’s really unreasonable—not usually—but this? He could get her just about anyone, and she wants Diana Baker?

“For what?” he asks again, brows furrowing as Elliot undoes the rest of the buttons of his shirt so that she can drag her nails against his abdomen. “What could you want the rookie deputy for, hm?”

“Does it really matter?” she prompts, looking up at him through her lashes, and he thinks no, not really, but he knows better.

“Yes,” he replies, the corner of his mouth ticking upward. “It does matter. Really. I’m going to have to pitch this to Joseph and Jacob.”

“I like her,” Elliot says without hesitation. That’s how it always goes—John will push as long as he has to, until he doesn’t anymore, because they always give each other what they want. In the end. “And we could use her.”

He scans her face. Elliot doesn’t say she likes someone without merit. He’s come to trust that she’s got an eye for people, even if he can’t always see it—and he doesn’t see it, not really, in a fresh-in-town junior deputy that’s in over her head.

For a second, he thinks about it; it wouldn’t be the first time that they’ve allowed a third party, but it would be one of few times that she’s chosen, which is different in and of itself. If he knows her at all—and he does—she doesn’t usually pick unless she intends to keep them around for a long while.

“I’ll consider it,” John says finally. “After tomorrow.”

A smile curves her mouth. She slides her arms around him and kisses his sternum, just beneath his own sin, revealed—a pair, the two of them, closer than just lovers.

“That’s all I ask,” Elliot murmurs sweetly as his thumb sweeps the slope of her cheekbone.

It’s not, John thinks, but he thinks it with love, because he does—he loves his wretched little viper, this monster that looks at him through her eyelashes and says things like, I want her, so get her for me.

It’s not all you ask, but that’s just fine.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Absolutely not.”

Jacob is the first to speak after John’s proposition, which is not uncommon. The eldest brother does tend to be the most unforgiving, John finds, of his wife’s aspirations; even though, between all of his siblings, Elliot and Jacob get along the best.

John heaves a sigh. “Elliot is convinced that the deputy can be of use to us, if she’s allowed to—”

“Your wife,” Joseph interrupts, “shows a great lack of self-control asking such a thing.”

John bites back the gut-instinct response—that Elliot shows the most control for asking, rather than just taking what she wants, because as a woman capable of it, she can—and instead swallows back, “She would like to serve the Project, Joseph. In this way.”

“Maybe I wanted the deputy,” Jacob drawls. “Didn’t you ever think of that?”

Turning his gaze to his eldest brother, John says, “Well, have you expressed that to our brother, Jacob?”

“It didn’t occur to me until now,” the redhead replies, feigning an air of innocence. “But now I think I do.”

He can feel his teeth grinding. “Funny, that until Elliot showed an interest—”

“Yes,” Joseph acquiesces after a moment. “You and our most holy sister may pursue the deputy by your own means, but you must—” And here he looks at John, pointed. “—let the love into your heart, brother.”

A wash of relief crashes over him; after the fucking shit show that the last evening had been, John thinks that it’ll be good to bring some good news back to Elliot, who’s been itching to get out into the thick of the madness. Even if Joseph seems to be implying he doesn’t want their typical means used, that’s fine. Open to interpretation, right?

“I want the deputy brought to heel, John,” Joseph continues. “It is crucial for the survival of not only us, but also our people, that you show you are capable of doing this.”

“Of course,” John replies, smiling. “Elliot and I would do anything for you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When the junior deputy finally comes to, Elliot is sitting across from her. Diana makes a low, vicious sound as she lifts her head and fixes Elliot with her eyes—lovely eyes, Elliot thinks admiringly, while her molars grind and the noise vibrates through her head. John’s reluctantly left her alone; he thinks he should be the one to soften Diana for her, but Elliot thinks John’s just going to push her farther away.

“Good morning, sugar,” she greets, and Diana spits onto the floor.

“Fuck you.”

“Yes,” Elliot replies sweetly, “if you behave.”

Diana’s eyes flutter for a moment, like she isn’t expecting that so soon and so fast—but certainly she expected it in some respect, because Elliot’s been purposefully obvious about her intention for the deputy, to both Diana and John. She doesn’t want a mindless convert, dulled and emptied out by Bliss and agreeing blindly.

Her fingers itch. She tugs absently at the sleeve of her sweater, rolling her chair forward as the brunette pulls at her binds.

“What the fuck did you do with Hudson?” Diana grinds out.

“I wouldn’t worry about her,” Elliot dismisses, and waves her hand. “She’ll be just fine.”

There’s a brief moment where the brunette looks at her, sweeps sharp, green eyes over Elliot and she cocks a half-done smile at her before she says, “Yeah, Joey told me all about you.”

Elliot smiles. “Only good things, I’m sure.”

“Said you’re a fucking bitch.” Diana arches a brow loftily. “A nutjob.”

“That checks out.”

Diana spits on the floor again, ridding her mouth of the blood from her rough handling, but this time she spits it out at Elliot’s feet. Elliot sighs and tucks some hair behind her ear just before Diana asks, “So, what’s the plan here, princess?”

She blinks at the deputy. She's a little pleased at the pet name, but she doesn't want to let it show. “Plan?”

“Yeah,” Diana says, rolling her eyes. “C’mon, I’m not fucking stupid. What’s the plan? What’s the dynamic? John sends you in because you’re the pretty one, soften me up, and then he comes in to finish the job and cleanse my sins or what the fuck ever it is he thinks he’s doing?”

Elliot feigns bashfulness and flutters her lashes. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Fucking come on,” Di bites out viciously. “Whatever the ploy is, get it over and done with.”

It’s no fun when you say it like that, she thinks, but she can tell Diana’s sort of at her limit—not quite, because if this was her limit, then Elliot would have greatly overestimated her—but she’s getting there. Residual Bliss still burning through her system, and for what? For her to have more of an attitude? How well she’d chosen.

“There’s no ploy, Diana,” Elliot says after a moment, leaning back in her chair. “John wanted to cleanse you his way—I told him no.”

The deputy regards her for a moment, tugging absently at the binds on her wrists. “Why?” she asks, warily.

“Because it wouldn’t work,” Elliot replies. “You can’t make someone get better. They have to want it. And I don’t think that you do, honey.”

Diana’s eyes flicker for a moment. Elliot can tell that she’s trying to regulate her breathing, trying to smooth it on the way in and out of her so that it isn’t so laborious, but it’s hard to do when there’s Bliss wreaking havoc on all of your defenses. She would know—she tries not to expose herself to that shit if she doesn’t have to.

“You’re right,” she says after minute, “I don’t want to “get better”, and I sure as fuck don’t want anything you’d give to me.”

“I don’t want that either,” Elliot tells her. “Not through any kind of religious baptism or cleansing, anyway.” She waves her hand and settles back against the seat, fishing a carton of cigarettes out of her pocket and sticking one in her mouth before she wiggles the box at Diana. “Smoke?”

The brunette regards her hatefully, silently, and Elliot shrugs before she lights her own, tosses the cigarettes onto the nearby workbench and takes a drag. When she blows the smoke out through the corner of her mouth, she says, “I don’t think we’re that different, Diana.”

“No?” Diana prompts, her mouth twisting around the words ruefully. “I could count the ways. One of us is a married to a fucking psychopathic kidnapper...”

“Colorful.”

“... and one of us also is a psychopathic kidnapper....”

Elliot smiles, but she doesn’t show her teeth, not the way that she smiles at Burke or Pratt because she wants to make them squirm. Diana rolls her neck.

“So if you don’t wanna cleanse me,” she begins, barely modulating the venom in her voice, “why the fuck am I here?”

“I like you,” Elliot says plainly, because she’s never been able to beat around the bush, not really. She’s not as sneaky as John, as brutal as Jacob, as smooth as Joseph. She’s not like any of them, and sometimes, that’s lonely. 

The deputy regards her with something close to a poison-riddled look. Instead of addressing I like you, Diana seems to take advantage of this and makes a demand, instead. 

"That Bliss shit makes me feel like garbage," she says. "Don't give it to me anymore."

"You did puke it up quite a bit, didn't you?"

Diana grimaces. She looks like she might want to say something, perhaps regarding Elliot's explanation, but the blonde waves her hand to stop whatever is about to come out of the deputy's mouth. She's not there to argue the logistics of a cosmic pull, anyway.

“I moved out of Hope County straight after high school,” she explains, “and back home to Georgia. Big city. Very exciting. I was tired of this little town and how few opportunities it had. Atlanta? That shit had so much going on.” Elliot pauses, crossing her leg over her knee.

“So glad,” Diana seethes, “that I’m getting a fuckin’ origin story.”

Elliot sucks her teeth. “Anyway, I date a shithead, I break up with him, and then he breaks into my apartment and holds a knife to my neck.” Elliot waves her hand again, because these details are so inconsequential to her at this point; she can barely remember the boy’s face, or anything about that moment except for a few key details. The color of his sweater sleeve (cream); the smell of his cologne (expensive); the paint chipping around her doorframe (small, baby blue chipping to white plaster underneath).

The brunette stares at her. Elliot takes a drag of the cigarette and taps the ash off of the end.

“I’ll spare you the details,” she continues, “but do you know what I was thinking that whole time? And after?”

Diana’s jaw works loosely, absently, like her brain is firing off neurons without needing to. “I don’t fucking know.”

“Try and guess.” She pauses, and then says meaningfully, “I’m sure you’ve got an idea of the kinds of things your mind says when you’re in a moment like that.”

When she watches Diana and smokes her cigarette with leisurely, relaxed movements, the brunette’s eyes flicker over the smoke cloud and she manages out in a wobbling sneer, “Probably something like—like that it wasn’t your fault, or some other kind of psychological-drivel to make you feel like you were in control.”

Elliot comes to a stand. The deputy’s closer than she thinks; it is about control, but just a different path.

“No,” she says, planting a hand on the arm of the chair Diana’s tied to so she can lean down. “I kept thinking, ‘this isn’t going to ever fucking happen again’.”

There’s a strange suspended moment between them. Diana’s lovely—more lovely than she’d let on, probably—but more than that, watching the deputy claw and rake her way through group after group of Eden’s Gate members, causing them problem after problem, Elliot can only think, aren’t we a little pair, the two of us?

A person didn’t get used to killing so fast unless they’d at least thought about it before. Maybe done it before.

“Do you know what it’s like, Diana,” Elliot continues, “to realize that you’ve reached a point of being able to do anything to stop something like that from happening again? It’s not oppressive. It’s liberating. Why do you think an animal stuck in a trap will chew its own foot off to get out?”

She straightens up. She wants to touch—tuck the hair away from her face, trace the lines of her face—but she won’t. Not yet. She’s more patient than John is, more willing to wait for that moment of satisfaction.

Diana says, “It’s real fucking liberating knowing Hudson’s chained up somewhere.”

“You have to stop giving a shit,” Elliot replies, “about other people’s freedoms before you’ve gotten your own.”

The brunette opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, Elliot plunges on. “We’re the same because we’re both going to get it done, whatever it is for us,” she says. “By any means necessary.”

Diana’s staring at the wall. She’s silent, and spitefully so, and she won’t look at Elliot; maybe because she knows that’s exactly what Elliot wants. In fact, that’s almost assuredly what it is.

“I want a cigarette,” the brunette says after a moment, petulant.

Elliot smiles thinly and brings her own to Diana’s mouth. More enunciated, Diana says, “I want my own cigarette.”

“It’s nice to want things, deputy,” Elliot idles. “Take it or don’t, it’s up to you.”

She does, after a moment of deliberation. Elliot drops the cigarette to the concrete floor as she breathes the smoke out and stamps it out with her foot. Diana takes a long time to blow the smoke out of her mouth, and she shifts in the chair; her eyes flicker up to meet Elliot’s, and she’s sure she can see something wicked in them.

“Animals chew themselves out of a trap because they’re animals,” Diana says after a second, not exactly the profession of attraction Elliot was hoping for. “Not because it’s liberating.”

Elliot laughs and pushes the chair she’d been sitting in back and out of the way. She picks up her carton of cigarettes from the tool bench and replies. Glancing over her shoulder, she can feel her expression softening when she looks at the deputy—soaking wet, rattling with cold and what Bliss they’d manage to pelt her with. Not much, they told her, whatever “much” meant.

“We’re all animals, deputy,” she acquiesces after a moment. “In the fucking end, anyway.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Glad you’re getting along with your deputy.”

John knows he sounds petulant. He knows, and he still can’t stop it from coming out of him as Elliot peels her sweater off over her head and drops it onto the floor. She glances at him over her shoulder.

“Green with envy looks good on you, baby,” she idles, and he feels his molars grind.

“You could play a little hard to get,” John says, trying for lofty and failing. “She’s a fucking menace, after all. She’s been causing problems nonstop, she took Fall’s End from us—”

Elliot says, “Our,” without stopping her undressing, which is two parts frustrating and one part endearing because John knows she’s trying to disarm him. She’s not stealthy about her tactics, and she doesn’t try to be.

“Our what?” he asks her, barely containing his irritation.

“Our deputy,” his wife replies sweetly. She turns, finally, to look at him—giving him her eyes, because she knows that he hates when she doesn’t—and leans against the dresser. “You called her my deputy. She’s not mine. She’s ours.”

