#and i was like hey. actually i CAN see this as a fic

[clockwayswrites]

Hey clock!

Just read a hill to die on pt 2, and had a quick clarifying question I wanted to ask… with the way Tim describes his headspace, Danny def thinks he has did/osdd/whatever, so. Does he? And if so, is Tim like, aware of it? Or is he in denial lol.

(Also sorry if this ask is disjointed/doesnr make much sense I am. V v tired rn lol)

Very tired is a whole ass mood.

Tim is... having a hard time of it and his identity as a whole LOL So he's a bit in denial but more he's never really sat down and considered it. He was Caroline or Alvin because he needed to be. Now 'he's' Caroline or Alvin(eventually) because he wants to be. It's a big change for him (and them).

As the fic goes on, he becomes much more aware of it all and does actually talk to his therapist about it. That's actually the start of ch4! As a sneak peak:

Despite Tim making a phone number for Alvin and having permission for him to message Danny, Alvin was proving elusive. Tim wasn’t entirely sure why; he’d never really tried to interact with the other alters of his system like this before. He hadn’t even thought of himself as a system before, not exactly. After his date with Danny, Tim had hesitantly, nervously brought it up to his therapist. He had been worried that he might be infantized because of it or, worse, she would suggest that he be put on medication to try and get rid of the other parts of him. Luckily, there had been none of that. She had asked a lot of questions, including if next time she could speak with either Caroline or Alvin, and had promised to send him some research to read. Most of her focus was about how he was coping with this revelation and what they could do to make it easier for him. It had actually been, well, therapeutic. Go figure.

I think officially he'd be more OSDD than DID because of how much he can remember, especially when focused to? But I am not a therapist or psychiatrist or a system (please for those who are a system, if I get anything offensively wrong, let me know). And I know some people with DID are very entwined, from my conversations with them. (I'll likely avoid him getting a label from anyone official.)

And we'll see in ch4 some more of Caroline's side of it and how long she's been around, etc!

...but I need to finish up the last part of ch3 first >_>;

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝒷𝓊𝓃𝓃𝓎 𝓈𝓊𝒾𝓉 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒, 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔𝑒𝑜

· ─────── ⋆⋅♤⋅⋆ ─────── · 

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Who doesn’t love a good bunny suit fanfic? This little piece was inspired by the incredible artwork of @alienfreak124. I’m always in awe of her creations—her OC is so cool! Honestly, every time I see her work, I wish I had the talent to draw. T-T Always wanted to see what my OC would look like in the Tkatb fandom.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

Also, I’ve been thinking about branching out into other fandoms—Creepypasta is definitely at the top of the list since it was such a huge part of my childhood. Ticci Toby has always been my favorite, and I’m super excited to dive into that world. I’m also considering Death Note and Black Butler, but who knows? 

For now, I’m pretty set on exploring the creepy side first, especially with all the dark, twisted fandoms.

Anyway, I’ve got about three fics in the works for these lovely men—Crowe, Sol, and Geo. But it’s gonna be one day at a time because, let’s be real, I need to stop posting these things so damn late. College life is getting hectic, but I’m making it work, even if it means less sleep.

Priorities, right?

· ─────── ⋆⋅♤⋅⋆ ─────── · 

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

You’re in your room, standing in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem of a plain black dress.

It’s simple, safe, and exactly the kind of outfit you’d usually wear to a small party. You tilt your head, trying to decide if “simple” is too boring. The party isn’t exactly a big deal—just a casual gathering—but there’s a nagging thought in the back of your mind: 

Crowe’s going to be there.

Before you can overthink it, there’s a sudden knock at your door. “Hey! Open up!” Brittney’s voice is unmistakable—high-energy and impossible to ignore. You sigh, already knowing she’s about to upend whatever plans you’ve made for the evening. 

When you open the door, Brittney bursts in like a hurricane, her arms overflowing with what looks like… fur? No, it’s worse. It’s a bunny costume—a black bodysuit with matching ears, fishnet tights, and heels so high they look like a twisted form of punishment. 

“Oh no,” you say immediately, holding up your hands in protest. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on!” Brittney waves the outfit in front of you like it’s the Holy Grail. “It’s perfect! It’s fun, it’s flirty, and you’ll steal the spotlight! Imagine the look on everyone’s faces when you walk in wearing this. Especially Crowe.”

Your stomach flips at the mention of his name, but you shake your head. “There’s no way I’m wearing that. I’ll look ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous?” Brittney scoffs, planting her hands on her hips. “Please. You’ll look hot. Besides, when was the last time you did something bold? Live a little!” She leans in, grinning mischievously. “And, you know, Crowe might notice.”

You roll your eyes, but you can feel your resolve cracking. “Brittney, I’m not trying to ‘steal the spotlight.’ I just want to blend in.”

“Blend in?” She gasps like you’ve just insulted her personally. “Blending in is for cowards. And you’re not a coward, are you?”

“...You’re guilt-tripping me.”

“Is it working?”

Unfortunately, yes. You stare at the bunny suit like it’s a wild animal that might bite you, but part of you can’t help wondering: What if Brittney’s right? What if Crowe actually notices?

“Fine,” you say, at last, snatching the costume from her hands. “But if I look stupid, I’m blaming you.”

Brittney claps her hands in triumph. “You’ll look amazing, trust me! Now, hurry up and get dressed—I need to see the final look.”

You sigh and shut the door, holding up the bunny suit with a mix of dread and curiosity.

This is either the best idea or the worst mistake.

The moment you step into the party, a hush falls over the room—or at least it feels like it. The warm glow of string lights strung across the ceiling doesn’t do much to soothe the nerves twisting in your stomach. You keep your head down, gripping a drink you barely remember picking up, and try to focus on anything other than the fact that you’re dressed like a bunny in a room full of people dressed... normally.  

Brittney, of course, is loving every second of it. She’s practically glowing as she flits around the room, dropping comments like, “Isn’t she adorable?” and “Doesn’t she look amazing?” to anyone within earshot. You glare at her from across the room, but she just winks and mouths, “You’re welcome.”

You hover near the edge of the crowd, trying to blend into the background. It’s ironic, considering the ridiculous outfit, but you figure if you keep still enough, maybe no one will notice. That plan works for about five minutes—until you catch a familiar figure out of the corner of your eye.  

Crowe.  

He’s leaning against the wall near the bookshelf, casually sipping from a glass, his posture as effortlessly relaxed as ever. Even in the soft glow of the party lights, he’s sharp, dressed in his usual clean, put-together style that somehow manages to look both formal and casual at the same time. He always looks like he belongs on a magazine cover—button-up sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he listens to someone talk.

You freeze, torn between retreating to the nearest shadowy corner and pretending you haven’t seen him, or... well, doing something else. But then, as if sensing your eyes on him, Crowe looks up—and the moment his gaze lands on you, it’s like the rest of the party fades into the background.  

You brace yourself, half-expecting him to laugh or make some snide remark. Instead, his eyebrows lift slightly, and the corner of his mouth quirks up into what might just be the faintest hint of a smirk. He takes another sip of his drink, sets the glass down, and begins making his way toward you.  

Oh no.

Before you can figure out an escape route, he’s standing in front of you, tall and composed, with that cool, unreadable expression that makes your heart do ridiculous things.  

His expression is calm and unreadable, but there’s a sharp glint in his eyes that immediately sets you on edge. The drink in your hand suddenly feels useless as you clutch it tightly, wishing you had anything to focus on besides the way Crowe’s gaze is very obviously trailing over your bunny suit. Slowly.

“Nice to see you decided to... dress up,” he says, his tone dripping with amusement as he comes to a stop in front of you. His eyes flicker from your bunny ears to the tights and back to your face, where your mortified expression only seems to fuel his teasing.

“This wasn’t my idea,” you say quickly, feeling the need to defend yourself. “Brittney made me wear it. She said it’ll steal the spotlight or whatever…”  

Crowe raises a brow, his smirk deepening as he leans just slightly closer. “Oh, I believe you. But she didn’t make you come to me wearing it, did she?”

You sputter, your face heating up. “I didn’t come to you! You walked over here!”

“Did I?” he asks innocently, his smirk widening into something outright devilish. “Must’ve been the bunny ears. Hard to miss.”

You glare at him, your mind racing for some kind of witty comeback, but it’s hard to think when his gaze keeps darting to your legs, the curve of your waist, and then back to your face, like he’s deliberately making a show of it.

“Well,” he says after a beat, his tone maddeningly casual. “She wasn’t wrong.”  

Your brain short-circuits. He did not just say that.

“Excuse me?”  

“About the spotlight,” he clarifies, his smirk softening into something almost... fond. “You’ve certainly got everyone’s attention.”  

You rolled your eyes, “You’re ridiculous,” crossing your arms over your chest.

“And you’re very bold,” he counters smoothly. His voice drops a little lower, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Not that I’m complaining, of course. But I’m curious—how many people have tried their luck with you tonight?”

Your eyes widen. “W-what?”

You can’t decide whether to tell the truth to him or strangle him. 

“Come on,” he says, his smirk turning positively wicked. “In that outfit? You must have half the room staring. Though...” He leans in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I doubt anyone else is appreciating it quite as much as I am.”

Your breath hitches, and you’re sure your face is about to burst into flames. “Crowe, you can’t just—”

“Say the truth?” he interrupts smoothly, stepping just close enough that you can catch the faint scent of his blueberry cologne. “Oh, I can. And I will.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, Crowe’s gaze shifts, scanning the room. The teasing glint in his deep blue eyes is replaced with something sharper, almost protective, as he takes in the prying eyes of the other partygoers.

“Too many people here,” Crowe mutters, his voice low enough that it feels like the words are meant only for him. Then he glances back at you, his eyes softening in a way that makes your breath hitch. “Let’s leave.”  

“What?”  

“I said, let’s leave.” His hand brushes lightly against your elbow, the fleeting touch sending a spark up your arm. His gaze lingers on you, unreadable but heavy with something unspoken. “Unless you’d prefer to stay here and let everyone keep gawking at you like you’re... on display.”  

Your eyes dart around the room, catching glimpses of the subtle but unmistakable stares in your direction. The air feels suffocating now, and the idea of staying in this crowded space seems unbearable. Still, you hesitate, caught off guard by the sheer intensity of his presence.  

“Fine,” you say at last, forcing an air of nonchalance even as your pulse quickens. “But if you’re planning to tease me, I’m leaving the second you start.”  

Crowe chuckles—a deep, smooth sound that does nothing to steady your nerves. “Don’t worry,” he says, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smirk as he places a hand lightly on the small of your back to guide you toward the door. “I’ll behave.”  

You’re not entirely convinced, but before you can second-guess your decision, the two of you are stepping into the cool night air. The sharp contrast to the party’s stuffy warmth sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not just the chill that has you trembling.  

Crowe’s steps are deliberate, his presence magnetic as he walks you to his car. He unlocks the passenger door with a smooth motion, holding it open for you before rounding the car to slide into the driver’s seat. The quiet thud of the door closing feels heavier in the silence, the hum of the engine breaking the tension only slightly.  

“Brittney’s going to wonder where I went,” you say softly, partly to yourself, as Crowe pulls out of the driveway.  

“I’ll text her later,” he replies, his tone calm but firm. “She’ll survive.”  

The car is dimly lit, the glow of passing streetlights casting fleeting shadows across his sharp features. You can feel his gaze flicking toward you every so often, lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle.  

He doesn’t speak for a while, but the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It’s charged—like the air before a storm. You’re hyper-aware of every detail: the way his hands grip the steering wheel, the faint scent of his cologne filling the small space, the way his jaw tightens whenever you catch him sneaking glances.  

“You shouldn’t let her talk you into things like that,” he says suddenly, his voice lower now, almost rough.  

“Like what?” you ask, even though you know exactly what he means.  

He glances at you briefly, his lips pressing into a thin line before his expression softens. “Like wearing something that makes every guy in the room look at you like they’ve forgotten how to think.”  

The words are sharper than you expect, tinged with an edge of possessiveness that makes your breath catch.  

“I thought you didn’t mind people staring,” you counter, trying to keep your voice steady.  

“I don’t,” he says, his fingers tightening on the wheel. “Unless it’s you.”  

The confession hangs in the air, heavy and electrifying. You look over at him, your heart pounding in your chest. There’s no teasing smirk now, no easy charm—just raw, unguarded honesty in his gaze as he pulls the car to a stop at the side of the road.  

He turns to face you fully, his expression unreadable but his eyes dark with something unmistakable.  

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, the words rough with restraint.  

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. The heat in his gaze is overwhelming, and you feel pinned in place by the sheer intensity of it.  

“I’ve been trying to keep my distance,” he continues, his tone rough and uneven now, “but seeing you tonight, dressed like that, letting everyone else see you like that…” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It drove me crazy.”  

The air in the car feels thick, charged with an unspoken tension that’s almost suffocating. Your pulse pounds in your ears, your breaths shallow as you sit still, unsure of what to say—or if there’s even anything you should say. The silence stretches out, heavy and electric, until Crowe shifts closer to you, his movements deliberate yet almost hesitant.  

His hand rises, and for a moment, you think he might stop midway. But then his fingers gently brush against your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is light, almost feather-soft, yet it lingers—his fingertips trailing against your skin just long enough to leave a burning imprint.  

“Please tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice deep and velvety, the faintest edge of uncertainty in his tone. 

A shiver races up your spine at the feel of his touch, and the heat of his proximity makes it impossible to think straight. Your breath hitches, and you swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry. You manage to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and searching, as though he’s looking for any sign of hesitation.  

“And if I don’t want you to stop?” you whisper, your voice trembling but carrying a weight of undeniable desire.  

His breath catches, his chest rising sharply as though you’ve just knocked the air out of him. His eyes widen, a flicker of disbelief flashing across his usually composed face. His lips parted slightly as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to convince himself he heard you correctly.  

You don’t reply right away—words feel clumsy in the intensity of this moment. Crowe’s gaze lingers on you, steady and deliberate, traveling down the length of your figure and then back up again. His eyes seem darker in the dim light, their usual cool detachment replaced by something unreadable, something that makes your pulse race. His smirk is still there, faint but unshakable, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.  

Your breath catches, and for a second, all you can think is how badly you don’t want this moment to end. Then, before your mind has time to catch up, your body moves on instinct. Slowly, deliberately, you take a step forward, closing the distance between you.  

His head tilts slightly as he watches you, his smirk faltering for just a heartbeat as you climb onto his lap. Your knees press into the seat on either side of him, the soft material of your tights brushing against his thighs.  

For a brief moment, neither of you speaks. The air feels heavy, charged with something neither of you can name. His reaction is immediate—sharp and visceral. He inhales quickly, his chest rising under yours, and his hands lift instinctively to your hips. His grip is firm yet hesitant, his fingers flexing slightly as though he’s testing the reality of the situation.  

You’re glad you caught him like this—off-guard, unguarded. It’s rare to see him anything but composed, but now? Now, his usual confidence feels shaken, his calm veneer cracking just enough to let you peek underneath.  

“No,” you whisper, your voice low and thick with emotion. “Please don’t stop.”  

The tension in his shoulders eases, but only slightly. His body remains taut beneath yours, every muscle coiled like a spring. His hands tighten against your hips as if anchoring himself—or maybe anchoring you. He leans forward, and the closeness is dizzying. His breath fans against your neck, warm and teasing, and goosebumps rise across your skin in response.  

His lips hover near your ear, his voice low and husky, dripping with intent as he murmurs, “Then I won’t.”  

The promise in his tone sends a shiver down your spine. His hands shift from your hips, sliding upward in slow, deliberate movements that leave you breathless. His thumbs trace over your waist, the faintest pressure sparking heat in their wake. His fingers move higher, brushing against your sides, and you can’t stop the way your body responds, arching slightly into his touch.  

Crowe’s lips ghost against the edge of your jaw, and you swear the world narrows to just the two of you. There’s nothing but his touch, his breath, and the sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears.  

May got a little carried away here…

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

You don’t know how it happened. 

So okay, you do know how it happened—you were dumb enough to bet against Hyugo. The guy might be obnoxious, loud, and silly as hell, but unfortunately, he’s also good at literally everything. Somehow, that fact slipped your mind when you let him talk you into betting on the last round of a stupid game.  