John presses his lips into a thin line. He knows Elliot. He knows what it is she’s doing, because even though Diana has been nothing but a fucking thorn in his side, hearing the blonde say she’s ours gives him a pleasant, wretched kind of thrill writhing slick and hot in the pit of his stomach. As much as he knows her intimately, so too does she know exactly the kind of thing to keep him interested.

But it is a little different, if she’s considering sharing. If Diana isn’t her own private conquest.

“Is that so?” he asks, managing to keep his voice conversational now despite his piqued interest, sidling over to her. “I seem to recall that she was supposed to be my belated wedding gift to you.”

Reaching up, he drags his fingers along the inked scales of the serpent curved around her hip, swallowing up some of those gossamer-fine scars she had given herself and stretching down her thigh.

“Well,” Elliot murmurs demurely, “would I be a very Godly woman if I didn’t share with my husband?”

The words push the corners of his mouth upward.

“No.” He sweeps his eyes over her face. “I suppose not.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Joseph quickly comes to think that the deputy is more trouble than she’s worth. John hates when he says things like to Elliot with him still in the room, because he knows that Elliot isn’t going to cow to his brother—even though she should. It’s one of the most irritating traits of hers.

“She’s making a mess,” Joseph says, standing in their kitchen, watching Elliot with his eyes—the same way that he watches Jacob, sometimes. With wariness. “More of a mess than the good she would do us if she were converted.”

Elliot replies tartly, “It’s a good thing you don’t lift a finger to clean up a mess then, isn’t it? John does it for you, no questions asked, and by proxy, I do too.”

“If you have an issue with the way things are,” his brother articulates carefully, “then perhaps you should discuss the expectations that have been set out for you by God, with God.”

Elliot’s jaw sets. The contention sits there, her death, locked in her jaw.

Oh, John thinks, and he says, “I’ll be back.” She gives him a sharp look.

“I think that’s best,” she bites out. He knows what that means—she wants to be alone to argue with Joseph as she pleases, without having to worry about Joseph going, well, what do you think, John? Because he will, inevitably. He will, and John will have to look at Elliot and say, you know that he’s right, Joseph knows best, we’re here to shepherd.

As he descends to the lower bowels of the ranch, he stops at the bottom of the stairs.

“... do more for you than you fucking realize...”

“—refrain from speaking to me like—”

“—deserve to have this, Joseph—”

They should have taken Diana to the bunker, not kept her here. Not where there is so little space between them and her. The lack of distance lets Elliot feel close to her, and like any unloved animal, when she has something to keep, she guards it viciously. This is no different.

Diana is no different.

“You’re quite the conversation piece,” John tells the brunette when he walks into the room. She’s been with them for three days, and in that time she’s nearly escaped; unfortunately, the only exit from the basement is to go up, and she’s easy to catch up there.

The deputy regards him with a half-lidded gaze that reeks of impudence. “What’s it like?”

“Having a conversation piece?”

“Being so pathetic you have to kidnap someone to be able to have conversation,” Diana drawls venomously. The words spike a bout of irritation in him, hot and wretched, and he thinks he doesn’t know if it was worse to come down here to avoid Joseph and Elliot’s argument or if he should have stayed.

“My brother thinks you’re more trouble than you’re worth,” John bites out.

“I’m really fuckin’ concerned about Joseph’s opinion of me.” She smiles, all teeth, and the gesture strikes him as eerily reminiscent to Elliot. “So what, you’re gonna baptize me now or whatever instead?”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he snaps, circling the chair that has been her home. “He doesn’t even want you cleansed. I’m thinking he’s just going to have us kill you. Stick your head up somewhere to send a message to all of your little friends in the resistance.”

Diana’s quiet at that for a minute, before she says, “Wifey won’t let that happen.”

“You—” John sucks in a sharp breath. “Don’t call her that.”

“Why not? She’s been making fucking bedroom eyes at me every second, that’s not my fault.”

Diana’s goading him, but it’s hard to see around the irritation. She’s impertinent, and impudent, and there’s nothing that he wants to do more than to just break that inside her—until she’s saying his name and begging and begging and begging. It’s the part of him that Joseph wanted him to cleanse and cut out, but that Elliot tells him she likes the best.

We’re closer than lovers, she would say, digging her nails in hard enough to draw blood, the same sin binds us.

The same sin that she sees in Diana, too. Wrath, he knows, even though he hates it.

“She has taken a particular interest in you,” John relents after a moment, though he doesn’t like to, “deputy.”

“I’m a catch,” Diana agrees. He sucks his teeth.

“My wife has always been a purveyor of wretched things.” John leans against the tool bench, narrowing his eyes. “I suppose she must think there’s something salvageable about you.”

“Is there a point?” the deputy asks, sounding tired. “To this... Monologuing? It’s very Marvel-villain of you, but I don’t have any popcorn or alcohol, and it makes it a lot less enjoyable.”

“Look,” he hisses, pushing off from the tool bench, “if we had it my way, you’d have your sin revealed and you’d be on your fucking knees begging us to keep you, you wicked little—”

“John?”

Elliot’s voice drifts down from the stairwell, and he snaps his mouth shut. She’d be furious if she knew he’d lost his temper. Maybe. Probably.

“Uh-oh,” Diana sing-songs, just low enough for him to hear, “here comes the ol’ ball and chain. Isn’t that right, buddy?”

The insinuation hangs there, between them, that Elliot is their ball and chain, and he feels his blood pressure spike. “Shut. Up,” John grinds out between his teeth, just as he hears footfalls descend the stairs above. When his wife does finally turn the corner, there’s a lovely high colour in her cheeks, and her eyes look a little wild.

“Bonding time?” she asks.

“Hardly,” John replies, just as Diana says, “Oh, you know it,” and he shoots her a look. Elliot had called her their deputy, their shared conquest, but both he and Diana look at Elliot more than they want to look at each other.

He does want, he thinks. He feels that tell-tale itch. It wouldn’t be so strong if Diana didn’t just buck against them all the fucking time, but he does want, which makes it all the more frustrating when she turns that venom on him.

“We should give the deputy a little blissful encouragement,” John remarks, turning his gaze to Elliot. “It might make her behave.”

“I don’t think so,” the blonde idles, as he reaches up and tucks a strand of hair away from her face. Oh, yes—she is furious. He can feel the tension from the grind of her molars against each other. The conversation with Joseph didn’t go well, then.

“Joseph wants to speak with you,” Elliot tells him as he runs the pads of his fingers down the column of her throat. There’s a nasty, jagged scar there—he’s trying to remember where it’s from, but he can’t.

“About what?” he says, brows pulling together.

“Wives, submit to your husband as to the lord,” she intones, the obedience in her voice cloying and all-too-sweet to be genuine, “for the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Saviour—”

“Fucking unreal,” Diana says from the chair, and Elliot’s mouth ticks upward.

“As the church submits to Christ,” she finishes, fixing John with her eyes, “etcetera and so on.”

John is filled with dread. He thinks maybe Elliot’s mouthed off one too many times—she’s never liked Joseph, never even been particularly religious, and her own heritage is such a violent mishmash of religion and criminal activity that she’s hardly got the track record for piety. Scarlet is a practicing Catholic and Ambrose’s opinions on religion are unknown, considering that he’s been vanished for so long, so it’s no surprise that Elliot views religion as something like ambiguity.

“I’ll be quick,” he murmurs, which they both know isn’t true, but he says it anyway.

“Don’t rush on my behalf.” Her eyes are dark—he can see the pupils eating away at the baby blue of her irises, and when she reaches up and brushes his hand away from her face, there is a tiny tremor in her hands.

Not good at all, he thinks, stepping around her and looking at Diana. Her eyes are on Elliot for a heartbeat longer, and then she looks at him, and he knows that she’s seen it too. She’s too sharp not to have.

As he approaches the stairs, John says, “Play nice, hellcat.”

“I always do.”

Near the top, he hears Diana say, “I don’t think you’re capable of playing well with others, princess,” and Elliot says, “He said play nice, not play fair, and I can be plenty nice,” and he feels a little surge of warmth at the playfulness in her tone. It’s a timbre that he doesn’t hear out of her often, and almost exclusively with him, so to hear it now not only makes him a little envious, but also pleased.

The deputy is a wretched, wicked thing, yes; she should be cleansed, but there is also a part of him that knows Elliot would not want her any other way, just like he wouldn’t want Elliot any other way.

And that’s good enough for him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The deputy escapes.

It’s not a surprise to Elliot when he tells her, and he thinks maybe she was waiting for it all along, considering that Joseph had conditionally allowed them their pursuit of Diana as long as they can keep her under control; it would not be completely unfounded to think maybe Elliot gave her a way out, to keep the chase fun. To keep it fresh.

She takes Fall’s End back. She takes the fucking plane back. She takes Hudson back. She takes, and takes, and takes, and that’s all Diana Baker is capable of doing, John thinks—fucking taking, even after he and Elliot had been so gracious with her. It grinds against his patience as though his nerve endings have been exposed; it shreds the last of his control, sinks its claws into him like nothing else.

Sunrise Farm. Rae Rae’s. The Lamb of God Church. One after another, they play this game of existential tug-of-war; where Diana takes one and moves on, Elliot surges back in to take it back again. He thinks that his wife should be able to crush the Resistance under her bootheel, but he has the sneaking suspicion that she doesn’t want it to be done so quickly. And, in many ways, Diana outfoxes them with what appears to be little effort; their supply trucks get mowed down. The silos burn. Men keep dying.

These are all things that should disparage Elliot, but each time John points it out to her—“She’s wicked, Ell,” he’ll posit—she regards him loftily and says, “Well, she can’t be anything less than us, can she?”

Diana gets pulled back to them. She escapes. It happens over and over, until the lines start blurring, until John thinks maybe, sometimes, she lets them catch her—like she’s looking forward to those moments. When she’s there, at the ranch, things feel different; Elliot moves with a strange surety around the deputy, like they know each other already, deep in the marrow of their bones. Maybe, in a way, they do.

And in those moments, there’s a shift. Elliot allows her freedoms on good behavior, which run on such thin ice considering Diana herself, and are almost always immediately broken at first. But no matter how many of their things she destroys or spits on or takes, no matter how many times John finds himself disgustingly exasperated with her—he is always happy to see her back. 

In part because he knows Joseph has given Jacob and Faith both leave to kill her if they have the misfortune of coming across her, and in part because he sees the way Elliot leans into her like a flower to sunlight; her fingers ghost over Diana’s skin, and she pulls Diana into her lap and kisses her, hot and open-mouthed, and sighs when Diana petulantly sinks her teeth into her lower lip.

It draws blood, and John knows from the way his wife looks at him that it delights her.

“Wicked,” Elliot murmurs then, tongue peeking out to swipe the blood from her lip, reiterating the word that John favors Diana with the most. “Don’t you think so, baby?”

“Incredibly,” John agrees. He climbs onto the bed behind Elliot, sweeping the hair from her shoulder and pressing a kiss to the junction of her shoulder.

“How well we chose,” the blonde purrs, dragging her fingertips along the column of Diana’s throat, and he can see the goosebumps rise in her skin. Diana’s eyes flicker, dreamily, and their gazes meet over Elliot’s shoulder. She’s tame, like this—or nearly-tame, close to domesticated, at least for a little while. It’s only ever for a little while. And though they fall into a strange, tentative routine every time she’s here—even though John can lean over Elliot’s shoulder and pull Diana into a bruising kiss, until he feels her breath hitch.

He loves it. He loves the feeling of Diana’s mouth parting under his, loves that their fingers meet, tangled, in Elliot’s hair, grounding Diana to them. At night, when Elliot has contented herself with enough of a taste of Diana and John both, when they lay tangled together, Diana kept between them.

Our deputy, Elliot had said; in moments like these, it feels true.

“You missed us,” the blonde says against Diana’s neck. “We missed you, too. Especially John.”

Her eyes are sly when she looks at him, when he pulls back from Diana to regard his wife curiously. She takes the brunette’s chin in her grip and guides her back, brushing their noses together.

“Missed having both of his little vipers,” she murmurs silkily, and John sees the flicker of her tongue against Diana’s lips. “Didn’t you, John?”

Yes, he thinks, but does not say, because his mind is encompassed with the way Elliot kisses Diana; reverently, with the intent to worship. Never rushed and never urgent, only ever luxuriating in it.

At first, he and Diana get along for Elliot’s sake—as much as they can, anyway, because even Elliot is not enough of a bridge to force them to get along—but when they have the deputy, and his wife gets called away, they fall into a kind of rhythm with each other. It’s not a familiar cadence. It’s daunting, and a little jarring, the way they bite and scratch at each other for comfort, both missing their girl.

“I’m not going to stay,” Diana says then, against the blonde’s mouth, the same way that she said it into John’s mouth. Her neck and shoulders are littered with the remnants of their time together, and he wonders if the Resistance members ask.

“We know,” John says, leaning down and grazing his teeth across the fading bruise of a love bite. He drinks in the way Diana hisses and squirms. “You’ll always leave.”

“And always come back,” Elliot agrees. She noses past the hair gathering in the crook of Diana’s shoulder. 

“Like you were never gone at all.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It becomes her mantra. I’m not going to stay, Diana says every time, and every time she only sticks around for a day or more before she dissipates into the air like a wraith. He doesn’t know how long it goes on like this, but he does know that each time Joseph becomes more impatient. Each time, the act of losing her strikes a chord of panic in John—she won’t come back this time, he thinks, or maybe this time she’ll come back with more than just her, or or or—but Elliot doesn’t feed into his panic; she treats it like anything else, with the confidence that the deputy will come back. He desperately wants to keep Diana there with them, where he can see and touch and taste her, where he is certain Jacob hasn’t gotten her, but she always follows through on the promise of leaving.

“Aren’t you at your limit?” John asks, late in the evening, watching Diana from across the island counter in the kitchen. This time around, Elliot has been gone for most of the time Diana has been here, which makes it more difficult to know that her tolerance for sticking around is going to be running out soon. By the time Elliot comes back, Diana might already be gone.

“I’m always at my limit,” she replies, her idle venom more a comfort now than ever, “with you.”

“You’re a real comedian, deputy.” He saunters around the island, his hands finding her hips and his mouth finding her neck. He likes hearing the way her breath slides out of her when he does. “Though I seem to recall a specific instance in which you were not at your limit, and couldn’t stop asking me for more—”

He’s about to follow through on the insinuation, because Diana’s eyes narrow when she looks at him but she’s warm and close and he watches her gaze flicker down to his mouth, but the sound of the front doors to the house opening startles him out of the dreamy haze the brunette tends to put him in. John pushes off from the counter and walks out of the kitchen, brows knitting together at the impudence of someone to come barging in without being announced.

“Herald.” It’s one of the men, and his face cloudy. “It’s—I’m sorry, we—”

“Spit it out,” John grinds out between his teeth. He hears the sound of Diana rustling in the kitchen behind him, and then from outside, Elliot’s voice.

“Don’t fucking touch me—”

The blonde shoulders her way through the doorway as someone flutters nervously behind her. John takes in a number of details very rapidly: she’s clutching at a spot close to her shoulder, just below her collarbone, there is blood coming out of her mouth, and she’s fucking pissed.

“Get a doctor,” John barks out, just as Diana steps around him and goes to Elliot. He does, too, but mostly to clear the members of Eden’s Gate out of the room because he knows Elliot’s going to come unglued if they stick around.

“Fucking Pratt,” Elliot seethes, even as Diana’s hands go to her, trying to guide her to the couch. The blonde jerks when she feels hands on her, looking wild, and John tenses for just a second; in moments like these, his wife’s ability to differentiate between threat and non-threat is almost non-existent, and he’s suffered the consequences of it plenty of times. “Don’t—fucking—”

“It’s me, you monster,” Diana snaps. “Sit the fuck down.”

The blonde’s breathing is labored. She swallows back what he can only assume is a mouthful of blood before he says, “Hellcat.”

“I’m going,” she bites out, and then she does. Diana touches her elbow, and she stiffens, and then sits down where the brunette tells her to. When she pulls her hand away from her shoulder, it’s sticky and wet with blood.

“Jesus Christ,” Diana says, a little wrench in her voice that she quickly snuffs out. “Getting sloppy?”

“Eat shit,” Elliot wheezes. “I hate that fuckhead. Can’t wait til I—” She sucks in a sharp breath. “—til I g-get my fucking—hands—”

Diana is circling Elliot, trying to get a good look, as John grabs a first aid kid from under the kitchen sink. He keeps thinking about all of the blood coming out of her mouth; it’s not the first time he’s seen her like this, but it’s definitely not any easier, either.

“Exit wound?” the deputy asks.

“Fucking shot me with a 9 milli FMJ,” the blonde says between her teeth, “there’d better fucking be an—”

“Stop,” Diana interjects as John returns with the first aid kit, “being unhelpful.”

It’s a torturous amount of time between Elliot’s arrival and the arrival of the doctor they have for such occasions. In the meantime, Diana does what she can—she knows probably more than both of them, even Elliot with her close proximity to violence, about how to stabilize a gun wound; she cleans it and stops the bleeding as much as she can, her face set in a grim, tight expression.

The brunette packs the wound with gauze and says, “You’re a goddamn idiot.”

“Cute one though, huh?” Elliot asks, her voice a little hoarse and her eyes fluttering. “Be cuter if someone could get me some fucking oxy.”

“Save it for the doctor, princess.”

“So glad,” John manages out tartly, Elliot’s fingers loosely curling against his palm, “so glad we have your calming presence here, deputy.”

Diana regards him for a moment, and she looks about to say something when the doctor chooses precisely that moment to arrive. He doesn’t do much by way of conversation; he works silently, intensely, his fingers moving a sort of surety that comes with many years of practice, but he hardly looks at John or Diana while he works.

It’s probably odd. People know that Diana is around, but they don’t know-know, in the sense that there’s never been an official announcement or acknowledgement of what’s going on. Occasionally, the doctor’s eyes furtively flicker towards the brunette; but if he’s feeling pressed to ask, he doesn’t let it show.

By the time Elliot is stitched-up, drugged-up, and planted into the bed, the heat and bubbling fury have died out of her, the embers smothered by the painkillers. Diana lays in the master bedroom next to her while the doctor talks to him outside in the hall.

“Bed rest, minimum three weeks,” he says. “If she keeps coughing up blood, call me. No strenuous activity, no stress—”

“Doctor,” John says tightly, “with all due respect, let’s keep the expectations under control.”

The doctor grimaces. “Bed rest, three weeks. Everything else, just—try your best.”

John nods, short and impatient, and dismisses the man with a gesture of his hand before he steps into the bedroom. Elliot’s murmuring something to Diana, but the words are slurring and her voice is pitched so low beyond normal volume he can’t make it out, even from there.

He wanders to the side of the bed, sitting down on the edge by Elliot’s hip.

“What’d he say?” the blonde asks, her words slurring and her fingers tangling in strands of Diana’s dark hair. “Two days, ready—go?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Diana says irritably.

“Three weeks bedrest,” John tells her. “He thinks you have a collapsed lung.”

“Fuckoff,” Elliot groans, the words blending together.

“He also said no strenuous activity, no stress—”

At that, Diana laughs, the sound billowing out of her in a short, disbelieving bark. “Fucking what?”

“That...means you t-two have to….behave,” Elliot mumbles, her eyes flickering. “No stressin’ me—no streeeessin’—”

“Stop.” Diana sounds almost affectionately exasperated. “You are so painful to listen to.”

“—no stressin’,” Elliot finishes stubbornly, “me. Out.”

Later that night, when she’s finally drifted off into sleep and John and Diana have her settled between them, John props his head up in his hand and sees Diana still awake. She’s looking at the window. It’s open, and the late-August breeze comes drifting in, bringing with it the smell of pine and wilderness.

“At your limit?” John asks as he did before, keeping his voice soft so as not to stir Elliot. Normally, he wouldn’t ask—he would just wait to realize that Diana’s not there, and go from that point on. But it’s different, now, with Elliot like this.

The brunette turns her gaze to him. For a second, her eyes flicker over Elliot, who stirs a little.

“She always this annoying?” Diana says, instead of answering, and by annoying he thinks she means worry-inducing.

“Like it’s an Olympic Sport,” John replies.

She exhales out of her nose. They sit like that for a little while, until Diana settles back against the pillow. Elliot’s fingers are knotted loosely into the sleeve of her t-shirt, and the blonde’s breathing stutters and hitches in her chest.

“Not yet,” she answers, finally. “Not at my limit yet.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“How many days has it been?”

John’s voice breaks Elliot out of her reverie. She blinks, and realizes that she’s been checked out. The painkillers make her brain foggy, and if it weren’t for the excruciating, searing pain in her chest and shoulder, she’d just stop taking them.

The sound of the shower running in the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom trickles in through the fog. That’s right: she’s in bed. She’s in bed, and John is next to her, his fingers tracing the coil of the tattooed serpent on her thigh, the cigarette in her fingers burning for who knows how long since the last time she’s taken an inhale of it.

“Since what?” Elliot asks, looking at her husband. John slides his hand up and snags her fingers, bringing the wedding ring she sports to his mouth.

“Since our viper came back to us.”

She tries to think back that far, but it’s hard. Elliot reaches over with a wince and taps the cigarette out into the ashtray. In the bathroom, she can hear the water switch off.

After a moment, she replies, “Must be over two weeks.”

Her husband makes a low noise. She brushes her fingers through his beard, and he murmurs, “Longer than usual.”

“What are you two gossiping about?”

Elliot’s gaze flickers up sluggishly to Diana, standing in her towel, propped up against the doorway. She’s such a far cry from the girl that she was when they first got their hands on her that it’s almost easy to forget she ever existed in a place where she wasn’t theirs. How absolutely dreadful, Elliot thinks, just absolutely fucking dreadful, to think she was once not ours.

“How long we have to wait for you to come back over here,” John says easily. “Not only are you using up all the hot water, but Elliot’s pining.”

“Oh, yeah?” Diana sounds amused as she makes her way to the bed. “Poor little bed-ridden snake, aren’t you?”

Elliot laughs, because it should be absurd—it should be, that Diana is here, leaning in when Elliot beckons her, the brunette’s mouth soft and sweet against her own. It should be absurd, but it isn’t, because this isn’t the first time Diana’s kissed her like this and it won’t be the last, either.

“Every time we’re apart,” Elliot confirms resolutely, “I wallow around. Just ask John.”

“I have a hard time picturing you wallowing.”

“She does,” John says, planting a kiss on Elliot’s jaw. “She wallows around and says, when do you think our Di will be back? Does she think about us?” And then, grinning wickedly, he adds, “Do you think if I ask nicely, she’ll shove her fingers in my mouth?”

Elliot laughs, grabbing John’s jaw and jostling him. “You fucker.”

“I will,” Diana says, and now she sounds sly, and in the way that Elliot does. “If you ask.”

Pausing, Elliot feels her chest tighten a little. Mine, she thinks tiredly, glancing between John and Diana both. They’re here, and hers, and even though she told John the deputy is for them she thinks maybe they’re both for her.

“What else?” She turns her gaze back to Diana. “What else will you do, if I ask?”

Diana’s gaze flickers. Her lips press into a thin little line. I’m not going to stay, she looks like she wants to say, but she doesn’t. She just says, “You’re chatty as fuck tonight, aren’t you? Sounds like it might be time for you to pop another painkiller,” and goes to fetch the pill bottle.

Elliot settles back against the pillows and watches the brunette rifling through the dresser. This is when Diana says, I’m not going to stay, her little mantra, but she doesn’t, and John tangles their fingers together and squeezes her hand. 

The deputy always leaves, and she always comes back. She hasn’t said yes, she’ll stay, and she also hasn’t said no, she’ll go, and in this instance maybe that means exactly what Elliot wants it to.

Maybe, it means this time, she’ll stay.

[such-a-random-rambler]

Birthday Surprise

heeeeyyyyy @lenle-g

Happy Birthday!!!! - sorry that this is a bit late, but I didn’t intend it to be quite this long so had to finish it today.

(Prompt was John and Stabbed and boy did I have sooooo much fun with this. I might rewrite this one day into something much longer because I loved this idea so much. So thank you for the idea!)

Hope you enjoy.

“So, then I pulled her up off the floor - “ Gordon explained, getting into the swing of it now.

“Yeah, I know.”

“And I said ‘Hold on tight’.”

“I know.”

“And I fired a grapple hook off, getting the angle just right to wedge it into the top of the cliff face, not an easy shot I can assure you.” Gordon gestured upwards sharply, now with less than half his concentration on the selection of root vegetables in front of him. They would all need chopping to roughly equal sizes to roast evenly but they could wait a second while he recounted his latest feat of heroics.

“I know Gordon.” John said, reaching round behind him to get to the pots of fresh herbs for the basting of the turkey. “I was there.”

“No you weren’t.”

“Ok.” Gordon could hear that eyeroll. “Maybe not physically, but I was listening.”  

“Yeah, so let me tell it, because I say something really funny in a minute.”

John nipped back round him to the refrigerator for butter or something. “You’re not meant to be joking about on the job.”

“It’s not joking around, it’s lightening the atmosphere and putting the rescuee at ease in a tense situation.”  

“Fine.” John reached round for a mixing bowl. “Before you carry on and tell me everything I already know, have you preheated the oven yet?”  

“No.” Gordon turned back to his vegetables. It wasn’t often they got a house full but tomorrow was a special day at the end of a good week. They’d only had half a dozen dispatches, no fatalities, not even a broken bone. Virgil, Alan and Scott were on the way back and weren’t they going to be pleased to see that John had descended in their absence. Particularly Scott as it was his birthday tomorrow. If Gordon played it right he might even be able to play it off as Gordon’s present to the eldest: coaxing John out of the heavens and a full Thanksgiving-style roast even though it wasn’t the time of year for it.  

“I’m going to get so many brownie points for this. You here, Scott’s favourite food already in the oven: this was all my idea.” Gordon grinned, giving a particularly tough carrot a few enthusiastic chops. They went soft and sweet on a long slow roast – delicious.

“Do you need those brownie points for anything in particular?” John squeezed past him again, back to the refrigerator.  