It was one of those chaotic, anything-goes types of games, the kind where people are shouting over each other, rules barely make sense, and luck has just as much sway as skill. You don’t even remember what it was called—something involving a blindfold, ping pong balls, and a lot of yelling. I’m kidding here…

All you know is that Hyugo had that stupid grin on his face, the one he always wears when he knows he’s about to win.  

“Come on,” he’d said, his voice dripping with smugness as he leaned against the table. “You scared or something? What’s the worst that could happen?”  

And like an idiot, you fell for it. “I’m not scared,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “You’re on.”  

Big mistake.  

Because five minutes later, you were standing there in stunned silence, staring at Hyugo’s triumphant face as he held up his winning ping pong ball like it was an Olympic gold medal.  

“Wow, that was almost too easy!” he said, laughing as he clapped you on the shoulder. “You really thought you could beat me?.”  

You scowled, already regretting your life choices. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. What do you want?”  

His grin widened, and you instantly knew you were doomed. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said, his voice practically oozing with fake innocence. “It’s nothing crazy. Just a little outfit change for, let’s say... an hour?”  

Your stomach dropped. “What kind of outfit change? I have a movie night at Sol’s place later,”  

And now here you are, standing in Sol’s dimly lit studio apartment, wearing a bunny suit that makes you feel about three sizes too exposed and questioning every decision you’ve ever made.  

The small space smells like popcorn and energy drinks, and there’s a paused horror movie on the screen, but all of that pales in comparison to the look on Sol’s face.  

He hasn’t stopped staring since you walked in.  

The guy is sitting on his beat-up couch, one leg tucked under him, the TV remote hanging limp in his hand. His mouth is slightly open, and his face?  

Bright red.  

Like, glowing tomato-red, borderline matching the devil on the movie poster behind him.  

“…What are you doing?” he finally chokes out, his voice cracking just enough to make you raise an eyebrow. He clears his throat and tries again, this time deeper: “I mean, what’s this?” He gestures vaguely at you, but his hand is shaking a little, so it’s not exactly smooth.  

You cross your arms, trying to tug the hem of the skirt down, but there’s no saving it—it’s just too short. “Lost a bet to Hyugo,” you mumble, your voice flat, as if that explains everything.  

Sol squints at you, the disbelief radiating off him in waves. “Hyugo made you do this?” His tone flips between outraged and incredulous. His eyes dart down to the whole getup—bunny ears, fishnets, the thigh-high socks—and then snap back up so fast you think he might’ve given himself a neck cramp. “Ugh… He’s the worst sometimes.”  

“Yeah, thanks for the groundbreaking insight,” you deadpan, shooting him a withering glare. “I figured that out the moment Hyugo handed me this thing.”  

Sol drags a hand through his perpetually messy hair, clearly grappling with some kind of inner turmoil. “You didn’t have to wear it, though,” he mutters, his usual grumbly tone edged with something oddly defensive. “You could’ve just… I dunno, said no.”  

You blink at him, unimpressed. “Oh, sure. And let Hyugo post that video of me tripping like an idiot in front of the entire campus? An excellent alternative, Sol. Really genius stuff.”

He makes a weird noise in his throat, half a groan, half something else, and he mutters, “Still better than this…” But his eyes betray him.

Because despite the whole “ugh, this is dumb” act, Sol keeps looking. Like, really looking. His gaze lingers on your bunny ears, the curve of the bodysuit, and the thigh-high socks that are making you wish the couch would swallow you whole. Every time his eyes travel down, they snap back up so fast you’d think he got whiplash.

“What’s your problem?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest, mostly for your sanity. “You’re staring.”

“I’m not—” He cuts himself off, dragging his hand down his face with a groan. “Whatever. I’m not the one dressed like…” His words trail off as he waves vaguely in your direction, his ears reddening again as if even describing the outfit is too much for him.  

You sigh and plop down on his old couch because there’s literally nowhere else to go in this shoebox of an apartment. As soon as you do, Sol freezes like you’ve just stepped on a landmine. His whole body stiffens, his hands gripping his knees, and you swear he stops breathing.

“Relax,” you say, kicking off your heels with a sigh. “It’s not like I want to be here in this dumb outfit either.”

“You don’t look unhappy,” he mutters, barely audible, but you catch it.

Your head snaps toward him, catching the faintest flicker of his eyes darting to your outfit before immediately locking onto the popcorn bowl on the coffee table like it’s his last lifeline. His face is ‘burning’, and it only gets worse when he realizes you caught him looking.  

“Excuse me?” you ask, leaning in slightly because you can’t let him off the hook that easily.  

“I didn’t—” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat so violently it’s almost painful. “I just meant—uh, never mind.” But his ears are practically glowing, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.  

“Sure, okay,” you say, smirking as you settle deeper into the couch, fully intending to mess with him now. “It’s not like you’ve been staring at me like a creep since I walked in or anything.”  

“I wasn’t staring!” he blurts, far too defensively for someone who was. He drags a hand through his hair, the strands sticking up even more as he groans like he’s on the verge of losing it.  

“Oh, you weren’t?” you tease, tilting your head. “Are you calling me a liar?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his eyes flicking to your legs for half a second before darting away. His hands curl into fists on his lap, and his breathing sounds... uneven.

Fast.  

One second, you’re sitting on the couch, awkwardly avoiding his gaze, and the next, you’re swept up off the cushions. His arms slide under you, one wrapping around your back and the other hooking beneath your knees, lifting you effortlessly into a bridal carry.  

“Sol!” you shriek, your hands instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders. “What are you—put me down!”  

But he doesn’t. Instead, he lowers himself back onto the couch, keeping you securely in his hold. Your legs dangle awkwardly over his arm, your heels threatening to slip off, and you’re acutely aware of how close your faces are now—his warm breath brushing against your skin, his sharp eyes fixed on yours.  

“Relax,” he mutters, his tone gruff but oddly soft. “You were fidgeting too much. Thought you were about to hurt yourself or something.”  

“Hurt what now?!” you snap, glaring at him even as your cheeks flush. “I wasn’t—Sol, that doesn’t even make sense. Let me go.”  

“Not yet,” he says simply, his grip tightening slightly as if daring you to try and wriggle free.  

You glare at him, but the heat of his gaze makes it hard to keep your composure. His eyes flicker down for a moment—trailing from your flushed face to the curve of your legs draped over his arm. He’s trying to play it cool, but the way his jaw clenches and his ears turn a faint shade of pink gives him away.  

“Your legs are cold,” he murmurs after a beat, his voice quieter now.  

“I wonder why,” you deadpan, trying to ignore the way your heart skips at the hint of concern in his tone.  

His lips twitch a shadow of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I told you this stupid outfit wasn’t practical.”  

“Well, I didn’t exactly pick it,” you grumble, squirming slightly in his hold.  

“Stop moving,” he mutters, his voice dropping an octave. His hands shift slightly, one sliding along your back and the other brushing against your thigh as he adjusts his grip. The casual intimacy of it makes your face burn hotter.  

“Sol...” you warn, your voice shaky.  

But instead of answering, he leans back slightly, settling you more comfortably in his lap. The movement makes your head spin—partly from the sudden shift, but mostly because of how close he is now. You’re practically curled up against his chest, his arm still supporting your legs while his other hand rests firmly against your back.  

And then he looks at you again. Really looks at you. His orange-red eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, the teasing, grumbly version of Sol you’re used to is nowhere to be found. There’s something different in his expression now—something serious, almost vulnerable, and it steals the breath from your lungs.  

“You should be more careful,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing lightly against your knee. His hands slide from your hips to your legs. “These heels could’ve hurt me,” His thumbs trace slow, deliberate circles along the tops of your thighs, sending shivers up your spine.

Your mouth opens to respond—maybe to defend yourself, maybe to yell at him, you’re not sure—but then his hands shift lower, skimming over the curve of your calves. He grabs one of your feet, his fingers curling around your ankle as he starts tugging off your shoe.  

“Sol, I can do that myself—”  

“No,” he snaps, but there’s no malice in his tone. His cheeks are pink, his expression strained like he’s trying to keep it together. “Please, just let me.”  

You’re too stunned to argue. He’s slow about it, almost hesitant, his calloused fingers brushing against your skin as he removes one shoe, then the other. When he’s done, he lets his hands linger for a moment, his thumbs brushing over your bare ankles.  

His eyes flicker back up to yours, and there’s something desperate in his expression now like he’s holding himself back from doing something stupid. “Why do you always have to make this so hard?” he mutters, half to himself.  

“I’m making 'it' hard?” you blurt, your voice shaky.  

“You showed up like this,” he counters, his gaze sweeping over you again. “Looking like... this.”  

He leans closer, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him. His hand slides up, tracing a line from your ankle to your knee, then up your thigh, stopping just shy of where the hem of the bunny suit begins. His knee presses a little closer, and you suck in a sharp breath.  

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me right now?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.  

Your brain short-circuits. You don’t even know how to respond to that, especially not when his eyes are locked on yours like he’s waiting for an answer.  

“Sol,” you finally manage, your voice barely audible. “You’re being weird.”  

“I know,” he mutters, his lips twitching into a crooked, almost self-deprecating smile. “I’m always weird. But you make it worse.”  

And with that, he dips his head lower, his breath ghosting over your lips like he’s daring you to stop him.  

Please don’t make him stop…

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Geo hadn’t thought much about your text at first.

You were running late—what else was new? He was used to it by now. You’d told him to let himself in with the key under the mat since you were still getting ready, and, well, that’s what he did.

Your apartment was as familiar to him as ever: the faint smell of your scented candles. Geo plopped onto the couch, scrolling through his phone to kill time. After about ten minutes of waiting, he sighed loudly, tossing his phone onto the coffee table.

“Why do I let you do this to me?” he muttered, dragging himself to his feet. He made his way down the hall, the hardwood floor creaking faintly under his boots.

The door to your bedroom was cracked open, soft light spilling out into the hallway. He tapped lightly on the frame with his knuckles. “Hey, we’re gonna be late, y’know. What’s taking you so—”

He pushed the door open mid-sentence, stepping inside. And then he stopped.

His brain short-circuited.

There you were, standing in front of your full-length mirror, fiddling with a pair of floppy bunny ears.

A very, very skimpy bunny suit clung to you like a second skin, all shiny black fabric and sheer tights that showed just enough to drive someone insane. The plunging neckline, the dangerously high cut of the bodysuit, the tiny bowtie collar around your neck—it was absurd. Ridiculous. And yet somehow…

You looked stunning.

Geo froze in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His trademark sarcasm, his quick wit, his effortless aloof expression? Gone. 

His brain? Absolutely empty. 

His mouth opened like he wanted to say something—anything—but no words came out.

You noticed him then, spinning around so fast that your bunny ears flopped dramatically to one side. “Geo!” you shrieked, your voice an octave higher than usual. “What the hell are you doing? I thought you were on the couch.”

“What am I doing?” he echoed, his voice cracking slightly as his eyes flicked over you, up and down, up and down, like he couldn’t stop himself. He quickly snapped his gaze upward, focusing on the very uninteresting ceiling. “What the hell are you wearing?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “It’s for a charity event,” you muttered defensively. “Crowe asked me to help raise donations.”

Geo’s jaw clenched, his fingers twitching at his sides as he tried to keep his gaze anywhere but directly on you. His eyes betrayed him, though, darting back to your legs, your waist, your— “What kind of charity involves… that?��� he asked, gesturing vaguely at your outfit like it was some kind of alien artifact.

You groaned, turning back to the mirror to adjust the bunny ears again. “It’s a themed event, okay? College students are more likely to donate if there’s… I don’t know, incentive?”

“Incentive…?” Geo repeated, “And Crowe ask you wear that? Crowe?” His tone was somewhere between disbelief and outrage. “What is wrong with him? Is he insane?”

“It’s not that bad,” you said defensively, though your voice wavered because, yeah, it was kind of bad. “It’s for a good cause!”

Geo crossed his arms, his lips pulling into a tight line. “No. Nope. Not happening. You’re not walking out of here dressed like that. I don’t care if it’s for world peace.”

You threw your hands up. “What are you, my dad? Relax, Geo. It’s fine.”

“Fine?” He frowns, irritated, his eyes accidentally drifting downward before snapping back up to your face. He looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. “You look like—you—ugh, never mind.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I look like what?”

“Forget it.” he sighed, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. “Just… just go change or something."

“I can’t!” you said, exasperated. “This is the whole point of the event!”

Geo groaned, dragging a hand down his face in pure exasperation. His usual sharp wit was dulled by whatever internal battle he was clearly losing. “Why do I have to be the one to see this? Literally anyone else would’ve been better. Anyone.”

You crossed your arms, giving him an incredulous look. “You’re the only one with a car who wasn’t busy,” you shot back, matter-of-fact as ever.

Geo huffed, throwing his hands up dramatically. “You should’ve just taken the bus, then!”

“And have creepy men ogling me the whole ride? Absolutely not,” you retorted, your tone sharp. “You’re a much better option. Like it or not.”

“Well,” he muttered, clearly flustered as his hand shot to the back of his neck, his eyes darting anywhere but at you, “I’m regretting it now.”

You sighed, turning back to the mirror and fiddling with the bunny ears again, your patience wearing thin. “Look, if it’s that big of a deal, just wait outside. I’ll be done in a sec—I just need to put on my shoes.”

For a moment, you thought he might actually listen. But then Geo took a step closer, his posture shifting. The embarrassment still lingered in his tense shoulders and flushed face, but there was something else now—something almost… resolute.

Before you could ask what he was doing, he reached out and grabbed your wrist, turning you around so fast you nearly stumbled.

“Geo?” you asked, startled by the sudden intensity in his gaze.

He didn’t answer. Instead, without missing a beat, he pushed you backward with a firm but careful hand, and your back hit the edge of your bed. You let out a startled gasp, barely managing to catch yourself as you propped up on your elbows.

“Hey! What the hell—”

You froze as Geo knelt in front of you, his hand gripping your ankle firmly but gently. His other hand reached out for your heels, which had been discarded nearby, and he snatched them up with a quick, fluid motion.

“You need to hurry up,” he grumbled, his voice low and laced with irritation as he slid the first heel onto your foot. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingers brushing against your sheer tights as he adjusted the strap. His face, however, was a different story—flushed red and rigid, like he was barely holding himself together. “So just—shut up and let me handle it.”

You blinked, your mouth opening to protest but no words coming out. Geo hadn’t spared you a glance, too focused on fastening the strap with a level of concentration that was almost comical.

“You’re—” you finally managed, but your voice wavered as his hands moved to your other foot.

“And you’re taking forever,” he shot back, not missing a beat. His grip on your ankle tightened slightly as he secured the second heel, his eyes resolutely fixed downward.

Is he blushing?

Your eyes narrowed, “You seem red there,” you teased, leaning back on your hands and watching him with a growing smirk. “What happened to all your sarcastic remarks, Mr. Smartass?”

“Shut up,” he muttered through clenched teeth, still not looking at you as he finished adjusting the second strap.

His fingers brushed against your ankle again, lingering just a second too long, and you swore you saw his ears turn even redder. Deciding to test your luck, you slowly crossed one leg over the other, making the movement deliberately graceful.

Geo’s aquamarine eyes flicked up instinctively at the shift in movement, and when he realized what he’d done, he snapped his gaze away so fast it was almost whiplash-inducing.

“Stop doing that,” he muttered, his voice lower now.

“Doing what?” you asked, feigning innocence as you tilted your head and batted your lashes at him.

“You know what,” Geo shot back, his jaw tightening as he focused way too hard on the buckle of your heel, his fingers fumbling slightly.

“Aw, is Geo embarrassed?” you teased, leaning forward just enough to invade his space, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “I didn’t think you’d get so flustered over a little outfit.”

His hands froze mid-motion, and for a moment, you thought you’d broken him. Slowly, his gaze lifted, locking with yours. Big mistake. His aquamarine eyes, usually narrowed, were now clouded with something unreadable. He didn’t look away, though—he couldn’t seem to. Whatever sarcastic retort he had locked and loaded vanished the second your teasing grin softened into something more curious.

“You don’t get it,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm, his tone a complete shift from his usual snark.

The intensity in his voice caught you off guard, and your smirk faltered. “Don’t get what?” you asked, your playful tone slipping into something more hesitant.

Geo’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as if he were trying to hold something back. He stood abruptly, the sudden motion making you flinch slightly. His eyes immediately flickered with regret at your reaction, and he took a deep breath, trying to collect himself.

“Shit,” Geo muttered under his breath, running a hand through his already messy hair. His back was turned to you, but the stiffness in his posture betrayed his frustration. He exhaled sharply, shoulders rising and falling as though wrestling with something he couldn’t quite say.  

“Geo…” you started softly, the sharp edge in your tone from earlier now replaced with concern.  

“Don’t,” he cut you off, his voice strained and hoarse, like the words were being dragged out of him. “We’re not going to the charity event. You’re staying here. End of discussion.”  

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “What?” you exclaimed, still perched on the edge of the bed. “You can’t just decide that for me!”  

He turned to face you, amber eyes blazing with a mix of irritation and something you couldn’t quite place. “Watch me.”  

Before you could react, Geo stalked toward your desk, snatched a hoodie draped over the chair, and swung it around your shoulders with surprising precision. His hands lingered just long enough to tug it snugly over your frame, the fabric swallowing the delicate silhouette of your bunny suit.  

“You’re not going anywhere in that,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. He stepped back slightly, his gaze flicking over you as though ensuring his makeshift cover-up was secure. “If Crowe wants donations that badly, he can wear the damn bunny suit.”  

Your jaw dropped, words caught somewhere between outrage and disbelief. “Geo, you’re being absolutely insane!”  

“Yeah, probably,” he admitted, flashing a grin that was more sharp edges than warmth. “But at least I’m not letting you walk into a room full of idiots who won’t be able to keep their eyes—or their thoughts—off you.”  

Heat crept up your cheeks at his bluntness, and you folded your arms tightly across your chest. His words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, and the tension between you grew like a palpable thing.  

“You’re seriously overreacting,” you muttered, but your voice lacked its usual bite.  

“Am I?” Geo shot back, stepping closer. His towering frame cast a shadow over you as his gaze locked onto yours, burning with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. His voice dropped, low and deliberate. “Do you even realize how—” He stopped abruptly, his jaw clenching as if swallowing the words was the only way to keep them from spilling out.  

“Realize what?” you pressed, your own voice barely above a whisper now, caught somewhere between defiance and curiosity.  

Geo’s hand shot up to rake through his hair again, the other curling into a fist at his side. His eyes darted to the floor, then back to you, before he let out a low, frustrated growl. In one swift movement, he stepped forward, his hands gripping your shoulders as he pushed you gently but firmly down onto the bed.  

“Geo, what the hell—”  

Your protest was cut short as he followed, his weight settling over you in a way that was far from aggressive but left no room for escape. His arms slipped around you, pulling you into a tight embrace as his head dropped to your chest.  

The world seemed to stop as you felt the warmth of his breath against your collarbone. He didn’t say a word, his face buried against you, his grip almost desperate.  

You froze, your hands hovering uncertainly in the air. “Geo?” you murmured, your voice soft and unsure.  

“Just… shut up for a second,” he muttered, his voice muffled against you. His tone was softer now, tinged with vulnerability that made your chest ache. “Let me have this.”  

Your hands hesitated before they slowly lowered, one settling against his back, the other threading cautiously through his hair. His body tensed at first but then melted into yours, his hold tightening as if he were afraid you’d disappear.  

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he mumbled, his voice raw and unguarded. “And not in the way I’m used to handling.”  

For a moment, neither of you moved, the weight of his words—and his closeness—stealing the air from the room. Whatever you were going to say died on your tongue as you let the moment stretch, the sound of his breathing steadying against you.  

“Geo,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, “You’re not making any sense. We’re going to be late for the event,” you murmured, trying to keep your tone soft but firm.

“Good,” he muttered into your chest without lifting his head.

“Good?” you echoed, your brows furrowing. “Crowe’s going to kill us if we don’t show up. And you promised to drive me, remember?”

“I don’t care about Crowe or the stupid event right now,” he grumbled, his voice low and slightly muffled. “It’s not important.”

“Not important?” You leaned your head back against the bed in disbelief. “You’re acting like the world’s ending because of a bunny suit, Geo. What’s really going on?”

He finally lifted his head slightly, just enough to look at you. His amber eyes burned with an intensity that made your breath catch. “You don’t get it, do you?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, a mix of irritation and something deeper. “I don’t want anyone else looking at you the way I am right now.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his words sinking in and leaving you momentarily speechless. “Geo…” you started, but he didn’t give you a chance to finish.

Instead, his arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer as his lips brushed the curve of your neck. You tensed under his touch, your breath hitching as his teeth gently grazed your skin.

“Just give me five minutes,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His lips pressed softly against the spot he’d just bitten, lingering for a moment before pulling back slightly. “Five minutes, and then I’ll get up, and we can go. Deal?”

You blinked, trying to process what just happened, your body feeling like it was on fire where his lips had been. “Geo, that’s not—”

“Five minutes,” he repeated, cutting you off. His tone was quieter this time, almost pleading as his eyes locked onto yours, filled with a vulnerability he rarely let you see. “Please.”

Wow. Five minutes it is then.

· ─────── ⋆⋅♤⋅⋆ ─────── · 

[solsticelosthermind]

I wish you would write a fake dating fic where Clint or Bucky has to play lovey dovey with Nat (or someone else) for a mission, and they do a really good job at being convincingly in love, and that’s the trigger for the unpartnered party to realize how badly they wanted to be in Nat’s spot.

You!!! You are my favorite. This is going directly in my wips but uhh oops have the 700ish words that fell out in the last half hour: See, the mission isn’t an issue. They’ve done this before, the whole giggly-handsy-just-married-style of touristy shtick tended to be a perfect cover when they wanted to be seen but not necessarily noticed.

Except it was usually Clint pressed close to Natasha, playing a silent game of chicken with wandering hands.

And now Clint is on the sidelines.

The Backup, y’know, putting the eye in Hawkeye to use, the safety net while the spider and her mate spin invisible threads around their prey.

And, well, look, his job is to look, isn’t it? So sue him, he’s looking.

He’s caught half the damn fair drooling over them as they wander around.

Case in point, Bucky makes a show of ‘covertly’ looking around before tugging her into a less-than-hidden alcove. He picks her up by the waist like she’s made of air. When he sets her down on some kind of table, she’s slightly taller than he is. Her arms slip around his shoulders and her legs part to let him between her knees, and Clint’s not about to choke on his own spit about it, no sirree.

They’re shooed back out into the main walkway hardly a minute later. Bucky radiates the perfect amount of smugness as he tucks her under his arm, a hint of lipstick ruining the corner of his beautifully pouty mouth. Nat is the picture of shyly mortified glee, burrowing into his side to highlight the mess he’s made of her hair.

They turn the corner and she pulls him down for a kiss that lingers slightly too long, brushing her lipstick off his mouth only to kiss him again like she can’t help herself.

God. Bucky’s eyes are so dark when he straightens, thumbing at his mouth and kissing the top of her head. They step up to a game Clint knows is rigged five ways from Sunday, but Bucky plays the kid running it like a fiddle, knocking down the bottles that have been glued down with a wink. He makes a big show out of collecting a giant stuffed cat, calico with huge green eyes, and presenting it to Nat with all the gravitas of a fucking proposal. The smirk on his stupid mouth makes Clint want to eat his own arrows.

“Hey,” Sam mutters, knocking their shoulders together. “Tone down the scowl, man, you’re gonna freak out the mark.”

“Am not.”

“You absolutely are, dumbass. What’s got you all grumpy anyway? Still pissed Bucky got tapped to be Nat’s boy toy?”

“I can pull off a good pair of heels, too, y'know” Clint mutters.

“I’m afraid to ask,” Sam drawls.

Clint’s too busy watching the way Bucky runs a hand down Nat’s arm. He hooks their knuckles together and pulls her hand up for a kiss that’s more indecent than when he was literally grinding into her a minute ago. She giggles, long lashes fluttering as she lets him pull her in against him again.

“Yo. Barton. You with me? Where’s your head at, man?”

“I have never wanted to be short so bad in my life,” Clint answers stupidly.

“Again. What in the actual hell?”

Bucky’s hand is so casually possessive as it rests on the back of her hip. He guides her around some kind of cotton candy debacle and the muscles in his arm should be criminal.

Sam bursts into a horrible wheezing cackle that bends him in half.

Clint blinks. He darts a look to where Bucky’s running his hands through Nat’s hair, twirling it around his finger as they talk to someone’s grandma hawking funky crocheted dolls. He looks back down to where Sam’s going darker from the force of his laughter.

“What the fuck?”

“Oh man,” Sam gasps, throwing a hand on Clint’s arm to help himself upright. “You’re down bad, aren’t you?”

Clint looks back. Bucky’s got his head thrown back on his own laughter, throat bared and eyes scrunched up. He’s the most gorgeous thing Clint’s ever laid eyes on.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “You’ve got terrible taste.”

Bucky chooses that moment to slant a look over his shoulder, like he knows.

Clint gives him the all-clear, and for some reason Sam starts laughing again.

“The worst,” he repeats.

And that’s just not true at all.

“Could be worse,” Clint says once he manages to squash the need to go nuh-uh like he’s three instead of thirty. “Could be you.”

[bethebesttoyou]

Times are Hard for Dreamers - Choi Beomgyu

synopsis: Friends Beomgyu and Y/N try to have a good day at the fair.

pairing: College student! Beomgyu x College student! reader

song: Times are Hard for Dreamers - Amelie

warning/tags: cursing, fluff!!, me trying to be funny and failing, friends to lovers, I wanted to make it jess and nick coded but Beomgyu is just too sweet... reader is an overly optimistic person!!!!

Wc: 3.6k (I swear im not doing this on purpose D:)

A/N: Beomgyu fic... we win. I actually really wanted to write a Beomgyu fic for awhile but I didn't really have an idea, UNTIL NOW!!! I have like half of vampire in the corner worked on, but I started school, so idk IDK I'll have to see where I can go with that story. I also get so many ideas for longer fics, but I can't lock in :( In the meantime, I want to continue writing one shots!! :3

Beomgyu leans his head against the headrest, stretching out his arms and grunting before checking his watch again. He closes his eyes in frustration before looking back at your front door, his sunglasses dimming his overall view. When you told him 12 pm, he should've known better, should’ve read in between the lines, the way you excitedly ranted about the day you had in store for the both of you. He should've known when he surprisingly got you tickets to the very popular fall fair, that you would overwhelm yourself with planning. Now, 30 minutes later, he watches your front door intently, praying it opens. And it works, out you come prettily dressed in a tan long sleeve and plaid long skirt, both accentuated the curvature of your body so nicely, he wishes you could go back in so he can compose himself. But as you smiled widely at his presence, sending him a wave before adjusting your bag over your shoulder, he settled for a nervous cough and looked away, only looking back at you when you were finally sitting in the passenger seat. He scowls at you playfully. 

“Oh. Beomgyu we have to leave by 12 or we're gonna miss the opening…Oh Beom, please sleep early and get here on time, Oh Beom-” He mocked, only letting out a laugh when you punch his shoulder. 

“It's still 12…we’ll make it if you just drive, like now!” You roll your eyes playfully and start messing with his radio and he just scoffs, putting the car on drive. 

Beomgyu honestly couldn't care less about this fall fair, if it were up to him, he would've been home, relaxing after the terror from being buried in papers and exams and research during midterms, but he didnt think twice of buying them. When he saw the posters all over campus he knew you would want to go, he already pictured the way your eyes would brighten from the mere mention of the mazes, the games, the snacks, he knew you would just obsess over the last activity of the day, fireworks. And when he mentioned it to you, he was right. 

“I-I would love to!” You exclaim turning to your friends behind you, some of them snickering knowingly. 

“Hey gyu, where are our tickets?” Yeonjun bumps Kai’s shoulder before feigning ignorance. 

“Shut up.”

So maybe his crush on you wasn’t exactly hidden, he was a man after all, and it was only natural that someone as optimistic and bright as you would catch the attention of a pessimist that lacks that brightness in his life. He loved to act like he didn't care much about anything, but he cared a lot about you. He couldn't fight the urge of showing it, catering to your likings with fake annoyance, but in reality he lived for your excitement, it only fueling him to continue, he was surprised you've been the only one to not catch on, or maybe internally grateful you hadn't, he didn't think he was ready for that yet. 

But he thought of it, especially now as he heard your raving about the itinerary for the day, having done your research on the different activities and food stands being offered at the event, and he was glad to be the first one to ask you, he couldn't imagine you doing this with anyone else, he would rather die. 

“Jesus, does it tell you how I'm gonna die on that paper?” He teases anyways, and you grunt. 

“I want to take full advantage of today, we deserve a day of stress free fun!” 

“I guess I can agree.” 

“Trust me Gyu, we're gonna have so much fun, you're gonna want to come back.” You promised. “This paper is gonna be our lifeline today, just as long as we stick to it, we should be able to do everything! Here’s your copy.” 

He laughs at your ridiculous planning but believes in you anyways. He just wanted to spend time with you, grateful to have you all to himself, so he was more than willing to follow a piece of paper if it meant it was guaranteed. 

The car ride was meant to be a long one, the directions sending you out of the city you both occupied, to the closest open field your campus can find to set up. Yet, the drive didn't feel as long as Beomgyu expected, your voice causing him to lose track of time, paying attention to your silly stories and gossip he hated to admit was pretty interesting. 

“So, they were not dating? Just fucking?” 

“Ningning said that she said they weren't…and now they're just not talking anymore…” 

“That's annoying…” 

“That's what I'm saying!They definitely like each other, they’re just dumb.He’s gotta step up.” You roll your eyes and he can't help but feel the pink heat rise to his face. 

He finally parks, turning off the ignition and turns to you, once again taking in the sight. You were everything, he thought, there's not a single sweet word that doesn't describe you. Watching you as you straighten the paper, he watches your delicate fingers scan the page, before speaking. 

“Okay! Well, we missed the opening ceremony but it's fine, I didn't care much for it anyways…First on the list is for you. Let’s start with…coffee! yay!” You say hoping out of the car, him laughing at your excitement. Giving the worker the tickets, you immediately head towards the coffee stand to the right, ignoring that Beomgyu was in awe of the set up. It was the middle of the day, but the entire fair was lit up like those old carnivals you would see in the movies. Laughter and screams could be heard from every corner, the smell of popcorn and sweets mixing together and clogging his nostrils, he could see why you were excited, this place was like a manifestation of your personality: fun, nostalgic and comforting. 

“Beomgyu! I got your drink!” you yell from afar, and he turns around, walking, stepping towards you before, watching in horror as someone cuts him off, bumping into you and spilling both coffees on your chest. 

“Dude, what the fuck?” Beomgyu says turning to the offender, as they apologize profusely. 

“Are you okay?” 

“-you okay?” they both asked frantically, Beomgyu already taking your hand, starting to lead you to the closest stand with napkins. He completely misses the way your face turns pink, before you laugh awkwardly, distracted from his own flustered feeling, he feels like a Victorian man by just the touch of your soft hand, the hotness spreading from your connected hands to all over his body.

“Good thing, it wasn't hot coffee right?” You squeeze his hand before taking a napkin. 

You turn to the apologizing stranger, “it's fine! You're fine! It was an accident!” you say, before turning back again and smiling at Beomgyu, “it was an accident.” Now softer, trying to ease the scowl on his face. 

After politely rejecting the strangers' pleas to help, he finally leads you to another nearby stand, hoping to find a shirt to replace the sticky top you were now stuck with. After looking at the selections, the only one in your size was a muddy green shirt that had a random koala bear with sunglasses on with the words, “Koalified to party” Beomgyu looks at you with sorry eyes, as you gulp at the shirt. 

“So much for cute pictures today…” You say from behind the fitting room curtain.”But it's okay! This is gonna be a fun story to tell the group!,” You laugh lightly, walking out of the makeshift fitting room only to Beomgyu trying to stifle a laugh. You flick his forehead before continuing, 

“No! It looks good! You look good!” He laughs. 

“Well, forget coffee! Back to the paper! Next stop…um…the swings!” 

The high swings were towards the back, and Beomgyu noticed every time you looked down at your watch, you’d start walking faster, the furrow of your eyebrows becoming more evident as the walk continued. Once you got to the front, your smile came back and shined brightly towards the worker before dropping completely when he pointed out the line that stood behind you. 