“Well. There might have been a slight incident on Tuesday.” He paused. “No wait Monday.” Gordon counted back the days since the thing with the sock, conducting his thoughts. “Definitely Monday.” He whipped around, triumphant to have caught John out. “But I thought you knew anything anyway, so surely -”

The words died in his throat. John was close. Very close. Right behind him.  Eyes wide. Bowl in one hand, with the butter rub that would be pushed under the skin of the turkey to make it moist and flavorful. Too close. Gordon had frozen at the slight pull of resistance from the knife in his hand as he turned. The knife that he had sharpened to tackle the carrots and potatoes and parsnips and sweet potatoes. The one he had been gesturing with for the last fifteen minutes.  

Gordon’s gaze drifted downwards and for a moment thought he had imagined the soft gasp from his brother. He couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing. John. Too close. His knife. Where John was. Blood, creeping across the front of John’s shirt.  

John’s shirt was almost brand new. Not that new in fact, probably a few years at this point but it still had that soft new feeling of something that hadn’t been laundered too much. It was one of Johns favourites, but he wasn’t here enough to wear his civilian clothes a lot. Certainly not to wear them out, so they were always fresh and neat and clean. But now this one was covered in blood.

CRACK

Pottery dropped to the floor, the aroma of parsley and basil and rosemary and more blooming into the air.

Gordon was still gripping the knife. He moved, just a fraction of an inch, and John’s hand darted out to grab his wrist.

“Don’t move it.” he breathed.  

Gordon knew that. One of the basic tenants of first aid. Don’t go pulling objects out of wounds if you’re not prepared to deal with the bleeding that will follow. He wasn’t going to just rip the knife out. He wasn’t. He knew that. But. It had been instinct, just for a moment there to get it out.  

But John, who saw everything, who knew everything, knew what to do. Had stepped up even with a knife in his gut.

Slowly, forcing each finger carefully back Gordon released his grip on the knife handle, with John’s grip still firm around his wrist and red filling Gordon’s vision.  

Gordon locked shocked eyes with John, noting his normally suntan-free skin had lightened by several shades.

“I -” John started, swallowing heavily and continuing shakily. “I need you to help me sit down.”

“You need to lay down.” Gordon corrected, first responder instincts kicking in from somewhere in his subconscious while his conscious was still largely frozen.

Gordon stepped around to John’s back, where he could take most of his weight in a controlled descent to the floor, then pulling him back until he was horizontal. There was a med kit in the book case. But there were dish cloths here. Gordon grabbed the nearest clean one as a compress: laid carefully around the knife so as not to dislodge it put then pushed firmly to stem the bleeding.  

John gave a reflexive flinch, squeezing his eyes shut and letting out a low groan.

“Thunderbirds One and Two on final approach.” Scott’s voice boomed across the room. He sounded happy, relaxed: back from another successful mission after a pretty damn good week. “We’ll be landing in five.” He didn’t know.

“This was all my idea.”

Scott took the steps up to the gantry two at a time, heart light. He was already in a good mood when he had landed: yet another day where he barely got his uniform dirty. In and out, quick and easy, that’s the way he liked his peril. Virgil was taxiing Two back in and wouldn’t even need to do a medkit restock today. He was loath to say anything out loud, but Scott offered silent prayers that this was yet another day they had come back home with barely a scratch.  

Walking across the hangers he paused mid stride at the space elevator resting on it’s own pad, tucked neatly into the corner. Scott usually had to wrestle John down for his scheduled rest days, of which today was not one.  John always, without fail, notified him if an unscheduled visit was needed  for health and safety reasons and there had been not so much as a whisper of anything wrong on Five for weeks. Which meant this was a social visit.  

Scott broke out into a broad grin and lengthened his stride, making quick work of the several flights between the hanger and the house. With John down that would make a complete set for the first time in who-knows-how-long. Scott wasn’t big into birthdays, his own in particular. They were just a reminder of how long it had been since the holes had been ripped in his family, and there was usually some sort of incident to attend to anyway. But maybe, just maybe, he might get a couple of minutes of them all together for his birthday.

He tried not to storm into the kitchen – the first place to look for John was by the bagels – but he was keen, so at first he didn’t notice a ginger mop of hair on the floor as it was six foot below where he would usually be looking. Was this some sort of post-orbital stretching? Almost continual space duty was taxing on the body but surely they could come up with something other than being a human trip hazard asleep on the kitchen floor.

Gordon was leaning over John, back to Scott.  Typical for him to be involved in something inappropriate but he had picked up all sorts of weird things during his lengthy physiotherapeutic tour of the world after his accident.  Scott shook his head, but frowned as his noticed a bright red pool of paint, spreading across the plain while tiles. What the hell?

Gordon must have heard him come in, for he glanced over his shoulder. Scott had seen Gordon look that pale and shell shocked exactly twice before. Once for Mom and once for Dad, and it struck terror at Scotts core in an instant.  

Like an optical illusion his perspective changed and a brand new and much more terrifying scene resolved before his eyes. John wasn’t asleep, he was unconscious or close to it. That wasn’t paint. He was lying in a pool of blood.  

Scott didn’t remember covering the intervening distance but in a flash he was standing right next to his two brothers, where he could see the blood soaked cloth in Gordon’s hands. And the handle of the kitchen knife standing out from John’s side.

“Help me.” Gordon begged, looking up at him, face ashen.  

Gordon and Alan leapt up from where they had been waiting on the stairs just out the medbay. Scott straightened from leaning against the wall. Scott looked worried. Alan looked worried. Gordon looked damn near terrified.

“He’s going to be fine.” Virgil said, giving his final pronouncement now the bandaging was complete. “It nicked a blood vessel but we’ve got that sown up and it didn’t perforate any internals. Muscle damage mostly. He just needs a bit of rest now.”  

Alan immediately relaxed, shoulders lowering and a relieved grin spreading across his face. “See,” he nudged Gordon, “I told you he was going to be fine.”

“I.... I didn’t mean to.” Gordon stuttered, eyes on the floor.  

“Gordon.” Scott said sharply, bringing Gordon’s eyes up to his, and Virgil shot Scott a warning look to take it easy on him, even if he had spent the last hour holding John’s stomach together for Virgil to stich, then cleaning up his blood from the kitchen floor.

“Whatever you are about to say I don’t want to hear it.” Scott said a little more gently but with uncharacteristic lack of tact. “Whatever you need to say, you need to say to John.”

“I don’t think he’ll want to see me.”

“He does,” Virgil said “he’s been asking for you.” As soon as he had been stable enough to talk John had started to ask about Gordon, and it was only a promise that he would see him soon that kept John in the bed while Virgil was trying to god-damn stitch him up. Painkillers always made John stubborn.

Gordon made no move to go in and Virgil heaved a huge sigh at the difficulty of having younger brothers. “He’s awake right now, but he needs his rest so get a move on.”  Virgil grabbed Gordon by the shoulder and shoved him towards the door. “We’ll be having pizza when you’re done. Alan go and put the oven on would you, you can see John later, when he wakes up.”

Alan nodded and scampered along the corridor. He was a good kid. Virgil gave Gordon another push through the door, and closed it gently behind him.

Scott looked tired. He always looked tired, but more tired than usual.  

“Not what I expected to come home to.” Virgil said wryly.

“No.” Scott agreed. “I suppose it had all been going too well these last couple of weeks, we were due for a disaster. I thought someone had broken in or something at first.”

Virgil had heard Scott bellow for a medic from three floors away and as he had rushed in his first thought had been an attack from the Hood or the Chaos Crew as well. Amongst the application of a proper emergency compress and manouvering John down to the medical room Gordon had haltingly explained there was no intruder to pursue. Which stopped them putting the island into emergency lock down at least.

“Do we need to do anything?”

“With Gordon?” Scott raised a questioning eyebrow. “I doubt it. He’s had the fright of his life. So have I. I don’t know about one year, I think I’ve aged about ten years tonight!”

Virgil slung an arm around Scott’s shoulder as they followed in Alan’s wake to the kitchen. “At least he’ll definitely be down for your birthday.”

John was only half aware of the conversation going on outside the room, quite happy to let the wonderful drugs do their fine work, but the soft click of the door and tentative shuffling footsteps made him force his eyes fully open. Gordon stood by his bed, awkwardly swaying from side to side and not quite looking him in the eye.

“Hey.” John -  mustering himself to say something a little more intelligent -  sat a little more upright. Not much more upright though.

“Hey.” Gordon returned, eyes flicking to the almost empty blood bag. “Does it hurt?”

John was just going to reach round for a clove of garlic when Gordon turned, and at first it was like a punch. But after that initial impact the pain morphed from something blunt and bruising to sharp and breathtaking.

“No, I’m on the good stuff.”

Gordon nodded. Acknowledgement? Approval?

“Errrr..... Virgil said you wanted to see me, but, well I don’t know, if you want to rest, or whatever, I don’t mind - “

“I did.” John interrupted. “I wanted to make sure you were ok.”

Gordon met his eyes in surprise. “Me? I’m fine. I’m.... I’m not the one who got stabbed. I’m the one who....”

Deer in headlights. John knew what that meant now. John was aware of every second they were frozen in that awful tableau, the slow spread of warmth outside, the frozen spear stabbing inside. The look of shock and terror and disbelief written across Gordon’s face. The big brother in him wanted to do something about that. He wanted to make the fear go away and promise that it would all be ok. The little part of him that was always on Thunderbird Five snapped at him to prioritise so he’d left that comforting for later and focused on the bleeding.  

John reached out – being careful not to pull on the i.v. - to take one of Gordon’s hands in his. “I’m going to be ok Gordon. A bag of blood and a few stitches, a bit of bed rest and I’ll be right as rain.”

“I’m sorry.” Gordon whispered. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have been running around right behind you like that.”

“I should have not been waving a knife around like that. I almost killed you.”

The kitchen floor was cold against his back, apart from where his own blood warmed him. It probably wasn’t even that much, but he’d lost enough to make him a little light headed and to be glad he wasn’t still trying to stand. He tried not to show how much it hurt when Gordon pressed down, but every breath jostled the metal protrusion. It might not even be that deep but his imagination was conjuring unhelpful images of being run through. John thought he had felt feint vibrations from the depths of the island and was hoping that wasn’t his imagination. His concentration was slipping and Gordon needed backup.

“You didn’t. And I’m going to be fine.” John peered into Gordon’s face to see if he was taking it all in.  

Gordon nodded, slightly teary. He might have to be told it a couple more times, but he would get it in the end.

John let his head drop back against the pillow: exhausted, fuzzy and ready for sleep. “Look on the bright side though, neither of us is going to be given kitchen duty for a while.”

[vostokovasmelina]

Hello could i please have a miss peregrines home for peculiar children , the secret history , skam , mcu and peaky blinders ship ? Im a female , bisexual , 5'0 with shoulder length light brown hair , hazel eyes and chocolatish skin tone . I also have a few extra pounds. Some of my hobbies are going out with friends , going to the beach for surfing , skateboarding , reading and cooking / baking . ( This is part 1 again hope it is sent this time , sorry for the inconvenience) 🌺

I really like conspiracies , mythology ( especially greek and egyptian ) and halloween . I really hate chihuahuas , spinach and spring . Im pretty extroverted , i like to tell jokes, make people laugh and lift the mood . Im really loyal to my friends and quite protective of them as well . I also always stand by what i believe is right .I have a really short temper though , i can be very pessimistic and i get terrible mood swings (could go from happy to crying for no reason). Thank you🌺

a/n: lmao yes, i literally procrastinate everything in life that’s why it took so long - terribly sorry

i decided not to include the secret history because i read that book a long time ago and i feel like i wouldn’t be able to write it well. i also don’t write for skam anymore but since i still took requests for the show when yours came in, i’ll make an exception xx

requests are closed

all under the cut xx

mphfpc

i ship you with emma bloom

i lowkey feel like you two are soulmate material

literally, the similarities are endless and you would always be so in-tune with each other’s emotions which would make communication a hundred times easier

however, i do feel the need to point out the fact that your short tempers would probably be the cause of most of your arguments (most of which you’d resolve quite quickly, so it’s all good)

emma can be also slightly emotionally stunted and wouldn’t always know how to handle and express the love she feels for you but you would mostly always be aware of it and would adore her subtle but sweet love language

and though both of you can get way too caught up in your thoughts, i feel like emma is the more pessimistic one of the pair and she would truly appreciate your carefree and fun nature, your jokes never failing to make her laugh and your soothing presence keeping her sane

your song: strange birds by birdy

skam og

i ship you with eva kviig mohn

the cutest best friends to lovers slowburn fic if it were ever put down into words

honestly, you two would probably fall for each other the first time you met without actually realising and would start dating months if not years later

eva would just love you with all her being and she would be the most selfless person whenever it came to you

however, this kind of behaviour from her would often clash your overprotective nature and you’d have literal contests to try and decide who can spoil the other with more unconditional love and support

spoiler alert: there’s no winner. or should i say, loser?

softest sapphics™️

your song: sunflower by post malone

mcu

i ship you with thor odinson

king-queen shit

hottest couple in the universe and still the biggest crackheads together

range™️

thor would treat you like the true queen you are and would shower you with love, no questions asked

i feel like he’d be really straightforward with his love language?

he simply would never be ashamed of his feelings for you and would happily reassure you of his admiration any moment

thor would also remember everything you tell him, even the most useless details, so get ready for the best birthday and christmas presents

and we all know that his cuddles are just the best and we’re all damn jealous that you get to collect them all

your song: nfwmb by hozier

peaky blinders

i ship you with john shelby

the hottest couple among the shelby clan

john would adore you to freaking bits and would always make you feel incredibly loved and cherished

constantly complimenting your body no matter what you’re wearing (though we all know what look he’d prefer,,,)

saying ‘i love you’ at least twice a day

and always treating you as an equal

i feel like you would be quite a mature couple with all the heat and passion of young love

you’d understand each other without words and would know one another inside and out, and would always know how to handle the other at their worst

lastly, you probably wouldn’t have too many serious arguments, and you’d always make up instantly, not wanting to waste your precious time being mad at each other

your song: work song by hozier

[stardancerluv]

All Flowers Must Bloom Even In Winter

Part 6

Summary: John had been called away but now he’s back.