“A-and um… how long is the wait?” 

“All ride lines right now are going to be about two hours or so.” the worker says, apologetically looking at you both. 

Beomgyu is starting to realize what type of day this was going to be, and he wanted to suggest going home, or finding something else to do, trying to avoid even more disappointment. If he had known it was going to be this packed or this difficult to enjoy the day, he wouldn't have suggested it at all and you would have had to plan an entire day just for it to completely fall apart in front of you. But when you turn to him with determination in your eyes, he remembers you are never one to back down.  

“Okay, new plan! We no longer wait for the rides, let's just play some games! Maybe head to the maze after! That should still give us time to make it back for the fireworks!” you say, your smile was not as big as it was 3 hours ago, but it was still there. Beomgyu wanted to check on you just in case. 

“You okay? We can always just-” 

“No time for that! We have the paper!” You say already walking away. 

—

It had been two hours into playing games, and after you exclaimed how obsessed you were with the giant  light brown teddy bear that hung from the corner of the stand, the bow that laid just below its ear making you squeal, you both took turns playing trying to knock down the obvious glued golden cups. You and Beomgyu both lost about 100 dollars combined. The carny had been a bored looking teenager, would laugh every time he saw you guys walk back to the end of the line, but you both were too frustrated to even care. Beomgyu honestly didnt want the stupid fucking bear, it wasnt worth it, but in his mind, you needed this win (and he wanted this win for you, so bad)and so each time it was his turn, he would throw the ball more aggressively, trying to fight the look of disappointment on your face when the cup would resist the blow. He didn't want to feel bad, but he did, immensely, as he watched you throw the ball and grunt loudly. You start rubbing your temple out of sheer frustration before sighing. 

“One more go…Just one more go, okay?” You say to him, and he watches you line up one last time, the look of determination etched on your face. Only for the small child in front of you to knock the golden cup, the ringing congratulatory bell going off as you watch with a straight face. The cheers were so loud and in Beomgyu’s opinion, obnoxious, that he wanted nothing more than to just comfort you, take you away from the scene and offer you some solace, but the fear of rejection kept him from doing so. 

“Well, it's maze time.” You say as you watch the child and their parents walk off with the giant bear, your eyes reflecting shame, embarrassment and sadness. Beomgyu decided that his heart could bear the negative emotion in your eyes, it wasn't you,he thought.

“Hey what if we just get out of here? Get something to eat, yeah?” 

“N-no we cant! The paper! The maze! fireworks! We can't miss the fireworks! You bought me these tickets, we can let them go to waste!” you panic, but your eyes look defeated. Beomgyu doesn't want to burst your bubble, he really wishes things could have been different, but he can't stand the thought of watching you get disappointed again. With the way things are going, he knew the fireworks were gonna follow the same fate. He knew you to be optimistic, never letting things get you down, but he wasn't so sure as to why you were so determined for this day to go perfectly. You had never been so obsessed with the details before.  

“y/n… it's okay, really! … l-lets just go…” your eyebrows, that were slightly slanted and eyes that were soft, immediately switched to anger, with now furrowed eyebrows and flames in your eyes. 

“Y-you can go then. But I'm going to the maze. Don't follow me. ” You say stomping away, leaving Beomgyu shocked and guilty. He wasn't sure what was going on, what had made you so determined to finish the day, even if it meant you were no longer standing by the end of it. 

He felt horrible. All he wanted was to see your smile again, to see you enjoying the fair like he had hoped you would, yet this mysterious pressure was nearly forcing you into a breakdown. He wanted to fix this, needed to. He was determined now, no longer caring if he looked too doting, even if it made his feelings visible to you, he was going to make it up to you. Starting with that fucking bear. 

He stalks up to the stand, where the same bored looking teenager now stood with an amused look on his face, watching Beomgyu stand mere feet away from him. 

“How much for the bear.” They had replaced it with a new one already. 

“Not for sale, man, you gotta win.” 

Beomgyu stares at him, hoping to read him well. 

“Ill give you 50 bucks for it.” 

“Ha! Make it a hundred and you got a deal.” 

“60.” 

“120, and I'll throw in a ferris wheel ride with my buddy over there.” Beomgyu blushed at the thought. That sparked an idea. 

“During the fireworks?” the boy thought about it for a second. 

“I guess I can make that happen…might cost a bit extra though…” 

“Fuck, whatever. Deal.” 

–

Beomgyu thought about waiting for you outside of the maze entrance, but it had been 30 minutes and you were still not out. He had seen those that enter after you already come out and he began to feel nervous. Worried thoughts of missing the fireworks became worried thoughts of something happening to you in the maze. His worries got worse when your phone was sending him to voicemail. 

So with tired arms and heavy grunts, he walks into the maze, keeping track of his turns, which he learned he didn't have to, you weren't that far from the opening, yet, you were scrunched down, head buried in your hands, crying. 

“Y/N?” He says muffled the giant bear barely fitting through the small isles of corn. 

“Oh thank god!- Wait what the hell?” You said, tear stained cheeks, and now wide confused eyes staring at the bear that covered most of his body.

‘Why are you crying?” He asks, and it almost looks like the bear is talking. 

“I got lost…” You were lost in the presence of the bear, “D-Did you win this?” 

“Um…”

He had questions too, but as he looked up and realized that it was finally dark, he pulled your hand and began to run out of the maze, 

“Questions later! We're gonna be late!” 

“For?” 

“You’ll see!” 

—-

Once you got to the ferris wheel, you watched as Beomgyu walked past the long line into the stand. Beomgyu notices you are about to interrupt, glossy eyes and all, but turns when he hears his name. 

“You Beomgyu?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is the bear your date? If not, it's gonna have to stay down here, it's not gonna fit.” the carny chuckles, Beomgyu glares back. 

“Whatever gets me up there man.” 

“Hey… A-Are we getting on?” 

Beomgyu notices your face that was just laced with pure confusion. He smiles softly before leaving the bear behind, leading you to your cart, sitting next to you and securing your seatbelt. It's only then does he understand the gravity of the situation and he's thinking he might have flown a little too close to the sun. This was, very clearly, a romantic gesture, and Beomgyu had no plan, whatsoever. This was it, he planned getting you up here, watching the fireworks, but then what? What can you do on a ferris wheel in a platonic way? Talking! You could talk! Talk while you wait for the fireworks! 

He tries to think of things to say, but how can he?  when you are so close and he can smell your fruity perfume, mixed with a hint of coffee. Your lips ,that had always attracted his eyes to stare at them while you spoke, now don't have to say anything for him to notice them there, parted and soft before stretching into a shy smile. 

“...How did you do all this?” he shakes his head.

“That doesn't matter, I'm sorry the day has been such a mess and I haven't been much help either…” You scoff. 

“That's definitely not your fault, I'm sorry…the one that wanted to make this all perfect.” 

“Yeah, why is that?” Beomgyu feels self conscious as you stare at him for a minute, before laughing awkwardly. 

“Can I give you something? You promise not to laugh?” He feels the pressure from your words, fear of what may come next. Oh god, he thought, someone told you about his feelings… He nods anyway, accepting fate. You were now at the highest point on the ferris wheel, and Beomgyu begged for the show to start, scared of hearing what you were going to say. 

You reach into your bag, before pulling a thinly worn folded notebook paper before handing it to him. Written on top was his name and a small heart next to it. He shivered at the sight. 

“I-its a note… I wrote it the day of graduation” You laugh, “it's silly and it was never going to see the light of day, but I don't know…I felt ready. Well sorta…” You are looking away now, trying hard not to make it more awkward than you are starting to feel. The fireworks start, popping and lighting up the sky, but Beomgyu can't focus as he's now shakingly opening the note. 

A confession note. 

Beomgyu gasps, reading the contents, before looking at you. You’re looking up in admiration of the colors before you, the shapes that manifest in the night sky, a nervous smile sets on your lips, fingers nervously holding on to the rail of your cart. He knows you feel his gaze on you but refuses to turn to him. 

“Y/N…” 

“It's okay, Beomgyu! Really! I just…I needed to do something about this letter… I was holding on to it for way too long.” You're not really talking about the letter, Beomgyu believes. When he can't find the words yet, you continue. 

“I just.. I hope this doesn't change us, I hope we can still be friends… Please…” Pleading eyes are what finally meet Beomgyu’s shocked ones and he finds you so beautiful in this moment, he can’t bring himself to say everything that he's ever wanted to. That he has waited for some kind of sign for two years, that you had occupied a space in his heart since the first day he's met you, that he did all this just for you, and would never ask for anything in return, that your smile and presence was more than enough. But instead, hoping to convey the mutual feeling or perhaps stronger ones,  Beomgyu grabs your face by each side and brings you closer, and you let out a squeal, the fireworks only getting more aggressive and intense. And it matches the way Beomgyu’s heart is feeling, accelerated, like it's about to explode as he lays his lips on yours, feeling the petal likeness of your lips.

And the butterflies swarm all over his body when you finally kiss back, fluttering your eyes closed, and pressing further in, shivering from your own nerves slowly dissipating. He hopes you can feel everything he’s thinking, everything he wants you to know, but in case you didn't, he pulls back and looks at you, now possessed with the same determination you had all day: 

“I dont want to stay friends. I want to be with you. I want this, all the time. I like you, Y/N. Please, tell me this letter still means something."He pulls a stray hair behind your ear, watching the pinkness in your cheeks get darker. 

“O-Of course it does. It always will.” You whisper with shining eyes. Your hands that had been glued on the railing, now moving to his waist and wrapping them around and hugging him tight. He sighs and smiles widely, hands now holding you close, it was only then had he noticed that the cart was making its way back down. At the entrance, was the giant bear, sitting patiently as you both got off the wheel, trying to pretend neither of your hearts were still pounding from excitement and giddyness. The carny holds a fist bump with a smirk that beomgyu shyly returns before grabbing the bear. 

“W-we missed most of the show, sorry…” He says after a moment of walking in silence. Remembering the taste of you, already growing addicted.  

“No! Don't be… it was perfect, actually the whole day was.” You say, your eyes still beaming with what he can only hope for satisfaction and fondness.

He laughs at that. Before putting an arm around your shoulder, bringing you closer. Walking towards the car, you rambled about the maze, how the kid had to have had some steroid in him, he realized just how much the atmosphere has changed. The presence of something filled the air: the makings of new love. 

"You gotta let me borrow that shirt..."

"Shut. Up."

A/N: YAY!! you made it!!! thanks you for reading!! Like always, let me know what you think! :3

[secretly-tword-obsessed]

i saw your lee!thanos fic, aaaand... i saw you left a cliffhanger about potential lee!in-ho.. see... this man is so cute (evil, but cute) maybe could you make a part 2 on the man getting wrecked? <3 (if possible, gi-hun can appear!!) ily /p /serious

Oh okay! Tysm - both for the compliment and the request. I had so much fun writing this and hope you enjoy reading it!

Title: Everyone Everyone

Summary: After his plan to bring Thanos down a few pegs backfires, In-Ho tries everything he can to defend himself

Implied shipping of Gi-Hun and In-Ho but it can also be read as platonic!

Warning: This is a tickle fic. If you are not a tickle blog, DNI.

In-Ho's plan was successful. At first. He'd exposed 230's vulnerability, embarrassed him in front of his allies and possibly every single player. That would teach him for acting like an indestructible bitch all the time. Now he'd both stopped Thanos from attacking another player and disrupted his unhinged self-obsession.

Yet, in the process, the Frontman may have accidentally exposed one of his own vulnerabilities. He mentally slapped himself in the head for it, yet he maintained his calm and unbothered demeanor. Well, mostly - a slight blush was growing on his cheeks as Dae-Ho had just asked about this weakness. How could he lie logically?

"No, I'm not, I was just saying that most people are"

"Nah-ah", Jung-Bae interrupted, patting Dae-Ho on the back as if to loyally demonstrate his allegiance to the 'Player 001 is definitely lying' side of the argument; "You said that everyone was ticklish, everyone and most people are two very different things"

Shit. Now In-Ho needed an ally of his own. He turned his head around to Gi-Hun, who was sitting in the middle of his bed, his mind wondering through space.

"Hey, 456", he called, causing Gi-Hun's eyes to widen in surprise - as if he had just been dragged back to Earth from Mars.

"Yes", he responded hesitantly and somberly. In-Ho almost felt bad for putting this poor bloke back in the games. Almost.

"You know figure of speech right? When somebody says that everyone is something, they usually mean most people. These two former marines are claiming the two are synonymous".

Gi-Hun just looked at his new friendly acquaintance in confusion. This was probably the last thing he thought his fellow player would have needed him for. He heard Dae-Ho whisper to Jung-Bae, "The fuck does synonymous mean?"

Finally, Gi-Hun said something. The man had obviously sensed the ramifications of picking a side in this argument, so he said, "Well, it depends on the context".

Dae-Ho smirked, "Oh come on Young-Il", he teased, "Tell him the context!"

Damn it. The Frontman's whole identity was a lie - he had to be able to conceal his sensitivity.

"Alright", he said in resignation, "Maybe lets just drop it".

"O-ho, I don't think so", Jung-Bae chuckled, stepping closer to the Frontman so that he was almost backed against the metal bunk behind him.

"Yeah, don't think your getting away that easy", Dae-Ho added, stepping toward him from the other side.

Gi-Hun, completely oblivious to everything that had just happened around him, felt a concern rising in him. The intrusive worries seemingly flooded from all directions - Are they about to fight? My friends? Does this mean I'm allied with the wrong people? Would the fight have been my fault? I should have just kept my mouth shut. I-"

But than the man noticed something. As Jung-Bae and Dae-Ho surrounded him, stalking up menacingly, Player 001 actually had the remnants of a smile on his face, as if the anticipation excited him. Moreover, he could see a blush running down his cheeks. Weird. Although he'd never admit it out loud, he thought that Young-Il looked kind of cute in this state.

"Come on guys", he watched 001 defend himself, "We can talk about this".

"Why are you smiling?", Gi-Hun interjected.

Dae-Ho's grin widened, "Yeah, tell Mr 456 why your smiling why don't you?"

Player 001 could only look at him, almost pleadingly. Than, in a split second, Jung-Bae and Dae-Ho launched forward, and Young-Il burst into high pitched giggles.

As soon as he figured out what was happening, Gi-Hun sighed. And, for the first time in a while, he smiled. All they were doing was a bit of harmless tickling - Dae-Ho scribbling at the man's left side while Jung-Bae poked around his belly. Young-Il was letting out the most innocent giggles imaginable, squirming desperately to get away to no avail. Gi-Gun hadn't remembered the last time he'd seen or experienced such a display, but something about player 001's laugh was contagious - something about the playful atmosphere lifted his sunken spirits.

"Liar liar pants on fire!", Dae-Ho remarked, switching his tactic from scribbles to light pokes.

"Nohohoho! Dohohon't!"

Dae-Ho raised an eyebrow, poking faster and adding a few gentle squeezes to his victim's hips, "Don't what?"

"Tihihihickle me!", In-Ho cried, and Gi-Hun saw his eyes widened as he recognized his mistake.

The two ex-marines had the most shit-eating grins on their faces.

"Tickle you? Where?", Jung-Bae asked in feigned innocence, jabbing his hand under Young-Il's arms. That was when the man cracked.

"NAHAHAHA! NOHOHOT THEHEHERE! PLEHEHEASE!"

"We're merely doing what you asked", Jung-Bae commented, as if he was stating any other fact and not reducing his fellow player to a hysterical cackling fit.

Gi-Hun watched the scene unfold, seeing how player 001 had absolutely lost his shit, envious that player 001 was being completely distracted from the games - all the man's energy evidently focused on trying to knock off his attackers, not on wondering weather he'd live to see another day or help his wife and meet his child.

"Gi-Hun", Dae-Ho said, distracting him from his thoughts, "Quit daydreaming and give us a hahand! here! The vihictim's escahaping!"

Gi-Hun noticed that Young-Il had switched his mode of defense, trying to plow forward to get away instead of escape through one of his left or right side. As the two ex-marines had been concentrated on blocking his exit through those two locations, they were losing their grip on him as he seized this third.

Oh, what the heck. Gi-Hun hadn't remembered the last time he'd been so carefree. He'd help his friends.

Gi-Hun lunged into Young-Il's stomach, squeezing at it gently yet purposefully.