Warning: light fingering. A touch of sex. Lots of fluff

@theblackmaskclub ...oh John... haha naughty and sweet??

Vic, rode up just then. His eyes were wild and he was out of breath. You already knew something was up before he spoke.

“John, you’re needed right now.” John rolled his eyes.

“I just got back and want to spend sometime...”

“Look, I’m sorry honestly, I am. But it’s important.”

“It’s ok. Just ride back with me to the house and go.”

John’s mouth had taken a grim line. “Alright.”

*****

What you had not expected was three long days of not knowing. You didn’t even know what happened that took him away from you. But you kept things tired and worked more on making it pretty and livable.

Everyday, hoping he would return you made sure to try and look as pretty as could. Something about the suddenness of him leaving meant he needed to really feel home and away from it all when he finally got home.

You were taking a breather on swing on the veranda, when he rode up.

Your mood immediately brightened. It grew brighter then the mid-day sun that had was shining above.

“Little flower.” Was all he said when you ran over and hugged his leg. “Grab our blankets again, that damn soap and perhaps bread if we have some.”

“I can do that.” You smiled up at him.

You grabbed the blankets, soap, the bread and you would surprise him with some cheese you made that came out wonderfully. Wrapping it into a bundle, you fastened it. Holding, his hand you climbed up and wrapped your arms around his middle. “I missed you, John.”

“I missed you, too.” He admitted, his voice was gravely and tired sounding.

With your arms around John’s middle, Chestnut began to gallop away. You were beyond, relieved to have your arms around him again. You breathed him deeply in. The steady rhythm reminded of Chesnut’s gallop reminded you of the countless storms, snow and rain alike you and John rode through, you did not leave his side. He had wanted you to seek shelter in one of the wagons, but if he wasn’t you would not either. Once near the lake, Chestnut slowed to trot.

Stopping him, John slid off. Turning, he offered his hands. You smiled, “My gentleman, always.” You took his hands and slid off.

“I always like that you see me as a gentleman first and an outlaw second.” Still, holding your hands he wrapped his arms around, bringing your hands behind your back.

You wiggled, enjoying how his body felt. “Is that why you are holding me like an outlaw?” You wiggled again.

He smirked down at you, his hands on your wrists tightening. You inhaled sharply, as your heart began to race. “Maybe or maybe these last few days when I was surrounded by only cattle, the other men, and some of their sour woman made me miss you, made me miss the feel of you.”

“I missed you too.” You replied, breathlessly. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

You gasped as he pulled you tighter still against him. “I can feel your heart. I will never tire of that.” His eyes were dark like a storm rolling in. “I’ve been in desperate need to smell and feel differently.”

“Let me help you with that.”

*****

“So we now have fifty bead of cattle.” He told you whole leaning against the tree. “The entire wind mill was brought down and now there is a new one. Sadly, he lost four men. Handling those families were rough, he sighed.

Striking a match, the rich smell of his tobacco was swirling in the air. It wasn’t till you smelled it that it really hit you how badly you missed him when he when he had to go off.

You spread the one blanket out, you smiled up at him. “Ready, to get into that water?” He nodded. You would share the bread and cheese with him later. You could see just how much he needed the water to wash off these last few days.

Handing him the hunk of soap to John, he held it to his nose. A sigh poured from his lips.

Going behind him, you pulled off your boots and stockings. Your dress was next, which he took from you and laid it on the blanket.

“I am certainly glad its warmer now.” Last time you were already shivering and had not even gone into the water yet.

“Certainly.”

Despite him standing in front of you, glancing is something you still did.

“The only thing will look down on you my little flower is me and the sun.”

You smiled. “I suppose you’re right.” You pulled off your chemise which he laid on top of your dress. You wiggled free of your underwear.

“You’re wearing the fancy ones.”

You still blushed, when the two of you had rode through El Paso the gentleman in store said he got them all the way from Paris. John wanting you to have pretty things bought you some.

“Since, I wanted to make sure when you arrived home, I could welcome you home in the best way possible. I wanted to be especially pretty for you.”

“You already are the best I could ever come home to.” He smiled. “My little flower.” He flicked what was left of his cigar, which extinguished hitting the ground.

Opening his arms with his heart picking up speed again you nestled close. The two of you discovered that you both enjoyed this. The feel of him being fully clothed and you without a stitch of cloth on your body in his arms.

“Welcome home, John.” You whispered, before pressing a kiss on his throat above the collar of his dark shirt.

His hands raked up and down your back, delighting in the softness. A soft sound came from him, and you felt him move as he pulled off his gloves. A moan that was a mixture of a sigh came from you as you felt his hands that could be tough from being out there but were gentle when they touched you. Closing your eyes, you relaxed as his hands moved over your body.

******

“At least there are ice chunks.” You gave John a brave face, as floated in front of him.

“That is an improvement.” He threw his head back and laughed hard. “Want to get my hair.”

You smiled, “I would love to.” You both moved to the rocks that gave a good advantage for such things. It was funny; only a few months there and you both knew it so well.

A sigh came from him as you worked a good soaping into his hair. Your fingers were able to give his scalp a good rub down. His hair was so thick your fingers disappeared into the inky strands.

“John?”

“Yes, little petal.”

In the back of your mind, you remembered hearing about cattle drives. How some three of the women in the town came to the hotel while their men disappeared for three to four months. A shadow of worry fell over you. Will you be running that cattle south or north?”

He turned in your hands to look at you. “My little petal, as sharp as any knife that I carry.”

You beamed at him.

He shook his head. ���No way. I just finalized the purchase. Made sure they were good stock.” He chuckled. “You worried about losing me to some cows, weren’t you?”

You nodded.

“There is no way, am I leaving you alone like that and for that long.”

You grew serious. “I’d miss you something awful.”

He rose an eyebrow. “Even, when I snore?”

“Yes, even then!”

You pushed him then, making you both just laugh and splash around.

He caught you then, both of your were out of breath from laughing. John’s hair was flopping all different directions, some into his face. His blue eyes were shiny and bright as he met yours.

“Damn, I missed you.” He said, then he kissed you. Your arms, easily went around him.

******

“John,” You murmured against his lips as you laid under him on the blanket. To fight the chill from the light wind you had slide on your chemise and he put on some undergarments, but the two of you still desperately didn’t want anything separating the two of you.

He held you close with one arm but his free hand caressed your drying body. His long fingers, found your center. “Tell me blossom, while I was away...” He rubbed at your little bud, that would always made you come undone. As he touched you threw your head back gasping and moaning softly. Oh, how he could make you feel so good. “Did you touch yourself here? Like I showed you.” Hmm, he made a soft, deep questioning sound.

You trembled. “The second...the second night.” You gasped.

“Did it feel good?”

“Yes,” You managed, barely able to think as his fingers continued to touch you. “But your fingers feel so much better.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He smiled down at you. “Open, for me little flower.” You did as he asked. There wasn’t much you wouldn’t do. That’s when you felt him enter you, shivering and clung onto him.

John’s back, @shantellorraine

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome (back) to the Order of the Phoenix, Gabe!

You have been accepted for the role of REMUS LUPIN! We loved your thoughts on the darker, more difficult layers of Remus’s friendships and fears and we were fascinated by your ideas about lycanthropy’s effects on his gender transition! We’re so happy you’ve come back to Homenum Revelio, and excited to see you on our dash again!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Gabe

AGE: 22

TIMEZONE: GMT-3

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Honestly pretty active, I’m still quarantined and will stay that way for a good while, probably. Remus is just one of those characters that comes easy to me, so good chances that I’ll be around a lot, hah. I’m most active on the weekdays! Weekends my sister usually tricks me into watching a billion movies or a new show, so I end up being less present.

ANYTHING ELSE: Nope!

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Remus John Lupin

AGE: 21

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: trans male, he/him/his, he’d rather not classify his sexuality as anything other than not-straight.

Remus didn’t start taking the wonderful Attisgalli Corrective Draughts until he joined Hogwarts officially, as his parents wanted to wait for that before they started him on the gender reassignment potions. That’s not to say they didn’t support their son’s identity, which he’d been frankly very vocal about since he could talk, they just wanted to be sure that he would be safe. He already had a lot on his plate. Being a werewolf, they needed to make sure the potions could even be safely used with someone like him, so they waited to talk to Dumbledore and his trusty team of potion-makers about it. Remus was on corrective draughts for all of his puberty and he’s currently on the heavier dose that only needs updating every few years. He has a few annoying side-effects after taking the wrong dosage too early. He doesn’t suppose many people know about this, and he doesn’t particularly care to tell anyone, apart from the people who already know.

As far as his sexuality goes, I don’t think he likes any of the labels he’s stumbled upon, I don’t think he openly – or even privately – calls himself anything when it comes to sexuality. He just doesn’t give it much thought. He likes whoever he likes, and if you were to say “oh, so you’re pansexual, then”, he might simply offer you a tired grunt and an unhappy twist of his face. He doesn’t feel comfortable in any boxes. “Queer” as an umbrella term would be the closest he’d get to labeling himself. All that being said, as the writer, I’d personally put him as a 4 on the kinsey scale, but that’s between you and me.

BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood/Half-breed

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor

ANY CHANGES: Don’t think so! I’m keeping the fc of Charlie Rowe after surfing through many others because I think he does Upset & Angry right. That’s really important for a Remus, he’s working through a lot right now. I also really considered to go for Paul Mescal from the new show “Normal People” because I think he has a great normal face and (from what I can tell, maybe) some pretty scars on his chin and he has some great scenes BUT he currently has no resources. Also considered Louis Hofmann, from netflix’s Dark, but decided he looked too young, even though he’s in his twenties, too. Anyway, just wanted to briefly take you with me on that faceclaim journey, the conclusion is that I love Charlie Rowe and I didn’t know him before so I thank you guys for suggesting him!

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Remus today is very different from who he was in Hogwarts. That’s no surprise, of course – who doesn’t grow out of their weird teenage years? But it feels different with him, and that’s because at seventeen, Remus already had enough baggage to count for an adult. So where does that leave you, at twenty-one?

He is a lot of things. He is tired, he is angry, he is devastated, he is young. If before he was only a boy, crushed under the weight of all the things that happened to him, now he is a man, standing tall but hardened by life’s constant beating. He hasn’t so much overcome his issues as he has simply grown friendly with his demons. His edges have turned sharper, his hands have grown colder, he’s losing contact with his faith.

That’s not to say his core has changed. Remus is kind, before anything else. He hasn’t lost the warmth his mother taught him, because that kind of empathy is not something one easily shrugs off. Even the war couldn’t take this from him. It wears him down these days, being selfless, having a caring vein and needing to look after others. He’s already lost so much, and he doesn’t see this changing anytime soon, as they continue to lose battle after battle, but this is still who he is. He wants a better world, he wants the good side to win.

Remus is also very secretive. He can come across as cold or distant to people he doesn’t know, because he had a lifetime of keeping himself concealed. It’s his defense mechanism and it’s how he’s kept himself alive after all these years.

In fact, he’s not even fully sure how his few friends managed to slip under that armour so easily. Sure, his armour wasn’t so well-built when he was a child, but it was still some work. He was once simply a scared eleven-year-old, eager to learn and be a good student, and suddenly he ended up in a lifelong bond with three other idiots. In a lot of ways, he owes so much of his personality to the Marauders. He bloomed in Hogwarts, he had a safe and healthy environment with people he loved, he could finally grow into a normal boy; he cracked jokes and he made fun of himself and he learned not to take things so seriously. He was not just a werewolf, not just a monster. He’s a great friend, he’s funny on his good days, he’s sarcastic and kind and protective of his friends. He owes this to them.

Remus is a trans man who started taking corrective draughts as soon as he entered Hogwarts. Dumbledore was the one who encouraged his parents to allow this, promising he’d keep an eye out and take care of Remus. There wasn’t exactly any research done on whether or not the potions would affect a werewolf’s body differently, so they’d have to be cautious, but several potion makers insisted nothing should go wrong.

They were right, technically. The potions didn’t react any kind of way with his blood, they did their work normally. It also perhaps helped that most of the side-effects were all things that Remus had been dealing with his whole life, due to the curse: muscle and joint aches, mood swings, headaches. The only catch was that every time he turned, every full moon, when he came back into his human form, the draught had completely worn off.

This made things a little more complicated. It didn’t mean anything to his health, thankfully, all he had to do was take another dose of the potion in the morning and he’d be back on track. It was something about his metabolism overworking, the fact that his body healed itself after each moon. They could never quite fix that little quirk – every morning after the full moon, he’d wake up in a body that didn’t belong to him.