Meanwhile, In-Ho was absolutely losing it. He was being attacked from three angles, and laughing uncontrollably like a child, and he had no chance of saving himself. Not to mention the intensity of the ticklish feeling that buzzed through his stomach, sides and - worst of all - under his arms. He remembered when his brother had tickled him there when they were both young adults, attempting to embarrass him infront of a girl he was trying to flirt with. The noises he made now were as nutty and uncontrollable as they were back than. Moreover, he wasn't entirely sure he could trust these three men to stop any time soon, and he wasn't sure of how much more he could take.

"QUIHIHIHIT IT!", he begged, trying to grab at Gi-Hun's wrists but continually missing.

"Only when you admit how ticklish you are!", Dae-Ho challenged, making the Frontman even more squirmy at the mention of the word.

"EHEVEHEHERYOHOHONE IS!", he retorted, defending his dignity to the very end.

"Everyone everyone? Or most people?", Gi-Hun teased.

Man, the Frontman had only ever seen this guy sad, or emotionless, or angry. He had never seen him this joyous. He wasn't supposed to be having fun during these games. In the second game, he had to remember to break the man's spirit somehow. But he couldn't come up with a coherent plan while he was being tickled to bits.

"EVEHEHERYONE EVERYONE!", he cried out desperately, "IHIHIHIN - AHAHAHA - INCLUDING MEHEHE!"

Exchanging satisfied glances, his three attackers let up. In-Ho collapsed onto the bed behind him, catching his breath.

"You have a cute laugh", Gi-Hun said absentmindedly. Everyone suddenly turned to him, making him go dark crimson.

"N-nothing".

Hope you enjoyed (:

Keep Giggling!!!

[reignpage]

hello queen reign, lady of the land of angst, hope you are having a wonderful day.

what advice would you give a fic writer who is trying to grow their blog?

hello humble subject, I am not having a wonderful day because I've officially started school again. currently sat in a conflicts of law seminar someone spare me

as for advice, I have a couple

Aesthetics

Very important

The colours/theme/layout conveys who you are as a blog creator

Are you very feminine and sweet? Are you bold, confident and sassy?

It's a way for readers to know if they'll like you

Also they're just nice to look at

They're fun to do, so go crazy and enjoy the process

It's so so so important honestly

Speaking as a reader, I won't read work that doesn't look good aesthetically I'm so shallow like that

Not everyone is like me but enough people are to care about aesthetics

Also, if your work is long, then make sure you cut the page with the 'keep reading' thing (don't know what it's called)

As a reader, I hate hate hate seeing a long ass work that I have to scroll multiple times to get through

It's annoying and a bother

Don't be that person 😭

I think tho Tumblr inserts its own automatically if the work is too long but there have been numerous occasions it hasn't so just to be sure

Clean

This links to aesthetics

But the idea is in your layout, your summary, warnings and in your actual works, try to ensure your grammar and spelling is right to the best of your abilities

This is a problem all blog creators will face throughout their journey so small typos is fine of course, I make them all the time

But if your work is full of typos and they're in your face, that tells to the readers that you a) might not be a very good writer, b) you don't care and c) this will be hard to read

So take care to do due diligence

It's a pain but proofread your work where and when you can

What I do is I write at night, I go to sleep, and in the morning (with a fresh and clear mind/perspective) I go over my work and realise things just don't make sense

Don't just post as soon as you're done, you'll regret it

Come back to it later, even just hours later, because guaranteed there will be mistakes you'll want to fix before someone sees it

Establish yourself

Didn't know how to title this but if you're just beginning, do what most creators do and take requests

It's a great way to bring people over to your blog and engage with you and also show off your writing skills

Once you've shown hey I'm creative and a skilled writer, then people will engage with your works naturally

But if you can't or don't want to do so, then engage with the community, comment on other creators' works, reply to someone else's comments

Make yourself a familiar face

Advertise accurately

By that I mean, in your summaries, make sure you're clear and you're wrapping up your work in a way that sounds like something people would want to engage with

Bring them in, entice them

Tag correctly

If your work is angst and hurt/no comfort, don't tag it with fluff

If your work is smut, don't tag it with fluff

Some people get really worked up over it and I also think it's good practice because some people search for fluff specifically to avoid smut

Don't flash someone essentially

Accessibility

Make sure your navigation is up to date and easily understandable

Think includes your masterlist

Ensure you have one and you add to it as you go

If you care a lot about engagement as opposed to just birthing your works, then remember that Tumblr is an international platform, so use language that's not too complicated or 'pretentious'.

Don't use big words for the sake of sounding smart and poetic, the most important thing is to communicate and if you can do that with something just as impactful but simpler then do so

General advice

Have a navigation

It's important because that'll be the centre of your entire blog

It's where you'll put all your links

It summarises who you are and what you do

And apart from the bio, it's the first thing someone will see when they come on your blog

Have a faq and rules

Establish your rights

You want people to like you but that doesn't mean you have to suffer discomfort or abuse for the sake of it

Establish your boundaries and be firm

If you get a negative or hateful comment/message, there's NO OBLIGATION to reply to it

Run your blog like a dictatorship

If they don't like the way you do things, then they can fuck off

I got more hate when I was first starting out than I do now so I think trolls like to target smaller creators because they know these creators are too young and experienced to know that the things they say are not a reflection of you but rather of the haters

Most importantly

Enjoy yourself.

Write for fun and for yourself as opposed to writing out of obligation

People on here have a way of dehumanising you, they want you to push out content at their whim

Don't cave in

This is not a job, they are not your boss, they are not paying you

There's a lot of positivity but there's negativity here and there, so just be aware and stay strong

[jamespotterlovesreggie]

Shred - A Rosekiller micro fic

January prompts day 24 - @rosekillermicrofic

TW: It’s a lil bit sad sorry :( , slight nsfw , people getting outed.

Barty flung the door to their dorm room open looking obviously upset.

“Bat are you ok?” Evan asked him.

“Tell me”

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me what you see in her”

It became obvious he was talking about Evan’s girlfriend Charity Edgecombe, She was a fifth year Ravenclaw she was quite nice but Barty hated her because she was dating Evan.

“Why does it matter to you” Evan was starting to get annoyed now.

“Because if it isn’t obvious I like you Evan , I thought you knew that and if you do it’s pretty awful of you to brag to everyone who will listen about snogging her in broom cupboards .” After that Barty went silent then Evan started talking.

“I had no idea Bee and I thought you knew me better than anyone so to assume I brag about her to hurt you is absurd”

“When you first started going out with her it shredded my heart , I thought you liked me back but before I could say anything you guys had already gotten together”

Evan chose to not respond to this with words he just lunged forward and pressed his lips to Barty’s , Who stood there shocked for a moment before smirking and kissing him back.

The were on Barty’s bed now , He was sat on Evan’s lap straddling him whilst passionately kissing him from his lips to his jaw down to his neck .

Kisses became bites and in minutes their clothes were gone.

The next day Evan spoke to his soon to be ex girlfriend .

“Hey Charity can we talk?”

“Sure”

“This isn’t going to work out between us”

“What why”

“I just can’t”

“It’s because of Barty isn’t it , I’m not stupid I see the way you look at him”

“No it’s not” Evan felt bad about lying but neither of them were out yet.

The next morning they woke up and went down to The Great Hall for breakfast although they couldn’t help but notice the stares and whispering all around them , By lunchtime they saw Charity who was the reason they were getting whispered about turns out she had actually told everyone that Barty was a boyfriend stealer and Evan was a cheater.

Three hours later, Barty had received a letter from his father because Charity had contacted him informing him of the situation. The next time Barty goes home will be awful and at the end of break when he leaves the house it’ll probably be for the last time.

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Lucy comes home.

Word Count: 7,411

Warnings: Sexual content, trauma around finding a loved one attempting suicide, suicidal thoughts, codependency, insecurity, past suicide attempt, and references to pregnancy.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 19: Your Home is Here with Me

Lucy fought the urge to fiddle with her fingers or the edges of the bandages still wrapped around her wrists, watching Arrow House slowly draw in closer, the car bumping along the drive. Beside her, Tommy reached over and took one of her hands in his, thumb stroking over her knuckles.  

The car finally pulled up beside the front doors. Tommy stepped out first, a stabilizing hand held out to her as she climbed out after him. Her strength had steadily been returning over the days she’d spent in the hospital, but she was still a little unsteady on her feet sometimes. 

Frances was there to greet them at the doors and take their coats. She smiled kindly at Lucy, informing Tommy of the arrangements made for dinner before leaving them be. 

Lucy wrang her hands together, looking around the big entryway. Nothing seemed to have changed from the last time she had been there, but it all still felt oddly foreign. It was strange to be back. Especially after she had been so sure that she never would be. 

The house seemed even quieter than usual. Echoing with emptiness. Lizzie and the kids weren’t there, and the silence that their lack of presence wrought was deafening. 

That was, until the skidding sounds of approaching nails on the floor sounded, and then Asher came bounding into view. He practically charged at her, tail wagging furiously, rubbing and bumping against her legs. 

“Hey, buddy,” she let out a breathless laugh, stroking his soft black fur. Asher’s tongue lolled from his mouth, half raising up onto his hind legs to try to lick her face.

Just as he was starting to calm, merely nuzzling at her palm, there was a soft meow, and Trouble came prancing into view, her little paws not making even the slightest sound as she jogged towards Lucy to rub against her legs with a loud purr.   

“Hey, babies.” Lucy bent to give them each scratches behind the ears. She was distantly aware of Tommy coming up behind her, reaching out a hand to the animals. Asher let him stroke his big black head happily, but Trouble promptly stuck up her nose and dodged his attempts to pet her, trying to bat at him with one of her paws before he managed to pull his hand away in time. 

“She’s been cross with me since you left,” he explained with a soft huff of amusement. 

“Troubs, come here,” she coaxed the cat towards her. “Now that wasn’t very nice, was it? I told you that you were to take care of your daddy when I left.”

Trouble just looked up at her and meowed, tail flicking. Lucy rolled her eyes. Children. 

“Dinner will be ready in about an hour.” Tommy turned to fix his gaze on Lucy. “What do you want to do? We could just go up and rest, or we could take Ash out, or play a game in the library–”

“Actually, I…” she paused, well aware that what she was about to say may very likely– and justifiably–not be taken all that well. “I’d like to wash the hospital smell off of me.”

Tommy went still, a bit of the color going out in his cheeks. 

“I promise that I’m not going to…” she trailed off, biting her lip. He had every right to be wary and jumpy when it came to that topic. But, she had to bathe sometime. “You can sit with me, if you’d like.”

He relaxed a little at the suggestion, but still eyed her nervously. “If you’re sure that’s alright…” She could see him at war with himself; wanting to respect her space but scared to leave her out of his sight for too long should he run the risk of losing her. 

“Yes, it’s alright.”

“Bath it is, then.” Taking her hand, he led the way to the stairs, Asher trailing behind them. 

“Tommy, this isn’t the way to my room.” She pulled him to a stop when he turned right at the top of the stairs rather than left, jerking slightly where their hands were still joined. Tommy looked over his shoulder, lips pulling up a little at the corners. 

“It is now.”

“What…?”

“Come on,” he gave her a light, almost playful tug, pulling her back into movement down the hallway. They passed Lizzie, Charlie, and Ruby’s rooms and a few more doors before Tommy came to a stop at one near the end of the hall, fumbling with the knob. “Here,” he moved back, holding the door open to let her in first. 

The room was bigger than the one she’d previously been staying in, with larger windows and significantly more space between the furnishings. It didn’t seem so cramped and dark. All of her things had been moved into the room, even the portraits on the walls.   

“You should get more light during the day.” Tommy was standing by the door, fiddling with his cigarette case. “And you’ll be closer to everyone.”

She stepped deeper inside, examining the view out the window of the front drive.  

Tommy shifted from foot to foot, nervous. “If you don’t like it, we can move you to somewhere else…”

“I like it.” She looked back at him, and he smiled at her softly, gesturing with his head towards the door to his left. 

“Washroom is in there.”

While she went to investigate, she could hear him ushering Asher and Trouble in before closing the door to the bedroom, encouraging them to lay down in their respective beds. Listening to him talk to the dog and cat made a semblance of a smile pull at her lips. 

Going to the bathtub, she twisted the knobs, testing the water with her fingers before putting the plug in place. Straightening, she watched the water slowly rise, a cold shiver going down her spine at the memory of the last time she’d done this.

“You alright?” Tommy asked from the doorway. 

“Yeah.” With shaky hands, she started to unbutton her shirt. 

She could feel his eyes burning into her as she undressed. Another shiver went down her spine, this time for completely different reasons. This was the first time that he’d seen her naked since she’d moved out. 

He pulled up a chair to sit beside the tub after she got in. Lucy let her eyes slide closed, head tipped back against the rim of the tub, arms dangling over the sides to keep her bandages from getting wet. Movements careful to avoid accidentally tugging on the red strands, Tommy set to work washing her hair for her. His stocky fingers felt nice against her scalp. Warm and big and gentle.  

It was nice to be looked after and doted on. And he had been right, when he said that she needed him. Much as she tried to hide it. 

I’m so fucking selfish. Here they were, in the midst of planning what was perhaps the most high stakes strategy in the gang’s history, and she was off monopolizing all his attention.

“Dip,” Tommy’s voice, soft and low, interrupted her thoughts. She did as instructed, dipping her head back into the water so he could rinse the soap from her hair. 

His declarations of love while in the hospital had begun to stitch the broken pieces of her heart back together. But the wounds that had left it broken in the first place were still raw. Still tender and healing. She expected that they would continue to ache for a while. 

“Tommy?” she asked once her head was lifted from the water.

“Hm?”

“Was moving me to a new room your idea?”

One side of his lips quirked up. “Actually it was Lizzie’s.”

She felt her brows crease at the revelation. A part of her felt horribly bad for agreeing to return to Arrow House before actually talking to Lizzie about it first. But Tommy had simply been too persuasive. She couldn’t say no to him anymore. Not when he was begging her to come home. And especially not after it became clear how much pain she’d caused him by leaving. 

She couldn’t keep hurting him like that. 

Overall, she was feeling much better than she had been. It was almost like a fog had lifted from her mind and she could finally think clearly again. But there were still a few hitches, here and there. A few things were still bothering her. 

“Are you in love with her?” The question burned on the way out, but it needed to be asked before they could move fully forward. She needed to know what she was stepping back into. 

Tommy froze. “No. I’m not.”

She felt awful for the little sigh of relief that left her at that.

He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her. He’d pushed up his shirt sleeves to his elbows to keep them from getting wet. Warm lips pressed to her neck. “I told you that I love you.”

“You can love more than one person at a time.” With a sigh, she pushed at the water in the tub, watching the way that it rippled. “I still can’t help but feel that if it weren’t for me–”

“I still wouldn’t fucking love her.” He wasn’t shouting, but his voice was firm. Definitive. “We’re not…good together, Lucy. You ought to know that better than anyone with how much you’ve seen of us together.” He blew out a deep breath. “It’s no one’s fault. Not hers. Not mine. And certainly not yours.” 

She was trying so hard to believe him. She was so fucking tired of feeling so guilty all the time. She just wanted to let it go. To let herself be happy. Didn’t she deserve that, after all the pain that she’d been through? 

As if reading her mind, Tommy turned her face to look at him. Concern shown brightly in his eyes. “You have to stop punishing yourself, love.”

A little sob left her throat. “I don’t think that I know how.”

His face softened. “I’ll help you. Eh? Just talk to me. Tell me where you’re feeling guilty. Let me help you carry it.”

“I can’t ask that of you–” He already carried so much guilt inside him. She could not possibly ask that he shoulder hers as well. 

“I can take it. We help each other, remember? That’s what we do. So let me help you, sweetheart.” 

She sniffled, chest spasming, reaching up to cradle the back of his head, bringing his forehead to rest on hers. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I’m asking, love.” His hand stroked through her damp hair. “But…you know, if it really is too much to take, I can still divorce her…”

Lucy sighed. “And take a hatchet to your reputation in the process? No, Tommy. She’s too important.”

“So are you.”

“She’s the mother of your children. For that alone, she will always be more important than I am.”

“But I love you.” His expression was baffled. “I love you. Not her. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Of course it does. I just…” she slammed her eyes shut, realizing that she was teetering dangerously close to spiraling again. “I just don’t want you to throw away everything else in your life for me.”

“I know. And thank you for that, love. Really. But understand that if I have to choose…” he sighed. “She doesn’t have a chance.” He smoothed some of her hair back. “I can’t be happy without you. She’s not more important than you. She never will be.”

Taking hold of his hand, she raised it to her lips, pressing kisses to each of his fingertips. When she was done, he stroked the back of his knuckles across her cheek. 

“I need to talk to her.”

He frowned, protectiveness flaring up in his eyes.

“If I am going to come back to live here, I need to know that she really is okay with it.”

“She told me to bring you home.”

“I know. But…you know what she can be like.”

“Yeah.” He wiped a hand down his face. “I really do think that she’s started to accept things, love. For real, this time.”

“We can only hope, eh?”

“And I’m not putting up with anymore of the shit with her taking swipes at you, or being cruel towards you, or trying to make deals that fuck you over. I’ve been too lenient on her about it.” He shot her a look of regret. “I’m sorry.”

Lucy frowned. “You’ve never failed to tell her off when she’s been unpleasant towards me. What else can you do? Put her in a timeout?”

“Maybe. If she insists on continuing to act like a child.” The look in his eyes had turned stubborn. The kind of stubborn that meant it would be more likely to get the earth to start spinning in the opposite direction than to get him to change his mind. “I’m not letting her get away with that shit anymore.”

Lucy reached out to touch his face, tilting her head up to brush their lips together. “Thank you for protecting me.”

“Always.” He turned his head to give her neck a little kiss. “Come on, let’s get you out of there before you start to prune.”

He let her hold onto him for stability as she stepped out of the tub, then immediately helped towel her off and swaddled her in a big, comfy robe, looking her up and down to make sure she was warm and comfortable. While he tended to draining the tub and putting the soaps away, she went to get dressed. 

Dinner was a quiet, simple affair. They sat at the dining table, eating the steak, potatoes, and vegetables that the chef served them. 

Tommy told her about a new horse he was thinking of offering a home to at the mansion’s stables. The poor thing was a racehorse who had suffered an injury on the track and had to be retired early. A white, sweet, even-tempered if shy stallion, intelligent enough to have caused his previous owner some trouble here and there. 

Lucy thought it was an absolutely splendid idea. 

“Are you sure that you’re feeling okay?” he asked, while they were out taking Asher and Cyril for a brief walk around the grounds before they turned in for the night. Lucy wasn’t all that surprised at the question. She’d probably spooked him a little with all her talk whilst in the bath. 

“It…all feels really…raw, still. But…” she worried at her lower lip. “I think so.”

His arm had found its way back around her at some point while they walked, palm rubbing soothingly up and down her bicep. The warmth from his touch made her feel comfy and drowsy. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Tommy said softly in her ear when he noticed her yawning.

They went inside and took the dogs off their leads. Cyril lumbered away, probably to go sleep in Charlie’s room. Asher followed them to theirs. 

Tucked into one corner of the room, where she hadn’t noticed them before, were her suitcases filled with her things from Charlie’s. 

“Lizzie picked them up when she went by to get Asher,” Tommy explained at her quizzical look. 

She pulled one up onto the bed, opened it, and immediately felt her face turn approximately the same shade as her hair. Tommy looked down into her suitcase, brows furrowing, and then his face broke into a delighted, smug grin. 

“Ah. So that’s where all of my Henley’s went.”

Shit. She’d forgotten about them. 

“They…they’re soft,” she defended. “And…” Tommy raised an eyebrow. She fumbled with her rings, suddenly bashful, voice quiet. “They smell like you.”

After a few wears of the first henley she’d nabbed when she left Arrow House, the scent of him started to fade away. So she’d snagged another while they were staying at the London apartment one night. And then another. And another. She always meant to start switching them out, but she kept forgetting them at the yard. 

She looked at the little mountain of white shirts sitting in her suitcase, shifting from foot to foot and feeling her embarrassment burn from her ears all the way down to her toes. 

“It’s pathetic, I know–”

“I sprayed your perfume around our room every night and on your pillow after the scent in the sheets started to fade.”

She felt her lips twitch upwards at the revelation. It was oddly sweet; to know that he’d missed her that much.

Neither of them spoke as they got changed. Though she did aim a light swat at him when he snickered as she slipped into one of the several henley’s she’d stolen. When she turned around after depositing her clothes into the hamper, it was to find Tommy shirtless, unbuckling his belt with one hand while running the other through his hair. She felt her throat go instantly dry, a little pulse starting to ache in her core. His muscles flexed as he pushed down his trousers to leave him in just his white underwear. 

She quickly looked away. Before he could catch her staring. 

She was far too tired and emotionally drained for sex. But still…

She’d fucking missed him. 

The doctors had ordered her to take it easy, at least until the stitches came out. Taking into account how long it had been, she was pretty sure that once she and Tommy started fucking again, they weren’t going to be stopping for a good long while. 

They’d have to restrain themselves. Just for a little while longer. Maybe a week or two. 

Crawling into bed, she hummed contentedly at the soft mattress, snuggling down into the pillows. A moment later, Tommy sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. Still in just his underwear and nothing else. Because apparently he liked to test her self control. 

“Is this okay?” he asked, large hand resting on her thigh over the blankets, gaze darting to the space next to her on the bed. 

Lucy nodded, wrapping her hand around his wrist and giving him a little tug. “Yes.” 

He sank in beside her eagerly, immediately hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her to lay her head on his chest. She tangled her legs with his without even thinking, simply running on instinct as she settled into him, letting him snuggle against her. 

“Fuck, I missed this,” Tommy whispered, face pressing into her hair and inhaling deeply. The smattering of hair on his chest tickled her cheek, and she caught herself breathing in his exquisite scent of cologne, smoke, and pine.

“Mm,” she hummed unconsciously in agreement, letting herself get lost in the feeling of being held by him. 

She had almost forgotten how good it felt to be squished against his firm muscle. How safe. It had been so long since they last laid beside each other in bed. The warmth from his torso seeped into her, the steady stroke of his fingers at the nape of her neck helping to lull her. 

“Tommy?”

“Yeah, baby?”

She swallowed. Just two more things. There were just two more things that she needed to ask him. And then she could rest. 

“Tell me you weren’t choosing her over me that night you made that deal with her.”

She felt the muscles in his chest go stiff. And then he was using a finger to tilt her head up to meet his gaze. In the dark, his blue eyes were even more piercing. 

“Of course not. I can see why you’d think that. But I swear, that wasn’t what it was. I was just being drunk and stupid.”

She nodded, but he must have sensed that he had not wholly convinced her, because he persisted. 

“I’d never put her before you. I don’t care if that makes me an awful person or not. You’re my priority. Always.”

“You said you were going to kill Mosley for her.”

His brows pulled in. “I what?”

She nodded. “The day that the opium shipment came into the yard. You told Arthur that you had other strategies in mind for dealing with Mosley. But he’d spoken badly to Lizzie, and that was why you had decided to kill him.”

Tommy was quiet for a moment, processing. “I did say that, didn’t I?” He cleared his throat. “Right. Listen. There’s something that I didn’t tell you. Because we weren’t really talking much after it happened, and I didn’t want to worry you or push you away anymore than I already had.”

A foreboding chill washed over her. “What is it?”

“Mosley threatened to kill you.”

She stared at him, mouth slightly open. “He what?”

Tommy nodded. “He said I was to sack you or marry you off to someone else, or he would have you killed. That was why. I didn’t…I wasn’t going to tell Arthur that. I wasn’t going to tell anyone.”

“Oh.”

“He was rude to Lizzie. And I’m annoyed about that. But I didn’t decide to kill him until after he threatened you.”

She nodded slowly. “I have to tell you something.” He was being open and honest with her, and it felt only right that she do the same. “But you have to promise not to completely fly off the handle.”

Tommy’s brow rose. She looked at him expectantly and he huffed. “Alright. I promise. What is it?”

“During Lizzie’s birthday party, I escorted Mosley to your office. I told you that he just touched my hair and made a lewd remark?”

“I remember.”

“That wasn’t…all that happened. He, erm. He grabbed my breast.”

Tommy was silent for a long time, just staring at her. “What.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement. Lucy could hear thunder brewing in his voice. 

“Yeah. He…he touched my hair, and then he grabbed my right breast. I had bruises from his fingers the next day.”

Both of Tommy’s hands flew up to touch her face, stroking her hair out of the way. Fury was still apparent across his features. But she could see horror there as well. 

“You should have told me,” he said quietly.

“I know. You’re right. I should have.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“He didn’t do anything else?”

“No. He suggested that we could…you know…” she felt Tommy’s grip on her tighten a little. “But I told him no and got out of there right after he grabbed me.”

Tommy’s lips smacked together. She could see him thinking hard behind his big blue orbs. She poked him in the chest. 

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m trying to figure out if it’s too late to change our plans for him to something more…bloody.”

“You promised you wouldn’t fly off the handle!”

“Oh, believe me, love, that is tame for what I really want to do to him.”

She huffed out a laugh equal parts fond and exasperated, dropping her head to press a kiss to the center of his chest. Wrapping both arms around him, she snuggled back into his body. Tommy petted and kissed her head. 

“You’re sure you’re alright?”

“I’m sure.”

He pulled her closer, grip tightening protectively. “I won’t let him hurt you,” he growled. “He will never touch you again.”

Lucy stroked her fingertips across his ribs. “Thank you.” She nestled down into him. He was so warm. Like her own personal little furnace.  

“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he said softly, kissing her hairline and wrapping himself a little tighter around her. Exhaustion was rushing up to meet her, leaving her with little energy to do more than nod and let her eyes flutter closed, drifting off with his warm touch all around her.  

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy stirred, letting out a soft groan as wakefulness snuck upon him sluggishly. His body felt heavy and relaxed, comfortable against the mattress and warm under the blankets. Eyes cracking open to stare at the canopy, he grunted at the realization that it was still the middle of the night; no sunlight yet filtering in through the curtains. He turned, stretching as he did, burying his face half into the pillow, fully intending to fall back to sleep. Arm shifting, he reached out across the mattress. 

The space next to him was empty. 

Immediately his eyes snapped open, sitting bolt upright, all residual drowsiness leaving him in seconds. 

Further investigation only further confirmed that Lucy was not in the bed with him, nor anywhere else in the room. His gaze darted around frantically, squinting through the darkness at the armchair and the windowsill to see if she was seated at either. Nothing. 

The door to the washroom was closed. 

Panic flooded over him in a massive tidal wave, sucking him in and out to sea with nothing to keep himself afloat. His heart leapt into his throat, breaths hitching, dread spreading through his veins.

No, no, no, no, no, not again, Lucy!

He scrambled out of the bed, almost falling over himself when his legs got tangled in the sheets. Imaginings of opening the door to find her laid out in the bathtub again danced across his mind. Her blood overflowing the white porcelain to drip out onto the floor, her head lolled back, hair as crimson as her blood hanging down, her eyes closed, never to open again because this time he was too late and now he’d lost her forever. 

He practically hurled himself at the door, hand just closing around the knob when it opened and he nearly crashed into her. 

“Lucy–” he choked out, throat too constricted with panic to manage anything more. 

She looked up at him with wide eyes, blinking hugely. 

For a moment, all they could do was stare at each other. 

“I, erm,” Lucy spoke first, “I had to use the loo.”

Tommy blinked slowly, processing, realizing that he could still hear the sounds of the toilet running in the washroom behind her.  “Oh.” A relieved breath left his lungs, some of the panic draining from him. 

She looked at him guiltily. “‘M sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”

She kept looking at him like that, ever since she woke up in the hospital. Like she felt truly horrendous for what she’d done. The expression made his heart twist. As if she had anything to actually be sorry for when it was his boneheadness that threw them into this whole mess in the first place.  

“It’s okay. I just…I woke up and you weren’t there.” He must have been even more tired than he originally thought for her to be able to sneak out of bed without him noticing. Normally he slept so lightly that even the smallest of noises or twitches from her was enough to have him springing awake.

“I’m sorry,” Lucy said again, wrapping her arms around herself. Tommy shook his head, reaching out to her, grateful when she let him pull her into his arms. Touching her helped to soothe his still pricked nerves. 

“Don’t apologize,” he said, pressing his lips to the bare skin of her shoulder. “Let’s go back to bed.”

She let him guide her back over to the mattress, laying down and settling her head in its spot on his chest. Tommy could have cried at the feeling of her nestled safely back in his arms. It felt so right having her there. As if the missing piece of his heart had been returned to its right place. 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you…” The last thing he wanted was for her to think that he didn’t have faith in her. He just worried, that was all. 

“I know.”

“C’mere,” he said, even though she was already pressed so close to him that he could feel her heart beating against her ribs. One of her arms slipped around his waist as he drew her tighter against him, burying her face in between his pecs while he stroked her hair. “Comfortable?”

She nodded wordlessly, and he had to suppress a smile to himself. She was far too cute for her own good. 

He was half tempted to roll her over onto her back, slot his hips between her thighs, and…

No, no. She needed to rest. 

There would be plenty of time for love making later. 

He watched over her as she drifted off, growing heavier in his arms until her body fully relaxed.

His gaze shifted to the white bandages still wrapped around her wrists, and the guilt he had momentarily forgotten boiled back up. 

She seemed to be doing okay. And at least she was talking to him again. Giving him chances to explain where she had misinterpreted him. So long as she kept coming to him with her insecurities, he could help her. He could set them straight.

But were most of her insecurities not a result of his fuckups? If he hadn’t gotten Lizzie pregnant, if he hadn’t married her, then none of this would have happened. Lucy wouldn’t be so depressed and doubting her self worth at every turn. If he’d been a good lover to her, she never would have fallen into such a dark pit of despair. 

There had once been a time when he had vowed that, despite knowing he could never deserve her, that he would try to. He would always love her, and treat her well, and cherish her as long as he had her. 

How badly he had fucked that all up. 

She would be so much better off without him. They all would. Maybe, she’d even stand a chance at being happy. 

At the end of the day, that was all he ever wanted for his Lucy. For her to be happy. 

He’d hurt her. Deeply. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t intentional. He’d broken her heart. That was something he would never, ever, be able to forgive himself for. 

∗ ∗ ∗ 

He knew that he was hovering, but he didn’t really care. When Lucy was out of his sight, even for a few minutes, he found himself growing anxious, memories of finding her in the bathtub, of the weight of her limp, almost-dead body in his arms, dancing through his mind. So he stuck to her like glue, keeping near her as often as he could. 

She didn’t seem to really mind, thankfully. If anything he suspected that she was secretly enjoying the attention. Considering how lacking of it she had been until recently, he supposed that it shouldn’t be all that surprising. 

He flinched with guilt at the reminder of how shitty of a lover he’d been to her.

After Lizzie returned home with the kids, he’d been on his guard, but as promised Lizzie had remained on her best behavior, giving them space and allowing ample time for Charlie and Ruby to spend with Lucy. 

Both kids were ecstatic to have her back home. It was good to see, especially considering he knew that Lucy often fretted over what they thought of her. He hoped their reaction to having her back would put at least some of those worries to bed. They loved her. She was their other mom. 

“Tommy?”

“Hm?” He was lounging on a couch in the drawing room, reading the newspaper and sipping a glass of whiskey while Lucy dozed with her head in his lap. He looked up at Lizzie where she stood in the doorway with a raised eyebrow. 

“There’s a gentleman named Mr. Harken here to see you.”

He frowned, then felt his features smooth into dismay and exasperation when he remembered. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I’m supposed to have a meeting with him about the foundation today.”

“You didn’t reschedule it?”

“I forgot.”

Lizzie rang her hands together. “I can send him away, if you’d like…”

He pulled his glasses off and rubbed at his face. It had been an ordeal to get on Harken’s schedule at all. If he canceled, he would have to wait months before seeing him again. If he managed to even get another meeting with him. Harken was known for being fickle, and rudely canceling an appointment when he’d already driven out all this way was unlikely to endear him towards Tommy. 

He looked down at Lucy still slumbering in his lap. The thought of leaving her alone for a prolonged period of time made his throat close up. 

“I can stay with her.” Lizzie took a cautious step into the room. Tommy shot her a wary, suspicious look, and she held up her hands. “I promise I’ll be nice.”