This was when he was on a small dosage of the draught, of course, still going through puberty and taking the so-called “Children’s Corrective Doses” that had to be ingested every week.

Despite the general crippling discomfort of briefly being in the wrong body once a month, it was fine when he was making the turns by himself at first. Then the Marauders joined, and that was weird; it took him a while to agree to their presence and it wasn’t only because they could be in danger. He was scared of being that vulnerable, too.

Because of this monthly hiccup on the process, potioneers instructed that he should be on this smaller dose for as long as possible before he transitioned safely into the “Permanent Corrective Dose”. Five years at least, seven if he could, before he switched to the potion that he’d only have to take every two years or more. This shouldn’t be a problem, he thought innocently, hearing this at age eleven.

By sixteen, the temptation of the Permanent Dose was too grand. It stopped being bearable after a while, the whole “waking up in the wrong body once a month” experience. And the temptation was there because the potioneers said that an adult dosage would likely fix that monthly issue. All he wanted was to stop worrying about this thing – wasn’t the fact that he turned into a murderous beast more than enough? Besides, he was turning seventeen soon, he was most likely done with puberty, he had done the smaller doses for six years already.

So the Marauders made a grand plan. And out of all the illegal, morally questionable things Remus has done, he probably holds this one as the best. They managed to buy him a vial of a Permanent Corrective Dose, and he drank it without thinking twice.

This didn’t come without consequences. Dumbledore was mad. His parents were mad. Every potioneer he knew was pretty annoyed. He frankly couldn’t give a damn, he was overjoyed – it had worked. The moon came, and for the first time when he came back to his senses, he was in the right body, his body. He didn’t care if anyone was pissed at him.

He still doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the debilitating migraines he still gets as a side-effect. He doesn’t care that his muscles will sometimes cramp, or that his skin sometimes feels raw. He can handle all of that – quite frankly, he’s happy to deal with all of that, if it means keeping his body through the transformations.

It’s important to take from this that Remus Lupin doesn’t shy away from many things. He likes to deal with things head-on, he is a Gryffindor, after all. Once Dumbledore sent him to live with the werewolves shortly after graduating, he made sure to take another permanent dose, a heavier one, to last him however long he stayed out. This time the draught was acquired legally, since he was already of age, but the higher dose in this short amount of time wasn’t exactly what the mediwix ordered. This ended up aggravating his side-effects.

Still – and perhaps that is a testament to his stubbornness –, he’ll tell you this was all worth it.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Remus grew up in a happy home. Well, as happy as a family could be, while plagued by the curse of lycanthropy. So maybe not so happy at all.

He doesn’t remember much of his early childhood, if you ask him. He remembers the looming sense of despair, he remembers seeing his parents cry through cracks of barely open doors, he remembers quiet dinners and he remembers feeling awful. He can’t remember not being a werewolf, but he thinks they were the happiest before that.

They were okay after it, eventually, too. They all had to learn to navigate it, and once he grew a little older, things were easier, as easy as they would get. He remembers that time a little better – the times just before he went to Hogwarts and his time at the castle, too.

Overall, Remus grew up with a good family, he’d tell you. They didn’t have many distant relatives, so it was always just the three of them, and his parents were supportive – mostly. Hope was the warmth of the house, and if anything, she only grew closer to Remus after he was bitten. She was overprotective, and stern, and she had trouble handling when things didn’t go exactly her way, but those are hardly things kids notice about their parents when they’re still kids. He could tell you this today, but his memories of her are still all sugar-coated, tinted pink, gentle.

She didn’t understand his gender identity at first, his father once told him. Hope still had too many roots in the muggle world, it took her some time to wrap her head around all of these ideas. Lyall was the one who had to sit her down and explain to her about the corrective draught, and how common it actually was, how safe. She was the one who wanted to wait for a talk with the Headmaster before she let him take the potions.

Luckily for Remus, he was so young by the time she was having those first doubts and issues with his identity, he doesn’t have any bad memories of that. To him, she never mistreated him, and he never felt anything but accepted. She protected him with all of her heart, and that included all of him, her son, and a werewolf.

In fact, one of his fondest memories of her is getting a haircut, before his very first day in Hogwarts. He usually wore his hair somewhere a little above shoulder-length, a little choppy; he just liked how it swung when he ran, to be honest, and how it splattered water everywhere if he spun his head really fast in the shower. But he was terrified of having magic classes for the first time, he was scared of being thrown into a castle full of people he didn’t know, far away from his parents, the only safe haven he knew. She was the one who suggested a haircut first. They sat and flipped through silly muggle magazines until he found a cut he liked on some cologne ad, and she did it herself. Looks somewhat similar to what he still has as a haircut, if only with more bowlcut-esque qualities back then.

Lyall was more distant, growing up. Hope had little trouble getting over her bias of gender to accept his identity, but his father couldn’t do the same for his curse. If you asked Remus, he never really accepted his child being a werewolf, he was ashamed of his condition.

If you asked Lyall, the story’s a bit different. He was distant, but only because he couldn’t deal with all of the turmoil within himself. He couldn’t look at his child without thinking that he was the one responsible for Fenrir’s attack. He was responsible for his son being a werewolf, cursed forever – how could he look at Remus and see past that? Of course he was distant. Of course he dedicated his time trying to find a cure. As the turns hurt Remus, they hurt his father just as much. Every moon, he suffered with him.

It was hard for him, looking past that, but not because he was in any way ashamed of the condition. He felt sorry, and he didn’t know where to put all the guilt. He didn’t want to spend all of his time pitying his child, but he did. And it was easier to be distant when he felt undeserving of his son’s love in the first place; there would never be anything he could do to make up for this.

In conclusion, they were good parents, but it would also be unfair to completely ignore that Remus has such an issue with being a werewolf, as an adult, and – given that he was closeted about that his whole life –, this must’ve come from his parents. Their efforts to protect and hide Remus’ lycanthropy have not done him any good on the long run, they have not quite focused on the “but also, love yourself” part of their speech. Not to fully blame them or anything, of course there isn’t a “how to raise a werewolf” manual out there, and they had to deal with so much since he was just a little boy, they did what they had to do to keep their child safe. Remus truly believes they did the very best they could, and that they were perfect parents, given the circumstances.

I don’t think it registers to him that they may be the very root of the crippling self-deprecation he feels, and frankly, I don’t think it ever will register. This is not the kind of thing you unravel within yourself without some serious help.

Nowadays, since Hope’s passing, the two Lupin men have managed to grow closer. The hurt is still there, Remus still thinks his father is too cold and ashamed of him, and Lyall thinks he’s guilty and that Remus must hate him. They’re not big on talking about feelings, but they’re warmer with each other now than they ever were. That’s not saying much, it’s barely anything more than the occasional back pat and smile, but Remus likes to think Hope would be happy.

OCCUPATION:

He currently still works with the Dissendum Task Force, as he feels truly at home taking care of that part of things. He wants a job, he always wanted to be able to take care of himself, of course, I imagine he put up a fight when it came to depending solely on James’ money. He always intended to pay it back, to eventually find something for himself. He grew comfortable, the slightest bit, with James’ money, knowing he had that safety net while he figured things out, and while they all had bigger things to worry about. Now he has lost his friend, and he needs to find something, anything, to keep himself afloat, and all of this on top of the grieving, it might just make him reach a breaking point.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Remus feels like a paradox within the order. He feels both at the very center of it, as well as standing on the outside, looking in. He believes in them wholeheartedly, even if he’s not so sure he stumbled upon all of this belief himself, or if it’s been drilled into him by one very dedicated James Potter. And now that James is gone – how should he know how to feel?

More and more, he feels like he’s simply floating around in this war, a walking mystery, neither here nor there. He does as he’s told, he helps whoever he can help, and he won’t say a peep but he is starting to question his own faith, at this point. It’s difficult not to. He had a problem going with the werewolves, of course, and that time was generally awful, but he owed Dumbledore too much to say no. How much of what he does really is his choice, or someone else’s? He’s starting to grow tired of it.

He loves his friends more than anything, therefor he loves the Order, but he’s afraid of how long this might last.

SURVIVAL:

Remus is always on the move, but that’s nothing new to him. He’s been on the move since he was a kid, occasionally dragged off from one side of Europe to another, their family led by his father’s blind ambition towards finding a cure. He never felt like he could truly stop, and he grew up to embrace a sense of restlessness. The first place he truly understood the meaning of “home” was the castle, and even then, he knew his time there would have an end. In a way, this has helped him survive. He stays alert, he stays on the move. He’s always ready to pack up and disappear, as long as he knows he has the right people on his side.

His current living situation is, I imagine, complicated at best. He wouldn’t want to get a place on money that’s not his own, and he’s never been able to make his own money, at least not substantially. First, he was out with the other werewolves, he followed them anywhere and slept wherever he could when he needed to.

Then, he stayed at the McKinnon estate, and even though he knows he can stay there, he’s still often looking over his shoulder, waiting for the day they’ll kick him out. It still doesn’t feel right. It never does. He hasn’t felt at home since Hogwarts – or, perhaps, the odd times in between when he couch surfed wherever Sirius, James, or Peter were staying.

Now, he’s with his father momentarily, hiding. He hasn’t told Lyall anything that happened, he just packed up and showed up at his father’s doorstep. The contact isn’t ideal, but Remus needed the full recharge, even if just for a day or two. Lyall welcomed him with a brow heavy with concern, but he put the kettle on for some tea anyway, and he didn’t ask questions he didn’t want the answers to. Remus deemed that good enough.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Oh, boy. Things are a mess. This is the emo part of the app.

I must start this section talking about how much friends mean to Remus. They mean everything. Everything he heard since he was five-years-old was how much he needed to hide himself, how badly he needed to keep this secret, or everything would end terribly. He was a monster. He was capable of horrible, despicable things, and no one could accept him. By eleven, he’d come to term with this. By eleven, he barely even believed he’d get the chance to study. This is the weight this little kid had to carry around.

And then – enter the Marauders, the best, most miraculous thing to happen to him. A boy with a curse, suddenly welcomed into the coolest group of kids he’d ever met. He honestly felt like it was some kind of lie, or an elaborate prank. Those very first months after they met, he’d wait until the others all fell asleep and he’d write letters to his mom, telling her all about them. He’d write fast and he’d write over several sheets of parchment, talking about all the wonderful, terrible things that boys their age did. He was happy.

Eventually, he stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. They grew close, the others found out his secret, they never once turned away from him. They helped him. They loved each other, the lot of them. And it was so, so much more than a monster could hope for – still, to this day, he’s not sure how they do it, how they can love him. He owes them so much, but it’s not even about that, it’s not about owing. If he did, he’d owe them his entire soul. There’s not enough space in his body, in his heart, for how much he owes them.

They were, and they continue to be, everything.

And then the war happened. They parted ways, and by the time Remus came back, things had shifted. Things felt off. He was certain the love was still there – it has to be, it has to –, but it felt like it was stained, tainted by something else, something ugly. Suddenly, he’s not sure he can trust them anymore, but he doesn’t know if that’s his gut speaking, or if it’s paranoia.

That’s the duality of man, and the duality of monster, he supposes. Everything trails between gut feeling and paranoia. He’s scared of being doubted, so he’ll turn a pointing finger right back. If they think he can be a mole, then they can be a mole.

He’s terrified of losing them. More than anything, Remus really is terrified of losing his loved ones. He knows he can survive it; he’s lost his mum, he now lost James, you would think he’s hardened enough by now to be able to take it, but he’s not. In his eyes, they are his humanity. What is he, if he doesn’t have his friends? What’s a monster if he isn’t loved?

They all knew going into this that it wouldn’t be easy, sure, but sometimes Remus feels a little alone in how much he feels. It seems like the world keeps turning, the war doesn’t stop for grief. And it feels like everyone else picks themselves up and moves right along with it, but he can’t. Every death weighs on him, every loss has just been piling and piling up onto his shoulders and he doesn’t know how much else he can take. He feels like everyone else is so much better equipped for this. They all mourn, sure, but… do they? They can’t be feeling this like he does, because if they were, they’d be feeling this crippling dread. They’d be feeling how hard it is to move, how shaky his hands feel all the time, how his heart seems to be broken into a million pieces and all of his insides have rottened.

He resents that. He wants to be able to grieve openly without feeling like he’s slowing anyone down. He wants to be able to feel things, and give them time, before they’re running into the next death trap that could easily take another one of his loved ones. He really needs the time to stop and feel this, because it’s crushing him, and he doesn’t feel like any of his friends understand how bad it is – which in itself is the most crushing part of it. When did they all become these sort of robots programmed for war? And why didn’t he get that memo?

James Potter – Don’t get me started on the duality of being so hurt by the fact that your best friend outed your biggest, most damning secret to everyone, and then died. I mean. What the fuck, James. In all seriousness, this is a lot to handle, which is why he deserves to be mentioned in this section even if this doesn’t exactly make for new plots. Remus doesn’t know how to feel; normally he’d be upset at that betrayal, accidental or not, but he didn’t even have the time to process that, before grief steamrolled into everything. He wants to be angry. He wants the right to be mad, to maybe yell at James, to hear his apologies and immediately forgive him, because of course he’s not really angry, he’s just scared. And instead, he gets silence.

Sirius Black – Sirius always has a way of filling up every room he walks into. Remus always thought he’d be better off if he was a little more like Sirius, and maybe that’s why they work – how opposing their energies are. Remus is always trying to make himself smaller. In a way, this is also why they don’t work, on the times they don’t. Sirius was probably the person he trusted the most, even if they didn’t always see eye to eye. It hurts him a lot to think that maybe this trust is broken now; that maybe after all of this, they’ll end up too cold and distant to have the friendship they used to have. He hopes, blindly, that’s not the case.

Peter Pettigrew – He feels protective towards Peter. Maybe that stems from their years in the castle, how Peter was seen as the little kid who trailed behind them and not one of the Marauders himself. Remus never liked hearing that. And Peter is different than the others to him, he always seemed a bit smaller, a bit more innocent; Sirius and James have no trouble taking care of themselves, that’s not even a question. Peter, on the other hand. Remus feels like he needs to help him any way he can.

Lily Evans – He loves Lily like a sister. She reminds him of his mother, sometimes, with her warmth and her determination. She’s the strongest person he knows, and he think he’d probably trust her and follow her blindly anywhere – or, at least, he felt like that when they were all in school. He still wishes they were closer nowadays, he wishes they spoke more.

Marlene McKinnon – She’s too cool for him, honestly. Plain and simple, somewhere in the core of his being, he’s still just a really lame teenager who thinks she might be too cool to hang out with him. He’s grateful that he gets to crash at the estate, but he’s also well-aware of her family’s view of the half-breeds. He can’t quite relax while he’s there, he keeps expecting to be discovered and kicked out any passing second. Now that his secret is out, he fears she’ll turn on him.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

I ship Remus/chemistry first, always, of course! I always find that you have to throw characters together in action before you start planning anything, you never know where the chemistry will be. I’ve taken part in many a ships in my time, Sirius/Remus probably being the main one, but in this context, everything’s a little trickier! It’s a very unstable, difficult time, and this is a very sad and angry Remus. He wants something, he wants to have someone, I just don’t think he even knows how, or where to begin with. I think he pushes the idea of romance so far back in his brain, thinking he can never have it, that it’s almost an impossibility in itself because of it. I think he’ll have a very difficult time believing anyone wants him like that, even if it does happen. I really look forward to possibly exploring any ships if chemistry happens! And I don’t think I have any anti-ships, currently. All is fair in the rp land.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

It is safe to say Remus has a bias against werewolves, in the saddest, most twisted way possible. Yes, he is one, and he doesn’t deny that to himself, but there’s a reason why he’s so careful to hide it from everyone else, why he was so reluctant in letting even his closest friends help him out – he agrees with all the stories and tales. He doesn’t feel proud to have this curse, he wouldn’t defend it if someone were to attack it.

They are monsters, once a month, under the moon. It doesn’t matter if his friends for years tried to convince him he’s a good person, he won’t believe it until he lets go of these horrible ideas he has of the curse itself. Even after meeting so many others like him. He may think hating it – hating himself – makes him better, a higher moral ground on the scale, as opposed to the werewolves who flaunt it. He may think some of them, like Fenrir, are worse than him for this, but it doesn’t make things that much better for how he views them.

As far as privileges go, Remus recognizes he has it pretty easy as far as his family life goes. He had loving parents – as far as he can tell –, he had a normal home life; he’s a half-blood, which meant he usually flew under the radar, considering how other wix seemed to view muggleborns, in contrast.

But as far as privileges he doesn’t recognize, I’d say that’s probably more interesting. Remus thinks of himself as a monster. A werewolf, bitten while he was still so young. His bite scar sits on his shoulder, now grown and shifted but the pale scar tissue never gone, an ugly mark. He doesn’t think himself particularly handsome, he doesn’t see many talents that stand out. He thinks he’s pretty much at the very bottom of the food chain.

Which is all kind of untrue, he’s blinded by his self-deprecation. Everyone has privileges, he is no different. He’s a werewolf, and that’s terrible, but other than that he’s not exactly doing too bad. He was always a good student, he liked studying, good grades came easy. His looks had never proven to be a problem, even if he believes it is. He had a good home, dedicated parents, he never ran out of money for books and robes and chocolate bars growing up. If you strip Remus of his lycanthropy – and lord knows he���s dreamed of that –, the truth is, he doesn’t have anything else to feel sorry about. And he’s so stuck feeling sorry for himself all the time, that he has a hard time recognizing his privileges and biases.

To him, he’s a monster, but to anyone else who doesn’t know of his condition, he’s really just another regular guy fighting the war. Of course, now, with everyone’s discovery – things will change.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

Well, I’m not new to this scene, hi, hello! So I already know everyone here is an amazing writer, and I adore you admins (I promise I’m not just sucking up for the sake of the app, it’s true). I love Remus, it’s been a few years since I last played him but he’s the muse that’s always alive in my head – this is the fastest and longest bio I ever wrote, to prove my point, aha. I especially love this Remus, the mid-war, post-Hogwarts, “can’t get a job”, “questioning the loyalty of the people I love the most” Remus. He’s feeling a lot. He’s tired, he’s angry, he’s grown sharp edges from the soft boy he once was. There’s so much to explore, and while it’s definitely a little scary to fill in someone else’s shoes, I’m really looking forward to writing with everyone and exploring all the many plots and relationships possible!

PLOT DROP IDEAS (OPTIONAL):

I’m terrible at these, I’ll admit, but I am open to everything you may want to throw my way! I also think I’ll need to take a second to acclimate into any of Remus’ pre-existing plots before throwing around any specifics of my own.

That being said, though, something that I’m excited to explore is his current unemployment. I want him to search for some kind of proper job to try to pay things for himself. I think he’s too proud to ask anyone else for help at this point, and he might have several emotional breakdowns on this process, but he’s gonna do his best. Also anything to do with his current (quite terrible) side-effects from Attisgalli Corrective Draughts, or exploring his gender identity in general, I’d love that!

ANYTHING ELSE? I was gonna do a pinterest board but I’ll spare you guys the trouble for now, this is already 11 pages long. Oops! Thank you for reading!!

[takadasaiko]

Midnight Oil (a Captain America: First Avenger era one shot)

FFN II AO3

Summary: "Stark took a swing at him right there in front of his men. You'd think a guy as smart as Stark wouldn't hit someone twice his size." - Agent Carter 1.05 

Steve and the Howling Commandos are called in to come collect their pilot after Howard lands himself in some trouble over a stolen invention.

Midnight Oil

No shouldn't be a difficult phrase for a person to understand.

It didn't mean yes. It didn't mean maybe. It certainly wasn't an invitation to break into his lab and take it without permission.

Howard had been woken in the earliest hours of the morning by one of his techs pounding at his door and shouting incoherently about a break-in. It had taken a moment longer than it should have for him to understand that it had been his lab that had been broken into - the one that he'd only been away from for about an hour and a half at that point, leaving him more sleep deprived than usual after three straight days of the same - and that things were missing. It hadn't taken long to find out what. Not that he hadn't had a good idea even before he got there.

He hadn't told them why Midnight Oil wouldn't work, only that the design couldn't perform the way they wanted it to. He needed more time if he were going to concoct something that could safely keep soldiers awake and alert for days on end - had they tried coffee? Coffee worked well for him. Coffee and an addictive personality that he focused in on for his work - and apparently General McGinnis had taken that to mean that it worked, but wasn't perfected and had decided to send his goons in to relieve Howard of his creation.

That's how Howard Stark found himself on a plane from London to Finow, Germany. McGinnis wasn't taking his calls. If the calls weren't reaching him or if he was intentionally ignoring him, it was difficult to say in the middle of war-torn Europe, but the general had no idea what he was getting himself into if he tried to use the Midnight Oil. To be fair, neither did Howard. He'd only seen what the gas had done to the rats in the lab he'd doused with it and that had been more than enough. The idea of what it would do to soldiers was… unconscionable. The idea made his stomach turn, and he had a pretty steady constitution.

He put the plane down not too far from the camp, but he had to be driven out to the site after arguing for far too long and threatening things he wasn't actually sure he could make good on. They didn't tell him it was too late. They were likely too afraid to. They dropped him off and ran as if they didn't want to face him or be outed as the ones that had brought him in.

Howard stood frozen in place for a long moment, dark eyes wide and lips parted in an awkward gape. Bodies littered the field, stretching out in every direction. Men in American uniforms moved between them, and despite all that they had seen in the war, even they looked squeamish as they worked to clear the field. Not that he could blame them. It was a horrific scene.

A terrified yelp sounded across the field and Howard barely had time to look over before a shot followed immediately after it, downing one last soldier. The American - the shooter - stumbled back, eyes wide as he scrambled back and Howard rushed over to him.

"What happened?" he demanded, his voice drawing the haunted blue gaze towards him.

"I thought he was dead, but he… got up. He was… he was coming for me. I had to -"

Howard cleared his throat and waved him off. Empathy had never counted very high amongst his many talents, even in the moments where he wished it would. Bumbling around and failing to comfort the kid wasn't going to do anybody any good, though, so he dropped to his knee next to the newly dead man, observing. That much he could do at this point.

He was Russian, if the tattered and bloodied uniform was anything to go by. There wasn't much left of it. It was like a wild animal had gotten ahold of him, shredding cloth and skin in vicious, angry strokes. He wouldn't have been long for the world even if the young soldier hadn't put a bullet in his chest. From the looks of him, Howard wouldn't have guessed that he could have made it to his feet before being shot. Deep, terrible gashes were visible through torn cloth and what looked like teeth marks - human, he metallurgy filed away with a shudder - on his left forearm. Blood was smeared and dried all along his face.

The young inventor drew in a trembling breath as he shifted his weight to take a look at a fallen body near that one. Also Russian, as was the one next to him and the one next to him. Not a nazi in sight. Just a bunch of Russians that looked like they'd clawed, bitten, and bludgeoned each other to death.

They'd been gassed with Midnight Oil and now McGinnis' people were cleaning up the scene. Once the men here finished there'd be no proof of what happened. Howard's word would be matched up against a general. One star, sure, but as healthy of an opinion of himself as Howard kept, he was still a twenty-seven year-old scientist whose work with the military was often so deeply classified that only a few could get their hands on it. There'd be no repercussions for McGinnis. It'd just be swept under the rug and sold off as a losing battle. There were plenty to go around, afterall.

Truth was that might happen anyway, but if Howard had proof, he could have some sway against the man that caused this. He glanced around before slipping what looked like a pen out of his breast pocket. He hasn't tested it fully yet, but no time like the present. For several long, painful moments he snapped a photo of the damage inflicted, forcing himself to look at the brutality that his invention had caused.

"Stark? Who the hell cleared you to be here?"

Howard startled at the sound of the unexpected voice. He had only spoken to John McGinnis once. Every other request or follow up on the Midnight Oil had come from men that answered to him, the general far too busy to be bothered with the scientists that he had so little regard for.

He knew that voice though, somehow. It bit through the horror and set deep like burning embers ready to fuel a rage like he had never known. And it only grew as he stood, pocketing his pen smoothly, and turned to face the man that had sent his lackies in to steal what had caused this. He stared for a long moment, a half dozen angles on how to best handle the situation running through his mind with statistics calculated for each outcome. In the end, they didn't matter.

"What did you do?" he breathed out and McGinnis snorted.

"Fought a battle, Mr Stark, though I suppose you may not recognize what that looks like from your comfy seat back in London. Lieutenant, escort Mr Stark -"

Howard loosed a trembling breath and swept his hand out towards the carnage. "You killed them."

McGinnis blinked at that, but then waved at the approaching lieutenant as if he didn't want to repeat himself. He turned to leave without bothering with another word and Howard lashed out. He caught a handful of the general's sleeve, pulling him back around and taking a swing with the momentum. The man was a walking mountain, thick and tall with a jawline that might have even put Cap's to shame. Howard had to angle the punch upward to connect at all. Even as he did, he felt the pain of the blow shoot through his knuckles, into the small bones of his hand, and up through his wrist. He stumbled, the opposite hand instinctively going to cradle the one he'd thrown the punch with, and looked back to see that he hadn't even caused McGinnis to stumble. By the looks of him, all he'd managed to do was piss him off.

The larger man lunged forward and Howard steeled himself as best he could, but every ounce of breath driven out of his lungs by the blow to his middle. He folded over, a sputtering cough barely escaping as he did, and a hard blow that felt distinctly like an elbow to his upper back - some sensations you never forget, no matter how many years it'd been - sent him crashing down to the ground.

"You just took a swing at a general in front of his troops, Stark. I thought you were supposed to be smart."

He was pulling air into his lungs in painful, shallow gasps, but somehow managed to look up at him. The larger man didn't say anything, nor did anyone around them move as Howard slowly stumbled to his feet. "You sonuva bitch," he managed. "Just couldn't wait. Couldn't ..."

Howard took another swing, but stumbled, falling into McGinnis who pulled him in close so that he was trapped there. That booming voice rumbled in his ear. "This doesn't have to be on either of us. Let it go."

The inventor shoved backwards, only breaking free because McGinnis allowed him too. He shook his head, the words not quite finding their way off his tongue.

McGinnis snorted. "You lab rats really should learn your place in this war."

And then he was moving. His punch landed hard against Howard's cheekbone and whipped his head around, the rest of him following. He was out before he hit the ground again.