He looked her up and down, weighing his options in his head, then glanced back at Lucy. Asher was laying on the floor by their feet, and Trouble was curled up against her side.

“I won’t be long,” he said, both a promise and a warning. Lizzie nodded, going to sit in one of the armchairs across from the couch.

“We’ll be here.”

He eyed her for one final moment before carefully maneuvering Lucy’s head from his lap without waking her, resting a cushion under her cheek instead. She stirred only slightly when he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. Asher lifted his head as Tommy stepped around him, and he gave the dog a scratch behind the ear while he passed. 

You keep an eye on her for me, eh, boy?

The dog’s tail thumped against the rug, and Tommy half wondered if he really was able to read his mind. 

With each step further away from Lucy, his anxiousness grew, fingers slipping into his pocket to procure his cigarette case as he stepped out the door.

He’d make this quick as he could. She might not even be awake by the time he got back. 

∗ ∗ ∗ 

When Lucy opened her eyes, the first thing she noted was that she was considerably less comfortable and warm than when she’d fallen asleep. Instead of resting on Tommy’s thighs, her head was tucked on top of a pillow, laying on her side on the couch with a blanket laid over her and Trouble curled up against her stomach, purring.   

The second thing was that Lizzie was sitting in the armchair across from her. 

Wincing at some stiff pain in her shoulders–she really ought to know better than to try to nap anywhere that wasn’t her bed–Lucy sat up, rolling her neck to try to encourage her muscles to loosen. Trouble meowed at the movement, standing, stretching, and promptly settling herself into her lap. She gave the cat a few scratches under the chin, noting the way that Trouble eyed Lizzie suspiciously, the tip of her tail flicking back and forth. 

My own little protector, she thought fondly. 

“Did you sleep alright?” Lizzie asked, setting aside the magazine she’d been reading. Lucy shrugged noncommittally. 

“Where’s Tommy?”

“He had a meeting that he forgot to cancel. Something about the foundation with a man named Mr. Harken. He’ll be back soon.”

“Oh.”

She focused her attention on the cat in her lap, stroking her soft fur to try to help calm the nerves that sprang up at being alone with Lizzie. She could feel the other woman watching her, shifting back and forth in her chair. Awkwardness permeated throughout the room. 

“I’m sorry that I’ve been such a shit to you.” That had Lucy’s eyes finally darting up to meet Lizzie’s, widened at the sudden, wholly unexpected apology. Lizzie had a cigarette clutched between her fingers, digits shifting against it anxiously. “I think that I just…got lost.”

Lucy’s lips parted, face pinching with confusion. “You don’t have to apologize…”

“Yes. I do.”

She shook her head. “I’m the one who’s been a selfish cunt. I should have left the moment he told me you were pregnant. You all could have been happy…”

Lizzie cast her a bewildered, sad look. “No, love, I don’t think we could have.”

“I can pack a bag. I can be gone before he even gets out of that meeting. Neither of you will ever see me again,” she offered, borderline frantic. Anything. Anything to alleviate the guilt that she felt for what she’d put Lizzie through. 

“Lucy…don’t you understand? He’s been distraught since you left. I think…I think he’ll die without you.”

Lucy sniffled, wiping at her nose with the back of her sleeve. “I’m offering you what you’ve always wanted, Lizzie. Just take it.” Put us both out of our misery.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“No?”

“No. Maybe at one time, but…all it took was a few hours after you moved out for me to realize what a mistake it was. When I put those rules in place, I didn’t realize they would drive you out. I just thought you and him would spend more time at the apartment in London or the Midland. You two are hardly here much anyway.” Standing from the chair, she approached Lucy, moving to kneel on the floor in front of her so they were at eye level. Trouble made a noise that wasn’t quite a hiss, but was close. Lucy settled a hand on the top of her head, both to try to calm the cat and to quiet her own anxiousness. Lizzie took Lucy’s other hand. “I’ve missed you. The kids have missed you. Tommy’s an absolute nightmare to be around without you…don’t go. Don’t leave us again.”

Her breaths trembled in her lungs, tears building up against her lash line. “I feel like such a piece of shit all of the time, Lizzie. I feel like…like I stole him from you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Don’t act like you’ve never thought that.”

“Of course I have. Doesn’t mean it’s true.” Lizzie looked down. “He told me after the ballet that he’s not in love with me.” She let out a soft, bitter laugh and closed her eyes tight, letting out a hard, trembling breath. “And I suppose a part of me is still bitter. And angry. About all of it. And I think that part of me always will be. But…” she opened her eyes, and Lucy could see the resolution and resignation in them. “I think that it was what I needed to hear. Ever since that night, I haven’t felt like I’m…waiting around. Hoping for something that I may never get. I can move on now. I don’t intend to leave,” she clarified swiftly, “but I can just…focus on the children. On the house. And Tommy’s only…there. More a…friend or companion than a husband or lover,” she shrugged. “I figured that, after everything that’s happened, everything I’ve done for him, if he was going to fall in love with me, it would have happened by now.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lucy whispered miserably. Lizzie shook her head, smile sad, but also tranquil. 

“Don’t be. I have this,” a tilt of her head indicated the house. “I have my kids.” Her hand tightened around Lucy’s. “But he needs you, Lucy. So, you and I have to find a way to deal with each other. I’m tired of all the resentment between us. All of the bitterness. It’s very unprogressive.”

Lucy couldn’t contain her snort, eyebrow raising. “Are you really suggesting that we make a pact to get along in the name of feminism?”

Lizzie’s lips pressed together into a small smile. “More in the name of our shared sanity, really.” She looked down at their clasped hands. “We were friends once, weren’t we?” she asked in a softer voice. 

“I’d like to think so.”

“I miss that,” she looked out the window. Lucy tightened her fingers against hers.

“Me too.”   

 “I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through recently. It really wasn’t my intention to make either of you so unhappy. I can’t promise that I won’t get jealous. Or bitter sometimes. But I will do my best not to make it your problem anymore.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry too. Really.”

Lizzie swiped a finger across her knuckles. “Thank you.” Gingerly, her hand reached up to brush across the bandages still covering Lucy’s wrists. Trouble made a sharp hiss, half rising from her spot in Lucy’s lap. 

“You, hush,” Lucy chastised her, urging her to lay back down. “Be nice.”

Trouble looked at her with eyes that were extremely unimpressed, but laid her head back down against her thigh, little sides expanding with an overly dramatic sigh. Lizzie snorted, retracting her hand and tapping her cigarette into the ashtray on the coffee table beside her. “He loves you so much.” There was a glimmer of sorrow and longing in Lizzie’s eyes that made the guilt in Lucy’s chest twist. “Don’t take it for granted.” 

Dropping her eyes, she absentmindedly gave Trouble’s belly a few scratches when the cat rolled over for her. “I won’t.”

Unfolding herself from her position on the floor, Lizzie eased herself back into the armchair she’d been occupying previously. Placing her cigarette between her lips, she reached for the deck of cards resting on the table. 

“Do you want to play?” Lizzie asked, already starting to shuffle.

It had been a good while since she’d played cards with anyone. Something that used to be a regular occurrence. So many long nights in the Garrison had been passed by playing hand after hand with Tommy and his brothers, downing whiskeys and laughing around cigarettes. 

“Sure.”

Lizzie’s lips pulled into a smile, and she started dealing out the cards. 

They’d just finished up their first hand when Charlie and Ruby came wandering in, done with their lessons for the day. Cyril was right behind them, lumbering over to lay down next to Asher. Ruby sat down on the floor beside the two dogs, while Charlie climbed onto the couch next to Lucy, crowding into her side. Lizzie dealt them in, and by the time Tommy returned after the next hand, they had a rather lively game going.

He stood there, watching them play with his hands stuffed into his pockets, smile tugging on the edges of his lips, eyes shining with fondness when Lucy’s gaze lifted to meet his. The expression on his face only softened further when their eyes met.

“Dad, are you gonna come play?” Charlie asked. With a chuckle, Tommy came over to sit on Lucy’s other side on the couch, taking his hand of cards from Lizzie. 

“Did everything go alright?” Lucy asked him in a quiet voice. He cast her a fond look, plucking his cigarette from his lips while his gaze shifted from her to examine the cards in his hand.

“Everything went fine.” He spoke lightly, nothing but ease in his eyes. Satisfied, she returned her attention back to playing her cards. Sometime during the game, his arm found its way around her shoulders. 

∗ ∗ ∗

“You don’t have to come. Not if you don’t feel up to it,” Tommy told her later, when they were lying in bed with her head on his chest and his arms around her, the dark and quiet surrounding them. 

“I can handle it. I’m mostly healed now, anyway.”

He was quiet for a stretch of time and she frowned, head shifting so she could squint up at him in the darkness. 

“Do you not want me to come?”

“It’s not that. It’s just…” he sighed, head tipping heavily against the pillows. “It’ll be dangerous.”

“So is nearly everything else that we do.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Mm,” she acknowledged with a hum. “I want to be there.” If something happened to him, and she wasn’t there, she would never forgive herself. And she would go insane sitting around, listening to the radio and waiting to hear if the assassination had been successful or not.

His arm adjusted around her, thumb stroking over her shoulder. “Alright. Just…do something for me, then?”

“What?”

“Stay close to me.”

She tilted her head. Under other circumstances she might have teased him for his overprotectiveness. But he was right when he said that this wasn’t like other circumstances. There was an awful lot that could go wrong. “Okay.”

He hummed, kissing the top of her head. “Thank you.”

His fingers stroked delicately against the scarred skin of her back. He pressed a few kisses to her neck, then settled there, body relaxing with a contented sound against her. 

“Love you, honey,” he mumbled sleepily.

She turned her head to kiss the hollow of his throat. “Love you too, Tommy.”

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[all-too-unwell-13]

i'm going to war (looking through the rosekiller tag for an actual rosekiller fic)

[linddzz]

Jayce is literally a guard dog from the moment he met Viktor and I just know that he can be wayyy worse in fics if people weren’t playing it safe

So small disclaimer that I can't say much about how he's portrayed in fics or if I have any thoughts there. Tbh when I'm first getting into writing my own stuff for a ship I don't read or seek out a lot of other fics for a mix of weird brain reasons. A mix of a lot of doubts from comparing myself, but also I like getting a solid feel of my characterization without too much general fandom influence getting in there or end up accidentally stealing a concept/dialogue that just sticks in my brain.

(exceptions tend to be made for mutuals who I know are excellent writers already in which case I will psych myself up to not fall into the self comparison issue dkdjdkdk)

ANYWAY!!! Tbh I'm not surprised that there's not a lot that goes super dark on the possessive Jayce OR possessive Viktor just because they are such a weird little mix of legit fun and goofy and dreamy eyed for each other, AND canon pretty much laid out the dark side of their relationship I think. Jayce had already been confronted with Viktor's impending death, they already had their conversation where he had to promise to destroy the hexcore, which was them both in a way accepting Viktor's death. And he immediately broke that the second he was actually confronted with that death.

It's not dark to me as in "grr no one can touch you but me I'm going to lock you up in the lab to make sure you can never leave me and nothing can ever hurt you" which is how most dark possessive fics/romance lit tend to go. And I guess it can be hard to tap into what IS very dark and fucked up about Jayce and Viktor's codependence in a way that doesn't erase how wholesome they can and do come across in canon.

The dark is in the devotional romance of it, the almost instant codependence, it's in how beautiful it all is (like how Viktor's evolved forms are both beautiful and deeply unsettling for all their elegance). It's in thinking for just a liiiittle bit and realizing that Mage Viktor is knowingly dooming timelines by sparking Jayce's fascination with magic (and by making himself the thing that starts Jayce's obsession).

The dark possessiveness for Jayce is best captured when the partner he broke his biggest promise to, whose heart he replaced with the hexcore, stumbled out as something metal and inhuman. The dark side of Jayvik is; when Viktor's voice came out warped and mechanical as he stared at his own hand with confusion and fear, asking "What am I?"

Jayce smiled, laughed with that bright loverboy earnestness, and said "You're alive!"

[tomurakii]

I like bloodweave. Okay. But I DON'T like the version of them in fanfic where Astarion is a dick and Gale is like. Whining and pleading for him to be emotionally vulnerable (or just. Nice to him) prior to the relationship being established. Because that is just not accurate. Gale needs the player to express interest in him during his weave-teaching scene before he even considers hitting on them properly. Gale is entirely resigned to his fate and needs someone else to pull him away from it. Gale only starts being sweet and romantic and devoted after you accept his love confession and give him hope for the future. Gale says fuck all and then slinks away to cry privately if you break up with him.

Like he isn't chasing after people lmao. He isn't dropping to his knees and crying about anything much less this dickhead he met a week ago. He is overwhelmingly passive about literally everything personal to him up to and including his own death (provided there are no casualties/there is a good reason) until after the player expresses that they care about him. Astarion is not doing that in any of these fics.

Like Gale is friendly and a dork and doesn't wanna get murdered but he fully has a suicide plan. He thought the artefacts would help him survive but he didn't believe he'd ever truly live again. If Gale confessed and Astarion said/did like one (1) mean thing afterward Gale's romance is closed off forever. He's wandering into the forest to cry. He's killing himself immediately. His fragile ego and self worth can't take it. You have to understand that when we joke about him being pathetic it's not bc he's like. Sopping wet and chasing people down and begging for a scrap of attention. It's because he craves affection but would literally rather die than ask or even hope for it until someone else forces that hope back into his serotonin-deficient tadpole brain.

[triglycercule]

oh yeah before i forget cute mttpoly headcanon because i said so: when killer finds out (through SOME way of means. he has his ways) that dust and horror like something then at every chance he can he goes and finds that thing for them :3 because I SAID SO AND IT'S CUTE ‼️‼️ (something something killer has no idea how to properly show affection and appreciation after believing his whole life was meant to cause pain and suffering to those close to him and now that he's trying he does silly goofy stuff like this hehe,,,,,,, dust is DROWNING in piles of fluffy blankets and books. horror cannot keep up with eating the amount of snacks killer keeps stealing for him 😞😞😞)

[sysig]

The brainworms are winning, clearly (Patreon)

[kateis-cakeis]

Thinking about the structure of the Old Religion.

From what we know there's the Nine which refers to the High Priestesses of the Triple Goddess - powerful sorcerers who obtained immortality (unless killed by some form of magic), and performed important rituals of the Old Religion.

It is unknown if there was a High Priest equivalent, but Gaius in S1Ep13 does tell Merlin that "the High Priests have the power to mirror life and death". This suggests that perhaps there were High Priests of the Triple Goddess, and that they also had a Nine.

There's the Bendrui, women who failed to become part of the Nine. Just like those who eventually became High Priestesses of the Triple Goddess, they were chosen at birth for the priesthood - taken from their families and raised as initiates of the Old Religion. Despite their failure, Bendrui are practiced in potent magic, and appear to have above average gifts.

There's the Bloodguard, warrior priests who swore to protect the High Priestesses. They, like the High Priestesses, were the only people to ever set eyes upon the staff carved from the Rowan tree that grows at the very heart of the Isle of the Blessed.

It could be suggested that like the Bendrui, the Bloodguard could have been failed High Priests, but there is no evidence (other than the existence of the Bendrui, and the mention of High Priests) to truly suggest this.

It is also unknown if the Bloodguard served the Triple Goddess. It is possible that the priests served various different gods of the Old Religion, but due to their relation to the Nine specifically, it is likely these warrior priests served the Triple Goddess.

There's the Catha, which contains priests. (Alator is referred to being "of the Catha, warrior and priest", he also says "I'm a Catha priest").

It is unknown if they served the Triple Goddess, or a different god of the Old Religion (and we know they are priests of the Old Religion because Morgana says, "He's a Catha...priest of the Old Religion.").

They have their own language, however, suggesting that they are a unique culture, and perhaps even an ethnic group. (This is further supported by Alator saying Catha are trained from birth to master all physical pain, it is also said that they guard their ancient knowledge - which leans towards them being a people rather than just initiates of the Old Religion)

There's the Disir, the highest court of the Old Religion, made up of three women chosen at birth to be trained as seers and soothsayers. They are the mouthpiece of the Triple Goddess, and interpret her word. As Gaius says, "When they sat in judgement, their word was final". They pass on the runemark, which is both judgement and fate - it contains a person's guilt, as well as the path the gods have chosen for them.

There's the Druids, a peaceful people who worship the Old Religion and often possess magic. It's a part of their beliefs to help people in need of care, and therefore, those who weren't born a Druid can find a home amongst them (Morgana is one such example).

Moreover, the Druids look for children with the gift of telepathy to serve as apprentices (perhaps to keep them safe? perhaps to encourage their magic in childhood?). The Druids also have a tattoo of a triskelion somewhere on their body, perhaps as a part of a ritual (to indicate someone has become a Druid?).

While the Druids have an intimate knowledge of prophecy and destiny, especially regarding Emrys and the Once and Future King, they do not appear to be priests or priestesses in any form. Just like the Catha, they have their own language (called the Druid tongue and Druidic Runes by Gaius), therefore, it is possible that they too are a unique culture and/or an ethnic group.

There's the Isle of the Blessed, a sacred location of the Old Religion, said to be the centre of it, and the focus of its power - it is also where the power of the ancients can still be felt after the Great Purge. Artifacts such as the Rowan staff, the Cup of Life, and the Horn of Cathbhadh were kept there under the care of the High Priestesses. Furthermore, Morgana's healing bracelet was forged on Isle - suggesting that its power allowed for the creation of powerful artifacts (this is further supported by the Rowan staff which was carved from the tree that grows there).

In a deleted scene for S4Ep1, Morgause says when she was first brought to the Isle, the hallways were teeming with women - High Priestesses. Although it is said often within the fandom, canon never establishes if the initiates were trained on the Isle. This deleted scene, however, heavily suggests it.

There's the Caerlanrigh, a sacred spring within the Grove of Brineved. There, the Disir reside within a cave, where the spring feeds into an ancient pool - in which the Disir divine from. The old ways are at their strongest there, and it's at the very centre of their powers (whether Gaius meant the old ways or the Disir here is unclear).

There's the Cauldron of Arianrhod, a sacred site of the Old Religion. The lake contains the power of the White Goddess, who can be summoned to heal those affected by the Teine Diaga ritual. However, if such a person is tricked into entering the cauldron, their soul would be lost forever.

There's the Crystal Cave, said to be the birthplace of magic. It is filled to the brim with scrying crystals that show the past, present, and future. Taliesin used the cave as the source of his prophecies for the kings of old. And as much as the crystals can be controlled, they can force visions upon powerful sorcerers too.

The cave can also hold spirits within it, seen with both Balinor and Taliesin.

While this may have been the case for Merlin alone, the cave can restore a person's magic.

There are celebrations important to the Old Religion too, such as:

Samhain, a time of year where the people feel closest to the spirits of their ancestors, in which they celebrate their passing.

During Samhain it was traditional for the High Priestesses to gather on the Isle of the Blessed and perform a blood sacrifice to release the Dorocha. This was done on the stroke of midnight, when the veil between the worlds is at its thinnest.

Since the Dorocha do not roam free in the world throughout the series, it is suggested that a second blood sacrifice was done by the High Priestesses - perhaps before the night was through - to close the veil once more.

In Camelot, a feast is held as part of the celebrations. (This suggests that while the Old Religion and its practices were abandoned during and after the Purge, the heart of the religion and its holidays were never replaced).

Beltane, a time of year where the High Priestesses would gather at the Great Stones of Nemeton and summon the spirits of their ancestors with the Horn of Cathbhadh. It opens the door to the Spirit World and allows the person who blew the horn to see and speak with their ancestor of choice.

In Camelot a feast is held as part of the celebrations (which much like Samhain seems indicate that the Old Religion has been around for so long that it cannot be removed from society entirely - that the people clung onto some traditions, including the royal family).

There's the Gods of the Old Religion, the Triple Goddess, the White Goddess, and Nemaine. It could be implied that the White Goddess, and the Earth Mother Nemaine are part of the Triple Goddess, but it is just as likely for them to be separate gods.

If so, the Triple Goddess is heavily associated with the Nine, destiny and fate, and the immortality of certain sorcerers. Perhaps she is also associated with the balance of the world, due to the power over life and death being tied to the High Priestesses and supposed High Priests.

The White Goddess, however, appears to be associated with one's soul and healing. It was only her power that could heal and retain Gwen's soul after Teine Diaga ritual.

The Earth Mother Nemaine is related to Gean Canach, as it is said her tears forged the creature. The book Gaius reads from has more information, and from what can be deciphered, it says that Nemaine first wept at the slaughter of war, resulting in the Gean Canach crawling out of the Earth's belly (there is more written on the page, but it is impossible to tell what it says). This suggests that Nemaine lives within the Earth's core, and that she is indeed associated with nature and living beings as her name implies.

Furthermore, since she wept at the slaughter of war, she is perhaps the god of life itself, but not of the entire cycle. And due to the Gean Canach's abilities, to devour and drain a sorcerer of their magic, it is likely that this war's slaughter was brought about by magic.

It is possible that The Earth Mother Nemaine could be related to the Pool of Nemhain. Despite having different spellings in the show (the subtitles), they have extremely similar pronunciations (even if it is a bit different). Perhaps they are unrelated, but if they are one and the same, it could be suggested that the Earth Mother is connected to death as well as life, due to the pool being the last of the Five Gateways to the Spirit World. (This contradicts what is analysed in the above paragraph, but this post is meant to speculate multiple possibilities.)

Honourable mentions:

It could be suggested that the Quest Ritual was once part of the Old Religion. It includes the heir to the throne of Camelot transcending their body in order to receive a vision of a quest. This quest is meant to prove their worth to the people, and their worthiness of the throne. The heir prepares themself by cleansing their body and dressing in white robes. They spend an entire night kneeling on the floor, barefoot, with their eyes closed.

Due to how Arthur reacts in the morning when Uther pulls him out of it, and how sacred the entire process appears to be, it is as if the heir is actually gifted with a vision of a quest. This is supported by his reaction, as he looks dazed when relays what he has seen. Therefore, it seems as if the ritual includes some form of magic due to the preparation, and if so, then it's likely it was a practice of the Old Religion (specifically for the heirs of Camelot? Due to Camelot's association with the very heart of magic?)

It has been around for hundreds of years, so it is not outside the realm of possibility that the Quest Ritual is so old that the general consensus has forgotten its ties to the Old Religion, or much like Samhain and Beltane, it is perhaps so baked into society that it couldn't be abandoned.

--

In S1Ep13, Merlin says that the "Old Religion died out centuries ago". Even in Series 1 this is far from true, but later seasons make this remark seem entirely ignorant. If anything, this sentiment comes from a post-Purge society, where the structures of the Old Religion no longer exist. Perhaps it is even propaganda that Uther pushed forward as people became more fearful over the years, turning away from the old ways despite once practicing such beliefs (and for the people of Camelot, still practicing some of those beliefs).

It is possible this was a retcon but if so then it's directly retconned in S1Ep13 when it's revealed that Nimueh is a High Priestess.

Anyhow, in response to Merlin's ignorance, Kilgharrah says, "The Old Religion is the magic of the Earth itself. It is the essence which binds all things together. It will last long beyond the time of men".

This shows that the Old Religion doesn't just refer to the religion and the gods, but rather it is the very magic that makes up the fabric of the world, and as Balinor says in S2Ep13 it's either a part of you or it isn't. This suggests that it is indeed not just a religion, but the very world, the Earth, magic.

He also goes on to say that Merlin must "find those who still serve it", which shows that Uther very much didn't succeed in eradicating the structure of the Old Religion entirely, at least at that point in the show. And perhaps that anyone could serve it, even after the very structure collapsed.

All this is to say that the Old Religion is extremely pagan. The structure itself is vague perhaps because Old Religion is personal, it is vague. The differences between the High Priestesses, the Catha, and the Druids make this clear. Following the Old Religion's beliefs, traditions, and holidays is personal and spiritual because it varies, because there is no wrong way. Because there are no set rules or a real structure at all. The High Priestesses had power, yes, but this seems to come directly from the Triple Goddess herself, rather than a societal standing.

Nimueh was at court, and she was Uther's friend, but she was also very quickly thrown from the court after Ygraine died. And yes, the High Priestesses went to war with the Ancient Kings, but that appears to be a difference in factions, rather than let's say the Christian church and its power over the centuries.

Therefore, I propose that the Old Religion as a religion was loose in its structure, that it never died out like Merlin said (which does seem to be a post-Purge sentiment), but instead simply changed and evolved, and continued to exist even after the Purge, with its holidays in Camelot, and with the Druids and their practices/beliefs.

-----

Overall, the information we have on the structure of the Old Religion is vague and patchy. This was perhaps intentional so the writers could work around existing canon to introduce new concepts without being constricted by their past worldbuilding. But that's getting into the Intentional Fallacy, so I'll leave that there.

It appears that the High Priestesses had the most power in society, due to their past wars with the Ancient Kings, and their sheer power and knowledge. Not to mention their artifacts and control over creatures like the Fomorroh.

But there are different beliefs and structures to the Old Religion, like with the Catha and the Druids, suggesting that there are multiple ways to worship and follow the Old Religion.

The many sacred sites show that there are different powers and sources to the Old Religion that have different purposes. Like how the path to the Cauldron of Arianrhod was lined with banners for pilgrims, not to necessarily summon the White Goddess, but to visit the site. Or how the Isle of the Blessed is a powerful religious site, while the Crystal Cave is a fairly legendary and unknown place that few ever get to see.

In conclusion, the Old Religion is vast and has many facets to it. There is some structure, but it doesn't seem entirely necessary in order to follow the Old Religion. And in reality, it is inherent to the Earth, it is magic itself.

[skitskatdacat63]

Boy King AU | Vettonso + Martian | 1.3k

There's something about putting the future emperor of the Holy Realm on his knees like this. About how easily he goes, how willingly, how obediently. What would his adoring public think if they could see him now. If they saw their beloved king pressed down like this, in the cramped space between Fernando's legs. When they realized their little boy king took it like he was a little concubine instead. 

Fernando's bitterness is lifted away in moments like these, like taking off a heavy cloak on a winter's day. It was hard to feel humiliated about his own situation when watching Sebastian debase himself like this. 

He always gives himself up so easily. When Fernando threaded his fingers through his thick curls. When he pulled them, and then when he pressed his face down further down into the vee of his legs.  Sebastian rubbed his cheek into the coarse fabric of Fernando's breeches and blinked up at him. Fernando had to smother an embarrassing sound; he was just like a little cat!

Sebastian quirked his lips up into an odd little smile and slightly rose up on his knees, "What's funny?" Fernando swallowed lightly and schooled his face back into being impassive, "Nothing. As you were." Sebastian simply smirked at him and let himself be pushed back down by the fist clenched in his hair. 

Fernando scoffed internally, there was only so much pleasure in putting the other man in his place when he instead acted like this, this degrading action, was his birthright. He took to ruling and indulging in carnal pleasures as if they were of equal gravity. To be privileged to hold such high station and also let himself be taken apart like this…Fernando felt embarrassed for him.

He is dragged away from his musings when Sebastian moved to settle his hands in Fernando's lap, clutching his hips over the fabric and slightly squeezing; Fernando fought against the urge to shiver. Sebastian pushed up the skirt of Fernando's waistcoat and smoothed his hands over the opening flap of his breeches.

His eyes darted up at Fernando again, a daft smile on his face. Fernando scowled at him, "What?" Seb's grin sharpened, "You could stand to be a little more gracious. This is your future emperor, and future husband might I add, kneeling for you on this dirty, depraved, derelict- ah–" Fernando tugged on his hair again and hissed, "Well then, why don't you show me how eager you are to perform your marital duties?" 

Seb licked his lips, completely unconcerned by Fernando's annoyance, and unbuttoned one side of the closure to Fernando's breeches and moved to open the other–

The door to the carriage flew open, arrival announcement dying on a wheezing breath as the servant took in the image the two kings made. One splayed across the seat, exuding power, the other kneeled, debauched, between the former's legs. 

One would be hard pressed to determine which was higher on the totem of power and titles. 

There was something gratifying about this to Fernando, about being caught. He had been humiliated enough throughout the entire courtship, what was one more thing? And, certainly, what was one more thing if he could drag Sebastian down into the dirt with him. 

"Oh Mark, don't act so abashed! It's nothing you haven't seen before, in fact, we have been in this very position not even a fortnight ago!"

Oh. Yes. That. 

It was hard to be completely pleased when he remembered how Sebastian had already spent years prior to their engagement sampling the palace's ample selection of fellow high-born men. And how all those men seemed to be completely and utterly wrapped around his little finger.

Fernando released his hand from Sebastian's hair as if it had burned him. He did not understand why he felt ashamed with Mark looking in on them like this. Fernando was the one marrying Sebastian, not Mark; Mark was just a lowly courtier who had the esteemed duty of spending practically every waking hour with the brat…something he himself was decidedly not looking forward to. 

Sebastian stayed kneeling, staring impassively up at Mark, still fiddling with the clasp on Fernando's breeches. Fernando gritted his teeth and looked up from where he was watching Sebastian's clever little hands; Mark stared back at him placidly. 

Mark's indifference made the entire situation worse. Fernando now felt as if he was not doing anything unique, not doing anything particularly new. How many other men had Mark caught Seb with in this exact position? Fernando felt like he was just another plaything of the boy king, soon to be boy emperor, except his position was forever, permanent. He was the "Kept King", the king who only kept his throne due to the whims of a boy who doesn't even understand what power is.

Mark coughed, "Well," he says, "Your Majesty, I do believe you have a meeting to attend." Seb pouted at him and whined, "We were just getting to the main course," but still braced himself on Fernando's thighs and got up off the carriage floor. 

Seb pranced down the steps Mark had placed next to the carriage, miming tripping sown the stairs, snickering when his action made Mark reflexively reach out to grab him, and then playfully skipped off the final step. 

Fernando couldn't help but stare as Mark made the weirdest grimace in response, and he inexplicably felt all his mortification seep away from him. Huh. Maybe Mark is-

Seb then turned around and frowned at him, seemingly disappointed, but his eyes are deceivingly sharp, "Fernando, I regret to inform you that I have other duties I must attend to, you will simply have to wait." He then grinned up at Mark next to him and giggled as the other man stiffened when Sebastian looped both of his arms through Mark's. 

He leaned all his weight on the other man, Mark not so much as shifting his weight, "Oh Mark, won't you carry me back to the palace? I'm so very tired after all the horse riding," Seb looked up at him imploringly.

Fernando observed as Mark rolled his eyes and shrugged off the man, though notably not pulling his arm from Seb's grasp, and he got the distinct feeling that this exact scene had been played out countless times before. 

Fernando clenched his jaw as he watched Seb turn and saunter off, Mark trotting alongside him like a loyal dog. Fernando was supposed to be the unaffected one in this partnership, the unflustered one, the unconcerned one. And yet here he stood, in broad daylight, in a foreign kingdom, on the steps of a carriage with his breeches half unbuttoned and his cravat in disarray. 

He heard a cough from beside him, jolted and looked to the side. Sebastian's loyal Horse Master stood there, lounging against the side of the carriage. Fernando had forgotten who had even been driving the carriage in the first place. After Seb has let himself be pushed down, his hair still windswept from their ride together, everything else seemed to fade away. His thoughts were reduced only to how he could mess up the younger man's hair further. 

Jenson grinned at him wolfishly, and casually crossed his legs,  "First time?" he inquired. Fernando glared at him. The other man laughed openly at him, "What? He's a busy man with big prospects. You're not his majesty's only conquest, you know. Now your throne on the other hand…"

Fernando seethed, it was one thing to be humiliated by the future emperor, but to be patronized by the king's horse boy? No. It would simply not do. He closed his eyes in annoyance, pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaled, and prepared a speech about how he was not about to be talked down to by a man who didn't even have a throne to speak of! 

But when he opened his eyes again and opened his mouth to begin his tirade, Jenson was already wandering away to tend to the horses. Dios mío, Fernando was not mentally prepared to spend the rest of his life with all of these impertinent morons. 

[moldy-flowers]

Naori Uchiha :33

BAD BACKGROUND BC I HATEE DRAWING BACKGROUNDS SJSHSNSJ

Anyway Naori is in my top 5 I love this girlie I found her while scrolling through the Naruto Wiki and she instantly drove me insane she should get more than 20 seconds of screen time.