                                                ____________

"Cap, how close are we to Finow?"

Steve glanced over from where he'd been poking at the dying fire, trying to urge it back to life with little success. He tilted his head as he did the mental math of where they were versus the general area Dugan was referring to. "Maybe about eighty klicks, give or take. Why?"

Dum Dum waved the radio in the air. "Just heard from Phillips. Something 'bout Stark getting into some trouble?"

Blond brows drew together and Steve stood slowly, brushing his hands off. The fire could wait. "What kind of trouble?"

"No clue. All they told Phillips was that he was being held and he should send someone to come get him first chance he got. Phillips wasn't exactly in the sharin' mood."

"Right…"

"How much you wanna bet Phillips just didn't want to admit whatever Stark's gotten himself into?" Jim Morita chuckled as he looked up from his card game with Bucky.

"Bet she's blonde," Gabe Jones added.

Bucky snorted. "And leggy. Wish I could get into some of that trouble."

Dugan broke into a wide grin under his mustache. "You and me both, brother."

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he pulled his compass from his pocket, Peggy's photo staring up at him as he flipped it open. "We should be able to get there… maybe a day and a half?"

Falsworth finally sat up from where he'd been attempting to doze. "That'll put us behind."

"Not too bad, and not all of us need to go get Howard. Dugan, Bucky, and I can go get him while the rest of you keep going. That way you can get the scouting done by the time we get back. If Howard's not in too much trouble, we'll have him drop us over the zone."

"Don't worry, boys. We'll bring the blondes with us," Dugan offered, laughter the overwhelming response.

Steve shook his head, his lips quirked are the corners, but no matter how light the others made of the situation, it couldn't be good if Howard needed an escort back. They just wouldn't know how bad until they got there.

                                               ____________

No one seemed to want to acknowledge them when they first arrived, much less meet their eyes. That was the first sign something wasn't quite right. They finally found someone that passed them off to someone else, and they made the rounds from rank to rank until a Lieutenant Piper finally seemed to know where Howard was being kept.

"I still don't get why he needed a lift," Bucky mused in the lieutenant's direction. "He had to get out here somehow."

"The plane he came in was redirected."

Steve turned at that one, catching his friends' equally confused gazes. That didn't make sense. "Stark tends to fly his own plane in. How -?"

Piper shrugged. "Above my paygrade, Captain. Sorry."

"So who can give us some answers?" Dugan asked gruffly, receiving an irritated look from the officer. Ranks didn't mean a lot in the Howling Commandos, but they did in this company. Obviously.

"General McGinnis. But he's…" He looked over and Steve followed his gaze to a tall, broad man who immediately turned in the opposite direction. "The general is otherwise occupied. You're welcome to take Stark and go."

"Any of this sound fishy to you?" Dugan asked quietly and Bucky nodded in agreement.

They followed Lieutenant Piper to the furthest corner of the camp and into a tent marked with a red cross on white background. The uncomfortable feeling that had settled firmly into Steve's chest began to tighten and twist with each step until Piper stopped where a group of nurses had circled around a cot. He cleared his throat loudly and they scattered, revealing a grinning Howard Stark that had been at the center of their attention.

That should have eased at least some of the worry right there, but as the nurses retreated and gave him a clearer view, Steve could see why Howard had been relegated to the - strangely empty, now that he looked around - medical tent. His left cheekbone was showing signs of bruising that was just a little over a day into forming and the accompanying brow was split. His shirt hung open to reveal bandages around his ribs and his right hand was also secured in them. Somehow he'd managed to land in the middle of a fight. How or why, Steve had no idea. The lack of injured soldiers around them should mean that there hadn't been a battle anywhere nearby, even if the inventor had been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Cap," Howard chuckled, standing slowly from his cot. "Would have thought you'd have more important things to do than come pick me up."

"We were relatively close by."

Bucky stepped forward. "What happened?"

"Huh? Oh this?" He motioned with his injured hand to his injured face. "Nothing we need to get into."

"We're gonna need a little more than that, pal," Dugan said lowly. They all knew there was more to this story than they'd been told. If anything, they had thought that Stark would be eager to fill them in. Apparently not.

Howard straightened his shoulders a little, dark gaze flickering over to where Piper still lingered off to the side. "It's nothing. I do think I need a ride though. Sounds like the Army decided to put my plane on their tab."

"We brought the jeep," Bucky offered.

"Good. Not sure I'd be great on foot too far." Howard's tone was light as he awkwardly worked the buttons of his shirt back into place and grabbed his tattered suit jacket off the back of the chair, slipping it in stiffly. He tilted his chin up as he started past Piper.

"Stark-"

"Yeah yeah. You can tell 'im I got the message loud and clear," he growled as he passed the young lieutenant.

Steve exchanged confused looks with both Bucky and Dugan before taking off after the engineer.

                                               ____________

He had gotten the message loud and clear. That's what Howard had said as they left. The loud and clear reared its ugly head not just in the visible bruises that lined his cheekbone and jaw along the left side of his face, but in the stiffness that lingered in his movements and the quiet way he folded into himself in the back of the jeep once they started out of the camp. Howard Stark was a lot of things, but quiet wasn't one of them.

The part that Steve didn't understand was exactly what the message was.

Howard was in Europe with the SSR, but his company was responsible for multiple government contracts. It wasn't unusual for him to work on special projects that took him out into the field, but unless he was slipping off to fly the Howling Commandos on a particularly difficult mission that they couldn't get an Army pilot approved for, he wasn't supposed to be anywhere near the actual fighting at the time it was happening. Even if he'd been caught up in the battle there, though, there was no reason he'd be so locked down about the whole thing. Something else was wrong.

They had stopped for the night on their way up to an airstrip where Howard could catch a ride back up to London. Any other time he would have been teasing and joking and laughing with the others. The Commandos had a fondness for their resident designer that made sure all of their equipment could withstand whatever Hydra would throw at them, even if they gave him hell. This time, though, even Bucky couldn't pull him out of his own head.

"Never thought I'd see the day Stark didn't leap at being the center of attention in any way possible," his oldest friend mumbled as he moved close enough that Steve was the only one that could hear him.

"Did you get anything from him?"

"Nope. Neither did Dugan. Whatever happened, he's locked down tight."

"But why?"

Steve looked over as Bucky pushed a thoughtful breath out through his nose. "I know a beatdown when I see one. Whoever he went toe-to-toe with was bigger than him. Stronger than him."

"Not hard."

Bucky shot him a long-suffering look. "Says the man that was actually shorterthan him just a couple of years ago." Dark blue eyes fixed on him. "Go talk to him."

"Neither of you could get anything from him. What makes you think I can?"

"'Cause it's you."

Steve shot him a confused look and Bucky rolled his eyes.

"Stark practically idolizes you. If anybody's got a chance in getting him to open up about what happened, it's you."

He didn't give Steve the chance to argue, but brushed past him with the mumbled comment about getting more wood for the fire. With all of the subtlety of a bull in a china closet, Dugan followed, leaving Steve to make his hesitant way over to the brooding scientist.

Sometimes it was hard to remember that Howard was only a little over a year older. Steve had sat in the lab listening him go on and on about the path that had landed him with the SSR while the Manhattan-native had pieced together his upgraded uniform and shield. He had waved off questions about his family, but he'd happily gone on and on about the connections he'd made at MIT which had led him to starting his own business by the time he was twenty-two that eventually led Phillips to recruiting him to the SSR - because he was bored, Howard had told him flippantly, and Steve still wasn't sure if that had been a joke or not - and eventually to Project Rebirth. He'd done so much in his twenty-seven years of life that sometimes it was hard to remember that's all he'd lived.

In that moment, as Howard sat alone with his spine curled and his shoulders crumbled forward under the weight of whatever he refused to talk about, he looked older too.

"How're you feeling?" Steve asked after a long moment, startling the dark haired man from the thoughts he looked like he was drowning in.

A pair of dark brown eyes blinked owlishly up at him, catching the glimmer from the fire just a few feet away. "Huh? Oh. I'm fine. It looks worse than it feels."

Steve motioned to the open space next to him and Howard shrugged gingerly, giving him the go-ahead to take a seat. "I've been there. It usually feels about as bad as it looks."

Howard snorted at that, the sound mostly amused. "Never did run from a fight, did you Cap? Me, I don't jump on the grenade. I just find a way to stick the pin back in."

"So what happened this time?"

"Sometimes there's no way to stick it back in," the other man said softly, his voice shaking just a little.

Steve caught his gaze. "Howard, what happened?"

A beat of silence stretched into another and then another, leaving Steve with the feeling that he was going to get the same silent treatment as the others had. Finally, Howard pulled in a breath, the first words riding out on its release. "What I say doesn't leave us. It's gotta….I can't win this with fists." He looked over, quirking a split eyebrow. "As you can see."

That pulled the softest of chuckles from Steve. "It stays between us," he promised.

"The general there - McGinnis - asked me to come up with something that could keep soldiers awake longer. Days was the goal."

"Can't see how that'd go wrong," Steve grumbled.

"And it did. A lot of men died. A lot of Allied men died. They... " Steve waited, watching Stark curl a little more into himself, his hands moving anxiously as he tried to come up with the words. "It was like an animal got loose and ripped them all to shreds. It was my fault."

Steve swallowed hard. An empty med tent was unheard of after a battle with the nazis. They hadn't fought the nazis though. "Did he know?"

Howard's gaze snapped up at the question. "I hear that tone, Cap. You said this would stay between us."

"And it will. I'll keep my word, but, Howard, if he knew it wasn't ready and used it anyway…. That's not your fault."

For another long moment Howard simply sat, dark eyes reflecting the flames dancing in front of them, and he shook his head. "I knew what it'd do and I didn't protect it. Not gonna make that mistake again."

"What are you doing to do?"

"No putting the pin back in. That grenade's already gone off, but maybe I can keep him from doing any more damage with it. Taking a swing at him was, uh… not one of my brighter moments." Steve couldn't help but snort a laugh at that and Howard's lips tugged just a little at the corners. "There are other ways to take a dangerous man outta play."

Steve watched him for a long moment. "Just be careful, okay?"

Howard finally looked up at him and he burst out laughing, the sound startling the blond man. "Careful's not really my style."

"No it's not," Steve chuckled, shaking his head.

"I just gotta fix this, best I can. Best way I know how." He pulled in a breath and his tone was a little lighter. "Don't worry, Cap. I'm not abandoning you guys." His dark gaze flickered past Steve to where Bucky and Dugan were doing a terrible job at pretending to mind their own business. "Someone's gotta drop you crazy bastards in the middle of the firefight when no one else will."

"Takes one to know one," Dugan laughed and Howard flashed a grin that almost seemed real.

The others joined them and they settled into a more comfortable conversation for the rest of the evening, no one daring to turn the subject back around to what had happened.

They dropped Howard off at the airstrip the next day and he turned down the offer for one of them to go with him to London, saying that he needed to get some things done on his own. From what Steve heard he didn't stay in London long, returning instead to New York. A little over a week later the news spread that General John McGinnis had resigned from his post and just a few days after that Howard cut ties with one of his biggest Army contracts, sending a wave of uncertainty through the ranks. An expensive decision on all sides, from what was being said, but Steve was willing to bet it had more to do with trust than money.

Promises made or not, the Howling Commandos had no idea what to expect when they got back to their London base. Stark's men, for the most part, worked for the SSR rather than him directly, so at least in theory they would still be equipped for their missions. Getting there might be a bit more difficult if he'd decided to pack it up and go home.

"Well look at that," Bucky chuckled as they made their way into the labs to find Howard Stark working away like nothing had happened.

"Had you not heard?" Peggy Carter's voice drifted in, drawing their attention over. "The SSR has Mr Stark's full attention again. Lucky us."

"You know you love having me around more, Peg," Howard chuckled from where he was leaned in, examining something under his microscope.

She rolled her eyes good naturedly at the tease. "There's never a dull moment, certainly. Good to see you back in one piece, Captain. Boys."

"Agent Carter," he greeted as she moved past him towards the door, hoping that his smile didn't look nearly as dopey as it felt. He pulled in a breath and turned back to Howard. "We hadn't heard if you were coming back or not."

"Told you I was." He turned, the bruises faded and all that amusement finally back in those dark eyes. "Where's the trust, Cap?"

"About seven hundred feet in the air over Hydra-occupied territory, if you're up for it."

"Going in?"

"We've got a pretty tight turn around this time and can't seem to find a pilot willing to take us."

"Guess it's a good thing I brought a new plane back with me," he said lightly as he slipped off the stool he'd been perched on and started for the door.

                                               ____________

Notes: I came across the story that Dooley's reporter friend tells him about how Howard's Midnight Oil was used in WWII during the first season of Peggy Carter and couldn't shake the idea of Howard Stark trying to go toe-to-toe with someone twice his size and failing miserably. The Stark men are much better at fighting smarter.

It definitely took a whole lot longer to write than I was expecting... I guess that's just the way when I'm first dipping my toe into writing in a different part of the fandom. I got hooked on writing Howard in my Endgame fix-it fic that brought him forward with Steve and Peggy and now I have all these plot bunnies running amok for WWII era Howard, Peggy, Steve, and the Howling Commandos. Hopefully there will be more. :)